BOB LOGIC’S my name, to Brighton I’ve been, I don’t mean to tell you of all I have seen, But the _New Diligence_ is so much to my mind, That to sing in its praise I am fully inclined. _Tippy Jack_, whom we all knew, a trump in his day, Once set off to Brighton, to figure away, But his gig was upset, so let persons of sense, Book for Brighton their place in the _New Diligence_. There’s nothing so sure, as that pleasure they’ll find, Secure at all seasons from weather and wind, And each _Goodman_ will see, when the blasts bitter blow, The passengers all are secured from the _Snow_. For they’re all inside places--no drenching with wet, In safety and comfort the company set; As in six hours time they at Brighton arrive, I am sure that no pleasure can equal the drive. The Coupé the first in description must be, This, in English, means Chariot, and will just hold three; Here a lord, with his lady, and daughter may ride, As in their own carriage, in splendour and pride. The next is the Coach, this is fitted for six, And here is the place where Bob Logic would fix. In company such as he wishes to be, Obliging and civil, good-natured and free. And then comes the Omnibus, four on each side, Hold you secure in all weathers they ride, And if it were possible once to upset, I cannot imagine what harm they could get. How different the time, when on the outside, You held fast by the rail, if you went for a ride, And the loss of a lynch pin, or crack of a spoke, Was the too certain signal to have your neck broke. As economy now is the rage of the day, One Guinea a seat is the price of Coupé, Sixteen shillings the fare in the Coach large and fine, And the price in the Omni, twelve namesakes of mine. ’Tis my fate to suggest, so I’ll just give a hint, As I mean that my song should be put into print, The new diligence--_Constitution_ to name, And King, Lords, and Commons each part of the same. Should their majesties then wish to come up to town, In prime style they’d be at St. James’s set down, If they take the Coupé, and Lords take the coach, With the Commons I would in the Omni approach. _PAPER’D-UP HAIR._ OF all the gay fashions that are come in vogue, Since wearing the mantle, or bonny red brogue, There’s none so praiseworthy--you’ll find--I declare, As the elegant fashion of papering the hair. The modern dames, both abroad and at home, Have got such a fashion of wearing the comb; To church or to market, they cannot repair, But must take an hour to paper their hair. When in the evening they chance for to walk, To see their sweethearts, and with them to talk, An hour or two they must certainly spare, To fit in their combs, and to paper their hair.