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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge
+Melancholy, Vol. 5 of 6, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy, Vol. 5 of 6
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Thomas d'Urfey
+
+Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #26679]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WIT AND MIRTH, VOL. 5 OF 6 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Newman, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. Music
+transcribed by Linda Cantoni.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's Note: This e-book is volume 5 of Thomas D'Urfey's _Wit
+and Mirth: Or Pills to Purge Melancholy_, published in six volumes in
+1719-20 by J. Tonson, London. It was prepared from a 1959 facsimile
+reprint by Folklore Library Publishers, Inc., New York, of an 1876
+reprint (publisher unidentified).
+
+The 1719-20 edition was published in two issues. The first issue was
+published under the title _Songs Compleat, Pleasant and Divertive_;
+the second, under the _Wit and Mirth_ title. The 1876 reprint
+apparently used a combination of the two issues, and volume 5 bears
+the _Songs Compleat_ title. Moreover, the 1876 reprint was not an
+exact facsimile of the 1719-20 edition, as the typography and music
+notation were modernized. For more information on the various
+editions, see Cyrus L. Day, "Pills to Purge Melancholy," _The Review
+of English Studies_, Vol. 8, No. 30 (Apr. 1932), pp. 177-184,
+available at http://www.jstor.org/stable/508831 (login required).
+
+Archaic and inconsistent spellings and hyphenation have been preserved
+as they appear in the original, except that "VV" is rendered as "W."
+The original order of titles in the Alphabetical Table has also been
+preserved. Obvious printer errors have been corrected.
+
+Some words are rendered in the original in blackletter font. They are
+rendered here in uppercase letters. Italics are indicated with
+underscores.]
+
+
+
+
+WIT and MIRTH:
+
+OR
+
+PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY
+
+
+EDITED BY
+THOMAS D'URFEY
+
+
+IN SIX VOLUMES
+VOLUME V
+
+
+FOLKLORE LIBRARY PUBLISHERS, INC.
+NEW YORK
+1959
+
+
+_This edition is a facsimile reproduction
+of the 1876 reprint of
+the original edition of 1719-1720._
+
+Copyright (C) 1959
+
+PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
+by Noble Offset Printers, Inc.
+New York 3, New York
+
+
+
+
+SONGS Compleat,
+
+Pleasant and Divertive;
+
+SET TO
+
+MUSICK
+
+By Dr. JOHN BLOW, Mr. HENRY PURCELL,
+and other Excellent Masters of the Town.
+
+Ending with some ORATIONS, made and
+spoken by me several times upon the
+PUBLICK STAGE in the THEATER. Together
+with some Copies of VERSES, PROLOGUES,
+and EPILOGUES, as well as for my
+own PLAYS as those of other Poets, being
+all Humerous and Comical.
+
+VOL. V.
+
+_LONDON:_
+
+Printed by _W. Pearson_, for _J. Tonson_, at
+SHAKESPEAR'S Head, against _Catherine_
+Street in the _Strand_, 1719.
+
+
+
+
+AN
+
+Alphabetical TABLE
+
+OF THE
+
+SONGS and POEMS
+
+Contain'd in this
+
+BOOK.
+
+
+ Page
+
+A
+
+_All Christians and_ Lay-Elders _too_, 1
+
+_As I went by an Hospital_, 29
+
+_A Shepherd kept Sheep on a_, 35
+
+_As I was a walking under a Grove_, 37
+
+_A Councel grave our King did hold_, 49
+
+_A Heroe of no small Renown_, 56
+
+_As the Fryer he went along_, 58
+
+_A Bonny Lad came to the Court_, 88
+
+_A Pox on those Fools, who exclaim_, 91
+
+_Amongst the pure ones all_, 105
+
+_As Oyster_ Nan _stood by her Tub_, 107
+
+_Ah!_ Caelia _how can you be_, 111
+
+_Are you grown so Melancholy_, 118
+
+_As_ Collin _went from his Sheep_, 122
+
+_A Wife I do hate_, 173
+
+_A Thousand several ways I try'd_, 181
+
+_A_ Whig _that's full_, 207
+
+_As_ Cupid _roguishly one Day_, 217
+
+_A Young Man sick and like to die_, 267
+
+_At Noon in a sultry Summer's Day_, 282
+
+_Ah! how lovely sweet and dear_, 287
+
+_Advance, advance, advance gay_, 288
+
+_Ah! foolish Lass, what mun I do_, 322
+
+
+B
+
+_Bold impudent_ Fuller _invented_, 5
+
+_By Moon-light on the Green_, 103
+
+_Bonny_ Peggy Ramsey _that any_, 139
+
+_By shady Woods and purling_, 161
+
+Belinda! _why do you distrust_, 213
+
+_Born to surprize the World_, 250
+
+_Bring out your Coney-Skins_, 303
+
+_Bonny_ Scottish _Lads that keens_, 326
+
+
+C
+
+_Come bring us Wine in Plenty_, 15
+
+_Come pretty Birds present your_, 120
+
+_Come fill up the Bowl with_, 138
+
+_Cease lovely_ Strephon, _cease to_, 189
+
+_Cease whining_ Damon _to complain_, 202
+
+Caelia _my Heart has often rang'd_, 230
+
+Corinna, _if my Fate's to love you_, 254
+
+Caelia's _Charms are past expressing_, 257
+
+_Come Beaus, Virtuoso's, rich Heirs_, 265
+
+_Cease, cease of_ Cupid _to complain_, 298
+
+_Come, come ye Nymphs_, 300
+
+Chloe _blush'd, and frown'd, and swore_, 345
+
+Caelia _hence with Affectation_, 350
+
+
+D
+
+_Did you not hear of a gallant_, 80
+
+_Divine_ Astrea _hither flew_, 275
+
+_Draw_ Cupid _draw, and make_, 306
+
+Damon _if you will believe me_, 327
+
+_Drunk I was last Night that's_, 329
+
+Delia _tir'd_ Strephon _with her_, 343
+
+
+F
+
+_Fair_ Caelia _too fondly contemns_, 169
+
+_Fly_ Damon _fly, 'tis Death to stay_, 247
+
+_Fear not Mortal, none shall harm_, 248
+
+_Farewel ungrateful Traytor_, 335
+
+
+G
+
+Gilderoy _was a bonny Boy_, 39
+
+_Good Neighbour why do you_, 73
+
+
+H
+
+_How now Sister_ Betteris, _why look_, 68
+
+_Heaven first created Woman to_, 135
+
+_Hears not my_ Phillis _how_, 149
+
+_How happy's the Mortal whose_, 179
+
+_He himself courts his own Ruin_, 188
+
+_How happy and free is the_, 193
+
+_How charming_ Phillis _is_, 201
+
+_Hither turn thee, hither turn thee_, 211
+
+_Here lies_ William de Valence, 220
+
+_Ho my dear Joy, now what dost_, 240
+
+_Here's a Health to the Tackers_, 284
+
+_Here are People and Sports of_, 308
+
+_Hark! now the Drums beat up again_, 319
+
+_How often have I curs'd that sable Deceit_, 352
+
+
+I
+
+_I am a young Lass of_ Lynn, 59
+
+_I am a jovial Cobler bold and_, 75
+
+_It was a Rich Merchant Man_, 77
+
+_If Sorrow the Tyrant invade_, 83
+
+_In the pleasant Month of_ May, 101
+
+_It was a happy Golden Day_, 110
+
+_I prithee send me back my Heart_, 143
+
+_In_ Chloris _all soft Charms agree_, 162
+
+_I lik'd, but never lov'd before_, 171
+
+Iris _beware when_ Strephon _pursues_, 199
+
+_I am one in whom Nature has_, 241
+
+_In vain, in vain, the God I ask_, 251
+
+_In the Devil's Country there_, 271
+
+_In elder Time, there was of_ Yore, 289
+
+Ianthia _the lovely, the Joy of_, 301
+
+Jockey _met with_ Jenny _fair_, 317
+
+_I met with the Devil in the_, 330
+
+_Jilting is in such a Fashion_, 333
+
+Jockey _loves his_ Moggy _dearly_, 341
+
+
+L
+
+_Let the Females attend_, 8
+
+_Let's be jolly, fill our Glasses_, 16
+
+_Let's sing of Stage-Coaches_, 20
+
+_Last_ Christmas _'twas my chance_, 25
+
+_Lately as thorough the fair_, 44
+
+_Let Soldiers fight for Pay and Praise_, 145
+
+_Long had_ Damon _been admir'd_, 158
+
+Laurinda, _who did love Disdain_, 167
+
+_Let Ambition fire thy Mind_, 205
+
+_Long was the Day e'er_ Alexis, 214
+
+_Let's be merry, blith and jolly_, 337
+
+
+M
+
+_My Friend if you would understand_, 94
+
+_Marriage it seems is for better_, 272
+
+
+N
+
+_No more let_ Damon's _Eyes pursue_, 239
+
+_Nay pish, nay pish, nay pish Sir_, 305
+
+_No, no every Morning my_, 323
+
+_Now my Freedom's regain'd_, 325
+
+_No_, Phillis, _tho' you've all the Charms_, 338
+
+_Now to you ye dry Wooers_, 340
+
+
+O
+
+_Once more to these Arms my_, 92
+
+_One Night in my Ramble I_, 109
+
+_Oh! let no Eyes be dry_, 130
+
+_Old_ Lewis le Grand, _he raves like_, 151
+
+_Of old Soldiers, the Song you_, 217
+
+_Of late in the Park a fair Fancy_, 243
+
+_Oh! how you protest and solemnly_, 316
+
+
+P
+
+Philander _and_ Sylvia, _a gentle_, 140
+
+_Poor_ Jenny _and I we toiled_, 146
+
+_Pretty_ Floramel, _no Tongue can_, 160
+
+_Plague us not with idle Stories_, 204
+
+_Poor_ Mountfort _is gone, and the_, 244
+
+_Pretty Parrot say, when I was_, 280
+
+
+S
+
+_State and Ambition, all Joy to_, 11
+
+_Stay, stay, shut the Gates_, 85
+
+_Slaves to_ London _I'll deceive you_, 114
+
+_Stay, ah stay, ah turn, ah whither_, 237
+
+_See how fair and fine she lies_, 252
+
+_Since_ Caelia _only has the Art_, 286
+
+_Some brag of their_ Chloris, 307
+
+_See, Sirs, see here! a Doctor rare_, 311
+
+_Swain thy hopeless Passion smother_, 344
+
+
+T
+
+_There was an old Woman liv'd_, 13
+
+_The Suburbs is a fine Place_, 27
+
+_There can be no Glad man_, 32
+
+_Then_ Jockey _wou'd a wooing away_, 42
+
+_There was a Lass of_ Islington, 46
+
+_There was a Lord of worthy Fame_, 53
+
+_There was a Jovial Tinker_, 62
+
+_There is a fine Doctor now come_, 71
+
+_There was a Knight and he_, 112
+
+_Think wretched Mortal, think_, 134
+
+_To the Wars I must alass_, 137
+
+_Though the Pride of my Passion fair_, 156
+
+_Tell me ye_ Sicilian _Swains_, 175
+
+_To the Grove, gentle Love, let_, 182
+
+_Tell me no more of Flames in_, 183
+
+_Tho' Fortune and Love may be_, 186
+
+_That little Patch upon your Face_, 197
+
+_Tho' over all Mankind, besides my_, 233
+
+_There lives an Ale-draper near_, 259
+
+_The Caffalier was gone, and the_, 274
+
+_The_ Devil _he pull'd off his Jacket_, 278
+
+_The Jolly, Jolly Breeze_, 347
+
+_The Jolly, Jolly Bowl_, ib.
+
+
+U
+
+_Upon a Holiday, when Nymphs_, 87
+
+
+W
+
+_Where gott'st thou the_ Haver-mill, 17
+
+_When first_ Mardyke _was made_, 65
+
+_When Maids live to Thirty, yet never_, 99
+
+_What Life can compare, with the_, 125
+
+_With my Strings of small Wire_, 128
+
+_When that young_ Damon _bless'd_, 131
+
+_Would you be a Man in Fashion_, 154
+
+_When first I fair_ Celinda _knew_, 157
+
+_When busy Fame o'er all the_, 164
+
+_Why am I the only Creature_, 165
+
+_Where would coy_ Amyntas _run_, 172
+
+_When gay_ Philander _left the Plain_, 177
+
+_Wealth breeds Care, Love, Hope_, 185
+
+_When first_ Amyntas _charmed my_, 192
+
+_Why so pale and wan fond Lover_, 195
+
+_When I languish'd and wish'd you_, 209
+
+_When first I saw her charming Face_, 277
+
+_While the Love is thinking_, 283
+
+_When_ Jemmy _first began to love_, 332
+
+
+Y
+
+_You Master Colours pray_, 22
+
+_Ye brave Boys and Tars_, 115
+
+_Young_ Coridon _and_ Phillis, 126
+
+_Your Hay it is mow'd, and your_, 142
+
+_You happy Youths, whose Hearts_, 191
+
+_Young Ladies that live in the_, 262
+
+_You I love by all that's true_, 336
+
+_You've been with dull Prologues_, 349
+
+
+
+
+SONGS Compleat,
+
+Pleasant and Divertive, &c.
+
+VOL. V.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ FOUR-LEGG'D ELDER: _Or a Horrible Relation of a_ DOG _and an_
+Elder's MAID.
+
+
+_By Sir_ John Burtonhead.
+
+[Music]
+
+All Christians and _Lay-Elders_ too,
+ For Shame amend your Lives;
+I'll tell you of a Dog-trick now,
+ Which much concerns you Wives:
+An _Elder's_ Maid near _Temple-Bar_,
+ (Ah! what a Quean was she?)
+Did take an ugly Mastiff Cur,
+ Where Christians use to be.
+ _Help House of Commons, House of Peers,_
+ _Oh now or never help!_
+ _Th' Assembly hath not sat Four Years,_
+ _Yet hath brought forth a Whelp._
+
+One Evening late she stept aside,
+ Pretending to fetch Eggs;
+And there she made her self a Bride,
+ To one that had four Legs:
+Her Master heard a Rumblement,
+ And wonder she did tarry;
+Not dreaming (without his consent)
+ His Dog would ever Marry.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+He went to peep, but was afraid,
+ And hastily did run,
+To fetch a Staff to help his Maid,
+ Not knowing what was done:
+He took his _Ruling Elders_ Cane,
+ And cry'd out _help, help, here_;
+For _Swash_ our Mastiff, and poor _Jane_,
+ Are now fight Dog, fight Bear.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+But when he came he was full sorry,
+ For he perceiv'd their Strife;
+That according to the _Directory_,
+ They Two were Dog and Wife:
+Ah! (then said he) thou cruel Quean,
+ Why hast thou me beguil'd?
+I wonder _Swash_ was grown so lean,
+ Poor Dog he's almost spoil'd.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+I thought thou hadst no Carnal Sense,
+ But what's in our Lasses:
+And could have quench'd thy Cupiscence,
+ According to the _Classes_:
+But all the Parish see it plain,
+ Since thou art in this pickle;
+Thou art an INDEPENDENT Quean,
+ And lov'st a CONVENTICLE.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+Alas now each _Malignant_ Rogue,
+ Will all the World perswade;
+That she that's Spouse unto a Dog,
+ May be an _Elder's_ Maid:
+They'll jeer us if abroad we stir,
+ Good Master _Elder_ stay;
+Sir, of what _Classis_ is your Cur?
+ And then what can we say?
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+They'll many graceless Ballads sing,
+ Of a PRESBYTERIAN;
+That a _Lay Elder_ is a thing
+ Made up half Dog, half Man:
+Out, out, said he, (and smote her down)
+ Was Mankind grown so scant?
+There's scarce another Dog in Town,
+ Had took the COVENANT.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+Then _Swash_ began to look full grim,
+ And _Jane_ did thus reply;
+Sir, you thought nought too good for him,
+ You fed your Dog too high:
+'Tis true he took me in the lurch,
+ And leap'd into my Arms;
+But (as I hope to come at Church)
+ I did your Dog no harm.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+Then she was brought to _Newgate_ Gaol,
+ And there was Naked stripp'd;
+They whipp'd her till the Cords did fail,
+ As Dogs us'd to be whipp'd:
+Poor City Maids shed many a Tear,
+ When she was lash'd and bang'd;
+And had she been a _Cavalier_,
+ Surely she had been hang'd.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+Hers was but _Fornication_ found,
+ For which she felt the Lash:
+But his was _Bugg'ry_ presum'd,
+ Therefore they hanged _Swash_:
+What will become of _Bishops_ then,
+ Or _Independency_?
+For now we find both Dogs and Men,
+ Stand up for PRESBYTRY.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+She might have took a _Sow-gelder_,
+ With _Synod-men_ good store,
+But she would have a _Lay-Elder_,
+ With Two Legs and Two more:
+Go tell the _Assembly_ of Divines,
+ Tell Adoniram blue;
+Tell _Burgess_, _Marshall_, _Case_ and _Vines_,
+ Tell _Now-and-Anon_ too.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+Some say she was a _Scottish_ Girl,
+ Or else (at least) a Witch;
+But she was born in _Colchester_,
+ Was ever such a Bitch:
+Take heed all Christian Virgins now,
+ The _Dog-Star_ now prevails;
+Ladys beware your Monkeys too,
+ For Monkeys have long Tails.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+Bless _King_ and _Queen_, and send us Peace,
+ As we had Seven Years since:
+For we remember no _Dog-days_,
+ While we enjoy'd our Prince:
+Bless sweet Prince _Charles_, Two _Dukes_, Three Girls,
+ Lord save his _Majesty_;
+Grant that his _Commons_, _Lords_, and _Earls_,
+ May lead such lives as _He_.
