With the sleeves on their arms like a coal-porter’s sack,
Their cockleshell bonnets and Jack Sheppard hats.
The ladies hooped petticoats dragging around,
Just cover a mile and three-quarters of ground.
Oh, I must have a husband young Jenny did say,
I will be in the fashion so buxom and gay,
With a bustle before and another behind,
And under my trousers a big crinoline.
When I’m married, my husband upon me will doat,
Looking so fine in a hooped petticoat.