All is ours and our HUSBANDS, Or the Country Hostess' VINDICATION.  

She durst not Scold 'tis counted for an Evil.  
she'll cheat and whore, and yet be counted civil;  
she'll fill her Pocketsby poor Drunkard's Losses,  
And send them all to Jail by weeping Crosses.   
To the Tune, of the Carman's Whistle, Or High Boys up go we.  
 
 
 

COme all you Tribes of Hostises,  
That Women against do rail,  
Come lend me some of your advice  
Their glamorous Tongues to quail;  
And I will make it plain appear  
By nothing but what is true,  
That all that we get in the Year  
Is nothing but what's our Due.   

For if anhonest Company  
Of boon good fellows come:  
And call for Liquor merrily  
In any private Room:  
Then if I fill the Juggs with Froth  
Or cheat them of one or two  
If I can swear them out of both  
The Reckoning is my due.   

Or if a shurking Fellow come  
That have no money at all  
And take up any of my Room  
And for my Liquor call:  
Then if I take away their Coat  
Let it be old or new:  
Or worth a Crown more than thee shot,  
'Tis nothing but what's my Due.   
 

And some their are that are so ●old,  
To swear that I must trust,  
When once my drink they have they think  
That then besure we must:  
From such the Court or common Law,  
whatever their Wives ensue  
Shall make their Arse to lie in Straw  
Their Beedding is all my due.   

My Husband must not Blow or Cart,  
Or work like other Men:  
My Children must not learn the art  
To either Card or Spin?  
My Tapster must live fine and brave  
For he of one make two  
And many a Groat for me he save  
'Tis nothing &c.   

But I must have another way  
Our livings for get,  
And when you hear I'm sur you'll say  
'Tis nothing but what is fit:  
If Tap should fail toot go the Tail  
The Proverb old is true,  
If half a piece come to my Fleece  
'Tis nothing &c.   

Perhaps our Husbands would repine,  
If they of this should know  
And think our little Babes divine  
Were got in Cuckolds Row  
You know their gains come by the pains  
Of only me and you,  
They must not scorn to wear the horn  
'Tis nothing &c.   

Come Neighbours drink with one consent  
A lusty Bowl of Wine  
'Twill break our Hearts of discontent  
And make our Noses shine:  
Each took the Cup and drank it up  
And swore she'd spoken true  
And vowed to have the tother Sup  
Before they bid her adieu   

Then I that heard the Verdict past  
How this base cheating Crew,  
Consented all both first and last  
To make make poor Drunkards Rue;  
I took my Pen and writ this Song  
And to the Drunkards send it  
That they with me may strive to see  
Their wicked Life and mend it,    

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pie-corner