+ _Help House of Commons_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_Plain Proof Ruin'd: Or, a Grand_ CHEAT _Discover'd._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Bold Impudent _Fuller_ invented a Plot,
+And all to discover the Devil knows what;
+About a young Bantling strangely begot.
+ _Which no body can deny._
+
+The better to cheat both the Fools and the Wise,
+He Impos'd on a Nation a Hundred of Lies;
+That none but a Knight of the Post could devise.
+ _Which no body can deny._
+
+He tells us he had the Honour to peep,
+In the Warming-pan where the _Welch_ Infant did sleep;
+And found out a Plot which was Damnable deep,
+ _Which no Body can believe._
+
+Then to the Wise Senate he suddenly went,
+Where he told all the Lies that he then could invent,
+For which he was Voted a Rogue by consent,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+And tho' he was Punish'd for that his Offence,
+He has almost forgot it, it was so long since,
+Therefore the whole Game he began to Commence,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+Then he to the Lords his bold Letters did send,
+And told the high Peers, that the Plot he could mend,
+And make it as plain, as he first did pretend,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+He told them his Witnesses were mighty Men,
+That wou'd come to the Town, tho' the Devil knows when,
+And make _William Fuller_ once famous agen,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+The Lords they were Generous, Noble and Kind,
+And allowed him Freedom his 'Squires to find,
+The which he will do when the Devil is Blind,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+So the Peers they declared him a scandalous Sot,
+And none thinks him fit to manage a Plot,
+If _Newgate_ and _Tyburn_ does fall to his Lot,
+ _There's no Body will deny._
+
+They gave him no more time than himself did require,
+To find out his _Jones_ and the wandering 'Squire,
+But the time being come, they were never the nigher,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+The brave House of _Commons_ next for him did send,
+To hear what the Block-headly Fool wou'd pretend,
+Who humbly request, that they wou'd him befriend,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+One day he declar'd they were near _London_ Town,
+But the very next Day into _Wales_ they were flown,
+Such nimble Heel'd Witnessess never were known,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+When being Examin'd about his sham Plot,
+He answer'd as though he had minded them not,
+Perhaps the Young Rogue had his Lesson forgot,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+But after some Study and impudent Tales,
+Ask'd for a Commission to march into _Wales_,
+And be Chang'd to a Herse, as Rogues goes to Gaols,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+But seeing his Impudence still to abound,
+To go search for the Men who were not to be found,
+They immediately sent him back to _Fleet_ Pound,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+From the _Fleet_ to the Cart may he quickly advance
+To learn the true Steps of old _Oates's_ New Dance,
+And something beside, or it is a great Chance,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+He has made it a Trade to be doing of Wrong,
+In Swearing, and Lying, and Cheating so long,
+For all his Life time, he's been at it ding dong,
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+_Welch Taffy_ he raves and crys Splutterdenails,
+He's abused hur Highness with Lies and with Tales,
+Hur will hang hur if e'er hur can catch hur in _Wales_,
+ _Which no Body will deny._
+
+
+
+
+_The Woman Warrior._
+
+_Who liv'd in_ COW-CROSS _near_ WEST-SMITHFIELD; _who changing her
+Apparrel, entered her self on Board in Quality of a Soldier, and
+sailed to_ IRELAND, _where she Valiantly behaved her self,
+particularly at the Siege of_ CORK, _where she lost her Toes, and
+received a Mortal Wound in her Body, of which she since Died in her
+return to_ LONDON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+
+Let the Females attend,
+To the Lines which are penn'd,
+ For here I shall give a Relation;
+Of a Young marry'd Wife,
+Who did venture her Life,
+ For a Soldier, a Soldier she went from the Nation.
+
+She her Husband did leave,
+And did likewise receive
+ Her Arms, and on Board she did enter;
+And right valiantly went,
+With a Resolution bent,
+ To the Ocean, the Ocean her Life there to venture.
+
+Yet of all the Ships Crew,
+Not a Seaman that knew,
+ They then had a Woman so near 'em;
+On the Ocean so deep,
+She her Council did keep,
+ Ay, and therefore, and therefore she never did fear 'em.
+
+She was valiant and bold,
+And would not be controul'd,
+ By any that dare to offend her;
+If a Quarrel arose,
+She would give him dry Blows,
+ And the Captain, the Captain did highly commend her.
+
+For he took her to be,
+Then of no mean Degree,
+ A Gentleman's Son or a 'Squire;
+With a Hand white and fair,
+There was none could compare,
+ Which the Captain, the Captain did often admire.
+
+On the _Irish_ Shore,
+Where the Cannons did roar,
+ With many stout Lads she was landed;
+There her Life to expose,
+She lost two of her Toes,
+ And in Battle, in Battle was daily commended.
+
+Under _Grafton_ she fought,
+Like a brave Hero stout,
+ And made the proud Tories retire;
+She in Field did appear,
+With a Heart void of Fear,
+ And she bravely, she bravely did charge and give fire.
+
+While the battering Balls,
+Did assault the strong Walls,
+ Of _Cork_ and the sweet Trumpets sounded;
+She did bravely advance,
+Where by unhappy Chance,
+ This young Female, young Female alass she was wounded.
+
+At the End of the Fray,
+Still she languishing lay,
+ Then over the Ocean they brought her;
+To her own Native Shore,
+Now they ne'er knew before,
+ That a Woman, a Woman had been in that Slaughter.
+
+What she long had conceal'd,
+Now at length she reveal'd,
+ That she was a Woman that ventur'd;
+Then to _London_ with care,
+She did straitways repair,
+ But she dy'd, oh she dy'd e'er the City she enter'd.
+
+When her Parents beheld,
+They with Sorrow was fill'd,
+ For why they did dearly adore her:
+In her Grave now she lies,
+'Tis not watery Eyes,
+ No nor Sighing, nor Sighing that e'er can restore her.
+
+
+
+
+_A Medly, Compos'd out of several_ SONGS.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+State and Ambition, all Joy to great _Caesar_,
+ _Sawney_ shall ne'er be my Colly my Cow;
+All Hail to the Shades, all Joy to the Bridegroom,
+ And call upon _Dobbin_ with Hi, Je, ho.
+Remember ye Whigs, what was formerly done;
+ And _Jenny_ come tye my bonny Cravat,
+If I live to grow old for I find I go down,
+ For I cannot come every Day to Wooe.
+
+_Jove_ in his Throne was a Fumbler, _Tom Farthing_,
+ And _Jockey_ and _Jenny_ together did lie;
+Oh Mother _Roger_: Boys, fill us a Bumper,
+ For why will ye die my poor _Caelia_, ah why?
+Hark! how thundring Cannons do roar,
+ Ladies of _London_ both wealthy and fair;
+_Charon_ make hast and Ferry me over,
+ Lilli burlero bullen a lah.
+
+_Chloris_ awake, Four-pence-half-penny-farthing,
+ Give me the Lass that is true Country bred;
+Like _John_ of _Gaunt_ I walk in _Covent-Garden_,
+ I am a Maid and a very good Maid:
+Twa bonny Lads was _Sawney_ and _Jockey_,
+ The Delights of the Bottle and Charms of good Wine;
+Wading the Water so deep my sweet _Moggy_,
+ Cold and Raw, let it run in the right Line.
+
+Old _Obadiah_ sings _Ave-Maria_,
+ Sing Lulla-by-Baby with a Dildo;
+The old Woman and her Cat sat by the Fire,
+ Now this is my Love d'y' like her ho?
+Old _Charon_ thus preached to his Pupil _Achilles_,
+ And under this Stone here lies _Gabriel John_;
+Happy was I at the fight of Fair _Phillis_,
+What should a Young Woman do with an old Man?
+
+There's old Father _Peters_ with his Romish Creatures,
+ There was an old Woman sold Pudding and Pies,
+Cannons with Thunder shall fill them with Wonder,
+ I once lov'd a Lass that had bright rowling Eyes:
+There's my Maid _Mary_, she does mind her Dairy,
+ I took to my Heels and away I did run;
+And bids him prepare to be happy to Morrow,
+ Alass! I don't know the right end of a Gun.
+
+My Life and Death does lye both in your Power,
+ And every Man to his Mind, _Shrewsbury_ for me;
+On the Bank of a Brook as I sat Fishing,
+ Shall I Die a Maid and never Married be:
+Uds bobs let _Oliver_ now be forgotten,
+ _Joan_ is as good as my Lady in the Dark;
+Cuckolds are Christians Boys all the World over,
+ And here's a full Bumper to _Robin John Clark_.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ TROOPER _Watering his_ NAGG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+There was an old Woman liv'd under a Hill,
+ Sing Trolly lolly, lolly, lolly, lo;
+She had good Beer and Ale for to sell,
+ Ho, ho, had she so, had she so, had she so;
+She had a Daughter her name was _Siss_,
+ Sing Trolly lolly, lolly, lolly, lo;
+She kept her at Home for to welcome her Guest,
+ Ho, ho, did she so, did she so, did she so.
+
+There came a Trooper riding by,
+ Sing trolly, _&c._
+He call'd for Drink most plentifully,
+ Ho, ho, did he so, _&c._
+When one Pot was out he call'd for another,
+ Sing trolly, _&c._
+He kiss'd the Daughter before the Mother,
+ Ho, ho, did he so, _&c._
+
+And when Night came on to Bed they went,
+ Sing trolly, _&c._
+It was with the Mother's own Consent,
+ Ho, ho, was it so, _&c._
+Quoth she what is this so stiff and warm,
+ Sing trolly _&c._
+'Tis Ball my Nag he will do you no harm,
+ Ho, ho, wont he so, _&c._
+
+But what is this hangs under his Chin,
+ Sing trolly, _&c._
+'Tis the Bag he puts his Provender in,
+ Ho, ho, is it so, _&c._
+Quoth he what is this? Quoth she 'tis a Well,
+ Sing trolly, _&c._
+Where Ball your Nag may drink his fill,
+ Ho, ho, may he so, _&c._
+
+But what if my Nag should chance to slip in,
+ Sing trolly, _&c._
+Then catch hold of the Grass that grows on the brim,
+ Ho, ho, must I so, _&c._
+But what if the Grass should chance to fail,
+ Sing trolly, _&c._
+Shove him in by the Head, pull him out by the Tail,
+ Ho, ho, must I so, _&c._
+
+
+
+
+_A Trip to the_ Jubilee. _The Tune by Mr._ R. Loe.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Come bring us Wine in plenty,
+ We've Money enough to spend;
+I hate to see the Pots empty,
+ A Man cannot Drink to's Friend:
+Then drawer bring up more Wine,
+And merrily let it pass;
+We'll drink till our Faces do shine,
+He that wont may look like an Ass:
+And we'll tell him so to his Face,
+If he offers to baulk his Glass,
+For we defy all such dull Society.
+
+'Tis drinking makes us merry,
+ And Mirth diverts all Care;
+A Song of hey down derry,
+ Is better than heavy Air:
+Make ready quickly my Boys,
+And fill up your Glasses higher;
+For we'll present with Huzzas,
+And merrily all give fire;
+Since drinking's our desire,
+And friendship we admire,
+For here we'll stay, ne'er call Drawer what's to pay.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ GOOD FELLOW.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Let's be jolly, fill our Glasses,
+ Madness 'tis for us to think,
+How the World is rul'd by Asses,
+ That o'ersway the Wise with Chink:
+Let not such vain Thoughts oppress us,
+ Riches prove to them a Snare;
+We are all as rich as _Croesus_,
+ Drink your Glasses, take no care.
+
+Wine will make us fresh as Roses,
+ And our Sorrows all forgot;
+Let us fuddle well our Noses,
+ Drink ourselves quite out of Debt:
+When grim Death is looking for us,
+ Whilst we're singing o'er our Bowls;
+_Bacchus_ joyning in our Chorus,
+ Death depart, here's none but Souls.
+
+
+
+
+JOCKEY'S _Escape from_ DUNDEE; _and the Parsons Daughter whom he had
+Mow'd._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Where gott'st thou the _Haver-mill bonack_?
+ Blind Booby can'st thou not see;
+Ise got it out of the _Scotch-man's_ Wallet,
+ As he lig lousing him under a Tree:
+_Come fill up my Cup, come fill up my Can,_
+_Come Saddle my Horse, and call up my Man;_
+ _Come open the Gates, and let me go free,_
+ _And shew me the way to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+For I have neither robbed nor stole,
+ Nor have I done any injury;
+But I have gotten a Fair Maid with Child,
+ The Minister's Daughter of bonny _Dundee_:
+_Come fill up my Cup, come fill up my Can,_
+_Come saddle my Horse and call up my Man,_
+ _Come open the Gates and let me go free,_
+ _And Ise gang no more to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+Altho' Ise gotten her Maiden-head,
+ Geud feth Ise given her mine in lieu;
+For when at her Daddy's Ise gang to Bed,
+ Ise mow'd her without any more to do?
+Ise cuddle her close, and gave her a Kiss,
+Pray tell now where is the harm of this,
+ _Then open the Gates and let me go free,_
+ _And Ise gang no more to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+All _Scotland_ ne'er afforded a Lass,
+ So bonny and blith as _Jenny_ my dear;
+Ise gave her a Gown of Green on the Grass,
+ But now Ise no longer must tarry here:
+Then saddle my Nag that's bonny and gay,
+For now it is time to gang hence away,
+ _Then open the Gates and let me go free,_
+ _She's ken me no more to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+In Liberty still I reckon to Reign,
+ For why I have done no honest Man wrong;
+The Parson may take his Daughter again,
+ For she'll be a Mammy before it is long:
+And have a young Lad or Lass of my breed,
+Ise think I have done her a generous deed;
+ _Then open the Gates and let me go free,_
+ _For Ise gang no more to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+Since _Jenny_ the Fair was willing and kind,
+ And came to my Arms with a ready good will;
+A token of love Ise left her behind,
+ Thus I have requited her kindness still:
+Tho' _Jenny_ the Fair I often had mow'd,
+Another may reap the harvest I sow'd,
+ _Then open the Gates and let me go free,_
+ _She's ken me no more to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+Her Daddy would have me to make her my Bride,
+ But have and to hold I ne'er could endure;
+From bonny _Dundee_ this Day I will ride,
+ It being a place not safe and secure:
+Then _Jenny_ farewel my Joy and my dear,
+With Sword in my Hand the passage I'se clear;
+ _Then open the Gates and let me go free,_
+ _For Ise gang no more to Bonny_ Dundee.
+
+My Father he is a muckle good Leard,
+ My Mother a Lady bonny and gay;
+Then while I have strength to handle a Sweard,
+ The Parson's request Ise never obey:
+Then _Sawny_ my Man be thou of my Mind,
+In bonny _Dundee_ we'se ne'er be confin'd,
+ _The Gates we will force to set ourselves free,_
+ _And never come more to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+The _Sawny_ reply'd Ise never refuse,
+ To fight for a Leard so valiant and bold;
+While I have a drop of Blood for to lose,
+ E'er any fickle Loon shall keep us in hold:
+This Sweard in my Hand I'll valiantly weild,
+And fight by your side to kill or be kill'd,
+ _For forcing the Gates and set ourselves free,_
+ _And so bid adieu to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+With Sweard ready drawn they rid to the Gate,
+ Where being denied an Entrance thro'
+The Master and Man they fought at that rate,
+ That some ran away, and others they slew:
+Thus _Jockey_ the Leard and _Sawny_ the Man,
+They valiantly fought as Highlanders can,
+ _In spight of the Loons they set themselves free,_
+ _And so bid adieu to bonny_ Dundee.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Sung by Mr._ Dogget.
+
+
+[Music:
+
+Let's sing of Stage-Coaches,
+and fear no Reproaches;
+ for riding in one,
+but daily be jogging,
+ while whistling, and flogging,
+ while whistling and flogging,
+ the Coachman drives on;
+ with a hey geeup, geeup hey ho,
+ with a hey gee Dobin hey ho, hey,
+ geeup, geeup, geeup hey ho,
+ geeup, geeup, geeup hey ho,
+ with a hey, gee Dobin hey ho.]
+
+In Coaches thus strowling,
+Who wou'd not be rowling;
+ With Nymphs on each side,
+Still Pratling and Playing;
+ Our Knees interlaying,
+ We merrily ride.
+ _With a hey_, &c.
+
+Here chance kindly mixes,
+All sorts and all Sexes,
+ More Females than Men,
+We squeese 'em, we ease 'em,
+ The jolting does please 'em,
+ Drive jollily then,
+ _With a hey_, &c.
+
+The harder you're driving,
+The more 'tis reviving,
+ Nor fear we to tell,
+For if the Coach tumble,
+ We'll have a rare Jumble,
+ And then up tails all,
+ _With a hey_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_The Crafty Cracks of_ East-Smith-Field, _who pick't up a Master
+Colour upon_ Tower-Hill, _whom they Plundred of a Purse of_ Silver,
+_with above Threescore_ Guineas.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+You Master Colours pray draw near,
+ And listen to my Report;
+My Grief is great, for lo of late,
+ Two Ladies I chanc'd to Court:
+Who did meet me on _Tower-Hill_,
+ Their Beauties I did behold:
+_Those Crafty Jades have learnt their Trades,_
+ _And plunder'd me of my Gold._
+
+I'll tell you how it came to pass,
+ This sorrowful Story is thus:
+Of Guineas bright a glorious Sight,
+ I had in a Cat-skin Purse:
+The Value of near Fourscore Pounds,
+ As good as e'er I had told,
+_Those Crafty Jades have learnt their Trades,_
+ _And plunder'd me of my Gold._
+
+I saw two poor distressed Men,
+ Who lay upon _Tower-Hill_,
+To whom in brief I gave Relief,
+ According to my good Will:
+Two wanton Misses drawing near,
+ My Guineas they did behold;
+They laid a Plot by which they Got,
+ My Silver and yellow Gold.
