Classic Poem

I' M Tailor Tom, from London come,
With all my cuts and capers;
I've fashions new, of every cue,
Cut out on shreds of papers.
'Tis mighty strange how things will change!
For sure I never dream'd on't,
To stitch or mope in country shop,
Or ever chalk a seam in't.

What would ye think, these hands of mine,
Made drawers for a duchess;
Stitch'd ribbon-stars for dukes so fine,
And brac'd a maid in breeches!
I've set a button on a suit,
To grace a birth-day levee;
And cut for col'nels in the ranks,
And captains in the navy.

O! London fine, for ladies kind,
Of every rank and station—
For belles and beaux, sure more it shows,
Than any town i' the nation.
'Twas on a night, when drest so tight,
A doxy did salute me;
So kind and free she blink'd on me,
And threw her arms about me.