George Colman

At him again, my little Col,
Lash those obscene posteriors,
And sharply teach this tiddy-dol
Respect to his superiours.

You have him, Gildrig, hip and thigh,
Give him his full deserts,
For what but such a tiny fly
Can sit upon his skirts!

Our monkies, borne from day to day,
Familiar are become;
But let us drive with scorn away
This Ape with naked bum:

Who, vilely grinning, drops his stains
On every rank and calling;
With horror chills the matron's veins,
And sets the maids a squalling.

But see him, in his World, receive
From Colly's hand the switch,
And strait apply, with Cowslip's leave,
The Thing to his own breech.

Callous — but, Westminster, thy school
Would set him soon a jogging;
He, who no skirted coat can pull
To save him from the flogging.

Scourge then, my boys, this broad offence,
(But with averted eyes)
Till bloody drops of penitence
Bedew the sacrifice.

Now Cowslip run — 'tis He,
Run, scream with loudest notes,
And o'er the foul enormity
Throw all thy petticoats.

Ne'er heed —†thy better bum bewitches
All eyes by whom 'tis noted;
Hereafter let it wear the breeches,
And his go petticoated.