From The bacchanalian magazine; and Cyprian enchantress, pp22-3, 1793.

listen to the tune (midi file)

THE OYSTER GIRL.---A New Song.

Written by R. RUSTED.

 Thro' Fleet-street I my oysters cry,
 You've heard of Saucy Sall;
 A lass of spunk, with learing eye;
 For rigs, I am the girl:
 Game to the spine, 
 with Jolly Dick I take my ev'ning rounds;
 And many a watchman's lanthorn kick;
 I hate those sleepy hounds,
 I hate those sleepy hounds,
 I hate those sleepy hounds,
 And many a watchman's lanthorn kick;
 I hate those sleepy hounds.
 
 Sweet Sir, D'ye want any oysters then,
 For natives, I'm your sort.
 My 'warehouse' is op'n from two to ten,
 For gentlemen to resort;
 Your different palates I can please,
 Ye Bucks, come here and taste:
 Here's Meltons, and Rocks of all degrees,
 And a girl with a slender waist.
 
 When in the Garden I could shine,
 And like my betters dress,
 The Bankrupt, and the grave Divine,
 Wou'd Saucy Sall caress:
 The Squire, and the lordling Cit,
 With me would cut a dash;
 But I, with brilliancy of wit--
 Could ease 'em of their cash.
 
 But now, ye gods, the change how great!
 How has the mighty fell!
 Just so, with Ministers of State,
 The 'ins' and 'outs' can tell:
 But I thro' life, with Dick, can sport,
 Despising Fortune's frowns;
 And like 'some' Ladies, drest at Court--
 Can live by 'ups' and 'downs'.