Roll into these taverns and dram-drinking snugs,
As brazen as brass to get an odd glass.
In some of these shops where a fool cannot pass.
No wonder that Pop-ticket, women and wags,
Are dressed up in nothing but patches and rags.
Their dresses and shawls for strong liquor they’ll swop,
Yes, Tagrag and Bobtail must go to the pop;
And when this is done, away they will run,
To either a Lion, a Bull, or a Sun.
Such poor sorry women who pledge their old rags,