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.