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 Let Ladies prudishly deny,

Look cold, and give their tongue the lye,

I own the passion in my breast,

And long to make my lover bless’d.

For this the Sailor on the mast,

Endures the cold and cutting blast,

All dropping wet throughout the night,

And braves the fury of the fight.

For this the Virgin pines and sighs,

With throbbing heart and streaming eyes,

’Tis sweet rivers of joy he proves,

And clasps the tender lad she loves.

Ye British youths, be brave, you’ll find,

The British Virgins will prove kind:

Protect their beauty from all harms.

And they’d reward you with their charms.

 

people speak of Hector’s deeds,

and Alexander’s fame,

Some of proud Nero’s tyrannies,

but no such thing we’d name;

But listen and I will declare,

as briefly as I can,

The only fashion now in vogue,

is call’d the gown of green.

Young women they are fickle things,

when they begin to woo

The more you follow after them,

the more they fly from you: