Hints on Driving

I beg leave to remain, Mr. Editor,

Your obliged Servant,

A FRIEND TO THE SUBSCRIPTION COACHES.

ALL THE WORLD IS A STAGE COACH: IT HAS ITS INSIDES AND OUTSIDES, AND

COACHMEN IN THEIR TIME SEE MUCH FUN.”—OLD PLAY

Tune—“The Huntsman Winds his Horn.”

 
Some people delight in the sports of the turf
Whilst others love only the chace,
But to me, the delight above all others is
A good Coach that can go the pace.
There are some, too, for whom the sea has its charms
And who’ll sing of it night and morn,
But give me a Coach with its rattling bars
And a Guard who can blow his horn.
But give me a Coach, &c.
 
 
When the Coach comes round to the office door,
What a crowd to see it start,
And the thoughts of the drive, cheer up many who leave
Their friends with an aching heart.
The prads are so anxiously tossing their heads,
And a nosegay does each one adorn,
When the Dragsman jumps up, crying out “sit fast,”
While the shooter blows his horn.
When the Dragsman jumps up, &c.
 
 
Now merrily rolls the Coach along,
Like a bird she seems to fly,
As the girls all look out from the roadside Inns,
For a wink from the Dragsman’s eye,
How they long for a ride with the man who’s the pride
Of each village through which he is borne,
On that Coach which he tools with so skilful a hand,
While the Guard plays a tune on his horn.
On that Coach, &c.
 
 
How the girls all dote on the sight of the Coach,
And the Dragsman’s curly locks,
As he rattles along with eleven and four,
And a petticoat on the box.
That box is his home, his teams are his pride,
And he ne’er feels downcast or forlorn,
When he lists to the musical sound of the bars,
And the tune from the shooter’s horn.
When he lists, &c.
 
 
I have sung of the joys one feels on a Coach,
And the beauty there is in a team,
So let us all hope they may ne’er be destroyed
By the rascally railroads and steam.
There are still some good friends who’ll stick by the old trade,
And who truly their absence would mourn,
“So here’s a health to the Dragsman, success to the bars,
And the Guard who blows his horn.”
So here’s a health, &c.
 

Tune—“The Queen, God bless her.”

1

 
See that splendid fast Coach, well-named “TALLY HO,”
With prads that can come the long trot;
Do their twelve miles an hour—like flashes they go,
Spinning smoothly along as a top.
 

2

 
With Ward and John Hex, or Hardcastle and Judd,
How devoted they are to the fair;
In their vests there you find the red rose in the bud,
Perfuming the Summer soft air.
Tally Ho, &c., &c.
 

3

 
Four within and twelve out, see they usually start,
And the horn sounding right merrily;
Good humour and glee do these gay lads impart,
And their management’s right to a T.
 

4

 
But, how shall we grieve, when the fam’d “Tally Ho,”
Shares the fate of those now long gone by?
Yet—we’ll toast its fond mem’ry wherever we go,
For the sound of its name shall ne’er die.
Tally Ho, &c., &c.