THE COACHMAN.

YOU'RE bound to nothing, strictly speaking, But just to keep the wheels from creaking; And then to drive just slower, faster, To please yourself more than your Master. But teach your horses, when you're toping, The art to stand stock-still and moping. Tell Master that they're getting old, And “one on‘ em has got a cold,” When at the alehouse you've a call, And not inclined to drive at all. If Master takes a short excursion, Get drunk, and play up‘ Mag's diversion;’ Pass some deep pit close to the brink, To show you're none the worse for drink; And swear you can n't decline‘ October,’ Or drive quite well if you're quite sober!