This song is imperfectly compiled from part of a “Satyr upon Women,” wrote in Preston prison, in 1715 by Mr James Robson, a freeholder in Thropton, near Rothbury, Northumberland, at that time a musician in the rebel army. He sung the Satyr aloud, at an iron barred window looking into a garden, where a lady and her maid were walking: after the song was finished, the former says, “That young man seems very severe upon our sex; but perhaps he is singing more from oppression than pleasure; go give him that half crown piece,” which the girl gave him through the grating, at a period when he was at the point of starving. All men of high and low degree, Come listen to my song; The subject suits both you and me, With attestations strong: Therefore I hope you’ll not be nice, Attention true to pay, And hence adhere to my advice, Lest you be led astray. Should you to marry be inclin’d, I charge you to beware; And caution you to change your mind, Thus to escape that snare; Be not decoy’d by age nor youth, Whose aims are artful all; But take my word as standard truth, You here may stand or fall. If you should wed one with a dower, Obedience you must pay; Or if you marry one who’s poor, In rags you must array: If you a blooming beauty wed, A cuckold you must be; And if a brunet blight your bed, You’ll blush when belles you see. Should you select a learned lass, Impertinence must pall; Or cull one from a vulgar class, She balderdash will bawl: If you adopt a daft town’s dame, Her behests will be bold: Or coax one of inferior fame, She’ll curse, carouse, and scold. Shun lofty looks, and language loud, No stripes such tongues can tame; Fly wanton wenches mirthful mood, Which counsel can’t reclaim: A wife of stature tall will dare, To drag a giant down; And little women wicked are, One crop’d strong Samson’s crown. Reflect that Adam’s innocence, Was to Eve’s blunder blind; Whose crafty crime caus’d to commence, A curse upon mankind; So you cannot too cautious be, Of wormwood mix’d with gall; Then friends pray be advis’d by me, To wed with _none at all_! TWEED SIDE. On travelling down Tweed side, I heard an uncouth chit chat; An old wife thus her neighbour did chide, May curses confound your cat! His plunder I’ll tell you pit pat, Our hut he inhabits at ease; He broke into our buffet, And munch’d up our ewe-milk cheese. He lifts up our larder latch, And he skims all the cream off the milk; The callans he’ll bite and he’ll scratch, And the brats of their boiley will bilk. No farley to find him so fat, Beef, bacon, and butter, he eats; And ne’er hunts for a mouse nor a rat, But sups upon savory meats.