Her lungs were as strong as her grammar was weak,
And her words fell like volleys of shot.
"Now, ladies," said she, (and her arms round whirled
Like a weather-cock's vane in a gale),
"If there's any good crayters still left in the world
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Shure, pity for us he will fale."
"Them tyrants of proctors I cannot abide,
But I'll never do any thing more,
For one of them divvils began me to chide
Because I hadn't swept clanely his floor.
"They same to forget that we ladies have rights
As much as thim divvils in there,
And I ask of yees all to pay off their spites
And to lave them alone let us swear."
The Queen of the Goodies this moment appeared,
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Appleton Chapel.