+
+They both address'd themselves to me,
+ And thus they was pleas'd to say;
+Kind Sir, indeed, we stand in need,
+ Altho' we are fine and gay:
+Of some Relief which you may give,
+ I thought they were something bold;
+The Plot was laid, I was betray'd,
+ And plunder'd of all my Gold.
+
+Alas 'tis pity, then I cry'd,
+ Such Ladies of good Repute,
+Should want Relief, therefore in brief,
+ I gave 'em a kind Salute:
+Thought I of them I'll have my Will,
+ Altho' I am something old;
+They were I see too wise for me,
+ They plunder'd me of my Gold.
+
+Then to _East-Smithfield_ was I led,
+ And there I was entertain'd:
+With Kisses fine and Brandy Wine,
+ In Merriment we remain'd:
+Methought it was the happiest Day,
+ That ever I did behold;
+Sweet Meat alass! had sower Sauce,
+ They plunder'd me of my Gold.
+
+Time after Time to pay their Shot,
+ My Guineas I would lug out;
+Those Misses they wou'd make me stay,
+ And rally the other bout:
+I took my Fill of Pleasures then
+ Altho' I was something old;
+Those Joys are past, they would not last,
+ I'm plunder'd of all my Gold.
+
+As I was at the wanton Game,
+ My Pocket they fairly pick'd;
+And all my Wealth they took by stealth,
+ Thus was a poor Colour trick'd:
+Let me therefore a Warning be,
+ To Merchants both young and old;
+For now of late hard was my Fate,
+ I'm plunder'd of all my Gold.
+
+They got three Pounds in Silver bright,
+ And Guineas above Threescore,
+Such sharping Cracks breaks Merchants Backs,
+ I'll never come near them more:
+Sure now I have enough of them,
+ My Sorrow cannot be told;
+That crafty Crew makes me look Blew,
+ I'm plunder'd of all my Gold.
+
+
+
+
+_The Dance of the_ USURER _and the_ Devil.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Last _Christmas_ 'twas my chance,
+ To be in _Paris_ City;
+Where I did see a Dance,
+ In my conceit was very pretty--By men of France.
+
+First came the Lord of _Pool_,
+ And he begun his Measure;
+The next came in a Fool,
+ And danc'd with him for pleasure--With his Tool.
+
+The next a Knight came in,
+ Who look'd as he would swagger;
+And after follow'd him
+ A merry needy Beggar--Dancing in.
+
+The next a Gentleman,
+ On him a Servant tending,
+And there the Dance began,
+ With nimble Bodies bending--Like two Friends.
+
+Then in a Lawyer came,
+ With him a Knave came leaping;
+And as they Danc'd in Frame,
+ So Hand in Hand went skipping--To the Term.
+
+The next a Citizen,
+ And he a Cuckold leading;
+So round about the Room,
+ Their Masque they fell a Treading--And fain they would.
+
+The next an Usurer,
+ Old fat Guts he came grunting;
+The Devil left all care,
+ For joy he fell a Jumping--To see him there.
+
+And ending then their Masque,
+ The Fool his Lord he carries
+Upon his Back in hast,
+ No longer there he tarries--But left the place.
+
+The Beggar took the Knight,
+ Who took it in Derision;
+The Searjeant took in Spite,
+ The Gentleman to Prison--For all his might.
+
+The Cuckold, silly Man,
+ Altho' he was abhorred:
+He took the Citizen,
+ And led him by the Forehead--And out he ran.
+
+The Devil lik'd it well,
+ His lot it was to carry;
+The Usurer to Hell,
+ And there with him to tarry.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ SUBURBS _is a fine place: To the_ Tune _of_ LONDON _is a fine
+Town._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+The Suburbs is a fine Place belonging to the City,
+It has no Government at all, alack the more the Pity;
+A Wife, a silly Animal, esteemed in that same Place,
+For there a Civil Woman's now asham'd to shew her Face:
+The Misses there have each Man's Time, his Money, nay, his Heart,
+Then all in all, both great and small, and all in ev'ry Part.
+
+Which Part it is a thorough-fair so open and so large,
+One well might sail through ev'ry Tail even in a western Barge;
+These Cracks that Coach it now, when first they came to Town,
+Did turn up Tail for a Pot of Ale in Linsey Wolsey Gown.
+
+The Bullies first debauch'd 'em, in Baudy _Covent-Garden_,
+That filthy place, where ne'er a Wench was ever worth a Farthing;
+And when their Maiden-heads are sold to sneaking Lords,
+Which Lords are Clapt at least nine-fold for taking of their Words.
+
+And then my Lord, that many tries, she looks so Innocent,
+Believing he Infected her, he makes a Settlement;
+These are your Cracks, who skill'd in all kind of Debauches,
+Do daily piss, spue and whore in their own glass Coaches.
+
+Now Miss turn Night-walker, till Lord-Mayor's Men she meets,
+O'er Night she's Drunk, next Day she's finely flogged thro' _London_
+ streets;
+After their Rooms of State are chang'd to Bulks or Coblers Stalls,
+'Till Poverty and Pox agree they dying in Hospitals.
+
+This Suburbs gallant Fop that takes delight in Roaring,
+He spends his time in Huffing, Swearing, Drinking, and in Whoring;
+And if an honest Man and his Wife meet them in the Dark,
+Makes nothing to run the Husband through to get the name of Spark.
+
+But when the Constable appears, the Gallant, let me tell ye,
+His Heart denies his Breeches, and sinks into his Belly;
+These are the silly Rogues that think it fine and witty,
+To laugh and joak at Aldermen, the Rulers of the City.
+
+They'd kiss our Wives, but hold, for all their plotting Pates,
+While they would get us Children, we are getting their Estates;
+And still in vain they Court pretending in their Cares,
+That their Estates may thus descend unto the Lawful Heirs.
+
+Their Play-houses I hate, are Shops to set off Wenches,
+Where Fop and Miss, like Dog and Bitch, do couple under Benches;
+That I might advise the chiefest Play-house monger,
+I have a Sister of my own both Handsomer and Younger.
+
+She lives not far off in the Parish of St. _Clements_,
+She never liv'd in Cellar nor sold Oranges and Lemons:
+Then why should Play-house Trulls with Paint and such Temptations,
+Be an Eye sore to me & more to the best part o'th' Nation.
+
+Now you that all this while have listened to my Dity,
+With streightened Hands pray drink a Health unto this noble City:
+And let us pray to _Jove_, these Suburb folks to mend,
+And having now no more to say, I think it fit to end.
+
+
+
+
+_The Old Woman's_ WISH.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+As I went by an Hospital,
+ I heard an Old Woman cry,
+Kind Sir, quoth she, be kind to me,
+ Once more before I Die,
+And grant to me those Joys,
+ That belong to Woman-kind,
+And the Fates above reward your Love,
+ To an old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+I find an itching in my Blood,
+ Altho' it be something Cold,
+Therefore Good Man do what you can,
+ To comfort me now I'm Old.
+And Grant to me those Joys,
+ That belong to Woman-kind,
+And the Fates above Reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+Altho' I cannot see the Day,
+ Nor never a glance of light;
+Kind Sir, I swear and do declare,
+ I honour the Joys of Night:
+Then grant to me those Joys,
+ That belong to Woman-kind,
+And the Fates above Reward you Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+When I was in my Blooming Youth,
+ My vigorous Love was Hot;
+Now in my Age I dare Engage,
+ A fancy I still have got:
+Then give to me those Joys,
+ That belong to Woman-kind,
+And the Fates above Reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+You shall miss of a Reward,
+ If Readily you comply;
+Then do not Blush but touch my flesh.
+ This minute before I die:
+O let me tast those Joys,
+ That belong to Woman-kind,
+And the Fates above reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+I Forty Shillings would freely give,
+ 'Tis all the Mony I have;
+Which I full long have begged for,
+ To carry me to my Grave:
+This I would give to have the Bliss,
+ That belongs to Woman-kind,
+And the Fates above reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+I had a Husband in my Youth,
+ As very well 'tis known,
+The truth to tell he pleased me well,
+ But now I am left alone;
+And long to tast the good Old Game,
+ That belongs to Woman-kind:
+And the Fates above Reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+If Forty Shillings will not do,
+ My Petticoat and my Gown;
+Nay Smock also shall freely go,
+ To make up the other Crown:
+Then Sir, pray Grant that kind Request,
+ That belongs to Woman-kind;
+And the Fates above Reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+Tho' I am Fourscore Years of Age,
+ I love with a Right good Will;
+And what in truth I want in Youth,
+ I have it in perfect Skill:
+Then grant to me that Charming Bliss,
+ That belongs to Woman-kind;
+And the Fates above Reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+Now if you do not pleasure me,
+ And give me the thing I crave;
+I do protest I shall not rest,
+ When I am laid in my Grave:
+Therefore kind Sir, grant me the Joys,
+ That belong to Woman-kind;
+And the Fates above Reward your Love,
+ To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.
+
+
+
+
+_The Mad-Man's_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+There can be no Glad-man compar'd to the Mad-man,
+His Mind is still void of Care;
+His Fits and his Fancies, are above all Mischances,
+ And Mirth is his ordinary Fare.
+ _Then be thou Mad, Mad, Mad let's be,_
+ _Nor shall the foul Fiend be Madder than we._
+
+The Wise and the Witty, in Court and in City,
+ Are subject to sorrow and Pain;
+While he that is Mad, knows not why to be Sad,
+ Nor has any cause to complain:
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+We laugh at you Wise Men, that thus do despise Men,
+ Whose Senses you think to Decline;
+Mark well and you'll see, what you count but Frenzy,
+ Is indeed but Raptures Divine.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+Let the Grave and the Wise, pluck out their Eyes,
+ To set forth a Book worth a Groat;
+We Mad-men are quicker, grow Learn'd with good Liquor,
+ And Chirp a Merry note.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+Hast thou lost thy Estate Man, why, care not for that Man,
+ What Wealth may'st not fancy thy own;
+More than Queen _Dido_, or her Ass-Ear'd _Midas_,
+ That great Philosopher's stone.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+_Pompey_ was a Mad-man, and so long a Glad-man;
+ But at length he was forc'd to flee;
+For _Caesar_ from _Gallia_ beat him in _Pharsalia_,
+ 'Cause a madder Fellow then he.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+'Twas this Extasie brave, that the great Courage gave,
+ If your Eyes were but ope'd and would see;
+To great _Alexander_, that mighty Commander,
+ As Mad a Fellow as could be.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+Then around goes a Health to the Lady o'th' House,
+ If any Man here does forsake it;
+For a Fool let him go, we know better Manners,
+ And so we mean to take it.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+There's no Night Mirth's going, nor any Lad wooing,
+ But Mad-men are privy unto it;
+For the Stars so peep, into every such thing,
+ And wink upon us as you do it.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+When the Frost, Ice and Snow, do benumb things below,
+ We Chirp as merry as Larks;
+Our Sack and our Madness, consumes cold and sadness,
+ And we are the Jovial Sparks.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+Has thy Mistress frown'd on thee, or thy Rival out-gone thee?
+ Let Sober and Wise Fellows pine;
+Whilst bright _Miralind_ and goodly _Dulcind_,
+ And the rest of the Fairies are thine.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+A Mad-man needs baulk no manner of talk,
+ His Tongues never guilty with Treason;
+But a Wise Knave would suffer, if the same he should utter,
+ For a wise Man's Guilt is his Reason.
+ _Then be thou Mad_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+A Shepherd kept Sheep on a Hill so high, _fa, la, la_, &c.
+And there came a pretty Maid passing by, _fa, la_, &c.
+Shepherd, quoth she, dost thou want e'er a Wife,
+No by my troth I'm not weary of my Life, _fa, la, la_, &c.
+
+Shepherd for thee I care not a Fly, _fa, la, la_,
+For thou'st not the Face with a fair Maid to lie, _fa, la_,
+How now my Damsel, say'st thou me so,
+Thou shalt tast of my bottle before thou dost go, _fa, la_.
+
+Then he took her and laid her upon the Ground, _fa, la_,
+And made her believe that the World went round, _fa, la_,
+Look yonder my Shepherd, look yonder I spy,
+There are fine pretty Babies that dance in the Sky, _fa, la_.
+
+And now they are vanisht, and now they appear, _fa, la_,
+Sure they will tell Stories of what we do here, _fa, la, la_,
+Lie still my dear _Chloris_, enjoy thy Conceit,
+For the Babes are too young and too little to prate, _fa, la, la_.
+
+See how the Heavens fly swifter than Day, _fa, la, la_,
+Rise quickly, or they will all run away, _fa, la, la_,
+Rise quickly my Shepherd, quickly I tell ye,
+For the Sun, Moon and Stars are got all in my Belly, _fa, la_.
+
+O dear, where am I? pray shew me the way, _fa, la, la_,
+Unto my Father's House hard by, _fa, la, la_,
+If he chance to Chide me for staying so long,
+I'll tell him the fumes of your Bottle were strong, _fa, la, la_.
+
+And now thou hast brought my Body to shame, _fa, la_,
+I prithee now tell me what is thy Name, _fa, la, la_,
+Why _Robin_ in the Rushes my Name is, quoth he,
+But I think I told her quite contrary, _fa, la, la_.
+
+Then for _Robin_ in the Rushes, she did enquire, _fa, la, la_,
+But he hung down his Head, and he would not come nigh her, _fa, la, la_,
+He wink'd with one Eye, as if he had been Blind,
+And he drew one Leg after a great way behind, _fa, la, la_.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+As I was a walking under a Grove,
+ Within my self, as I suppos'd;
+My Mind did oftentimes remove,
+ And by no means could be disclosed:
+At length by chance a Friend I met,
+ Which caused me long time to tarry;
+And thus of me she did intreat,
+ To tell her when I meant to Marry.
+
+Sweet-heart, quoth I, if you would know,
+ Then hear the Words, and I'll reveal it;
+Since in your Mind you bear it so,
+ And in your Heart you will conceal it:
+She promis'd me she'd make no Words,
+ But of such things she would be wary;
+And thus in brief I did begin,
+ To tell her when I meant to Marry.
+
+When _Shrove-tide_ falls in _Easter_ week,
+ And _Christmas_ in the midst of _July_;
+When Lawyers for no Fees will Plead,
+ And Taylors they prove Just and Truly:
+When all Deceits are quite put down,
+ And Truth by all Men is preferred;
+And _Indigo_ dies Red and Brown,
+ O then my Love and I'll be Married.
+
+When Men and Beasts in the Ocean flow,
+ And Fishes in green Fields are feeding;
+When Muscle-shells in the Streets grow,
+ And Swans upon dry Rocks be breeding:
+When Cockle-shells are Diamond Rings,
+ And Glass to Pearl may be compared;
+Gold is made of a Grey-goose Wings,
+ Oh then my Love and I'll be Married.
+
+When hostesses do reckon true,
+ And _Dutchmen_ leave off drinking Brandy;
+When Cats do bark, and Dogs do Mew,
+ And Brimstone is took for Sugar-candy:
+Or when that _Whitsontide_ do fall,
+ Within the Month of _January_;
+And a Cobler works without an Awl,
+ O then my, _&c._
+
+When Women know not how to Scold,
+And Maids on Sweet-hearts ne'er are thinking;
+When Men in the Fire complain of Cold,
+ And Ships on _Salisbury_ Plain fear sinking:
+Or when Horse-Coursers turn honest Men,
+ And _London_ into _York_ is carried;
+And out of One you can take Ten,
+ Oh then, _&c._
+
+When Candlesticks do serve for Bells,
+ And Frying-pans they do use for Ladles;
+When in the Sea they dig for Wells,
+ And Porridge-pots they use for Cradles:
+When Maids forget to go a _Maying_,
+ And a Man on his Back an Ox can carry;
+Or when the Mice with the Cat be playing,
+ Oh then, _&c._
+
+Good Sir, since you have told me when,
+ That you're resolv'd for to Marry;
+I wish with all my Heart till then,
+ That for a Wife you still may tarry:
+But if all young Men were of your mind,
+ And Maids no better were preferred;
+I think it were when the D----l were blind,
+ That we and our Lovers should be Married.
+
+
+
+
+Gilderoys _last Farewel. To a New Tune._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Gilderoy_ was a bonny Boy,
+ Had Roses tull his shun,
+His Stockings were made of the finest Silk,
+ His Garters hanging down:
+It was a comely sight to see,
+ He was so trim a Boy;
+He was my Joy and Heart's Delight,
+ _My Handsom_ Gilderoy.
+
+Oh sike a charming Eye he had,
+ A Breath as sweet as a Rose,
+He never wore a Hiland plad,
+ But costly silken Cloaths:
+He gain'd the Love of Ladies gay,
+ There's none to him was Coy;
+Ah, wa's me, Ise mourn this Day,
+ _For my Dear_ Gilderoy.
+
+My _Gilderoy_ and I was born,
+ Both in one Town together;
+Not past Seven years of Age,
+ Since one did Love each other:
+Our Daddies and our Mammies both,
+ Were cloath'd with mickle Joy,
+To think upon the Bridal Day,
+ _Betwixt I and my_ Gilderoy.
+
+For _Gilderoy_, that Love of mine,
+ Geud faith Ise freely bought:
+A Wedding-sark of Holland fine,
+ With Silk in Flowers wrought:
+And he gave me a Wedding Ring,
+ Which I receiv'd with Joy;
+No Lads or Lasses e'er could Sing,
+ _Like my sweet_ Gilderoy.
