| There’s your lords and ladies fine
|
| Riding in a coach and six
|
| Nothing to drink but claret wine
|
| Talking politicks
|
| London is a dainty place
|
| A great and gallant city!
|
| All the streets are paved with gold
|
| And all the folks are witty
|
| There’s your beaux with powder’d clothes
|
| Bedaub’d from head to chin
|
| Their pocket-holes adorned with gold
|
| But not one sou within
|
| There’s your lords and ladies fine
|
| Riding in a coach and six
|
| Nothing to drink but claret wine
|
| Talking politicks
|
| There your English actor goes
|
| With many a hungry belly;
|
| While heaps of gold are forc’d, God wot
|
| On Signor Farinelli
|
| There’s your lords and ladies fine
|
| Riding in a coach and six
|
| Nothing to drink but claret wine
|
| Talking politicks
|
| London is a dainty place
|
| A great and gallant city!
|
| All the streets are paved with gold
|
| All the folks are witty
|
| There’s your dames with dainty frames
|
| Skins as white as milk;
|
| Dressed every day in garments gay
|
| Of satin and of silk
|
| London is a dainty place |