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7
Ah! Men, what silly things you
are.
Ah, men, what silly things you are,
To women thus to humble;
Who, fowler-like, but spreads her snare,
Or at her silly game takes aim,
Pop pop, and down you tumble.
Ah, men, &c.
She marks you down, fly where you will,
Over clover, grass, or stubble—
Can wing you, feather you, or kill,
Just as she takes the trouble.
Ah, men, &c.
Then fly not from us, 'tis in vain,
We know the art of setting;
Is well as fighting, we can train
The shyest man our net in,
Ah, men, &c.
