# THE SPORTING LADIES REPLY
TO MR REYNARD THE FOX'S LIST,
OR BURLESQUE,
ON
THEM, AND THEIR PROFESSION, &c.

HAWKED BY A BLACK BADGER, HIS SECRETARY.

[Tune, O' a the Arts the wind, &c.]

Ye Noblemen and Gentlemen,
Who're come to join the Fun,
To see the Races o'er again,
And Nymphs upon the Town.
Behold us all so trim and neat,
We cannot fail to please,
Be'sure you'll find us quite complete,
In what gives Lover's ease.
The List that's hawk'd about by Fox,
Is a false Rig-m-roll,
He's even dull at smutty jokes,
And has for Love no Soul,
The Dunce had better preach and pray,
Than vex the Muses more,
Or bid his Black, sing out or say,
" He was a Priest of yore."
We Sporting Girls such men despise,
As kifs and then go tell,
In bawdy verse our Shape and Size,
And Names they cannot spell.
While proper Youths at once can say,
Just from an air and face,
If such a smiling girl can play,
And kif with amorous grace.
When such in passing by us smile,
Be'sure our bosoms warm,
And though we look demure the while,
We feel Love's dire alarm.
Our bosoms bare display'd are found,
Their hearts to gain and tease,
Such Lovers it is joy to wound,
And ecstacy to please.

But Bucks there are so mean and rude
Who sober Nymphs despise,
With manners vulgar, rough, and lewd,
Dram-drinkers they do prize,
To such, we are no friends indeed,
And hope we ne'er shall be,
Oblig'd to drink with them in bed,
Wine, Brandy, or Bohea.
Your Rendevous in Shakespeare's Square,
Though known to the Police,
Some jolly priests in May repair,
" To seek a bonny Piece,"
Those with such glee we do inspire,
To go our Lesson through,
They stand, stoop, kneel, present, and five
As well as Captains do.
But men there are who nought can do,
Grave Signiors old and tough,
Who tease, and kiss, and ogle so,
They cannot pay enough.
For though they lib'ral are, alas !
We're like to die of spite,
To find with Fumblers we must pass,
For gold, a joyless night.
But soon we meet with those we love,
Who come to kiss again,
And taste of joys they'll never prove,
To be allied to pain.
They know a sporting Nymph to find,
And need no pimp to hire,
A handsome ankle shown behind,
And eyes that speak desire.

## ADVERTISEMENT.

At this Office, Peter Puzzlewit and Co. General Agents and Undertakers of Lottery Prizes and other Sales, late from Cork, and last from the Orkneys, challenge every other dealer in point of blank verse, and rhyming metre, to rival them in ready made Epitaphs, Epigrams, Love Sonnets, Hymenial Song, Birth Day Odes, &c. all extemporary, on any subject, or in any verse, with any number of feet, and to any or no tune but their own, composed for the occasion, at the very lowest prices, according to the Employer's Income Tax. They also do business in prose, at next to nothing, for Clergymen, Lawyers, and Quack Doctors, (by the piece or page's length,) and defy the meditated misfortune of Bankruptcy, or fair Swindling, so much in fashion in this prospering country, to effect their Funds, which are all insured at their own Office, at an extraordinary premium.

N. B. Perfons on board wages, who are duly qualified by law, and by being already once unsuccessful in a scheme of Bankruptcy, are on permanent duty, to be expediated as Sub-Agents, on foot, & swift post-horses, as the exigency may require, of parties about to die, to be married, divorced, or to have issue, who are licenced by us, to compose, or put together, suitable verses, from our manufacture, for all such occasions, and to any length, for ready money only, or good Bills at a short date.

Price to Gentlemen, 2d. Tradesmen and Servants, 1d.—Edinburgh: Printed for the Author.