LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD
The old version.

THERE was once upon a time a little country girl, born in a village, the prettiest little creature that was ever seen. her mother was beyond reason excessively fond of her, and her grandmother yet much more. This  good woman caused to be made for her a little red Riding-Hood; which made her look so very pretty, that every body call'd her, The little red Riding-Hood. 

ONE day, her mother having made some custards, said to her, Go my little Biddy, for her christian name was Biddy, go and see how your grandmother does, for I hear she has been very ill, carry her a custard, and this little pot of butter. The little red Riding-Hood sets out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.  As she was going through the wood, she met with Gossop Wolfe, who had a good mind to eat her up, but he did not dare, because of some faggot-makers that were in the forest. 

HE asked of her whither she was going: The poor child, who did not know how dangerous a  thing it is to stay and hear a Wolfe talk, said to him, I am going to see my grandmamma, and carry her a custard pye, and a little pot of butter my mamma sends her. Does she live far off? said the Wolfe. Oh! ay, said the little red Riding-Hood, on the other side of the mill below yonder, at the first house in the village. Well, said the Wolfe, and I'll go and see her too; I'll go this way, and you go that, and we shall see who will be there soonest. 

THE Wolfe began to run as fast as he was able, the shortest way; and the little girl went the longest, diverting her self in gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and making nose-gays of all the little flowers she met with.  The Wolfe was not long before he came to the grandmother's house; he knocked at the door toc toc. Whose there? Your granddaughter, The little red  Riding-Hood, said the Wolfe, counterfeiting her voice, who has brought you a custard pye, and a little pot of butter mamma sends you. 

THE good grandmother, who was in bed, because she found herself somewhat ill, cried out, Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up. The Wolfe pull'd the bobbin, and the door open'd; upon which he fell upon the good woman, and eat her up in the tenth part of a moment; for he had eaten nothing for above three days before.  After that, he shut the door, and went into the grandmother's bed, expecting the little red Riding-Hood, who came some time afterwards, and knock'd at the door toc toc, Who's there? The little red Riding-Hood, who hearing the big voice of the Wolfe, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had got a cold,  and was grown hoarse, said, it is your granddaughter, The little red Riding-Hood, who has brought you a custard pye, and a little pot of butter mamma sends you. The Wolfe cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could, Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up. The little red Riding-Hood pull'd the bobbin, and the door opened. 

THE Wolfe seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the clothes. Put the custard, and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come into bed with me. The little red Riding-Hood undressed her self, and went into bed, where she was very much astonished to see how her grandmother looked in her night-cloaths:  So she said to her, Grandmamma, what great arms you have got! It is the better to embrace thee my pretty child. Grandmamma, what great legs you have got! it is to run the better my child. Grandmamma, what great ears you have got! It is to hear the better my child. Grandmamma, what great eyes you have got! It is to see the better my child. Grandmamma, what great teeth you have got! It is to eat thee up. And upon saying these words, this wicked Wolfe fell upon the little Red Riding-Hood, and eat her up. 

The MORAL
FRom this short story easy we discern
What conduct all young people ought to learn.
But above all, the growing ladies fair,
Whose orient rosy Blooms begin t'appear:
Who, Beauties in the fragrant spring of age!
With pretty airs young hearts are apt t'engage.
Ill do they listen to all sorts of tongues,
Since some enchant and lure like Syrens songs.
No wonder therefore 'tis if overpower'd,
So many of them has the Wolfe devour'd.
The Wolfe, I say, for Wolves too sure there are
Of every sort, and every character.
Some of them mild and gentle-humour'd be
Of noise and gall, and rancour wholly free;
Who tame, familiar, full of complaisance;
ogle and leer, languish, cajole and glance;
With luring tongues, and language wondrous sweet,
Follow young ladies as they walk the street,
Ev'n to their very houses and bedside,
And though their true designs they artful hide,
Yet ah! these simpring Wolves, who does not see
Most dang'rous of all Wolves in fact to be?