What wonders now I have to pen, sir,
Women turning into men, sir,
For twenty-one long years, or more, sir,
She wore the breeches we are told, sir,
A smart and active handsome groom, sir,
She then got married very soon, sir,
A shipwright's trade she after took, sir,
And of his wife, he made a fool, sir.
Sing hey ! sing O ! 'twas my downfall, sir,
To marry a man with nothing at all, sir,
Well, Mother Sprightly, what do you think
of this Female Husband; it appears to me a
strange piece of business. Why, Mother
Chatter, I do not believe half what is said
about it—Pho, pho, do you think I would
have been in bed with my husband twenty
one minutes without knowing what he was
made of, much more twenty-one years, for I
should never have patience to wait so long,.
My old man cuddles me as close as wax these
cold winter nights, and if he was to turn his
back on me I would stick a needle into it.
If the wife asked for a favour,
Then she flew into a fever,
Gave to her a precious thump, sir.
Which after left a largeish lump, sir,
Then her limbs so straight and tall, sir.
She turne'd her face against the wall, sir,
And oft have quarrel'd and much strife, sir,
Because he would not cuddle the wife, sir.
Why I must say, Mother Chatter, if he
had been my husband, I think after hard
work all day he must have slept sound, and
I would have seen what he was before I rose
in the morning, or I'd know the reason why.
Was women ever so perplex'd, sir,
And through life so grievously vex'd, sir,
And disappointments oft did meet, sir,
And instead of a kiss, I oft got beat, sir,
Sometimes cuffe'd and sometimes scouted,
Because I asked what women wanted,
And if ever that I marry again, sir,
I'll surely marry a perfect man, sir.
Mother Chatter, Man indeed ! yes, I
hope she will take care next time she marries,
and not be duped in that way again; and as
she was such a bad judge I would advise her,
to taste and try first next time.
Mother Sprightly,—I have no doubt but
she'll examine the beard and whiskers of the
next man she marries, and not take a beard-
less thing at his own word.
With this pretty handsome groom, sir,
She went and spent the honey-moon, sir,
The very first night my love should cuddle,
Up in the clothes he close did huddle,
And with his face against the wall, sir,
He never spoke a word at all, sir,
A maid to bed I then did go, sir,
And a maiden am now, heigho ! heigho ! sir,
Well, Mother Frisky, how is your old man?
Why he is quite hearty, and every inch a
man, none of your sham husbands; give me
the real man or none at all. Well, I am of
your way of thinking, and I hope the next
husband she has she will have thumping children.
Pretty maidens list, pray, sir,
Unto what I now do say, sir,
Taste and try before you buy, sir,
Or you'll get bit, as well as I, sir;
See he's perfect in all parts, sir,
Before you join your hand and heart, sir,
You then with all your strength may try, sir,
To be fruitful, increase, and multiply, sir.
Printed by T. Birt, No. 10, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials.
SOURCE: Curiosities of Street Literature, London, Reeves and Turner, 196, Strand, 1871.