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't decline 'October,'
Or drive quite well if you're quite sober!
THE NURSERY MAID.
Let children always, when they're ill,
Both eat and drink whate'er they will;
Although 'forbid' by Doctor Diet,
'Twill do 'em good, and keep 'em quiet.
They'll love you—all, and take it kind too,
To throw their physic out of window:
Remember, though, 'tis quite as well
To bid the poor things "not to tell."
Do for your Mistress just the same,
If laid up either sick or lame;
And if she 'longs,'—whate'er the food,
Engage that it will do her good.
But if she goes to whip a child,
Declare you're 'druv' distracted, wild;
And swear to leave her place you'd 'ruther,'
Than live with such a cruel mother!
But don't go far enough to fret her;
She'll scold, but love you all the better
For taking the 'dear children's part,'—
You've "railly such a tender heart!"
Yet when you're flirting in the park,
Make 'em stop out till quite pitch dark;
And 'if so be as how' they cry,
"They'll go to Bogey certain-ly!"