The Hackney Coachman; or, the Way to Get a Good Fare

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.
Tho' 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.

What tho' at a tavern my gentleman tarries,
Why the coachman grows richer than he whom he carries;
And I'd rather (say I) since it saves me from sin,
Be the Driver without than the Toper within.

For the dram-shop I hate and the dram-drinking friend,
Yet I'm not quite so good but I wish I may mend;
I repent of my sins since we all are deprav'd,
For a Coachman, I hold, has a soul to be sav'd.

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 thro' the door-way, for here 'tis the sin,
To loiter without when one might enter in.

Then my glasses are whole, and my coach is so neat,
I am always the first to be call'd 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.

Tho' my beasts should be dull yet I don't use them ill;
Tho' 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 loth.

And tho' 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 Fun'ral I care not for drink,
That is not the moment to guzzle, but think;
And I wish I cou'd add both of Coachman and Master,
That both of us strove to amend a bit faster.