Her fond light head to cover,
Likewise a blue cloak, very good,
Her night intrigues to smother.
Clock stockings she must have (dear wot)
In borrow’d shoes she’s kilted,
Some lent her a blue petticoat,
Both large and bravely quilted.
Of some she got a fine linn-smock,
Lest Peter shou’d grow canty,
And have a stroke at her black joke,