MODERN FASHIONS. Tune—"Bow wow."

Good people all attend to me, I'll sing you a merry tale, sir, About the various novelties and titles that prevail sir; For now both Lords and Ladies that wear their hair or wigs sir, If they throw powder on their heads, are called Guinea pigs, sir. Squeak, Squeak, Squeak, Pretty Guinea Pigs, Sir.

Then for the rest, whose hungry maws a guinea can't afford, sir, They are, by pride and folly's laws, call'd swine, upon my word, sir; And if to save appearances they cut their hair away, sir, Why then we call them simple crops, and laugh at them all day, sir, Ha! ha! ha! a pretty herd of swine, sir, Grunt, Grunt, Grunt.

Twas yesterday I saw a beau come tripping thro' a square, sir, Two pounds of powder on his sconce to hide his want of hair, sir; He met a taylor on the way, a little dapper dog, sir, And push'd him from him with disdain, crying "surely your a hog, sir," Hog, hog, hog A little dirty hog, sir.

The taylor bristled up his locks, and snapt his sheers in fury, Saying, "tho' your tail is now so long, I'll warrant these will cure ye; To call a man like me a hog—a very pretty rig, sir, You saucy stub-nose puppy dog—nay hang me your a pig, sir." Pig, pig, pig, A stupid long tail pig, Sir.

The taylor flourishing his shears, then seiz'd his hair so neatly, That in a trice he whipt it off, and dock'd him most completely; The beau stood trembling by his side, while stitch-louse full of gig, sir, Cried, "smoke a beau who's lost his tail, a stump tail Guinea pig, sir. Crop, crop, crop. A pig without a tail, sir.

Then we have coats without the skirts, call'd Spencers by the mob, sir, And hats with brims twelve inches round, to fit each kiddy's knob, sir; Besides our ladies in their caps have feathers niddy noddy, sir, And round their necks they wear cravats, and gowns without a body, sir. Oh! oh! oh! Our ladies have no bodies, sir, No, no, no.

Likewise our females on their heads place turbans like a turk, sir, And golden chains hang down their breasts, of ornamental work, sir; Those beauties they contrive to show, which poor men soon bewitches, Indeed, I'm told it for a fact, they often wear the breeches. Lack! Lack! Lack! Women wear the breeches, sir.

Now prosper well my neighbours all, and let the fashions pass, sir, May every one have health and strength, both pig and swinish class, sir; Then let us always merry be, or hot or cold the weather, And may we ever well agree, like loving pigs together. Grunt, Grunt, Grunt, &c.