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To exercise us'd, and to temp'rance inclin'd,
We enjoy health of body, and sweet peace of mind;
And while the pale rake in disease meets his doom,
Content throws her crimson on us at the loom.
The ⟨sword⟩ and the scales of strict justice we bear,
And, like good Free-Masons, still act by the square;
In our souls no mean passion shall ever find room,
For honour and honesty wait on the loom.
Tho' wickedness reigns in camp council, and ball,
Tis foolish I'm sure to be ⟨wicked⟩ at all:
Mind this all ye folks from the glibe to the comb;
And be merry and wise, like the lads of the loom.
Ans as to you Ladies who caper and dance.
With the Eunuchs of Rome, the cetillons of France,
0 waste not on such empty trifles your bloom,
But cherish the products and lads of the loom.
But if you must needs have some music at night,
Sure a good Scots tune may afford you delight;
Then a lilt you may dance with the brave Captain Plume,
Or make merry with the lad that works at the loom.
Above your own country prize not foreign parts,
Nor let their gay toys gain your purses or hearts,
Nor foolishly spend at Bath, Paris, or Rome,
What at home would be wisely laid out on the loom.
Why Ladies, run to foreign markets to buy,
When your own manufactures will you supply?
Be advis'd by a friend---impair not your bloom,
With washes and paints---but apply to the loom.
