Volume 5 — A Song; to the Tune of Woobourn Fair.

Vol. 4. Pag. 330.

JILTING is in such a Fashion, And such a Fame, Runs o’er the Nation, There’s never a Dame Of highest Rank, or of Fame, Sir, but will stoop to your Caresses, If you do but put home your Addresses: It’s for that she Paints, and she Patches, All she hopes to secure is her Name, Sir. But when you find the Love fit comes upon her, Never trust much to her Honour; Tho’ she may very high stand on’t, Yet when her love is Ascendant, Her Vertue’s quite out of Doors High Breeding, rank Feeding, With lazy Lives leading, In Ease and soft Pleasures, And taking loose Measures, With Play-house Diversions, And Midnight Excursions, With Balls Masquerading, And Nights Serenading, Debauch the Sex into Whores, Sir.