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The Chimney-ſweeper's daughter Prue,
With Peggy, Polley, Nell, and Sue,
The cobler's daughter, Nancy too,
Said, ſhe muſt have the Barber.
Let Dandy then no more appear,
But to the Barber all repair,
For he can dreſs and trim their hair,
And ſet it in right order.
Now to the laſſes he is kind,
To humour them he does incline,
Upon his door he has a ſign,
To ſhow he is the Barber.
WILL the WEAVER.
To its own proper Tune.
MOther, I am married,
I wiſh that I had longer tarried,
For the women they do ſwear,
That the breeches they will wear.
Does ſhe ſcold or does ſhe riot,
Or is ſhe coſtly in her diet,
Sometimes to the tavern goes,
With Will the weaver, and God knows.
Loving ſon, no more diſcover,
But pray my dear go home and love her,
Give my daughter what's her due,
Let me hear no more of you,
