’Tis my fate to suggest, so I’ll just give a hint,
As I mean that my song should be put into print,
The new diligence—Constitution to name,
And King, Lords, and Commons each part of the same.
Should their majesties then wish to come up to town,
In prime style they’d be at St. James’s set down,
If they take the Coupé, and Lords take the coach,
With the Commons I would in the Omni approach.
PAPER’D-UP HAIR.
Of all the gay fashions that are come in vogue,
Since wearing the mantle, or bonny red brogue,
There’s none so praiseworthy—you’ll find—I declare,
As the elegant fashion of papering the hair.
The modern dames, both abroad and at home,
Have got such a fashion of wearing the comb;
To church or to market, they cannot repair,
But must take an hour to paper their hair.
When in the evening they chance for to walk,
To see their sweethearts, and with them to talk,
An hour or two they must certainly spare,
To fit in their combs, and to paper their hair.
From walking at evening these ladies retire,
They draw up their seats, and chat by the fire,
The tongs then to warm, they ready prepare,
To squeeze up the papers quite tight in their hair.
And when that these ladies give over their talk,
Then up to the looking-glass straight they will walk,
They’ll dance, and they’ll caper, their arms they will square,
To see if the papers look tight in their hair.
It’s the cheapest of curling that ever was found,
You may do it with pipes, white, black, or brown;
For colour of hair, I suppose they don’t care,
For they tear up the Bible to paper their hair.
All you young lads that are frisky and trig,
Pray shun the old females that wear a false wig;
To toy with a young one, still make it your care,
Whose delight is to trim up, and paper her hair.