They’d have to come down by the coach in the morning,
As one of the two buggy ponies was lame:
Would I see the old doctor, and give him fair warning
To keep himself decently straight till they came?
I was making good money those times, and a fiver
Per week was the wages my deputy got;
A good, honest worker, an out-and-out driver—
But, like all the rest, a most terrible sot.
So, just on this morning—which made it more sinful—
With my women on board, the unprincipled skunk
Hung round all the bars till he loaded a skinful
Of grog, and then started his journey—dead drunk!
Drunk! with my loved ones on board—drunk as Chloe!
He might have got right by the end of the trip
Had he rested contented and quiet; but no, he
Must pull up at Rosewood, for one other nip.
That finished him off quick, and there he sat, dozing
Like an owl on his perch, half awake, half asleep,
Till a lurch of the coach came, when, suddenly losing
His balance, he fell to earth all of a heap;
While the coach, with its four frightened horses, went sailing
Downhill to perdition and Carabost break—
Four galloping devils, with reins loosely trailing,
And passengers falling all roads in their wake.