+
+In mickle Joy we spent our time,
+ Till we was both Fifteen;
+Then gently he did lay me down,
+ Amongst the leaves so green:
+When he had done what he could do,
+ He rose and he gang'd his way;
+But ever since I lov'd the Man,
+ _My Handsome_ Gilderoy.
+
+While we did both together play,
+ He kiss'd me o'er and o'er;
+Geud faith it was as blith a Day,
+ As e'er I saw before:
+He fill'd my Heart in every Vein,
+ With Love and mickle Joy;
+Who was my Love and Hearts delight,
+ _Mine own sweet_ Gilderoy.
+
+Oh never, never shall I see,
+ The cause of past Delight;
+Or sike a lovely Lad as he,
+ Transport my Ravish'd sight:
+The Law forbids what Love enjoyns,
+ And does prevent our Joy;
+Though just and fair were the Designs,
+ _Of me and_ Gilderoy.
+
+'Cause _Gilderoy_ had done amiss,
+ Must he be punish'd then;
+What kind of Cruelty is this
+ To hang such Handsom Men?
+The Flower of the _Scotish_ land,
+ A sweet and lovely Boy;
+He likewise had a Lady's Hand,
+ _My Handsom_ Gilderoy.
+
+At _Leith_ they took my _Gilderoy_,
+ And there God wot they bang'd him:
+Carry'd him to fair _Edenburgh_,
+ And there God wot they hang'd him:
+They hang'd him up above the rest,
+ He was so trim a Boy;
+My only Love and Heart's Delight,
+ _My Handsom_ Gilderoy.
+
+Thus having yielded up his Breath,
+ In _Cypress_ he was laid;
+Then for my dearest, after Death,
+ A Funeral I made:
+Over his Grave a Marble-stone,
+ I fixed for my Joy;
+Now I am left to weep alone,
+ _For my dear_ Gilderoy.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ SCOTCH _Wedding_
+
+_Between_ JOCKEY _and_ JENNY.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Then _Jockey_ wou'd a Wooing away,
+ On our Feast-day when he was foo;
+Then _Jenny_ put on her best Array,
+ When she thought _Jockey_ would come to Woo.
+
+If I thought _Jockey_ were come to Town,
+ It wad be for the leve of me;
+Then wad I put on beth Hat and Goown,
+ Because I'd seem worstsome in his Eye.
+
+Then _Jenny_ prick'd up a brant breeght broow,
+ She was as breeght as onny clock;
+As _Moggy_ always used to do,
+ For fear her Sweet-heart shou'd her mock.
+
+Then _Jenny_ shoo tripped up the Stairs,
+ And secretly to shift her Smock;
+But leard how loud her mother swears,
+ O hast away _Jenny_, and come to _Jock_.
+
+Then _Jenny_ came tripping down the Stairs,
+ Oh Leard so nimbly tripped she;
+But oh how _Jockey_ began to stare,
+ When he beheld hur fair Beauty!
+
+Then _Jenny_ made a Curtshy low,
+ Until the Stairs did touch her Dock;
+But Leard how loud her Mother did lough,
+ When shoo _Jenny_ was come to _Jock_.
+
+Then _Jockey_ tuke _Jenny_ by the Nease,
+ Saying my dear Lovey canst thou loof me?
+My Father is Dead and has left me Land,
+ Some fair ould Houses twa or three.
+
+Thou shalt be the Lady o'er them aw,
+ I doot, quod _Jenny_ you do me mock;
+Ad ta my saw, quoth _Jockey_, then,
+ I come to woo thee _Jenny_, quoth _Jock_.
+
+
+_This to be said after the_ SONG.
+
+Sea then they gang'd to the Kirk to be wad; noow they den't use to wad
+in _Scotchland_ as they wad in _England_, for they gang to the Kirk,
+and they take the Donkin by the Rocket, and say, good morn Sir Donkin,
+says Sir Donkin, ah _Jockey_ sen ater me, wit ta ha _Jenny_ to thy
+wadded Wife? ay by her Lady quoth _Jockey_ and thanka twa, we aw my
+Heart; ah _Jenny_ sen ater me, wit ta ha _Jockey_ to thy wadded Loon,
+to have and to hold for aver and aver, forsaking aw other Loons,
+lubberloons, black Lips, blue Nases, an aw Swiggbell'd caves? ah, an
+these twa be'nt as weel wadded as e'er I wadded twa in _Scotchland_,
+the Deel and St. _Andrew_ part ye.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ Scotch SONG _made to the_ Irish JIGG, _and Sung to the King at_
+Whitehall.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Lately as thorough the fair _Edinborough_,
+ To view the fair Meadows as I was ganging;
+_Jockey_ and _Moggy_ were walking and talking,
+ Of Love and Religion, thus closely Haranguing;
+Never says _Moggy_, come near me false _Jockey_,
+ For thou art a _Whig_, and I mean to abhor thee;
+Ize be no Bride, nor will lig by thy side,
+ For no sneaking Rebel shall lift a Leg o'er me.
+
+_Jockey._ Fairest and Dearest,
+ And to my Heart nearest,
+ To live with thy Frowns I no longer am able;
+ I am so loving,
+ And thou art so moving,
+ Each Hair of thy Head ties me fast as a Cable:
+ Thou hast that in thee,
+ Ise sure to win me,
+ To _Jew_, _Turk_ or _Atheist_, so much I adore thee;
+ Nothing I'd shun,
+ That is under the Sun,
+ So I have the pleasure to lift a Leg o'er thee.
+
+_Moggy._ Plotters and Traytors,
+ And Associators,
+ In every degree thou shalt swear to oppose 'em;
+ Swimmers and Trimmers,
+ The Nations Redeemers,
+ And for thy Reward thou shalt sleep in my Bosom;
+ I had a Dad,
+ Was a Royal brave Lad,
+ And as true as the Sun to his Monarch before me;
+ _Moggy_ he cry'd,
+ The same hour that he Dy'd,
+ Let no sneaking Rebel e'er lift a Leg o'er thee.
+
+_Jockey._ Adieu then ye Crew then,
+ Of Protestant Blue Men,
+ No Faction his _Moggy_ from _Jockey_ shall sever;
+ Thou shalt at Court,
+ My Conversion Report,
+ I am not the first Whig by his Wife brought in favour;
+ Ise never deal,
+ For the dull Common Weal,
+ To fight for true Monarchy shall be my Glory;
+ Lull'd with thy Charms,
+ Then I die in your Arms,
+ When I have the Pleasure to lift a Leg o'er thee.
+
+
+
+
+_The Fair Lass of_ ISLINGTON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+There was a Lass of _Islington_,
+ As I have heard many tell;
+And she would to Fair _London_ go,
+ Fine Apples and Pears to sell:
+And as along the Streets she flung,
+ With her basket on her Arm:
+Her Pears to sell, you may know it right well,
+ This fair Maid meant no harm.
+
+But as she tript along the Street,
+ Her pleasant Fruit to sell;
+A Vintner did with her meet,
+ Who lik'd this Maid full well:
+Quoth he, fair Maid, what have you there?
+ In Basket decked brave;
+Fine Pears, quoth she, and if it please ye
+ A taste Sir you shall have.
+
+The Vintner he took a Taste,
+ And lik'd it well, for why;
+This Maid he thought of all the rest,
+ Most pleasing to his Eye:
+Quoth he, fair Maid I have a Suit,
+ That you to me must grant;
+Which if I find you be so kind,
+ Nothing that you shall want.
+
+Thy Beauty doth so please my Eye,
+ And dazles so my sight;
+That now of all my Liberty,
+ I am deprived quite:
+Then prithee now consent to me,
+ And do not put me by;
+It is but one small courtesie,
+ All Night with you to lie.
+
+Sir, if you lie with me one Night,
+ As you propound to me;
+I do expect that you should prove,
+ Both courteous, kind and free:
+And for to tell you all in short,
+ It will cost you Five Pound,
+A Match, a Match, the Vintner said,
+ And so let this go round.
+
+When he had lain with her all Night,
+ Her Money she did crave,
+O stay, quoth he, the other Night,
+ And thy Money thou shalt have:
+I cannot stay, nor I will not stay,
+ I needs must now be gone,
+Why then thou may'st thy Money go look,
+ For Money I'll pay thee none.
+
+This Maid she made no more ado,
+ But to a Justice went;
+And unto him she made her moan,
+ Who did her Case lament:
+She said she had a Cellar Let out,
+ To a Vintner in the Town;
+And how that he did then agree
+ Five Pound to pay her down.
+
+But now, quoth she, the Case is thus,
+ No Rent that he will pay;
+Therefore your Worship I beseech,
+ To send for him this Day:
+Then strait the Justice for him sent,
+ And asked the Reason why;
+That he would pay this Maid no Rent?
+ To which he did Reply,
+
+Although I hired a Cellar of her,
+ And the Possession was mine?
+I ne'er put any thing into it,
+ But one poor Pipe of Wine:
+Therefore my Bargain it was hard,
+ As you may plainly see;
+I from my Freedom was Debarr'd,
+ Then good Sir favour me.
+
+This Fair Maid being ripe of Wit,
+ She strait Reply'd again;
+There were two Butts more at the Door,
+ Why did you not roul them in?
+You had your Freedom and your Will,
+ As is to you well known;
+Therefore I do desire still,
+ For to receive my own.
+
+The Justice hearing of their Case,
+ Did then give Order strait;
+That he the Money should pay down,
+ She should no longer wait:
+Withal he told the Vintner plain
+ If he a Tennant be;
+He must expect to pay the same,
+ For he could not sit Rent-free.
+
+But when the Money she had got,
+ She put it in her Purse:
+And clapt her Hand on the Cellar Door,
+ And said it was never the worse:
+Which caused the People all to Laugh,
+ To see this Vintner Fine:
+Out-witted by a Country Girl,
+ About his Pipe of Wine.
+
+
+
+
+_The most Famous_ BALLAD
+
+_Of King_ HENRY _the 5th; his Victory over the_ French _at_ Agencourt.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+A Councel grave our King did hold,
+ With many a Lord and Knight:
+That he might truly understand,
+ That _France_ did hold his Right.
+
+Unto the King of _France_ therefore,
+ Embassadors he sent;
+That he might truly understand,
+ His Mind and whole Intent.
+
+Desiring him in friendly sort,
+ His lawful Right to yield;
+Or else he swore by dint of Sword,
+ To win it in the Field.
+
+The King of _France_ with all his Lords,
+ Did hear this Message plain;
+And to our brave Embassador,
+ Did answer with Disdain.
+
+And said our King was yet too young,
+ And of but tender Age;
+Therefore they pass not for his Threats,
+ Nor fear not his Courage.
+
+His Knowledge yet in Feats of Arms,
+ As yet is very small;
+His tender Joints more fitter are,
+ To toss a Tennis-ball.
+
+A Tun of Tennis-balls therefore,
+ In Pride and great Disdain;
+He sent unto this Royal King,
+ To recompence his Pain.
+
+Which Answer when our King did hear,
+ He waxed wroth in Heart;
+And swore he would provide such Balls,
+ Should make all _France_ to smart.
+
+An Army then our King did hold,
+ Which was both good and strong;
+And from _Southampton_ is our King,
+ With all his Navy gone.
+
+In _France_ he landed safe and sound,
+ Both he and all his Train;
+And to the Town of _Husle_ then
+ He marched up amain.
+
+Which when he had besieg'd the Town,
+ Against the fenced Walls;
+To batter down the stately Towers,
+ He sent his _English_ Balls.
+
+When this was done our King did march,
+ Then up and down the Land;
+And not a _Frenchman_ for his Life,
+ Durst once his Force withstand.
+
+Until he came to _Agencourt_,
+ Whereas it was his chance;
+To find the King in readiness,
+ With all the Power of _France_.
+
+A mighty Host he had prepar'd,
+ Of Armed Soldiers then;
+Which were no less by just Account,
+ Than Forty Thousand Men.
+
+Which sight did much amaze our King,
+ For he and all his Host;
+Not passing Fifteen Thousand had,
+ Accounted with the most.
+
+The King of _France_ who well did know,
+ The Number of our Men;
+In vaunting Pride and great Disdain,
+ Did send an Herald then:
+
+To understand what he would give,
+ For Ransom of his Life,
+When they in Field had taken him,
+ Amongst the bloody strife.
+
+And when our King with cheerful Heart,
+ This answer then did make;
+Before that it does come to pass,
+ Some of your Hearts will ake.
+
+And to your proud presumptuous King,
+ Declare this thing, quoth he;
+My own Heart's-blood will pay the Price,
+ Nought else he gets of me.
+
+Then spake the noble Duke of _York_,
+ O noble King, quoth he,
+The Leading of this Battle brave,
+ It doth belong to me.
+
+God-a-mercy Cousin _York_, he said,
+ I grant thee thy Request;
+Then lead thou on couragiously,
+ And I will lead the rest.
+
+Then came the bragging _Frenchmen_ down,
+ With cruel Force and Might;
+With whom our Noble King began,
+ A fierce and dreadful Fight.
+
+The Archers they discharg'd their Shafts,
+ As thick as Hail from Skie;
+And many a _Frenchman_ in the Field,
+ That happy Day did die.
+
+Their Horses tumbled on the Stakes,
+ And so their Lives they lost;
+And many a _Frenchman_ there was ta'en,
+ As Prisoners to their cost.
+
+Ten Thousand Men that Day was slain,
+ As Enemies in the Field:
+And eke as many Prisoners,
+ Were forc'd that Day to yield.
+
+Thus had our King a happy Day,
+ And Victory over _France_;
+And brought them quickly under foot
+ That late in Pride did prance.
+
+God save our King, and bless this Land,
+ And grant to him likewise;
+The upper-hand and Victory,
+ Of all his Enemies.
+
+
+
+
+_The Lady_ ISABELLA'S _Tragedy: Or, the Step-Mother's Cruelty._ _To
+the foregoing Tune._
+
+
+There was a Lord of worthy Fame,
+ And a Hunting he would ride,
+Attended by a noble Train,
+ Of Gentry on each side.
+
+And whilst he did in Chace remain,
+ To see both Sport and Play;
+His Lady went as she did feign,
+ Unto the Church to pray.
+
+This Lord he had a Daughter Fair,
+ Whose Beauty shin'd so bright;
+She was belov'd both far and near,
+ Of many a Lord and Knight.
+
+Fair _Isabella_ was she call'd,
+ A Creature Fair was she;
+She was her Father's only Joy,
+ As you shall after see.
+
+But yet her Cruel Step-Mother,
+ Did Envy her so much;
+That Day by Day she sought her Life,
+ Her Malice it was such.
+
+She bargain'd with the Master-Cook,
+ To take her Life away;
+And taking of her Daughter's Book,
+ She thus to her did say.
+
+Go home, sweet Daughter, I thee pray.
+ Go hasten presently;
+And tell unto the Master-Cook,
+ These Words which I tell thee.
+
+And bid him dress to Dinner straight,
+ That fair and milk-white Doe;
+That in the Park doth shine so bright,
+ There's none so fair to show.
+
+This Lady fearing of no harm,
+ Obey'd her Mother's Will;
+And presently she hasted home,
+ Her Mind for to fulfil.
+
+She straight into the Kitchin went,
+ Her Message for to tell,
+And there the Master-Cook she spy'd,
+ Who did with Malice swell.
+
+Now Master-Cook it must be so,
+ Do that which I thee tell;
+You needs must dress the milk-white Doe,
+ Which you do know full well.
+
+Then straight his cruel bloody Hands,
+ He on the Lady laid;
+Who quivering and shaking stands,
+ While thus to her he said:
+
+Thou art the Doe that I must dress,
+ See here, behold my Knife;
+For it is Pointed presently,
+ To rid thee of thy Life.
+
+O then cry'd out the Scullion Boy,
+ As loud as loud might be;
+O save her Life, good Master-Cook,
+ And make your Pies of me?
+
+For pity sake do not destroy
+ My Lady with your Knife;
+You know she is her Father's Joy,
+ For Christ's sake save her Life.
+
+I will not save her Life he said,
+ Nor make my Pies of thee;
+Yet if thou dost this Deed betray,
+ Thy Butcher I will be;
+
+Now when this Lord he did come home,
+ For to sit down to Meat;
+He called for his Daughter dear,
+ To come and carve his Meat.
+
+Now sit you down, his Lady said,
+ O sit you down to Meat;
+Into some Nunnery she's gone,
+ Your Daughter dear forget.
+
+Then solemnly he made a Vow,
+ Before the Company;
+That he would neither eat nor drink,
+ Until he did her see.
+
+O then bespoke the Scullion Boy,
+ With a loud Voice so high;
+If that you will your Daughter see
+ My Lord cut up the Pye.
+
+Wherein her Flesh is minced small,
+ And parched with the Fire;
+All caused by her Step-Mother,
+ Who did her Death desire.
+
+And cursed be the Master-Cook,
+ O cursed may he be!
+I proffer'd him my own Heart's Blood,
+ From Death to set her free.
+
+Then all in Black this Lord did Mourn,
+ And for his Daughter's sake;
+He judged for her Step-Mother,
+ To be burnt at a Stake.
+
+Likewise he judg'd the Master-Cook,
+ In boyling Lead to stand;
+He made the simple Scullion Boy,
+ The Heir to all his Land.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ BALLAD
+
+_In Praise of a certain Commander in the City._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+A Heroe of no small Renown,
+ But noted for a Man of Mettle;
+Thro' all the Parts of _London_ Town,
+No Gentleman, nor yet a Clown,
+ No grave wise man, nor stupid Beetle.
+
+By many Deeds of Prowess done,
+ He's gain'd a matchless Reputation;
+Perform'd by neither Sword nor Gun,
+But by what means you'll know anon,
+ And how he work'd his Preservation.
