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THE WAY TO GET A GOOD FARE.
TO THE TUNE 07—“ I WISH I WAS A FISHERMAN."
I am a bold coachman, and drive a good hack,
With a coat of five capes that quite covers my back;
And my wife keeps a sausage-shop, not many miles
From the narrowest alley in all broad St. Giles.
Though poor, we are honest and very content;
We pay, as we go, for meat, drink, and for rent;
To work all the week I am able and willing ;
I never get drunk, and I waste not a shilling.
And while at a tavern my gentleman tarries,
The coachman grows richer than he whom he carries;
“ And I'd rather,” said I, “ since it saves me from sin,
Be the driver without, than the toper within."
Yet tho’ dram-shops I hate, and the dram-drinking friend,
I'm not quite so good, but I wish I may mend;
I repent of my sins, since we all are depraved,
For a coachman, I hold, has a soul to be saved.
When a riotous multitude fills up a street,
And the greater part know not, boys, wherefore they meet,
If I see there is mischief, I never go there;
Let others get tipsy, so I get my fare.
Now to church if I take some good lady to pray,
It grieves me full sore to be kept quite away;
So I step within side, though the sermon's begun,
For a slice of the service is better than none.
Then my glasses are whole, and my coach is so neat,
I am always the first to be called in the street;
And I'm known by the name ('tis a name rather rare)
Of the coachman that never asks more than his fare.
Though my beasts should be dull, yet I don't use them ill;
Though they stumble, I swear not, nor cut them up hill ;
For I firmly believe there's no charm in an oath,
That can make a nag trot, when to walk he is loath.
And though I'm a coachman, I'll freely confess,
I beg of my Maker my labors to bless;
I praise him each morning, and pray every night;
And 'tis this makes my heart feel so cheerful and light.
When I drive to a funeral, I care not for drink;
That is not the moment to guzzle, but think;
And I wish I could add, both of coachman and master,
That both of us strove to amend a bit faster.
WHO WAS DROWNED IN RICHARD'S MILL-POND.
TUNE" COLLINS'S MULBERRY-TREE.
Quoth Richard to Bob, “Let things go as they will,
Of pleasure and fun I will still have my fill;
In frolic and mirth I see nothing amiss,
And, though I get tipsy, what harm is in this?
“For e'en Solomon says,—and I vow he says truth, • Rejoice, O young man, in the days of thy youth.'" “ I'm glad," answered Bob, “ you're of Solomon's creed ; But I beg, if you quote him, you'll please to proceed;
“For God (as the wise man continues to sing)
Thy soul into judgment for all this will bring.'
Thus a man may get plunged in a woful abyss,
By choosing to say, Pray, what harm is in this ?”
“Come, come,” says gay Richard, “don't grudge me a cup;
I'm resolved, while I'm able, I'll still keep it up;
Let old graybeards deny that in frolic there's bliss,
I'll game, love, and drink-and what harm is in this ?”
Says Robert, “ I grant, if you live for to-day,
You may game, love, and drink, and may frolic away;
But then, my dear Dick, I again must contend,
That the wise man has bid us—remember the end !”
Says Richard, “When sickness or peevish old age
Shall advance, to dismiss me from life's merry stage,
Repentance just then, boy, may not be amiss,
But while young I'll be jolly-what harm is in this ?"
They parted; and Richard his pastimes begun-
'Twas Richard the jovial, the soul of all fun;
Each dancing-bout, drinking-bout, Dick would attend,
And he sung and he swore, nor once thought of the end.
Young Molly he courted, the pride of the plain;
He promised her marriage, but promised in vain ;
She trusted his vows, but she soon was undone,
And when she lamented, he thought it good fun.
Thus scorned by her Richard, sad Molly ran wild,
And roamed through the woods with her destitute child ;
Till Molly and Molly's poor baby were found,
One evening, in Richard's own mill-pond both drowned.
Then his conscience grew troubled by night and by day,
But its clamor he drowned in more drink and more play;
Still Robert exhorted, and, like a true friend,
He warned him, and prayed him to think on the end !
Now disturbed in his dreams, poor Molly, each night,
With her babe stood before him-how sad was the sight!
O how ghastly she looked as she bade him attend,
And so awfully told him, “ Remember the end !"
She talked of the woes and unquenchable fire
Which await the licentious, the drunkard, and liar:
How he ruined more maidens, she bade him beware;
Then she wept, and she groaned, and she vanished in air.
Now beggared by gaming, distempered by drink,
Death stared in his face, yet he dared not to think ;
Despairing of mercy, despising all truth,
He died of old age in the prime of his youth.
On his tomb-stone good Robert these verses engraved,
Which he hoped some gay fellow might read and be saved:
Here lies a poor youth, who called drinking his bliss,
And was ruined by saying, What harm is in this ?
Let each passer-by to his error attend,
And learn of poor Dick to remember the end !
THE DANGER OF EVIL COMPANY
THERE was a young west country man,
A carpenter by trade,
A skilful wheelwright too was he,
And few such wagons made.
No man a tighter barn could build,
Throughout his native town;
Through many a village round was he
The best of workmen known.
His father left him what he had,
In sooth it was enough,
His shining pewter, pots of brass,
And all his household stuff.
A little cottage too he had,
For ease and comfort planned;
And, that he might not lack for aught,
An acre of good land.
A pleasant orchard too there was
Before his cottage door :
Of cider and of corn likewise
He had a little store.
Active and healthy, stout and young,
No business wanted he:
Now tell me, reader, if you can,
What man more blessed could be ?
To make his comfort quite complete,
He had a faithful wife;
Frugal, and neat, and good was she,
The blessing of his life.
Where is the lord, or where the squire,
Had greater cause to praise
The goodness of that bounteous hand
Which blessed his prosperous days?