Page:Song, on the grand illumination in Glasgow.pdf/5

 my paſſion no more tenderː

I’ll leave the Buſh aboon Traquire,

to lonely woods I’ll wander.

Good people all I pray draw near,

in country and in town Sir,

The pride is got to ſuch a pitch,

the world’s turn’d upſide down Sir:

They are contriving every day,

their pretty ſhapes to ſpoil Sir.

Since ſhort waiſted gowns they all do wear,

their hump-backs for to hide Sir.

Chor, So Ladies of the fashion now,

adhere unto «y cenſures,

I have ſhort waiſted gowns to ſell,

and very pretty ſpencers.

The ſervant girls they imitate,

the pride in every piece Sir,

And if they wear a flow'red gown,

they’ll have it made ſhort waiſt Sir,

They’d have it rumped all behind,

it hangs juſt like a wallet,

With a ſcull-cap on their head,

juſt like a Scotchmans bonnet.

It was in London you ſhall hear,

upon a certain day ſir,

A lady ſhe was dreſsed up,

and going to the play Sir,

The bluſt’ring winds did blow ſo hard,

blew off her cap and wig Sir,

With muff and tippet round her neck,

ſhe look’d like a hairy pig.