No longer plagued with trains to lift
Above the slush or snow;
They'll not sweep
Mud that's deep
While the stormy tempests blow;
Long dresses do the Vestry's work,
While stormy tempests blow.

O pretty girls of Nottingham,
If you could save us men
From our frightful clothing,
How we should love you then!
We'd shorten turned-up trouser,
And widen pointed toe,
Leave off that
Vile silk hat,
When the stormy tempests blow--
Wretched hat that stands not wind or rain
When the stormy tempests blow.

We're fools. Yet, girls of England,
We might inquire of you,
Why wear those capes and sleeves that seem
Quite wide enough for two?
And why revive the _chignons_--
Huge lumps pinned on? You know
You would cry
Should they fly
Where the stormy tempests blow;
For they catch the wind just like balloons,