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Ye leaders of dreſs and the faſhions,
Who gallop poſt haſte to your ruin,
Who taſte has deſtroy'd all your paſſions,
Pray what do you think of my wooing?
You call it d—n'd low,
Your head and arms ſo,
So liſtleſs, ſo looſe, and ſo lazy;
But pray what can you,
That I cannot do?
O fie, my dear creatures be azy:
Ye patriots and courtiers ſo hearty,
To ſpeech it and vote for your party,
For once be ſo conſtant and ſteady,
And vote to ſupport widow Brady.
To all that I ſee here before me,
The bottom, the top, and the middle,
For muſic we now muſt implore you,
No wedding without pipe and fiddle,
If all are not in tune,
Pray let it be ſoon,
My heart in my boſom is prancing!
If your hands ſhould unite,
To give us delight,
O that's the beſt piping and dancing,
Your plaudits to me are a treaſure,
Your ſmiles a dow'r for a Lady,
O joy to you all in full meaſure,
So wiſhes and prays Mother Brady.
