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. Should you meet with a female, whose hair is cut short, Among other fair ones she is but a sport; She looks very shabby and out of repair, When she’s wanting the comb, and the paper’d-up hair. But when they are married, it’s just the reverse, The paper and combs they quickly disperse; For nursing and cooking is then their whole care, They may then bid adieu to the paper’d-up hair. _I LIKES A DROP OF GOOD BEER._ COME one and all, both great and small, With voices loud and clear, And let us sing, bless Billy the King, Who bated the tax upon beer. _Chorus._ _For I likes a drop of good beer, I does, I’se pertickler fond of my beer, I is, And ---- his eyes, whoever he tries To rob a poor man of his beer._ Let Ministers shape the Duty on Cape, And cause Port wine to be dear, So that they keep, the bread and meat cheap, And gie us a drop of good beer. In drinking of rum, the maggots will come, And soon bald pates will appear; I never goes out, but I carries about, My little pint noggin of beer. My wife and I, feel always dry, At market on Saturday night, Then a noggin of beer, I never need fear, For my wife always says it is right. In harvest field, there’s nothing can yield, The labouring man such good cheer, To reap and sow, and make barley grow, And to give them a skinfull of beer. The farmer’s board will plenty afford, Let it come from far, or from near, And at harvest home, the jug will foam, If he gives his men plenty of beer. Long may Queen Victoria reign, And be to her subjects dear, And we’ll wallop her foes, wherever we goes, Only give us a skinfull of beer. [Illustration] _THE SNOB AND THE BOTTLE._