Classic Poem

London ladies walk the streets
In gaudy silks and satins;
The country girl has no such sweets,
She clacks along in pattens.
But what care I? my russet gown
Will bring me lovers plenty;
I've fun enough, though out of town,
And not yet turned of twenty.

When at Christmas in the hall
The men and maids are hopping,
If by chance I hear them bawl,
Amongst 'em quick I pop in.
When all the men — Jim, John, and Joe,
Cry " what good luck hath sent ye? "
And kiss beneath the mistletoe
The girl not turned of twenty.

One winter's night at blindman's buff,
A game that's most bewitching!
As Jack (and Jack was blind enough)
Was poking round the kitchen,
A pat I gave him on the back;
Says I, " Will that content ye? "
He snatched and catched me. " Ah, " cries Jack,
" My girl not turned of twenty! "

In the dance I trip along,
Like me no female skipper;
No game can ever happen wrong,
Hot-cockles! Hunt-the-slipper!
Can ye, town-ladies, though so fair,
And coxcombs compliment ye,
For joy and sport with me compare,
The girl not turned of twenty?