Blaeberries/The wanton wives and girls of Hull

A NEW SONG,
On the Wanton Girls and wanton Wives of HULL.

You bucks of Hull I pray draw near,
⁠and liſten to my ſtory.
Since the Highland lads have been in town,
⁠wives and girls were in their glory;
Theſe gallant heroes of Waterloo,
⁠they merrily lead their lives, ſir.
They ſport and play with pretty girls,
⁠and of oft with ſailors' wives, ſir.

Almoſt every night in the Garriſon,
⁠thoſe wives attend the parade, ſir,
The Highland lads tip them the wink,
⁠O thus the bargain's made, ſir,
Then arm in arm, ſo lovingly,
⁠to a dram ſhop take their way, ſir.
Then back again to the barrack rooms,
⁠and all night with them lay, ſir.

A Captain's Miſs as we are told,
⁠who dreſſes fine and gay, ſir,
To the Garriſon ſhe went each night,
⁠to hear the muſic play, ſir.
For the ſcarlet coat and glittering ſword,
⁠is her chief delight, ſir,
To drink a bottle of wine or two,
⁠and with them paſs the night, ſir.

Miſs Dorothy, with face well parch'd,
⁠ſhe cuts a tearing ſhow, ſir.
With hat of blue and ſpencer green,
⁠you may her well know ſir;
The widow alſo trips the green,
⁠dreſs'd in her widow weeds, ſir,
And well ſhe treats the Highland lads,
⁠for their noble deeds, ſr.

Poor ſailor Jack to the ſea he went
⁠to kill the Greenland whale ſir.
He left his ſpouſe a guinea a month,
⁠to draw it ſhe did not fail ſir,
Then lay with the ſoldier every night.
⁠a very pretty rig ſir,
To get him money and ruffled ſhirts,
⁠ſhe ſold a good fat pig, ſir.

I think theſe wives are going mad,
⁠with an itching in their t---s, ſir,
They ſport and play both night and day
⁠while their ouſbands hunt the whale, ſir,
They even ſell their ſmocks and gowns
⁠to ſupport their evil way, ſir.
Then chalk up a ſcore and play the w--re,
⁠what will their huſbands ſay, ſir.

They're worſe than the common girls,
⁠that do it for a living, ſir:
They rob their huſbands night and day,
⁠to the ſoldiers they keep giving;
They tip them money to do a job,
⁠I mean in the ſmall way, ſir,
They treat them with brandy, rum or gin
⁠out of their monthly pay, ſir.

Theſe wanton jades they kiſs and toy
⁠all on the barrack beds, ſir,
And horns long they clap upon
⁠their pour huſband's heads, ſir;
They begin to rue when its too late,
⁠it grieves them very ſore, ſir,
They're afraid when their husbands come
⁠they'll never own them more, ſir.

FINIS.