Away they rattle,
Men and cattle,

Crack whip-they dash away.

What a cavalcade of coaches
On every side approaches,

What work for man and beast!

To have a little drop, sir,
We first of all must stop, sir,
Then afterwards make haste.
I mount-the whip I crack, now,
All bustle-what a pack, now,
On every side approach;
Now making sad grimaces,
All for the want of places,
Then say I've lost the coach.

(Spoken.)-How's this!

I'm sure my name was booked-I don't see it, Ma'am. No room for two ladies?-none at all for females-this is a mail coach-tie a handkerchief round your neck, Billy-yes; good-bye, papa, give my love to grandmamma-Hip!

Away they rattle, &c.

Four in hand from Piccadilly,
Now seated in the dilly,
Off we scamper all.
What merry wags and railers,
What jolly dogs and sailors,
Begin to sing and bawl.
From ev'ry place we start now,
Some company depart now,

And others come no doubt;
For plenty there is of room now,
And any one may come now,
Four insides and one out.

(Spoken.)-Are my boxes all safe-You have put my trunk in a wrong coach-never mind, we shall overtake it--where

is my Welsh cap-hold your tongue, sirrah-you have awoke me out of a comfortable nap-keep the windows shut-I have got a cold and stiff neck-keep in your feet-Hip!

Away they rattle, &c.

THE CHAPTER OF DONKIES.

TUNE-" Gee ho, Dobbin."

COME, none of your nonsense, I'm not to be had,
I'm call'd dashing Dick, the Tothill-fields lad;
About Donkies I'm going to tip you a song,
Which some of the watering places do throng.
Come up, Neddy, gee whoa, Neddy, come up, Neddy,
gee up, and gee ho.

What tho' I don't keep a barouche of my own,
I've a stud of fine asses, and they're all the ton,
To Margate, to Brighton, to let them I go,
Where all sorts of asses do make a fine show:
Come up, Neddy, &c.

Young ladies of fashion, of ev'ry degree,

For a ride in the morning are mounted by me.
You may laugh at their fancy, but lord! I don't mind,
While Johnny the footman keeps whipping behind.
Come up, Neddy, &c.

When I comes it on Sundays, with Poll by my side,
Why I doesn't envy my lord and his bride,
Tho' my shay, and my Neddies, are not over grand,
I take care that Polly shan't have the whip hand.
Come up, Neddy, &c.

There's a great many people as I will maintain,
Who, like me, do by asses a livelihood gain :
Quack-doctors and lawyers, and gamblers, too,
If it wasn't for asses, pray, what would they do.
Come up, Neddy, &c.

'Tother day, when a donkey I took to be shod,
A queer Bond-street Lounger popp'd in rather odd;
He too wanted shoeing, as I could discern,
Whoa, master, says I, every ass in his turn.

Come up, Neddy, &c.

Stop, Neddy, I cried, t'other day in the street, When one of these kiddies I chanc'd for to meet; His name being Ned, he look'd round thro' his glass, Says I, I did'nt mean you,-I mean't Neddy my ass. Come up, Neddy, &c.

So now there's an end of my song, d'ye see, Pray what d'ye think of my Neddy and me, Tisn't easy to say if my ditty don't pass, Whether Neddy, or I, will look most like an ass. Come up, Neddy, &c.

THE DEVIL MAY TAKE TO-MORROW, 0.
TUNE-" The Irish Wedding."

OLD Father Pat was blythe and free,
He kiss'd the lasses daily, O,
And his fame so ran thro' Donaghadee,
There was none like him so gaily, O;
For, day or night, 'twas his delight,
Devoid of care or sorrow, 0,

With pæ, sweet pæ, to wet his clay,
And the devil may have to-morrow, 0.

Then father Pat was Judy's brat,

The wife of Durfy's brother, O,
And whisky nail'd his queen for that,
So he learn'd it of his mother, O;
For, day or night, 'twas his delight,
Devoid of care or sorrow, O,
So come, says he, I'll cosey be,

And the devil may take to-morrow, O.

Then father Pat he kept a school,

But it was for more than thinking, O,
For, lest his scholars' wit should cool,
He kept them always drinking, O.
Thus, day and night, 'twas his delight,
Devoid of care or sorrow, O:
To booze away, old Pat would say,
And the devil may take to-morrow, O.

THE COUNTRY CLUB.

Now we're all met here together,
In spite of wind and weather,
To moisten well our clay;
Before we think of jogging,
Let's take a cheerful nogging:
Where's the waiter? ring away.
Where's the glees and the catches,
The tobacco-pipes and matches,
And plenty of brown stout?
Yet the glasses, e'er we start 'em,
Let's proceed secundum artem,

Let the clerk call the names out.

(Spoken.)-Gentlemen of the Quizzical Society, please to -Farmer Scroggins; why I be here

answer to your names

Doctor Horseleach; here-Taylor Tit; here-(So he goes on for about twenty)—at last-you're here, are you, all assem. bled? All, all, all, all.

So here's to you, Mr. Wiggins,
Here's to you, Mr. Higgins,
So put the beer about, &c.

Come tell us what the news is,
Who wins and who loses,

Of the times what do people say?
Hard, hard the landlord racks us,
Then we've such a load of taxes;
Indeed? well, and how goes the hay?
Why, now there's Master Wiseman,
He tells the Exciseman

The cause of all this pother and rout―
Order! order and sobriety,

Are the rules of this society,

Let the secretary read them out.

mem.

(Spoken.)-Every member of this society, that spills his liquor in his neighbour's pocket, shall forfeit 2d.-Every ber of this society that singes his neighbour's wig with his pipe, shall forfeit 2d.-Every member of this society that re fuses to laugh at a good joke, shall forfeit 2d.-Every member of this society who reproaches his neighbour with coming to distress by unavoidable misfortunes, shall forfeit 2d.-Mr. Pre sident, I move that this forfeit be a shilling; and I second the motion. Are you all agreed? I am unanimously—A noble resolution-D'ye think so?

Why, then, here's to you Mr. Higgins,
Here's to you Mr. Wiggins, &c.

And now the potent liquor,
Not even spares the vicar,

But to all their noddles mounts.
While among this set of queerers,
All talkers, and no hearers,

Each his favourite tale recounts: