Stagecoachman's Lament

Farewell to my tight little cutch
Farewell to my neat four inside¹ !
Like a shabby old crack'd rabbit-hutch
They have treated the pet of my pride.

How she stood on her rollers so clean I
How she scuttled along like a doe,
Or a bowl on a close-shaven green!
Ah! War't she a rum¹'un to go !

But now all her claims are forgot,
And they've pull'd out her in'ards so soft,
And they've laid up her carcass to rot
In a hole of a cutch-maker's loft.

Farewell to my four iron greys,
And the rest of the prads¹ that I drive !
In these selfish and steam sniffing days,
'Tisn't fit for good hosses to live.

Your prime fast machiners¹ in lots
To the hammer are shamefully led : [Note 554.1]
'Twere better, like so many stots¹,
To knock 'em at once on the head.

My face from such deeds turns awry-
Not so with your change-hunting swarm :
Here's times for the knackers¹, says I ;
'Tis the spirit, says they, of Reform. [Note 554.3]

Some pretended to pity my case,
And they told me - the govenor chaps,
I might have in the railway a place, [Note 554.2]
To look arter the luggage and traps¹.

But I bowed, and I grabbed up my hat,
And shied off, as though stung by a bee ;
Only think of an offer like that
To a slap-up¹ swell¹ dragsman¹ like me

The source prints * * * * * here, perhaps verses have been omitted

A plague on them leaders, the Whigs !
I'm a given to think very much
That in runnin' their rascally rigs¹,
They'll upset, by-and-by, the State-cutch.