My Husband's known for to be one, That is most Chast and pure; And so would be continually, But for such Jades as you are: You wash, you lick, you smug, you trick, You toss a twire a grin; You nod and wink, and in his Drink, You strive to draw him in: You Lie you Punck, you're always Drunk, And now you Scold and make a Strife, And like a Whore you run o' th' Score, And lead him a weary Life; Tell me so again you dirty Quean, And I'll pull you by the Quoif. Go dress those Brats, those nasty Rats, That have a Lear so drowzy; With Vermin spread they look like Dead, Good Faith they're always Lousie: Pray hold you there, and do not swear, You are not half so sweet; You feed yours up with bit and sup, And give them a dirty Teat: My Girls, my Boys, my only Joys, Are better fed and taught than yours; You lie you Flirt, you look like Dirt, And I'll kick you out of Doors; A very good Jest, pray do your best, And Faith I'll quit your Scores. Go, go you are a nasty Bear, Your Husband cannot bear it; A nasty Quean as e'er was seen, Your Neighbours all can swear it: A fulsome Trot and good for nought, Unless it be to chat; You stole a Spoon out of the Room, Last Christning you were at: You lye you Bitch you've got the Itch, Your Neighbours know you are not sound; Look how you Claw with your nasty Paw, And I'll fell you to the Ground; You've tore my Hood, you shall make it good If it cost me Forty Pound. _The Jovial_ COBLER _of St._ Hellens. [Music] I am a jovial Cobler bold and brave, And as for Employment enough I have: For to keep jogging my Hammer and Awl, _Whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall,_ _Stall, Stall, whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall._ But there's _Dick_ the Carman, and _Hodge_ who drives the Dray For Sixteen, or Eighteen Pence a Day, Slave in the Dirt, whilst I with my Awl, _Get more Money, sitting, sitting in my Stall_, &c. And there's _Tom_ the Porter, Companion of the Pot, Who stands in the Street with his Rope and Knot, Waiting at a Corner to hear who will him call, _Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c. And there's the jolly Broom-man, his Bread for to get, Crys Brooms up and down in the open Street, And one crys broken Glasses tho' ne'er so small, _Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c. And there's another gang of poor smutty Souls, Doth trudge up and down to cry Small-coals; With a Sack on their Back, at a Door stand and call, _Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c. And there's another sort of Notes, Who crys up and down old Suits and Coats; And perhaps some Days get nothing at all, _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c. And there's the Jolly Cooper with his Hoops at his Back, Who trudgeth up and down to see who lack Their Casks to be made tite, with Hoops great and small, _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.