Poor man's counsel, or, The married man's guide/I Tickl'd Each Phyz

I TICKL’D EACH PHYZ.

LOndon town is juſt like a barber’s ſhop,
but by the lord harry 'tis wondrous big,
Then the painted dol and the powder'd fop,
⁠and many a blockhead wears a wig.
⁠And I tickled each Phyz, with a twiggle & a friz,
⁠With a twiggle twiggle twiggle and a frizzel, &c.

A captain of horſe I went for to ſhave,
⁠ho damme, ſays he, with a martial frown,
My razor I pois'd like a barber brave,
⁠I took him by the noſe but he knock'd me down. yet, &c.

Then I went to a lawyer, oh rare ſport!
⁠who had a falſe oath that day for to ſwear,
By my ſkill ſome trouble I fav'd the court,
⁠my hot iron burned the lawyer's ear⁠For, &c.

I next went to dreſs a fine grand miſs,
⁠down the lady ſits and her neck ſhe bares,
But Cupid or the devil bid me ſnatch a kiſs,
⁠ere my iron cool'd I was kick'd down ſtairs. For, &c.

I next went to dreſs an old maid's hair,
⁠wrinkled and bald as a ſcalded pig;
But as ſhe led the dance down with a ſwimming air,
⁠this fine old maiden ſhe drop'd her wig, Tho' &c.