There’s a farmer’s daughter,—sweet eighteen,
With nineteen hoops in her crinoline;
It’s just a mile round the brim of her hat,
She has got a cock-eye and a hump on her back.
Triumphal arches I’ll be bound,
Decorating —— —— town;
With hearts so light and spirits gay,
Hark! how the bands of music play.
Some young ladies dress’d in white,
Will be stopping out all night;