All is ours and our HUSBANDS, Or the Country Hostesses VINDICATION.
She durst not Scold 'tis counted for an Evil.
Sheel cheat and whore, and yet be counted civil;
Sheel fill her Pocketsby poor Drunkards Losses,
And send them all to Jayl by weeping Crosses.
To the Tune, of the Carmans VVhistle, Or High Boys up go we.
COme all you Tribes of Hostises,
That Women against do rail,
Come lend me some of your advice
Their glamorous Tongues to quail;
And I will make it plain appear
By nothing but what is true,
That all that we get in the Year
Is nothing but what's our Due.
For if anhonest Company
Of boon good fellows come:
And call for Liquor merrily
In any private Room:
Then if I fill the Juggs with Froth
Or cheat them of one or two
If I can swear them out of both
The Reckoning is my due.
Or if a shurking Fellow come
That have no mony at all
And take up any of my Room
And for my Liquor call:
Then if I take away their Coat
Let it be old or new:
Or worth a Crown more than thee shot,
'Tis nothing but what's my Due.
And some their are that are so
[...]old,
To swear that I must trust,
When once my drink they have they think
That then besure we must:
From such the Court or common Law,
What'ere their Wives insue
Shall make their Arse to lye in Straw
Their Beedding is all my due.
My Husband must not Plow or Cart,
Or work like other Men:
My Children must not learn the art
To either Card or Spin?
My Tapster must live fine and brave
For he of one make two
And many a Groat for me he save
'Tis nothing &c.
But I must have another way
Our livings for get,
And when you hear I'm sur you'l say
'Tis nothing but what is fit:
If Tap should fayl toot go the Tail
The Proverb old is true,
If half a piece come to my Fleece
'Tis nothing &c.
Perhaps our Husbands would repine,
If they of this should know
And think our little Babes divine
Were got in Cuckolds Row
You know their gains come by the pains
Of only me and you,
They must not scorn to wear the horn
'Tis nothing &c.
Come Neighbours drink with one consent
A lusty Bowl of Wine
'Twill break our Hearts of discontent
And make our Noses shine:
Each took the Cup and drank it up
And swore shee'd spoken true
And vow'd to have the 'tother Sup
Before they bid her adieu
Then I that heard the Verdict past
How this base cheating Crew,
Consented all both first and last
To make make poor Drunkards Rue;
I took my Pen and writ this Song
And to the Drunkards send it
That they with me may strive to see
Their wicked Life and mend it,
Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-Corner