+
+Well mounted on a noble Steed,
+ With Sword and Pistol charg'd before him;
+Altho' we must confess indeed,
+Of either Arms there was no need,
+ His Conduct did alone secure him.
+
+With's Wife upon a single Horse,
+ T'wards _Eppin_ both rid out together;
+But what than ill Luck can be worse,
+A High-way-Man of equal Force,
+ Alass, obstructed both their Pleasure.
+
+With Pistol cock'd he made demand,
+ And told them he must have their Money;
+The Major wisely would not stand,
+Nor on his Pistols clap a Hand,
+ He was not such a Fighting Tony.
+
+But spur'd away as swift as Wind,
+ No Elk or Tyger could run faster;
+Was ever Man so stout and kind,
+To leave his frighted Wife behind,
+ Expos'd to such a sad Disaster.
+
+Her Necklace, Cloaths and Diamond Ring,
+ The greedy Robber quickly fell to;
+One Petticoat he let her bring
+Away with Smock, and t'other Thing,
+ To let her noble Heroe smell to.
+
+This Slight bred sad domestick Strife,
+ Altho' the Man's to be commended;
+For what's a loving handsome Wife,
+To a Man's Money or his Life,
+ For all is lost when that is ended.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+As the Fryer he went along, and a poring in his Book,
+At last he spy'd a Jolly brown Wench a washing of her Buck,
+
+ Sing, _Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer_
+ _Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go_.
+
+The Fryer he pull'd out and a Jolly brown T----d
+ as much as he could handle,
+Fair Maid, quoth he, if thou earnest Fire in thy A----
+ come light me this same Candle.
+ Sing, _Stow the Fryer_, &c.
+
+The Maid she sh---- and a Jolly brown T----
+ out of her Jolly brown Hole,
+Good Sir, quoth she, if you will a Candle light
+ come blow me this same Cole.
+ Sing, _Stow the Fryer_, &c.
+
+Part of the Sparks flew into the _North_,
+ and part into the _South_,
+And part of this jolly brown T----
+ flew into the Fryer's Mouth.
+
+ Sing, _Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer_
+ _Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go_.
+
+
+
+
+_The Lass of_ LYNN'S _sorrowful Lamentation for the Loss of her
+Maiden-Head._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+I am a young Lass of _Lynn_,
+ Who often said thank you too;
+My Belly's now almost to my Chin,
+ _I cannot tell what to do_.
+
+My being so free and kind,
+ Does make my Heart to rue;
+The sad Effects of this I find,
+ _And cannot tell what to do_.
+
+My Petticoats which I wore,
+ And likewise my Aprons too;
+Alass, they are all too short before,
+ _I cannot_, &c.
+
+Was ever young Maid so crost,
+ As I who thank'd him too:
+For why, my Maiden-head is lost,
+ _I cannot tell what to do_.
+
+In sorrowful sort I cry'd,
+ And may now for ever rue;
+The Pain lies in my Back and Side,
+ _I cannot tell what to do_.
+
+Alass I was kind and mild,
+ But now the same I rue;
+Having no Father for my Child,
+ _I cannot_, &c.
+
+I took but a Touch in jest,
+ Believe me this is true;
+Yet I have proved, I protest,
+ _And cannot_, &c.
+
+He crav'd my Virginity,
+ And gave me his own in lieu;
+In this I find I was too kind,
+ _And cannot_, &c.
+
+Each Damsel will me degrade,
+ And so will the young Men too;
+I'm neither Widow, Wife, nor Maid,
+ _I cannot_, &c.
+
+A Cradle I must provide,
+ A Chair and Posset too;
+Nay, likewise twenty Things beside,
+ _I cannot_, &c.
+
+When I was a Maiden fair,
+ Such Sorrows I never knew;
+But now my Heart is full of Care,
+ _I cannot_, &c.
+
+Oh what will become of me,
+ My Belly's as big as two;
+'Tis with a Two-legg'd Tympany,
+ _I cannot tell what to do_.
+
+You Lasses that hear my Moan,
+ If you will your Joys renew;
+Besure, while Married, lye alone,
+ _Or else you at length may rue_.
+
+I came of as good a Race,
+ As most is in _Lynn_'s fair Town;
+And cost a great deal bringing up,
+ _But a little Thing laid me down_.
+
+
+
+
+_The Jovial Tinker._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+There was a Jovial Tinker,
+Which was a good Ale drinker;
+He never was a Shrinker,
+ Believe me this is true;
+And he came from the wild of _Kent_,
+When all his Money was gone and spent,
+Which made him look like a _Jack-a-Lent_,
+ _And Joan's Ale is new,_
+ _And Joan's Ale is new Boys,_
+ _And Joan's Ale is new._
+
+The Tinker he did settle,
+Most like a Man of Mettle,
+And vow'd to pawn his Kettle,
+ Now mark what did ensue;
+His Neighbours they flock'd in apace,
+To see _Tom Tinker's_ comely Face,
+Where they drank soundly for a space,
+ _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+The Cobler and the Broom Man,
+Came next into the Room, Man,
+And said they would drink for boon Man,
+ Let each one take his due;
+But when good Liquor they had found,
+They cast their Caps upon the Ground,
+And so the Tinker he drank round,
+ _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+The Rag-Man being weary,
+With the Burden he did carry,
+He swore he would be merry,
+ And spend a Shilling or two;
+And he told his Hostess to her Face,
+The Chimney-corner was his Place,
+And he began to drink apace,
+ _And_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+The Pedlar he drew nigher,
+For it was his desire,
+To throw the Rags i'th' Fire,
+ And burn the bundle blue;
+So whilst they drank whole Flashes,
+And threw about the Glasses,
+The Rags were burnt to Ashes,
+ _And_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+
+_The Second_ PART.
+
+And then came in a Hatter,
+To see what was the matter,
+He scorn'd to drink cold Water,
+ Amongst that Jovial Crew;
+And like a Man of Courage stout,
+He took the Quart-Pot by the Snout,
+And never left till all was out,
+ _O_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+The Taylor being nimble,
+With Bodkin, Shears and Thimble,
+He did no whit dissemble,
+ I think his name was _True_;
+He said that he was like to choak,
+And he call'd so fast for Lap and Smoak,
+Until he had pawn'd the Vinegar Cloak,
+ _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+Then came a pitiful Porter,
+Which often did resort there,
+Quoth he, I'll shew some Sport here,
+ Amongst the Jovial Crew;
+The Porter he had very bad luck,
+Before that it was ten a Clock,
+The Fool got Drunk, and lost his Frock,
+ _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+The bonny brave Shoe-maker,
+A brave Tobacco taker,
+He scorn'd to be a Quaker,
+ I think his Name was _Hugh_;
+He call'd for Liquor in so fast,
+Till he forgot his Awl and Last,
+And up the Reckoning he did cast,
+ _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+And then came in the Weaver,
+You never saw a braver,
+With a Silk Man and a Glover,
+ _Tom Tinker_ for to view;
+And so to welcom him to Town,
+They every Man spent half a Crown,
+And so the Drink went merrily down,
+ _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+Then came a Drunken _Dutchman_,
+And he would have a touch, Man,
+But he soon took too much, Man,
+ Which made them after rue;
+He drank so long as I suppose,
+'Till greasie Drops fell from his Nose,
+And like a Beast befoul'd his Hose,
+ _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+A _Welchman_ he came next, Sir,
+With Joy and Sorrow Mixt, Sir,
+Who being partly vex'd, Sir,
+ He out his Dagger drew;
+Cuts-plutter-a-nails, quoth _Taffy_ then,
+A _Welchman_ is a Shentleman,
+Come Hostess fill's the other Cann,
+ _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.
+
+Thus like to Men of Courage stout,
+Couragiously they drank about,
+Till such time all the Ale was out,
+ As I may tell to you;
+And when the Business was done,
+They every man departed home,
+And promis'd _Joan_ again to come,
+ _When she had Brew'd anew_.
+
+
+
+
+_The Soldiers Fortune: Or, the taking_ Mardyke.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When first _Mardyke_ was made a Prey,
+'Twas Courage that carry'd the Fort away,
+Then do not lose your Valours Prize,
+By gazing on your Mistresses Eyes;
+But put off your Petticoat-parley,
+Potting and sotting, and laughing and quaffing Canary,
+Will make a good Soldier miscarry:
+ And never Travel for true Renown:
+Then turn to your Marshal Mistress,
+Fair _Minerva_ the Soldier's Sister is;
+Rallying and sallying, with gashing and slashing of Wounds Sir,
+With turning and burning of Towns, Sir,
+ Is a high step to a great Man's Throne.
+
+Let bold _Bellona's_ Brewer frown,
+And his Tunn shall overflow the Town;
+And give the Cobler Sword and Fate:
+And a Tinker may trapan the State;
+Such Fortunate Foes as these be,
+Turn'd the Crown to a Cross at _Naseby_:
+Father and Mother, Sister and Brother confounded,
+And many a good Family wounded;
+ By a terrible turn of Fate,
+He that can kill a Man, thunder and plunder the Town, Sir,
+And pull his Enemies down, Sir,
+ In time may be an Officer great.
+
+It is the Sword does order all,
+ Makes Peasants rise, and Princes fall;
+All Sylogisms in vain are spilt,
+ No Logick like a Basket-hilt:
+ It handles 'em joint by joint Sir,
+Quilling and drilling, and spilling, and Killing profoundly,
+Until the Disputers on Ground lie,
+ And have never a word to say;
+Unless it be Quarter, Quarter, Truth is confuted by a Carter,
+By stripping and nipping, and ripping and quipping Evasions,
+Doth Conquer a Power of Perswasions,
+ _Aristotle_ hath lost the Day.
+
+The Musket bears so great a force,
+To Learning it has no Remorse;
+The Priest, the Layman, the Lord,
+Find no distinction from the Sword;
+Tan tarra, Tan tarra the Trumpet,
+ Now the Walls begin to crack,
+The Councellors struck dumb too,
+By the Parchment upon the Drum too;
+Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub an Alarum,
+ Each Corporal now can out-dare 'em,
+ Learned _Littleton_ goes to rack.
+
+Then since the Sword so bright doth shine,
+We'll leave our Wenches and our Wine,
+And follow _Mars_ where-e'er he runs,
+And turn our Pots and Pipes to Guns.
+The Bottles shall be Grenadoes,
+We'll bounce about the Bravado's
+By huffing and puffing, and snuffing and cuffing the _French_ Boys,
+Whose Brows have been dy'd in a Trench Boys;
+ Well got Fame is a Warriour's Wife,
+The Drawer shall be the Drummer,
+We'll be Colonels all next Summer
+By hiking and tilting, and pointing and jointing like brave Boys,
+We shall have Gold or a Grave, Boys,
+ And there's an end of a Soldier's Life.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ MISSES _Complaint._
+
+_Tune_, Packington's Pound.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+How now Sister _Betteris_, why look you so sad?
+_Gillian._ The times are so hard and our trading so bad,
+That we in our Function no Money can gain,
+Our Pride and our Bravery for to maintain.
+
+_Bett._ True Sister, _Gillian_, I know it full well,
+But what will you say if such News I do tell?
+And how't will rejoyce you, I'll make it out plain,
+Will make our Trade quick, and more Money will gain.
+
+There's none of the pitiful Tribe we'll be for,
+And Six-penny Customers we will abhor;
+For all those that will our Dominions invade,
+Must pay for their sauce, we must live by our Trade.
+
+_Gil._ Good Sister if you can make this but appear,
+My Spirit and Senses you greatly will chear,
+But a Famine of Flesh will bring all things to pass,
+Or else we are as bad still as ever we was.
+
+_Bett._ Lately a Counsel of Bauds there did meet,
+In _Cock_ and _Pye_ Alley, near _Do-little_ Street:
+And who was the Counsel, and what was there done;
+I'll make it out to you as clear as the Sun.
+
+From _Ratcliffe-highway_, and from _Nightingale-lane_,
+Their Deputies come with a very fine Train:
+Unto these two Couple come long sided _Sue_,
+Is as good as e'er twang'd, if you give her her due.
+
+Then _Tower-Ditch_ and _Hatton-Wall_ sent in their Prayers,
+And drest as compleatly as Horses to Fairs;
+With them Jumping _Jenny_ appear'd, as 'tis said,
+Who ne'er in her Life of a Man was afraid.
+
+The two Metropolitans came from the Park,
+As arch at the Game, as e'er plaid in the Dark;
+Then _Lutener's_-lane a gay Couple did bring,
+Two better, I think, was ne'er stretch'd in hemp-string.
+
+There was many others from Places remote,
+The which were too tedious for me here to note;
+And what was their Business I here will declare,
+How to keep our Trade in Repute they take care.
+
+And first for those Ladies that walk in the Night,
+Their Aprons and Handkerchiefs they should be white,
+And that they do walk more in Town than in Fields,
+For that is the Place most Variety yields.
+
+And those that are over-much worn by their Trade,
+Shall go in a Vessel, their Passage being paid;
+The Venture of Cuckolds, 'tis called by Name,
+And this is the way for to keep up our Fame.
+
+And this is the Ship which the Cuckolds have brought,
+It lies at their Haven, and is to be frought:
+And thither Whores rampant, that please may repair,
+With Master and Captain to truck for their Ware.
+
+And for a Supply that our trade may increase,
+For wanton Commodity it will grow less;
+We'll visit the Carriers, and take them up there,
+And then for their Tutering we will take care.
+
+In this we shall ease all the Countries to do't,
+And do our selves Pleasure and Profit to boot;
+For one that is crack'd in the Country before,
+In _London_ will make a spick and span Whore.
+
+There's many more Precepts which they did advise,
+But these which I'll give you here shall suffice:
+And when you have heard them, I think you will say,
+We ne'er were more likely to thrive in our way.
+
+
+_Some Orders agreed upon at a General Consultation of the_ Sisterhood
+_of_ Nightingale-lane, Ratcliff-high-way, Tower-Ditch, Rose-mary-lane,
+Hatton-Wall, Saffron-hill, Wetstone's-Park, Lutener's-lane, _and other
+Places adjacent, for the general Encouragement and Advancement of
+their Occupation._
+
+I.
+
+_That no_ Night-walker _presume to go without a White Apron and
+Handkerchief, the better to be seen._
+
+II.
+
+_To keep due Time and Hours, for fear of the Constable and his Watch._
+
+III.
+
+_That those which are over-worn, cast off and cashier'd, do repair to
+the Ship called_ (the Cuckolds Venture) _now riding at_ Cuckolds
+Haven, _thence to be transported over-Sea, to have their Breeches
+repaired._
+
+IV.
+
+_That a due care be taken to visit the Carriers for crack'd
+Maidenheads, for the use and increase of our Occupation._
+
+V.
+
+_That all honest Women belonging to either_ Wittals _or_ Cuckolds, _be
+admitted to the principal Places in this Ship._
+
+VI.
+
+_And lastly, for the better State and Magnificence of the honourable
+Corporation of_ W----es, _'tis order'd that a Chariot be made to be
+drawn by_ Cuckolds, _the_ Cuckold-makers _to drive, and the_ Wittals
+_to ride._
+
+
+
+
+_The well approved Doctor:_
+
+_Or, an Infallible Cure for_ CUCKOLDS. _To the foregoing Tune._
+
+
+There is a fine Doctor now come to Town,
+Whose practice in Physick hath gain'd him Renown,
+In curing of Cuckolds he hath the best Skill,
+By giving one Dose of his approved Pill.
+
+His Skill is well known, and his Practice is great,
+Then come to the Doctor before 'tis too late;
+His Med'cines are safe, and the Doctor is sure,
+He takes none in Hand but he perfects, the Cure.
+
+The Doctor himself he doth freely unfold,
+That he can Cure Cuckolds tho' never so old;
+He helps this Distemper in all sorts of Men,
+At Forty and Fifty, yea, Threescore and Ten.
+
+There was an old Man lived near to the _Strand_,
+Decripid and Feeble, scarce able to stand;
+Who had been a Cuckold full Forty long Years,
+But hearing of this how he prick'd up his Ears.
+
+Away to the Doctor he went with all speed,
+Where he struck a bargain, they soon were agreed;
+He cured his Forehead that nothing was seen,
+And now he's as brisk as a Youth of Fifteen.
+
+Now this being known, how his Fame it did ring,
+And unto the Doctor much trading did bring;
+They came to the Doctor out of e'ery Shire,
+From all Parts and Places, yea both far and near.
+
+Both _Dutchmen_ and _Scotchmen_ to _London_ did ride,
+With _Shonny-ap-Morgan_, and Thousands beside;
+Thus all sorts and sizes, both rich Men and poor,
+They came in whole Cart-loads to this Doctor's door.
+
+Some whining, some weeping, some careful and sad,
+And some was contented, and others born mad;
+Some crooked, some straight Horns, and some overgrown,
+The like in all Ages I think was ne'er known.
+
+Some rich and brave flourishing Cuckolds were there,
+That came in whole Droves, Sir, as if to _Horn-Fair_;
+For now there is hopes to be cur'd of their Grief,
+The Doctor declares in the Fall of the Leaf.
+
+Let none be so foolish as now to neglect,
+This Doctor's great Kindness and civil Respect;
+Tho' rich Men may pay, yet the Poor may go free,
+So kind and so courteous a Doctor is he.
+
+'Tis known he so worthy a Conscience doth make,
+Poor Cuckolds he'll cure them for Charity sake;
+Nay, farther than this still his Love does enlarge,
+Providing for them at his own Cost and Charge.
+
+But some are so wicked, that they will exclaim
+Against their poor Wives, making 'em bare the Blame;
+And will not look out in the least for a Cure,
+But all their sad Pains and their Tortures endure.
+
+But 'tis without reason, for he that is born
+Under such a Planet, is Heir to the Horn:
+Then come to the Doctor both rich Men and Poor,
+He'll carefully cure you, what would you have more?
