Old Bags's Song.
"Are the days then gone, when on Hounslow Heath
We flash'd our nags?
When the stoutest bosoms quail'd beneath
The voice of Bags?
Ne'er was my work half undone, least
I should be nabb'd:
Slow was old Bags, but he never ceas'd
'Till the whole was grabb'd.
CHORUS.
"'Till the whole was grabb'd."
"When the slow coach paus'd—and the gemmen storm'd,
I bore the brunt—
And the only sound which my grave lips form'd
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!
