To sit up agin Providince, which your a doing,—nor not fit It should,
For man warnt maid for Wommens starvation,
Nor to do away Laundrisses as is Links of Creation—
And can't be dun without in any Country But a Hottinpot Nation.
Ah, I wish our Minister would take one of your Tubbs
And preach a Sermon in it, and give you some good rubs—
But I warrants you reads (for you cant spel we nose) nayther Bybills or Good Tracks,
Or youd know better than Taking the Close off one's Backs—
And let your neighbours oxin and Asses alone,—
And every Thing thats hern,—and give every one their Hone!