Ah men! what silly things you are,
To women thus to humble,
Who, sowler like, but spreads her snare,
Or, at her timid game
Takes aim,
Pop, pop, and down you tumble.

She marks you down, fly where you will,
O'er clover, grass, or stubble;
Can wing you, feather you, or kill,
Just as she takes the trouble.
Ah men, &c.

Then fly not from us, 'tis in vain,
We know the art of setting,
As well as shooting, and can train
The shyest man our net in.
Ah men, &c.