ger,
I have a Sister of my own both Handsomer and Younger.

She lives not far off in the Parish of St. _Clements_,
She never liv'd in Cellar nor sold Oranges and Lemons:
Then why should Play-house Trulls with Paint and such Temptations,
Be an Eye sore to me & more to the best part o'th' Nation.

Now you that all this while have listened to my Dity,
With streightened Hands pray drink a Health unto this noble City:
And let us pray to _Jove_, these Suburb folks to mend,
And having now no more to say, I think it fit to end.

_The Old Woman's_ WISH.

[Music]

As I went by an Hospital,
I heard an Old Woman cry,
Kind Sir, quoth she, be kind to me,
Once more before I Die,
And grant to me those Joys,
That belong to Woman-kind,
And the Fates above reward your Love,
To an old Woman Poor and Blind.

I find an itching in my Blood,
Altho' it be something Cold,
Therefore Good Man do what you can,
To comfort me now I'm Old.
And Grant to me those Joys,
That belong to Woman-kind,
And the Fates above Reward your Love,
To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

Altho' I cannot see the Day,
Nor never a glance of light;
Kind Sir, I swear and do declare,
I honour the Joys of Night:
Then grant to me those Joys,
That belong to Woman-kind,
And the Fates above Reward you Love,
To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

When I was in my Blooming Youth,
My vigorous Love was Hot;
Now in my Age I dare Engage,
A fancy I still have got:
Then give to me those Joys,
That belong to Woman-kind,
And the Fates above Reward your Love,
To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

You shall miss of a Reward,
If Readily you comply;
Then do not Blush but touch my flesh.
This minute before I die:
O let me tast those Joys,
That belong to Woman-kind,
And the Fates above reward your Love,
To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

I Forty Shillings would freely give,
'Tis all the Mony I have;
Which I full long have begged for,
To carry me to my Grave:
This I would give to have the Bliss,
That belongs to Woman-kind,
And the Fates above reward your Love,
To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

I had a Husband in my Youth,
As very well 'tis known,
The truth to tell he pleased me well,
But now I am left alone;
And long to tast the good Old Game,
That belongs to Woman-kind:
And the Fates above Reward your Love,
To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

If Forty Shillings will not do,
My Petticoat and my Gown;
Nay Smock