BANG UP ______ RANDOM, OR TANDEM.

Published 4th April, 1810, by LAURIE & WHITTLE, N° 53, Fleet Street, London.

SOME PUSH ALONG WITH FOUR IN HAND WHILE OTHERS DRIVE AT RANDOM.

Written by J. POCOCK, Esq.; composed by Mr. C. SMITH; and sung, with unbounded Applause, by Mr. MATHEWS, in the Musical Farce, called "Hit or Miss!" at the Lyceum Theatre, Strand.

WITH spirits gay I mount the box, the tits up to their traces,
My elbows squar'd, my wrist turn'd down, dash off to Epsom races;
With Buxton bit, bridoon so trim, three chesnuts and a grey,
Well coupled up my leaders then, ye hip! we bowl away.
Some push along with four in hand, while others drive at random,
In whisky, buggy, gig, or dog-cart, curricule, or tandem.

(Spoken.)—Ya! ya! ya hip! go along wi' ye.—I say, Bill, if I hadn't turn'd the leader neatly over the old woman, we shou'd have dash'd neck and crop into the China-shop.—Why didn't you keep on that side of the road?—Where are you coming, Johnny Raw?—You be d—d, who made you a coachman? Why didn't you let your servant take hold of the reins?—Where are you going to now?—Ya hip! had all the Brighton flashmen in a long-trot.—D—me, that's prime!

Some push along, &c.

Prime of life to go it, where's a place like London?
Four in hand to-day, the next you may be undone;
Where belles as well as beaux, to get the whip-hand
strive,
And Mrs. Snip, the taylor's wife, can teach her spouse
to drive.
So Jackey Snip, his wife and all, to Dobbin's back are
strap'd on,
In one-horse chay to spend the day, with neighbour
Stitch at Clapton.

(Spoken.)—Master Snip, I desire you'll not be vulgar to-day.—Vell, I von't, if I can help it.—Here, ostler, bring my dog a snap of hay, and the horse a glass of gin and beer.—Landlord, bring me a thimble-full of brandy.—Who are you? Who learn'd you to drive?—What d'ye mean by that? I'm Richard Cypher, Esq., attorney and solicitor, belonging to the Honourable Neck or Nothing, have gone through all the graduations of buggy, gig, and dog-cart, tandem, curricule, uni-corn, and four in hand; neglected nothing, dash'd at every thing—pegg'd at a Jervy—tool'd a mail-coach—and now have attain'd the credit of being bang up.

Some push along, &c.

Thus 'tis with all who in London are thriving,
Both high life and low life at something are driving,
A peer and a 'prentice now dress so much the same,
You cannot tell the diff'rence, excepting by the name.
On Epsom Downs, says Billy, zounds! that cannot be
Lord Jackey,
Egad! but now I see it is—I took him for his lac-quey.

(Spoken.)—Ya! ya hip! ya hip! prime work—
kept the Bristol mail at long-trot—Why, these men
haven't paid the toll—Didn't I show you the ticket?
—What's the number?—231—Pay the man, or I'll
knock your chops about—You've got no money—
That's a queer half-crown, it won't do, it's a French-
man. You'd better give us threepenn'orth of
Brumjim ha'pence, than this French Emperor's
money.—That's not what I gave you.—Yes, it is—
None of your smashing tricks here—Why, zounds,
this is a proper cross and jostle!—Spoonies, sawnies,
come be off—thus

Some dash along, &c.