The world’s turned upside down; The ladies will be tailors, And serve Old England’s Queen As soldiers and as sailors. Won’t they look funny when The seas are getting lumpy, Or when they ride astride Upon an Irish donkey? The ladies will be right; Their husbands will be undone, Since Bloomers have arrived To teach the folks of London-- The females all I mean-- How to lay out their riches In Yankee-Doodle-doos And a stunning pair of breeches. Female apparel now Is gone to pot, I vow, sirs, And ladies will be fined Who _don’t_ wear coats and trousers; Blucher boots and hats, And shirts with handsome stitches,-- Oh, dear! what shall we do When women wear the breeches? Now some will wear smock-frocks And hobnail shoes, I vow, sirs; Jenny, Bet, and Sal, Cock’d hat and woollen trousers. Yankee-Doodle-doo, Rolling in the ditches; Married men prepare To buy the women breeches! _Punch_ had, among other Bloomer skits, the following rather good example:-- MRS. GRUNDY ON BLOOMERISM. Hoity-toity!--don’t tell me about the nasty stupid fashion! Stuff and nonsense!--the idea’s enough to put one in a passion. I’d allow no such high jinkses, if I was the creatures’ parent. ‘Bloomers’ are they--forward minxes? I soon Bloomer ’em, I warrant. I’ve no patience nor forbearance with ‘em--scornin’ them as bore ’em; What! they can’t dress like their mothers was content to dress before ’em,-- Wearing what-d’ye-call-’ems--Gracious! brass itself ain’t half so brazen; Why, they must look more audacious than that what!s-a-name--Amàzon! Ha! they’ll smoke tobacco next, and take their thimblefuls of brandy, Bringing shame upon their sex, by aping of the jack-a-dandy. Yes; and then you’ll have them shortly showing off their bold bare faces, Prancing all so pert and portly at their Derbys and their races. Oh! when once they have begun, there’s none can say where they’ll be stopping-- Out they’ll go with dog and gun; perhaps a-shooting and a-popping. Aye! and like as not, you’ll see, if you’ve a Bloomer for your daughter, Her ladyship, so fine and free, a-pulling matches on the water; Sitting in a pottus tap, a-talking politics and jawing; Or else a-reading _Punch_, mayhap, and hee-heeing and haw-hawing. I can’t a-bear such flighty ways--I can’t abide such flaunty tast_es_. And so they must leave off their stays, to show their dainty shapes and waist_ses_! I’d not have my feet filagreed, for ever so, like these young women. No; you won’t see _me_, I’ll be bound, dressed half-and-half, as a young feller; I’ll stick to my old shawl and gownd, my pattens, and my umbereller.