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 It is well kent, their face they paint,

they are o vain and idle;

To bulk and dres, more time they pas,

than they do on their Bible.

With muffs and frils, and cardinals,

made of the finet carlet,

They worn are, I do declare,

by many a common harlot.

Their qualitie, come show to me,

you’ll not know’t by their cleeding,

Dear neighbour, then, I’ll tell you plain,

you’ll find it by their breeding.

They cure and wear, and dominier,

and cold like any randy ;

Their morning drink, I really think,

is whiky, gin or brandy.

And if they chance to prove with child,

or loe their reputation,

O then ets up a tipling-houe,

and that’s their occupation.

Such conduct leads from whores to thieves

but ’mark the dimal tory!

By hangy’s hands their lives they end,

and that’s call’d Tyburn’s glory.

Fal-de-ral-lal de-ral.