Here's the song mentioned by Malcolm Douglas above. From Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads Harding B 28(17):

COUNTRY FASHIONS
Sung by Mr. Tayleure, at the Theatre Royal, Liverpool.
Tune—"Mon at Mester Grundy's"

My father died a year ago and left me all his riches:
His gun and volunteering cap, long sword and leathern breeches,
A bit of land at my command, a horse both lame and blind, sir;
You'd swear he'd in a trap been catch'd, he wur cropp'd so close behind, sir.

I mounted then my charger bold, and trotted off for life, sir.
So smart and gay I rode to town, to look out for a wife, sir.
In doors and out, all round about, my eyes in each direction,
At last I spied a bonny miss, the pink of imperfection.

She was so lady-like, d'ye see, and such a dab at larning,
She'd rather sit & bite her thumbs, than stocking-hole be darning.
Though she can make conundrums, and verses she is good in,
She just as soon could make a moon, as a bit of suet pudding.

She went to market t'other day to fill my money bag, sir.
I mounted her on Dobbin's back with butter, cheese & eggs, sir.
For fear the sun should spoil her face, for parasol instead, sir,
She stuck her whip in a cabbage leaf, & held it o'er her head, sir.

'Cause ladies fine do wear rich veils, she long for one did grieve, sir;
And now she's hung before her face the bottom of a sieve, sir.
She's two genteel pockets to wear. At nothing she will flag, sir.
So ecod! she's made a ridicule* out of a pudding bag, sir.

Her head so ornamented is, like bell-horse she appears, sir,
And then she's got two curtain rings a-bobbing in her ears, sir.
Besides, to keep my lady cool, for ornamental use, sir,
She's made herself a pretty fan out of the wing of a goose, sir.

Since such a wife now I have got, though she can't get the pelf, sir,
I think that you'll allow she is gentility itself, sir.
If any friend or neighbour here be bless'd with such another,
We'd better give the Devil one to run away wi' t'other.

[*ridicule = reticule]