When the slow coach paused, and the gemmen stormed,
I bore the brunt;
And the only sound which my grave lips formed
Was "blunt,"--still "blunt"!

Oh, those jovial days are ne'er forgot!
But the tape lags--
When I be's dead, you'll drink one pot
To poor old Bags!

CHORUS. To poor old Bags!

"Ay, that we will, my dear Bagshot," cried Gentleman George,
affectionately; but observing a tear in the fine old fellow's eye,
he added: "Cheer up! What, ho! cheer up! Times will improve, and
Providence may yet send us one good year, when you shall be as well off
as ever. You shakes your poll. Well, don't be humdurgeoned, but knock
down a gemman."

Dashing away the drop of sensibility, the veteran knocked down Gentleman
George himself.

"Oh, dang it!" said George, with an air of dignity, "I ought to skip,
since I finds the lush; but howsomever here goes."

GENTLEMAN GEORGE'S SONG.

Air: "Old King Cole."

I be's the cove, the merry old cove,