YOU'RE bound to nothing, strictly speaking, But just to keep the wheels from creaking; And then to drive just slower, faster, To please yourself more than your Master. But teach your horses, when you're toping, The art to stand stock-still and moping. Tell Master that they're getting old, And "one on 'em has got a cold," When at the alehouse you've a call, And not inclined to drive at all. If Master takes a short excursion, Get drunk, and play up 'Mag's diversion;' Pass some deep pit close to the brink, To show you're none the worse for drink; And swear you can't decline 'October,' Or drive quite well if you're quite sober!
LET children always, when they're ill, Both eat and drink whate'er they will; Although 'forbid' by Doctor Diet, 'Twill do 'em good, and keep 'em quiet. They'll love you--all, and take it kind too, To throw their physic out of window: Remember, though, 'tis quite as well To bid the poor things "not to _tell_." Do for your Mistress just the same, If laid up either sick or lame; And if she 'longs,'--whate'er the food, Engage that it will do her good. But if she goes to whip a child, Declare you're 'druv' distracted, wild; And swear to leave _her_ place you'd 'ruther,' Than live with such a _cruel_ mother!
But don't go far enough to fret her; She'll scold, but love you all the better For taking the 'dear children's part,'-- You've "railly such a tender heart!" Yet when you're flirting in the park, Make 'em stop out till quite pitch dark; And 'if so be as how' they cry, "They'll go to Bogey certain-ly!"
BE ever putting forth a splutter Of the fatigue of making butter: Even in summer you must learn Always to have a scalding churn. Cream a week old at least desire, And churn close to the kitchen fire. But of your business, still the great art Is,--saving cream for your own sweetheart!
PERCHANCE, should you the child 'let fall,' Confessing it 'won't do at all;' None can the secret e'er discover, And if it _dies_, the danger's over. To your own breast confine the bilk, And save--your 'breasteziz' of milk. Wean 'such as live' as soon as may be, Out o' the way of the next baby.
WHEN such a 'fantigue' you have been in, You've with the iron singed the linen; Rub it with whiting, chalk, or flour, For just the space of half an hour: Then washing,--by repeated fags Twill be all _right_, or--_all in rags_.