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 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.