Ye Middletonian ladies fair,
To me extend your tender care,
And save me from the wicked snare,
Ye gentlemen;
Oh! listen to the mournful prayer
Of Jammy's hen.

For in the morning I must die,
And I must either roast or fry,
And on the spit be carried high;
Poor Jammy's hen!
The scorn, the scoff, the mockery
Of cruel men,

Unless some generous friend so kind,
A nobler sacrifice do find,
To satisfy the public mind,
I bleed!
And over England with the wind
Shall waft the deed.

A good fat scot would more befit
A public roast, a public spit,
'Twould give each hungry maw a bit;
I pray you then,
To buy a scot and offer it,
Good gentlemen!

And Mister Bownas, I dare say,
Has scots enow that he would slay,
If you would be so kind to pay;
Then Jammy's hen
As long as life did last would lay
For ladies and for gentlemen.