In love be I, fifth button high,

a
In love be I, fifth button high,
On velvet runs my courting,
Sheer buckram twist, best broadcloth list,
I leave for other sporting.
From needle, thread, my fingers fled,
My heart is set a throbbing;
And no one by, I cross-legged sigh,
For charming Betsey Bobbin.
Betsey Bobbin, Betsey Bobbin,
For charming Betsey Bobbin.

b
Her lips so sweet, are velveret,
Her eyes do well their duty;
Her skin's to me, like dimity,
The pattern gay of beauty.
Her hand squeezed oft, is satin soft,
And set my heart a throbbing,
Her cheeks, O dear, red cassimere,
Lord! what a Betsey Bobbin!
Betsey Bobbin, Betsey Bobbin,
Lord! what a Betsey Bobbin!

c
Her roguish smile can welI beguile,
Her every look bewitches;
Yet never stir, when tached to her,
For Tim wil1 wear the breeches;
I've face and mien, am spruce and keen,
And though my heart keeps throbbing,
There's not, in fine。 one man in nine,
So fit for Betsey Bobbin,
Betsey Bobbin, Betsey Bobbin,
So fit for Betsey Bobbin.