THE GREEN-WIVES' LAMENTATION.

Wor Green-stalls on Sandhill, se lang fam'd of yore, Where Greenwives display'd all their fresh shining store, Where tubs wi' tatoes their proud crests did rear, Cabbage, carrots, an' turnips wi' joy did appear. Wor time on the Sandhill wi' pleasure did glide, To display all wor wares and to scold was wor pride; Wor noise did the greet folks of Gotham engage: By the stalls of the Butchers we're now to be caged. But think not the Sandhill we'll tamely resign, By the L—d we will meet an' we'll kick up a shine! Wor voice we'll extend, and with noise rend the sky, When from the Sandhill we're compell'd to fly. With speed, haste assemble the first market-day, Wor forces we'll marshal in glorious array: A leader let's choose, a virago so bold, The word let her give, and we rarely will scold. From off the Sandhill ere our legions depart, We will vent all wor spleen, and ease each full heart, We will scold till no malice or rancour remain, Then march off wor forces—a large warlike train. A procession we'll form, wi' wor tubs and wor swills, And move with slaw steps frae the dear-lov'd Sandhill; And when the new station our forces obtain, Well take a good glass and well scorn to complain.