No, Captain, I should know the Royal Mail, But when did you take up the coaching trade? I had as soon expect to see old Dick Throw leg across your Monmouth's gleaming back, Thrust pistols in his belt, and gallop off To make his fortune in the light o' the moon, As to find you, the Master of the Heath, The Devil's Treasurer, the Velvet Mask, The Silver Pistoleer, the Winged Thief, Sitting with down-cast Sabbath-keeping eyes, Sad lips, and nose all fixed for droning psalms, In old Dick's place upon the Royal Mail. A proper driver for a coach and four! ASHMAN Ha' done! God's mercy on us! Let me speak, And I will tell you such a waggery Will make you laugh and split your pretty sides: I stole the Royal Mail! LITTLE GIRL You stole the Mail? ASHMAN Aye, prigged it, Kate! Why, here it is, you see, Box, boot and wheels, four horses and a whip, And on the door King George's coat of arms. All mine, good lass, all mine. But for a price, A bitter price, dear Kate. For Monmouth's dead! LITTLE GIRL What, Monmouth, best of horses, is he dead? O Captain Thunder, never tell me that! Why, all the world holds not another horse So glossy black, so fleet, so wise, so kind! ASHMAN Yes, Monmouth's dead. Dick shot him through the heart, And Monmouth dropped without a whinny. But I paid Dick back. O Monmouth is avenged! Now, hear me, Kate! I stopped the Royal Mail Last night at twelve o'clock at Carter's Cross, Says I, "Stand now! And let me have the bags-- That's all I want to-night! Hand over, there!" Dick pulls his leaders on their haunches. "Why," Says he, "it's Captain Thunder! By my wig! Just help yourself!" I prigged his pistol belt And rode around to look inside the coach. I got the bags. The passengers were three. My Lord of Bath and Wells-- LITTLE GIRL A Bishop, what? ASHMAN