+
+The Term of his Time here the Doctor does write,
+From six in the Morning 'till seven at Night;
+Where in his own Chamber he still will remain,
+At the Sign of the _Woodcock_ in _Vinegar-lane_.
+
+
+
+
+_The Doctor doth here likewise present you with the Receipt of his
+Infallible Medicine, that those which have no occasion for it
+themselves, may do good to their Neighbours and Acquaintances: And
+take it here as followeth._
+
+
+Take five Pound of Brains of your _December_ Flies,
+And forty true Tears from a _Crocodile's_ Eyes;
+The Wit of a _Weasel_, the Wool of a _Frog_,
+With an Ounce of Conserve of _Michaelmas_ Fog.
+
+And make him a Poultis when he goes to Bed,
+To bind to his Temples behind of his Head;
+As hot as the Patient he well can endure,
+And this is for Cuckolds an absolute Cure.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+Good Neighbour why do you look awry,
+ You are a wond'rous Stranger;
+You walk about, you huff and pout,
+ As if you'd burst with Anger:
+Is it for that your Fortune's great,
+ Or you so Wealthy are?
+Or live so high there's none a-nigh
+ That can with you compare?
+But t'other Day I heard one say,
+ Your Husband durst not show his Ears,
+But like a Lout does walk about,
+ So full of Sighs and Fears:
+Good Mrs. _Tart_, I caren't a Fart,
+ For you nor all your Jears.
+
+My Husband's known for to be one,
+ That is most Chast and pure;
+And so would be continually,
+ But for such Jades as you are:
+You wash, you lick, you smug, you trick,
+ You toss a twire a grin;
+You nod and wink, and in his Drink,
+ You strive to draw him in:
+You Lie you Punck, you're always Drunk,
+ And now you Scold and make a Strife,
+And like a Whore you run o' th' Score,
+ And lead him a weary Life;
+Tell me so again you dirty Quean,
+ And I'll pull you by the Quoif.
+
+Go dress those Brats, those nasty Rats,
+ That have a Lear so drowzy;
+With Vermin spread they look like Dead,
+ Good Faith they're always Lousie:
+Pray hold you there, and do not swear,
+ You are not half so sweet;
+You feed yours up with bit and sup,
+ And give them a dirty Teat:
+My Girls, my Boys, my only Joys,
+ Are better fed and taught than yours;
+You lie you Flirt, you look like Dirt,
+ And I'll kick you out of Doors;
+A very good Jest, pray do your best,
+ And Faith I'll quit your Scores.
+
+Go, go you are a nasty Bear,
+ Your Husband cannot bear it;
+A nasty Quean as e'er was seen,
+ Your Neighbours all can swear it:
+A fulsome Trot and good for nought,
+ Unless it be to chat;
+You stole a Spoon out of the Room,
+ Last Christning you were at:
+You lye you Bitch you've got the Itch,
+ Your Neighbours know you are not sound;
+Look how you Claw with your nasty Paw,
+ And I'll fell you to the Ground;
+You've tore my Hood, you shall make it good
+ If it cost me Forty Pound.
+
+
+
+
+_The Jovial_ COBLER _of St._ Hellens.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+I am a jovial Cobler bold and brave,
+And as for Employment enough I have:
+For to keep jogging my Hammer and Awl,
+ _Whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall,_
+ _Stall, Stall, whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall._
+
+But there's _Dick_ the Carman, and _Hodge_ who drives the Dray
+For Sixteen, or Eighteen Pence a Day,
+Slave in the Dirt, whilst I with my Awl,
+ _Get more Money, sitting, sitting in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's _Tom_ the Porter, Companion of the Pot,
+Who stands in the Street with his Rope and Knot,
+Waiting at a Corner to hear who will him call,
+ _Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's the jolly Broom-man, his Bread for to get,
+Crys Brooms up and down in the open Street,
+And one crys broken Glasses tho' ne'er so small,
+ _Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's another gang of poor smutty Souls,
+Doth trudge up and down to cry Small-coals;
+With a Sack on their Back, at a Door stand and call,
+ _Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's another sort of Notes,
+Who crys up and down old Suits and Coats;
+And perhaps some Days get nothing at all,
+ _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's the Jolly Cooper with his Hoops at his Back,
+Who trudgeth up and down to see who lack
+Their Casks to be made tite, with Hoops great and small,
+ _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's a Jolly Tinker that loves a bonny Lass,
+Who trudges up and down to mend old Brass;
+With his long smutty Punch to force holes withal,
+ _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there is another old _Tom Terrah_,
+Who up and down the City drives his Barrow;
+To sell his Fruit both great and small,
+ _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there is the Blind and Lame, with a Wooden Leg,
+Who up and down the City they forced are to beg
+Some Crumbs of Comfort, the which are but small,
+ _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's a gang of Wenches who Oysters sell,
+And Powder _Moll_ with her sweet smell;
+She trudges up and down with Powder and Ball,
+ _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's the jovial Girls with their Milking-Pails,
+Who trudge up and down with their Draggle Tails:
+Flip flapping at their Heels for Custom they call,
+ _Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall_, &c.
+
+'Tis these are the Gang who take great Pain,
+And it is those who do me maintain;
+But when it blows and rains I do pity them all,
+_To see them trudge about while I am in my Stall_, &c.
+
+And there's many more who slave and toil,
+Their living to get, but it is not worth while,
+To mention them, so I'll sing in my Stall,
+ _I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all,_
+ _All, all, I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all._
+
+
+
+
+_The Merchant and the Fidler's_ WIFE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+It was a Rich Merchant Man,
+ That had both Ship and all;
+And he would cross the salt Seas,
+ Tho' his cunning it was but small.
+
+The Fidler and his Wife,
+ They being nigh at hand;
+Would needs go sail along with him,
+ From _Dover_ unto _Scotland_.
+
+The Fidler's Wife look'd brisk,
+ Which made the Merchant smile;
+He made no doubt to bring it about,
+ The Fidler to beguile.
+
+Is this thy Wife the Merchant said,
+ She looks like an honest Spouse;
+Ay that she is, the Fidler said,
+ That ever trod on Shoes.
+
+Thy Confidence is very great,
+ The Merchant then did say;
+If thou a Wager darest to bet,
+ I'll tell thee what I will lay.
+
+I'll lay my Ship against thy Fiddle,
+ And all my Venture too;
+So _Peggy_ may gang along with me,
+ My Cabin for to View.
+
+If she continues one Hour with me,
+ Thy true and constant Wife;
+Then shalt thou have my Ship and be,
+ A Merchant all thy Life.
+
+The Fidler was content,
+ He Danc'd and Leap'd for joy;
+And twang'd his Fiddle in merriment,
+ For _Peggy_ he thought was Coy.
+
+Then _Peggy_ she went along,
+ His Cabin for to View;
+And after her the Merchant-Man,
+ Did follow, we found it true.
+
+When they were once together,
+ The Fidler was afraid;
+For he crep'd near in pitious fear,
+ And thus to _Peggy_ he said.
+
+Hold out, sweet _Peggy_ hold out,
+ For the space of two half Hours;
+If thou hold out, I make no doubt,
+ But the Ship and Goods are ours.
+
+In troth, sweet _Robin_, I cannot,
+ He hath got me about the Middle;
+He's lusty and strong, and hath laid me along,
+ O _Robin_ thou'st lost thy Fiddle.
+
+If I have lost my Fiddle,
+ Then am I a Man undone;
+My Fiddle whereon I so often play'd,
+ Away I needs must run.
+
+O stay the Merchant said,
+ And thou shalt keep thy place;
+And thou shalt have thy Fiddle again,
+ But _Peggy_ shall carry the Case.
+
+Poor _Robin_ hearing that,
+ He look'd with a Merry-chear;
+His wife she was pleas'd, and the Merchant was eas'd,
+ And jolly and brisk they were.
+
+The Fidler he was mad,
+ But valu'd it not a Fig;
+Then _Peggy_ unto her Husband said,
+ Kind _Robin_ play us a Jigg.
+
+Then he took up his Fiddle,
+ And merrily he did play;
+The _Scottish Jigg_ and the _Horn pipe_,
+ And eke the _Irish Hey_.
+
+It was but in vain to grieve,
+ The Deed it was done and past;
+Poor _Robin_ was born to carry the Horn,
+ For _Peggy_ could not be Chast.
+
+Then Fidlers all beware,
+ Your Wives are kind you see;
+And he that's made for the Fidling Trade,
+ Must never a Merchant be.
+
+For _Peggy_ she knew right well,
+ Although she was but a Woman;
+That Gamesters Drink, and Fidlers Wives,
+ They are ever Free and Common.
+
+
+
+
+_The Unconstant_ WOMAN.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Did you not hear of a gallant Sailor,
+ Whose Pockets they were lin'd with Gold;
+He fell in Love with a pretty Creature,
+ As I to you the Truth unfold:
+With a kind Salute, and without Dispute,
+ He thought to gain her for his own,
+_Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man,_
+ _She has gone and left me all alone._
+
+Don't you remember my pretty _Peggy_,
+ The Oaths and Vows which you made to me:
+All in the Chamber we were together,
+ That you would ne'er unconstant be:
+But you prove strange Love, and from me range,
+ And leave me here to Sigh and Moan;
+_Unconstant Woman is true to no Man,_
+ _She's gone and left me all alone._
+
+As I have Gold you shall have Treasure,
+ Or any dainty kind of thing;
+Thou may'st command all Delights and Pleasure,
+ And what you'd have, Love, I would you bring:
+But you prove shy, and at last deny,
+ Him that admires you alone;
+_Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man,_
+ _She's left me here to make my moan._
+
+When first I saw your charming Beauty,
+ I stood like one all in amaze;
+I study'd only how to pay Duty,
+ And could not speak but only gaze,
+At last said I, fair Maid comply,
+ And ease a wretched Lover's Moan;
+_Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man,_
+ _She's gone and left me here alone._
+
+I made her Presents of Rings and Jewels,
+ With Diamond Stones I gave her too;
+She took them kindly, and call'd me Jewel,
+ And said her Love to me was true:
+But in the end she prov'd unkind,
+ When I thought she had been my own;
+_Unconstant Woman_, &c.
+
+For three Months time we saw each other,
+ And she oft said she'd be my Wife;
+I had her Father's Consent and Mother,
+ I thought to have liv'd a happy Life:
+She'd laugh and toy both Night and Day,
+ But at length she chang'd her Tone;
+_Unconstant Woman, proves true to no Man,_
+ _She's left me now to make my Moan._
+
+Many a time we have walk'd together,
+ Both Hand in Hand to an Arbour green;
+Where Tales of Love in Sun-shiny Weather,
+ We did discourse and were not seen:
+With a kind Salute we did dispute,
+ While we together were alone:
+_Unconstant Woman she's true to no Man,_
+ _She's gone and left me here alone._
+
+Since _Peggy_ has my kindness slighted,
+ I'll never trust a Woman more;
+'Twas in her alone I e'er delighted,
+ But since she's false I'll leave the Shoar:
+In Ship I'll enter, on Seas I'll venture,
+ And sail the World where I'm not known:
+_Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man,_
+ _She's gone and left me here alone._
+
+
+
+
+_Sorrow banish'd in a_ MUG. _The Words_ _by Sir_ Edward Morgan.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+If Sorrow the Tyrant invade thy Breast,
+ Haul out the foul Fiend by the Lug, the Lug,
+Let nought of to morrow disturb thy Rest,
+ But dash out his Brains with a Mug, a Mug.
+If Business unluckily goes not well,
+ Let the fond Fools their Affections hug,
+To shew our Allegiance we'll go to the Bell,
+ And banish Despair in a Mug, a Mug.
+
+If thy Wife proves not one of the Best, the Best,
+ But admits no time but to think, to think;
+Or the weight of thy Forehead bow down thy Crest,
+ Divert the dull _Damon_ with Drink, with Drink,
+If Miss prove peevish and will not gee,
+ Ne'er pine, ne'er pine at the wanton Pug,
+But find out a fairer, a kinder than she,
+ And banish Dispair in a Mug, a Mug.
+
+If dear Assignation be crost, be crost,
+ And Mistress go home in a rage, a rage;
+Let not thy poor Heart like a Ship be tost,
+ But with a brisk Brimmer engage, engage:
+What if the fine Fop and the Mask fall out.
+ And the one Hug, and t'other Tug,
+While they pish and fie, we will frolick in Stout,
+ And banish all Care in a Mug, a Mug.
+
+If toying young _Damon_ by _Sylvia's_ Charms,
+ At length should look pale and perplexed be;
+To cure the Distemper and ease those harms,
+ Go straight to the _Globe_ and ask Number three:
+There beauties like _Venus_ thou canst not lack,
+ Be kind to them, they will sweetly hug;
+There's choice of the Fairest, the Brown or the Black.
+ Then banish Despair in a Mug, a Mug.
+
+Let then no Misfortune e'er make thee dull,
+ But drink away care in a Jug, a Jug;
+Then let not thy Tide steal away, but pull,
+ Carouse away though in a Mug, a Mug:
+While others for Greatness and Fortune's doom,
+ While they for their Ambition tug;
+We'll sit close and snug in a Sea-coal Room,
+ And banish Despair in a Mug, a Mug.
+
+Let Zealots o'er Coffee new Plots devise,
+ And lace with fresh Treason the Pagan Drug;
+Whilst our Loyal Blood flows our Veins shall shine,
+ Like our Faces inspir'd with a Mug, a Mug:
+Let Sectaries dream of Alarms, Alarms,
+ And Fools still for new changes tug;
+While fam'd for our Loyalty we'll stand to our Arms,
+ And drink the King's Health in a Mug, a Mug.
+
+Come then to the Queen let the next Advance,
+ And all Loyal Lads of true _English_ Race;
+Who hate the stum Poison of _Spain_ and _France_,
+ Or to _Bourdeux_ or _Burgundy_ do give place;
+The Flask and the Bottle breeds Ach and Gout,
+ Whilst we, we all the Season lie snug;
+Neither _Spaniard_ nor _Flemming_, can vie with our Stout,
+ And shall submit to the Mug, the Mug.
+
+
+
+
+_The Good Fellow. Words by Mr._ Alex. Brome.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+ Stay, stay, shut the Gates,
+ T'other Quart, faith, it is not so late
+ As you're thinking,
+ Those Stars which you see,
+ In this Hemisphere be,
+ But the Studs in your Cheeks by your Drinking:
+The Sun is gone to Tiple all Night in the Sea Boys,
+To Morrow he'll blush that he's paler than we Boys,
+Drink Wine, give him Water, 'tis Sack makes us jee Boys.
+
+ Fill, fill up the Glass,
+ To the next merry Lad let it pass,
+ Come away with't:
+ Come Set Foot to Foot,
+ And but give our Minds to't,
+ 'Tis Heretical Six that doth slay Wit,
+No Helicon like to the Juice of the Vine is,
+For _Phoebus_ had never had Wit, nor Diviness,
+Had his Face been bow dy'd as thine, his, and mine is.
+
+ Drink, drink off your Bowls,
+ We'll enrich both our Heads and our Souls
+ With Canary;
+ A Carbuncled Face,
+ Saves a tedious Race,
+ For the _Indies_ about us we carry:
+Then hang up good Faces, we'll drink till our Noses
+Give freedom to speak what our Fancy disposes,
+Beneath whose protection is under the Roses.
+
+ This, this must go round,
+ Off your Hats, till that the Pavement be Crown'd
+ With your Beavers;
+ A Red-coated Face,
+ Frights a Searjeant at Mace,
+ And the Constable trembles to shivers:
+In state march our Faces like those of the _Quorum_,
+When the Wenches fall down and the Vulgar adore'em,
+And our Noses, like Link-boys, run shining before'em.
+
+
+
+
+_The Nymphs Holiday. The Tune of the Nightingale._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Upon a Holiday, when Nymphs had leave to play,
+I walk'd unseen, on a pleasant Green,
+Where I heard a Maid in an angry Spleen,
+Complaining to a Swain, to leave his drudging Pain,
+And sport with her upon the Plain;
+ But he the silly Clown,
+Regardless of her Moan, did leave her all alone,
+ Still she cry'd, come away, come away bonny Lad come away,
+I cannot come, I will not come, I cannot come, my
+ Work's not done,
+ Was all the Words this Clown did say.
+
+She vex'd in her Mind to hear this Lad's reply,
+To _Venus_ she went, in great Discontent,
+To desire her Boy with his Bow ready bent,
+To take a nimble Dart, and strike him to the Heart,
+For disobeying her Commandment:
+ _Cupid_ then gave the Swain such a Bang,
+As made him to gang with this bonny Lass along,
+ Still she cry'd, come away, come away bonny Lad, come hither,
+I come, I come, I come, I come, I come, I come,
+ So they gang'd along together.
+
+
+
+
+_Good Honest Trooper take warning by_ DONALD COOPER. _To the Tune of_
+Daniel Cooper.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+A Bonny Lad came to the Court,
+ His Name was _Donald Cooper_,
+And he Petition'd to the King,
+ That he might be a Trooper:
+ He said that he,
+ By Land and Sea,
+Had fought to Admiration,
+ And with _Montross_
+ Had many blows,
+Both for his King and Nation.
+
+The King did his Petition grant,
+ And said he lik'd him dearly,
+Which gave to _Donald_ more content,
+ Than Twenty Shillings yearly:
+ This wily Leard
+ Rode in the Guard,
+And lov'd a strong Beer Barrel;
+ Yet stout enough,
+ To Fight and Cuff,
+But was not given to Quarrel.
