This is not the THING:

OR,

MOLLY EXALTED.

Tune, *Ye Commons and Peers*.

YE Reversers of Nature, each dear little Creature,
Of soft and effeminate fight,

See above what your fate is, and 'ere it too late is,
Oh, learn to be—all in the Right.

Tol de rol.

II.
On the FAIR of our Ille see the Graces all I smile,
All our Cares in this Life to requite;

But fuch Wretches as You, Nature's Laws wou'd
undo,

For you're backward—and not in the Right.

Tol de rol.

III.
Can't Beauty's soft Eye, which with Phœbus may vie,
Can't her rofy Lips yield ye Delight?

No:—they all afford tweets, which each Man of
Senfe meets,

But not You,—for you're not in the Right.

Tol de rol.

IV.
Where's the tender Connection, the Love and
Protection,

Which proceed from the conjugal Rite?

Did you once but know this, sure you'd ne'er do
amifs,

But wou'd always be—all in the Right.

Tol de rol.

V.
The Sov'reign of ALL, who created this Ball,
Ordain'd that each Sex should unite;

Ordain'd the soft Kifs, and more permanent Blifs,
That ALL might be—all in the Right.

Tol de rol.

VI.
But a Race so detefted, of Honour divefted,
The Daughters of Britain invite,
Whom they leave in the Lurch, to well flog 'em
with Birch;

Shou'd they flay 'em they're—all in the Right.

Tol de rol.

VII.
Prefs ye Sailors, perſift, come ye Soldiers, inlift,
By Land or by Sea make 'em fight,

And then let France and Spain, call their Men
home again,

And fend out their WIVES—to be Right.

Tol de rol.

VIII.
Now tho'many good Men, have so frolick ſome been,
Our Pity and Mirth to excite,

Yet may theſe worthy Souls have the uppermoſt
Holes

In the PILLORY;—all is but Right.

Tol de rol. &c.

To be had at the Bee-Hive, Strand; and at all the Print and Pamphlet Shops in Great Britain and Ireland.