The Petticoat: A New Song

'Twas sometime, worthy sirs, in May,
No matter in what year;
When boys and girls together play,
And drink in merry cheer.

It happen'd once, a waggish set,
Bethought 'em of a joke;
And near a mighty mansion met,
The Lord on't to provoke.

High in the air a trophy bore,
I'faith a strange conceit;
And crowding round his lordship's door,
They hallow'd bread and meat;

A magistrate in truth was he,
Of noble blood deriv'd;
No mortal had a heart more free,
His equal ne'er surviv'd.

The uproar drew his lordship out,
To know what it cou'd mean;
But on his chaps receiv'd a clout,
That sent him in again.

But turning round, he cast his eyes,
And view'd the shameful scene;
Revenge! revenge! revenge! he cries,
Was ere the like on't seen.

A pettycoat and breeches hung,
Both dangling on a pole;
The street with claps and hissing rung,
Enough to charm one's soul.

The meaning soon his lordship knew,
And streight he rais'd a band;
Who joining him, like hero's flew,
And seiz'd it sword in hand.

Did ever knight in days in yore,
Atchieve such envy'd fame;
Did ever mortal man before,
Deserve so great a name.

The k—, God bless his royal heart,
Of his own wise accord;
Streight acted he the k—y part,
And gave him due reward.

Now, high in council seat he's plac'd,
To rule o'er rich and poor;
Was ever k— before so grac'd,
By any man before.

Now be it known to great and small,
The wonders he has done;
And to his fame let bunters ball,
As thro' the streets they run.