+
+Till on a _Saturday_ at Night,
+ He walked in the Park, Sir;
+And there he kenn'd a well fair Lass,
+ When it was almost dark, Sir;
+ Poor _Donald_ he
+ Drew near to see,
+And kist her bonny Mow, Sir;
+ He laid her flat
+ Upon her back,
+And bang'd her side Weam too, Sir.
+
+He took her by the Lilly white Hand,
+ And kiss'd his bonny _Mary_,
+Then they did to the Tavern go,
+ Where they did drink Canary;
+ When he was Drunk,
+ In came a Punck,
+And ask'd gan he would Mow her;
+ Then he again,
+ With Might and Main,
+Did bravely lay her o'er, Sir.
+
+Poor _Donald_ he rose up again,
+ As nothing did him ail, Sir;
+But little kenn'd this bonny Lass,
+ Had Fire about her Tail, Sir:
+ When Night was spent
+ Then Home he went,
+And told it with a Hark, Sir;
+ How he did Kiss
+ A dainty Miss,
+And lifted up the Sark, Sir.
+
+But e'er a Month had gone about,
+Poor _Donald_ walked sadly:
+And every yean enquir'd of him,
+ What gar'd him leuk so badly:
+ A Wench, quoth he,
+ Gave Snuff to me,
+Out of her Placket box, Sir;
+ And I am sure,
+ She prov'd a Whore,
+And given to me the Pox, Sir.
+
+Poor _Donald_ he being almost Dead,
+ Was turn'd out of the Guard, Sir;
+And never could get in again,
+ Although he was a Leard, Sir:
+ When _Mars_ doth meet,
+ With _Venus_ sweet,
+And struggles to surrender;
+ The Triumph's lost,
+ Then never trust
+A Feminine Commander.
+
+Poor _Donald_ he went home again,
+ Because he lost his Place, Sir;
+For playing of a Game at Whisk,
+ And turning up an Ace, Sir;
+ Ye Soldiers all,
+ Both great and small,
+A Foot-man or a Trooper;
+ When you behold,
+ A Wench that's bold
+Remember _Donald Cooper_.
+
+
+
+
+_The Jovial Drinker._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+A Pox on those Fools, who exclaim against Wine,
+ And fly the dear sweets that the Bottle doth bring;
+It heightens the Fancy, the Wit does refine,
+ And he that was first Drunk was made the first King.
+
+By the help of good Claret old Age becomes Youth,
+ And sick Men still find this the only Physitian;
+Drink largely, you'll know by experience, the Truth,
+ That he that drinks most is the best Politician.
+
+To Victory this leads on the brave Cavalier,
+ And makes all the Terrors of War, but Delight;
+This flushes his Courage, and beats off base Fear,
+ 'Twas that taught _Caesar_ and _Pompey_ to fight.
+
+This supports all our Friends, and knocks down our Foes,
+ This makes us all Loyal Men from Courtier to Clown;
+Like _Dutchmen_ from Brandy, from this our Strength grows
+ So 'tis Wine, noble Wine, that's a Friend to the Crown.
+
+
+
+
+_The Sexton's_ SONG.
+
+_Sung by_ BEN. JOHNSON, _in the Play of_ Hamlet _Prince of_ Denmark,
+_acting the_ _Grave maker._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Once more to these Arms my lov'd Pick-ax and Spade,
+With the rest of the Tools that belong to my Trade;
+I that Buried others am rose from the Dead,
+ _With a Ring, a Ring, Ring, a Ring, and Dig a Dig, Dig._
+
+My Thoughts are grown easie, my Mind is at rest,
+Since Things at the worst are now grown to the best,
+And I and the Worms that long fasted shall Feast,
+ _With a Ring_, &c.
+
+How I long to be Measuring and cleaving the Ground,
+And commending the Soil for the Sculls shall be found,
+Whose thickness alone, not the Soil makes them sound,
+ _With a Ring_, &c.
+
+Look you Masters, I'll cry, may the Saints ne'er me save,
+If this ben't as well contriv'd sort of a Grave,
+As a Man could wish on such occasion to have,
+ _With a Ring_, &c.
+
+Observe but the make of't, I'll by you be try'd,
+And the Coffin so fresh there that lies on that side,
+It's Fifty Years since he that owns it has dy'd.
+ _With a Ring_, &c.
+
+I hope to remember your Friend in a Bowl,
+An honest good Gentleman, God rest his Soul,
+He has that for a Ducket is worth a Pistole,
+ _With a Ring_, &c.
+
+At Marriages next I'll affirm it and swear,
+If the Bride would be private so great was my Care,
+That not a Soul knew that the Priest joyn'd the Pair,
+ _With a Ring_, &c.
+
+When I myself whisper'd and told it about
+What Door they'd go in at, what Door they'd go out,
+To receive the Salutes of the Rabble and Rout,
+ _With a Ring_, &c.
+
+At Chris'nings I'll sit with abundance of Joy,
+And Drink to the Health of the Girl or the Boy,
+At the same I wish that Fate both would destroy,
+ _That I may Ring_, &c.
+
+What e'er's my Religion, my Meaning's to Thrive,
+So the Child that is born, to the Font but survive,
+No matter how short it's continuance alive,
+ _That I may Ring_, &c.
+
+Hear then my good Neighbours attend to my cry,
+And bravely get Children, and decently die,
+No Sexton now breathing shall use you as I,
+ _With a Ring a Ring, Ring a Ring, Dig a Dig, Dig._
+
+
+
+
+_The Great_ BOOBEE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+My Friend if you would understand,
+ My Fortunes what they are;
+I once had Cattle House and Land,
+ But now I am never the near:
+My Father left a good Estate,
+ As I may tell to thee;
+I couzened was of all I had,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+I went to School with a good intent,
+ And for to learn my Book;
+And all the Day I went to play,
+ In it I never did look:
+Full seven Years, or very nigh,
+ As I may tell to thee;
+I could hardly say my Criss-Cross-Row,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+My Father then in all the hast,
+ Did set me to the Plow;
+And for to lash the Horse about,
+ Indeed I knew not how:
+My Father took his Whip in Hand,
+ And soundly lashed me;
+He called me Fool and Country Clown,
+ _And a great Boobee_.
+
+But I did from my Father run,
+ For I would Plow no more;
+Because he had so lashed me,
+ And made my sides so sore:
+But I will go to _London_ Town,
+ Some Fashions for to see;
+When I came there they call'd me Clown,
+ _And a great Boobee_.
+
+But as I went along the Street,
+ I carried my Hat in my Hand,
+And to every one that I did meet,
+ I bravely Buss'd my Hand:
+Some did laugh, and some did scoff,
+ And some did mock at me;
+And some did say I was a Woodcock,
+ _And a great Boobee_.
+
+Then I did walk in hast to _Paul's_
+ The Steeple for to view;
+Because I heard some People say,
+ It should be builded new;
+Then I got up unto the Top,
+ The City for to see;
+It was so high it made me cry,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+From thence I went to _Westminster_,
+ And for to see the Tombs:
+Oh, said I, what a House is here,
+ With an infinite sight of Rooms:
+Sweetly the Abby Bells did Ring,
+ It was a fine sight to see;
+Methought I was going to Heav'n in a String,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+But as I went along the Street,
+ The most part of the Day;
+Many Gallants I did meet,
+ Methought they were very gay:
+I blew my Nose and pist my Hose,
+ Some People did me see:
+They said I was a Beastly Fool:
+ _And a great Boobee_.
+
+Next Day I thro' _Pye-corner_ past,
+ The Roast-meat on the Stall;
+Invited me to take a Taste,
+ My Money was but small:
+The Meat I pickt, the Cook me kickt,
+ As I may tell to thee;
+He beat me sore and made me roar,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+As I thro' _Smithfield_ lately walkt,
+ A gallant Lass I met:
+Familiarly with me she talk't,
+ Which I cannot forget:
+She proferr'd me a Pint of Wine,
+ Methought she was wondrous free,
+To the Tavern then I went with her,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+She told me we were near of Kin,
+ And call'd for Wine good store;
+Before the Reckoning was brought in,
+ My Cousin prov'd a Whore:
+My Purse she pickt, and went away,
+ My Cousin couzened me,
+The Vintner kickt me out of Door;
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+At the _Exchange_ when I came there,
+ I saw most gallant things;
+I thought the Pictures living were,
+ Of all our English Kings:
+I doft my Hat and made a Leg,
+ And kneeled on my Knee;
+The People laugh'd and call'd me Fool,
+ _And a great Boobee_.
+
+To _Paris-Garden_ then I went,
+ Where there is great resort;
+My Pleasure was my Punishment,
+ I did not like the Sport:
+The Garden-Bull with his stout Horns,
+ On high then tossed me;
+I did bewray my self with fear,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+The Bearward went to save me then,
+ The People flock'd about;
+I told the Bear-Garden-Men,
+ My Guts they were almost out:
+They said I stunk most grievously,
+ No Man would pity me;
+They call'd me witless Fool and Ass,
+ _And a great Boobee_.
+
+Then o'er the water I did pass,
+ As you shall understand;
+I dropt into the Thames, alass,
+ Before I came to Land:
+The Waterman did help me out,
+ And thus did say to me;
+'Tis not thy fortune to be drown'd,
+ _Like a great Boobee_.
+
+But I have learned so much Wit,
+ Shall shorten all my Cares;
+If I can but a Licence get,
+ To play before the Bears:
+'Twould be a gallant Place indeed,
+ As I may tell to thee:
+Then who dares call me Fool or Ass,
+ _Or great Boobee_.
+
+
+
+
+_Set by Mr._ Jeremiah Clark,
+
+_Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When Maids live to Thirty, yet never repented,
+When _Europe's_ at Peace and all _England_ contented,
+When Gamesters won't Swear, and no bribery thrives,
+Young Wives love old Husbands, young Husbands old Wives;
+When Landlords love Taxes, and Soldiers love Peace:
+And Lawyers forget a rich Client to Fleece:
+When an old Face shall please as well as a new,
+Wives, Husbands, and Lovers will ever be true.
+
+When Bullies leave huffing and Cowards their Trembling,
+And Courtiers and Women and Priests their Dissembling,
+When these shall do nothing against what they teach,
+Pluralities hate, and we mind what they Preach:
+When Vintners leave Brewing to draw the Wine pure,
+And Quacks by their Medicines kill less than they Cure,
+When an old Face shall please as well as a new,
+Wives, Husbands and Lovers will ever be true.
+
+
+
+
+_Words to a Tune of_ Mr. BARRET'S, _call'd the_ CATHERINE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+In the pleasant Month of _May_,
+ When the merry, merry Birds began to sing;
+And the Blossoms fresh and gay;
+ Usher'd in the welcome Spring,
+ When the long cold Winter's gone,
+ And the bright enticing Moon,
+ In the Evening sweetly shon:
+When the bonny Men and Maids tript it on the Grass;
+ At a jolly Country Fair,
+ When the Nymphs in the best appear;
+We resolv'd to be free, with a Fiddle and a She,
+ E'ery Shepherd and his Lass.
+
+In the middle of the Sport,
+ When the Fiddle went brisk and the Glass went round,
+And the Pretty gay Nymphs for Court,
+ With their Merry Feet beat the Ground;
+ Little _Cupid_ arm'd unseen,
+ With a Bow and Dart stole in,
+ With a conquering Air and Mien,
+And empty'd his Bow thro' the Nymphs and the Swains;
+ E'ery Shepherd and his Mate,
+ Soon felt their pleasing Fate,
+And longing to try in Enjoyment to die,
+ Love reign'd o'er all the Plains.
+
+Now the sighing Swain gave o'er,
+ And the wearied Nymphs could dance no more,
+There were other Thoughts that mov'd,
+ E'ery pretty kind Pair that Lov'd:
+ In the Woods the Shepherds lay,
+ And mourn'd the time away,
+ And the Nymphs as well as they,
+Long'd to taste what it is that their Senses cloys,
+ Till at last by consent of Eyes,
+ E'ery Swain with his pretty Nymph flies,
+E'ery Buxom She retires with her He,
+ To act Love's solid Joys.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ Scotch SONG. _Sung by Mrs._ LUCAS _at the Old_ THEATRE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+By Moon-light on the Green,
+ Our bonny Lasses Cooing;
+And dancing there I've seen,
+ Who seem'd alone worth Wooing:
+Her Skin like driven Snow,
+ Her Hair brown as a Berry:
+Her Eyes black as a Slow,
+ Her Lips red as a Cherry.
+
+Oh how she tript it, skipt it,
+ Leapt it, stept it, whiskt it,
+Friskt it, whirld it, twirl'd it,
+ Swimming, springing, starting:
+So quick, the tune to nick,
+ With a heave and a toss:
+And a jerk at parting,
+ With a heave, and a toss, and a jerk at parting.
+
+As she sat down I bowed,
+ And veil'd my bonnet to her;
+Then took her from the Crowd,
+ With Honey words to woo her;
+Sweet blithest Lass, quoth I,
+ It being bleaky Weather:
+I prithee let us try,
+ Another Dance together;
+_Oh how she_, &c.
+
+Whilst suing thus I stood,
+ Quoth she, pray leave your fooling;
+Some Dancing heats the Blood,
+ But yours I fear lacks cooling:
+Still for a Dance I pray'd,
+ And we at last had Seven;
+And whilst the Fiddle play'd,
+ She thought her self in Heaven,
+_Oh how she_, &c.
+
+At last she with a Smile,
+ To Dance again desir'd me;
+Quoth I, pray stay a while,
+ For now good faith ye've tir'd me:
+With that she look'd on me,
+ And sigh'd with muckle sorrow;
+Than gang ye'ar gate, quoth she,
+ But Dance again to morrow.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ QUAKER'S SONG. _Sung by Mrs._ Willis _at the New Play-House._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Amongst the pure ones all,
+ Which Conscience doth profess;
+And yet that sort of Conscience,
+ Doth practice nothing less:
+I mean the Sect of those Elect,
+ That loath to live by Merit;
+That leads their Lives with other Mens Wives,
+ According unto the Spirit.
+
+One met with a Holy Sister of ours,
+ A Saint who dearly lov'd him:
+And fain he would have kiss'd her,
+ Because the Spirit mov'd him:
+But she deny'd, and he reply'd,
+ You're damn'd unless you do it;
+Therefore consent, do not repent,
+ For the Spirit doth move me to it.
+
+She not willing to offend, poor Soul,
+ Yielded unto his Motion;
+And what these two did intend,
+ Was out of pure Devotion:
+To lye with a Friend and a Brother,
+ She thought she shou'd die no Sinner,
+But e'er five Months were past,
+ The Spirit was quick within her.
+
+But what will the Wicked say,
+ When they shall here of this Rumour;
+They'd laugh at us every Day,
+ And Scoff us in every Corner:
+Let 'em do so still if that they will,
+ We mean not to follow their Fashion,
+They're none of our Sect, nor of our Elect,
+ Nor none of our Congregation.
+
+But when the time was come,
+ That she was to be laid;
+It was no very great Crime,
+ Committed by her they said:
+'Cause they did know, and she did show,
+ 'Twas done by a Friend and a Brother,
+But a very great Sin they said it had been,
+ If it had been done by another.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+As Oyster _Nan_ stood by her Tub,
+ To shew her vicious Inclination;
+She gave her noblest Parts a Scrub,
+ And sigh'd for want of Copulation:
+A Vintner of no little Fame,
+ Who excellent Red and White can sell ye,
+Beheld the little dirty Dame,
+ As she stood scratching of her Belly.
+
+Come in, says he, you silly Slut,
+ 'Tis now a rare convenient Minute;
+I'll lay the Itching of your Scut,
+ Except some greedy Devil be in it:
+With that the Flat-capt Fusby smil'd,
+ And would have blush'd, but that she cou'd not;
+Alass! says she, we're soon beguil'd,
+ By Men to do those things we shou'd not.
+
+From Door they went behind the Bar,
+ As it's by common Fame reported;
+And there upon a Turkey Chair,
+ Unseen the loving Couple sported:
+But being call'd by Company,
+ As he was taking pains to please her;
+I'm coming, coming Sir, says he,
+ My Dear, and so am I, says she, Sir.
+
+Her Mole-hill Belly swell'd about,
+ Into a Mountain quickly after;
+And when the pretty Mouse crept out,
+ The Creature caus'd a mighty Laughter:
+And now she has learnt the pleasing Game,
+ Altho' much Pain and Shame it cost her;
+She daily ventures at the same,
+ And shuts and opens like an Oyster.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ IRISH _Jigg: Or, the Night Ramble._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+One Night in my Ramble I chanc'd to see,
+A thing like a Spirit, it frightened me;
+I cock'd up my Hat and resolv'd to look big,
+And streight fell a Tuning the _Irish Jigg_.
+
+The Devil drew nearer and nearer in short,
+I found it was one of the Petticoat sort;
+My Fears being over, I car'd not a Fig,
+But still I kept tuning the _Irish Jigg_.
+
+And then I went to her, resolving to try her;
+I put her agog of a longing desire;
+I told her I'd give her a Whip for her Gig,
+And a Scourge to the Tune of the _Irish Jigg_.
+
+Then nothing but Dancing our Fancy could please,
+We lay on the Grass and Danc'd at our ease;
+I down'd with my Breeches and off with my Whigg,
+And we fell a Dancing the _Irish Jigg_.
+
+I thank you, kind Sir, for your kindness, said she,
+The Scholar's as Wise as the Master can be;
+For if you should chance to get me with Kid,
+I'll lay the poor Brat to the _Irish Jigg_.
+
+The Dance being ended as you may see,
+We rose by Consent and we both went away;
+I put on my Cloaths and left her to grow big,
+And so I went Roaring the _Irish Jigg_.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+It was a happy Golden Day,
+When fair _Althea_ Kind and Gay,
+Put all but Love and me away;
+I arm'd with soft Words did Address,
+Sweet and kind Kisses far express,
+A greater Joy and Happiness.
