“The Ladies' Wigs.
Tune, Moll in the Wad.

YOU'LL pardon me, ma'am, I'm quite a gig,
Is it your hair, or is it a wig?
Upon my life, I mean no quiz,
But is't your own, or the barber his friz?
Because if it is, 'tis a very neat friz,
Whether it's yours-or whether it's his;
But if it's a wig, it's a little too big,
And you'll dance it off in a reel or a jig.

Poft-chaifes, coaches, chairs, and gigs,
Are let as jobs like ladies' light wigs;
And scandal goffips (madam) fay
Yours is a jafey hir'd by the day.
Be that as it may, it's a very cheap way,
Jafeys to lett of all colours but grey;
But, what do I fee, that gives me fuch glee,
You're cocking your cap and your caxon at me.

Now into a fcrape, by love, I'm led,
Your wig, dear ma'am, has twifted my head
My heart too, I feel, goes pitty pat,
But what care you or your jafey for that;
Yet I'm no flat–I know what I'm at,
I'll foon mount a wig of my own to match that:
I care not a fig–the woman I twig
I'll marry, by jafey, in fpite of her wig.

The light or dark, brown, black, or flax,
No jafey pays Pitt's hair-powder tax;
And when with men, maids romp and play,
How cool to throw the wiggy away;
By night or by day, to frifk, romp, or play,
On carpet, bed, fopha, green grafs, or new hay;

Whate'er it's upon, a little crim. Con.,
With a lady's rough jafey's expenfive bon ton.

Pray, ma'am, does the colour of your fcratch
With the hair of your madgery match?
Perhaps as it is the kick and go,
You've mounted, ma'am, a merkin below!

But the merkin you'll find, from water and wind,
Strong torrents before, and stiff breezes behind,
Will not stick at all; but with glue to the cawl,
'Twill stick like a fnug fwallow's neft to the wall!

Ah, happy, happy, happy hour,
When I get your wig in my pow'r;
Then we'll count the coming joys,
Buxom girls, and prattling boys;
Dolls, trinkets, and toys to feast their young eyes,
And lullaby ditties to quiet their noise;
While fweet lolly-pob ftops the figh and the fob,
Sing higgledy, piggledy, jiggummy bob.

CHORUS.
So bibere bob,
Let's all hob and nob,
To the ladies' brown bob,
And fing plenty of money in ev'ry fob.
[Hilaria, the Festive Board, Morris, 1798]