country-dances, though perfect in none but the reel of Gamon.
Yet theſe are they the fickle farmer fixes his fancy upon; a bundle of clouts, a ſkeleton of bones, Maggy and the Much, like twa fir-ſticks and a pickle tow, neither for his plate nor his plow; very unproper pleniſhing, neither for his profit nor her pleaſure, to plout her hands through Hawkey’s caff-cog, is a hateful hardſhip for Mammy’s Pet, and will hack a’ her hands. All this I have ſeen and heard, and been witneſs to; but my pen being a gooſe-quill, cannot expoſe their names nor places of abode, but warns the working men out of their way.
Secondly, I ſee another ſort, who can work, an maun work till they be married, and become miſtreſſes themſelves; but as the young man receives them, the thrift leaves them; before that, they wrought as for a wager, they ſpan as for a premium, buſked as for a brag, ſcour’d their din ſkins as a wauker does worſted blankets, kept as mim in the mouth as a miniſter’s wife, comely as Diana, chaste as Suſanna, yet the whole of their toil is the trimming of their rigging, though their hulls be everlaſtingly in a leaking condition; their backs and their bellies are box’d about with the ſins of a big fiſh, ſix petticoats, a gown and apron, beſides a ſide ſark down to the ankle-banes; ah! what monſtrous rags are here, what a cloth is conſumed for a covering to one pair of