+
+Nature the best Instructeress cry'd,
+Her Ivory Pillows to divide,
+That Love might Sail with Wind and Tide;
+She rais'd the Mast and sail'd by it,
+That Day two Tides together met,
+Drove him on Shore soon dropping wet.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Ah! _Caelia_ how can you be Cruel and Fair?
+ Since removing,
+ The Charms that are loving,
+'Twould make a poor Lover Despair;
+'Tis true, I have lov'd you these seven long Years & more,
+Too long for a Man that ne'er was in Love before:
+ And if longer you my Caresses deny,
+ I then am resolv'd to give over my Flames and die.
+
+Love fires the Heart of him that is Brave,
+ Charms the Spirit
+ Of him that is merit,
+And makes the poor Lover a Slave;
+Dull sordid Souls that never knew how to Love,
+Where Nature is plung'd, 'tis a shame to the best above:
+ And if any longer you my Caresses deny,
+ I then am resolv'd to give over my Flames and die.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+There was a Knight and he was Young,
+ A riding along the way, Sir;
+And there he met a Lady fair,
+ Among the Cocks of Hay, Sir:
+Quoth he, shall you and I Lady,
+ Among the Grass lye down a;
+And I will have a special Care,
+ Of rumpling of your Gown a.
+
+If you will go along with me,
+ Unto my Father's Hall, Sir;
+You shall enjoy my Maiden-head,
+ And my Estate and all, Sir:
+So he mounted her on a milk-white Steed,
+ Himself upon another;
+And then they rid upon the Road,
+ Like Sister and like Brother.
+
+And when she came to her Father's House,
+ Which was moated round about, Sir;
+She stepped streight within the Gate,
+ And shut this Young Knight out, Sir,
+Here is a Purse of Gold, she said,
+ Take it for your Pains, Sir;
+And I will send my Father's Man,
+ To go home with you again, Sir.
+
+And if you meet a Lady fair,
+ As you go thro' the next Town, Sir;
+You must not fear the Dew of the Grass,
+ Nor the rumpling of her Gown, Sir:
+And if you meet a Lady Gay,
+ As you go by the Hill, Sir;
+If you will not when you may,
+ You shall not when you will, Sir.
+
+There is a Dew upon the Grass,
+ Will spoil your Damask Gown a;
+Which has cost your Father dear,
+ Many Shilling and a Crown a:
+There is a Wind blows from the _West_,
+ Soon will dry the Ground a;
+And I will have a special Care,
+ Of the rumpling of my Gown a.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Slaves to _London_ I'll deceive you,
+For the Country now I leave you:
+Who can bear, and not be Mad,
+Wine so dear, and yet so bad:
+Such a Noise and Air so smoaky,
+That to stun, this to choak ye;
+Men so selfish, false and rude,
+Nymphs so young and yet so lew'd.
+
+Quiet harmless Country Pleasure,
+Shall at home engross my Leisure;
+Farewel _London_, I'll repair,
+To my Native Country Air:
+I leave all thy Pleasures behind me,
+But at home my Wife will find me;
+Oh the Gods! 'tis ten times worse,
+_London_ is a milder Curse.
+
+
+
+
+_The Duke of_ ORMOND'S _March._
+
+_Set by Mr._ CHURCH.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+ Ye brave Boys and Tars,
+ That design for the Wars,
+Remember the Action at _Vigo_;
+ And where ORMOND Commands,
+ Let us all joyn our Hands,
+_And where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ Let Conquest and Fame,
+ The Honour proclaim,
+Great ORMOND has gotten at _Vigo_;
+ Let the Trumpets now sound,
+ And the Ecchoes around,
+_Where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ Let the Glories be Sung,
+ Which the ORMONDS have won,
+Long before this great Action at _Vigo_;
+ They're so Loyal and Just,
+ And so true to their Trust,
+_That where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ Old Records of Fame,
+ Of the ORMONDS great Name,
+Their Actions, like these were of _Vigo_;
+ And since this Prince exceeds,
+ In his Fore-Father's Deeds,
+_Then where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ 'Tis the Praise of our Crown,
+ That such Men of Renown,
+Shou'd lead on the Van, as at _Vigo_;
+ Where such Lives and Estates
+ Are expos'd for our sakes,
+_Then where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ 'Twas the whole Nation's Voice,
+ And we all did rejoyce,
+When we heard he Commanded for _Vigo_;
+ To ANNA so True,
+ All her Foes to pursue,
+_Then where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ 'Tis the Voice of the Town,
+ And our Zeal for the Crown,
+To serve ORMOND to _France_, _Spain_, or _Vigo_;
+ So Noble and brave,
+ Both to Conquer and save,
+_Then where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ To the Soldiers so kind,
+ And so humbly inclin'd,
+To wave his Applause gain'd at _Vigo_;
+ Yet so kind and so true,
+ He gave all Men their due,
+_Then where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ We justly do own,
+ All the Honour that's won,
+In _Flanders_, as well as at _Vigo_;
+ But our Subject and Theme,
+ Is of ORMOND's great Name,
+_And where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+ Then take off the Bowl,
+ To that Generous Soul,
+That Commanded so bravely at _Vigo_;
+ And may ANNA approve,
+ Of our Duty and Love,
+_And where he goes, may you go, and I go_.
+
+
+
+
+_A Cure for Melancholy._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Are you grown so Melancholy,
+That you think on nought but Folly;
+ Are you sad,
+ Are you Mad,
+ Are you worse;
+ Do you think,
+ Want of Chink
+ Is a Curse:
+Do you wish for to have,
+Longer Life, or a Grave,
+ _Thus would I Cure ye_.
+
+First I would have a Bag of Gold,
+That should ten Thousand Pieces hold,
+ And all that,
+ In thy Hat,
+ Would I pour;
+ For to spend,
+ On thy Friend,
+ Or thy Whore:
+For to cast away at Dice,
+Or to shift you of your Lice,
+ _Thus would I Cure ye_.
+
+Next I would have a soft Bed made,
+Wherein a Virgin should be laid;
+ That would Play,
+ Any way
+ You'll devise;
+ That would stick
+ Like a Tick,
+ To your Thighs,
+That would bill like a Dove,
+Lye beneath or above,
+ _Thus would I Cure ye_.
+
+Next that same Bowl, where _Jove_ Divine,
+Drank _Nectar_ in, I'd fill with Wine;
+ That whereas,
+ You should pause,
+ You should quaff;
+ Like a _Greek_,
+ Till your Cheek,
+To _Ceres_ and to _Venus_,
+To _Bacchus_ and _Silenus_,
+ _Thus would I Cure ye_.
+
+Last of all there should appear,
+Seven Eunuchs sphere-like Singing here,
+ In the Praise,
+ Of those Ways,
+ Of delights;
+ _Venus_ can,
+ Use with Man,
+ In the Night;
+When he strives to adorn,
+_Vulcan's_ Head with a HORN,
+ _Thus would I Cure ye_.
+
+But if not Gold, nor Woman can,
+Nor Wine, nor Songs, make merry then;
+ Let the Batt,
+ Be thy Mate,
+ And the Owl;
+ Let a Pain,
+ In thy Brain,
+ Make thee Howl;
+Let the Pox be thy Friend,
+And the Plague work thy end,
+ _Thus I would Cure you_.
+
+
+
+
+_To his fairest_ VALENTINE _Mrs._ A.L.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Come pretty Birds present your Lays,
+And learn to chaunt a Goddess Praise;
+Ye Wood-Nymphs let your Voices be,
+Employ'd to serve her Deity:
+And warble forth, ye Virgins Nine,
+ _Some Musick to my_ Valentine.
+
+Her Bosom is Loves Paradise,
+There is no Heav'n but in her Eyes;
+She's chaster than the Turtle-Dove,
+And fairer than the Queen of Love;
+Yea, all Perfections do combine,
+To beautifie my Valentine.
+
+She's Nature's choicest Cabinet,
+Where Honour, Beauty, Worth and Wit,
+Are all united in her Breast,
+The Graces claim an Interest:
+All Vertues that are most Divine,
+Shine clearest in my Valentine.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ BALLAD,
+
+_Or_, COLLIN'S _Adventure._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+As _Collin_ went from his Sheep to unfold,
+In a Morning of _April_, as grey as 'twas cold,
+In a Thicket he heard a Voice it self spread;
+ Which was, O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+He peep'd in the Bushes, and spy'd where there lay
+His Mistress, whose Countenance made _April May_;
+But in her looks some sadness was read,
+ Crying O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+He rush'd in to her, and cry'd what's the matter,
+Ah! _Collin_, quoth she, why will you come at her,
+Who by the false Swain, hath often been misled,
+ For which O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+He turn'd her Milk-pail, and there down he sat,
+His Hands stroak'd his Beard, on his Knee lay his Coat,
+But, O, still _Mopsa_ cry'd, before ought was said,
+ _Collin_, O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+No more, quoth stout _Collin_! I ever was true,
+Thou gav'st me a Handkerchief all hemm'd with Blue:
+A Pin-box I gave thee, and a Girdle so Red,
+ Yet still she cry'd, O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+Delaying, quoth she, hath made me thus Ill,
+For I never fear'd _Sarah_ that dwelt at the Mill,
+Since in the Ev'ning late her Hogs thou hast fed,
+ For which, O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+_Collin_ then chuck'd her under the Chin,
+Cheer up for to love thee I never will lin,
+Says she, I'll believe it when the Parson has read,
+ 'Till then, O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+Uds boars, quoth _Collin_, I'll new my shon,
+And e'er the Week pass, by the Mass it shall be done:
+You might have done this before, then she said,
+ But now, O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+He gave her a twitch that quite turn'd her round,
+And said, I'm the truest that e'er trod on Ground,
+Come settle thy Milk-Pail fast on thy Head,
+ No more O, O, _I am almost dead_.
+
+Why then I perceive thoul't not leave me in the Lurch,
+I'll don my best Cloths and streight to the Church:
+Jog on, merry _Collin_, jog on before,
+ For I Faith, I Faith, _I'll dye no more_.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ Town-Rakes, _A_ SONG: _Set by Mr._ Daniel Purcell: _Sung by Mr._
+EDWARDS.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+What Life can compare with the jolly Town Rakes,
+When in his full swing of all Pleasure he takes?
+At Noon he gets up for a wet and to Dine,
+And Wings the swift Hours with Mirth, Musick, and Wine,
+Then jogs to the Play-house and chats with the Masques,
+And thence to the _Rose_ where he takes his three Flasks,
+There great as a _Caesar_ he revels when drunk,
+And scours all he meets as he reels, as he reels to his Punk,
+And finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes,
+What Life can compare to the jolly Town-Rakes, the Jolly Town-Rakes.
+
+He like the Great Turk has his favourite She,
+But the Town's his _Seraglio_, and still he lives free;
+Sometimes she's a Lady, but as he must range,
+Black _Betty_, or Oyster _Moll_ serve for a Change:
+As he varies his Sports his whole Life is a Feast,
+He thinks him that is soberest is most like a Beast:
+All Houses of Pleasure, breaks Windows and Doors,
+Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Whores:
+Rare work for the Surgeon and Midwife he makes,
+What Life can Compare with the jolly Town-Rakes.
+
+Thus in _Covent-Garden_ he makes his Campaigns,
+And no Coffee-House haunts but to settle his Brains;
+He laughs at dry Mortals, and never does think,
+Unless 'tis to get the best Wenches and Drink:
+He dwells in a Tavern, and lives ev'ry where,
+And improving his Hour, lives an age in a Year:
+For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste,
+And thus he lives longest because he lives fast:
+Then leaps in the Dark, and his _Exit_ he makes,
+What Death can compare with the jolly Town-Rakes.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG: _Set by Mr._ CLARKE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Young _Coridon_ and _Phillis_
+ Sate in a lovely Grove;
+Contriving Crowns of Lillies,
+ Repeating Tales of Love:
+_And something else, but what I dare not_, &c.
+
+But as they were a Playing,
+ She oagled so the Swain;
+It say'd her plainly saying,
+ Let's kiss to ease our Pain:
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+A thousand times he kiss'd her,
+ Laying her on the Green;
+But as he farther press'd her,
+ Her pretty Leg was seen:
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+So many Beauties removing,
+ His Ardour still increas'd;
+And greater Joys pursuing,
+ He wander'd o'er her Breast:
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+A last Effort she trying,
+ His Passion to withstand;
+Cry'd, but it was faintly crying,
+ Pray take away your Hand:
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+Young _Coridon_ grown bolder,
+ The Minute would improve;
+This is the Time he told her,
+ To shew you how I love;
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+The Nymph seem'd almost dying,
+ Dissolv'd in amorous Heat;
+She kiss'd, and told him sighing,
+ My Dear your Love is great:
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+But _Phillis_ did recover
+ Much sooner than the Swain;
+She blushing ask'd her Lover,
+ Shall we not Kiss again:
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+Thus Love his Revels keeping,
+ 'Till Nature at a stand;
+From talk they fell to Sleeping,
+ Holding each others Hand;
+_And something else_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_The Amorous_ BARBER'S _Passion of Love for his Dear_ BRIDGET.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+With my Strings of small Wire lo I come,
+ And a Cittern made of Wood;
+And a Song altho' you are Deaf and Dumb,
+ May be heard and understood.
+ _Dumb, dumb_----
+
+Oh! take Pity on me, my Dear,
+ Me thy Slave, and me thy Vassal,
+And be not Cruel, as it were,
+ Like to some strong and well built old Castle.
+ _Dumb, dumb_----
+
+Lest as thou passest along the Street,
+ Braver every Day and braver;
+Every one that does thee meet,
+ Will say there goes a Woman-shaver.
+ _Dumb, dumb_----
+
+And again will think fit,
+ And to say they will determine;
+There goes she that with Tongue killed Clip-Chops,
+ As a Man with his Thumbs kill Vermine.
+ _Dumb, dumb_----
+
+For if thou dost then, farewel Pelf,
+ Farewel _Bridget_, for I vow I'll:
+Either in my Bason hang my self,
+ Or drown me in my Towel,
+ _Dumb, dumb_----
+
+
+
+
+_A_ BALLAD, _made by a Gentleman in_ Ireland, _who could not have
+Access to a Lady whom he went to visit, because the Maid the Night
+before had over-laid her pretty Bitch. To the Tune of_, O Hone, O
+Hone.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Oh! let no Eyes be dry,
+ _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_,
+But let's lament and cry,
+ _Oh Hone, O Hone_,
+We're quite undone almost,
+For _Daphne_ on this Coast,
+Has yielded up the Ghost,
+ _Oh Hone, O Hone_.
+
+_Daphne_ my dearest Bitch,
+ _Oh Hone, O Hone_,
+Who did all Dogs bewitch,
+ _Oh Hone_, &c.
+Was by a careless Maid,
+Pox take her for a Jade,
+In the Night over-laid,
+ _Oh Hone_, &c.
+
+Oh may she never more
+ _Oh Hone_, &c.
+Sleep quietly, but snore,
+ _Oh Hone_, &c.
+May never Irish Lad,
+Sue for her Maiden-head,
+Until it stinks I Gad,
+ _Oh Hone_, &c.
+
+Oh may she never keep
+ _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_;
+Her Water in her Sleep,
+ _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_:
+May never Pence nor Pounds,
+Come more within the Bounds,
+Of her Pocket Ad-sounds,
+ _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_.
+
+
+
+
+DAMON _forsaken. Set by Mr._ WROTH.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When that young _Damon_ bless'd my Heart,
+ And in soft Words did move;
+How did I hug the pleasing Dart,
+ And thank'd the God of Love:
+_Cupid_, said I, my best lov'd Lamb,
+ That in my Bosom lives:
+To thee, for kindling this dear Flame,
+ To thee, kind God, I'll give.
+
+But prying Friends o'er-heard my Vow,
+ And murmur'd in my Ear;
+_Damon_ hath neither Flocks nor Plough,
+ Girl what thou dost beware:
+They us'd so long their cursed Art,
+ And damn'd deluding sham;
+That I agreed with them to part,
+ Nor offer'd up my Lamb.
+
+_Cupid_ ask'd for his Offering,
+ 'Cause I refus'd to pay;
+He took my _Damon_ on his Wing,
+ And carry'd him quite away:
+Pitch'd him before _Olinda's_ Charms,
+ Those Wonders of the Plain;
+Commanding her into her Arms,
+ To take the dearest Swain.
+
+The envy'd Nymph, soon, soon obey'd,
+ And bore away the Prize;
+'Tis well she did, for had she stay'd,
+ I'd snatch'd him from her Eyes:
+My Lamb was with gay Garlands dress'd,
+ The Pile prepar'd to burn;
+Hoping that if the God appeas'd,
+My _Damon_ might return.
+
+But oh! in vain he's gone, he's gone,
+ _Phillis_ he can't be thine;
+I by Obedience am undone,
+ Was ever Fate like mine:
+_Olinda_ do, try all thy Charms,
+ Yet I will have a part;
+For whilst you have him in your Arms,
+ I'll have him in my Heart.
+
+
+
+
+_The Apparition to the Jilted Lover. Set by Mr._ WROTH.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Think wretched Mortal, think no more,
+ How to prolong thy Breath:
+For thee there are no Joys in store,
+ But in a welcome Death:
+Then seek to lay thee under Ground,
+ The Grave cures all Despair;
+And healeth every bitter Wound,
+ Giv'n by th' ungrateful Fair.
+
+How cou'dst thou Faith in Woman think,
+ Women are _Syrens_ all;
+And when Men in Loves Ocean sink,
+ Take Pride to see 'em fall:
+Women were never real yet,
+ But always truth despise:
+Constant to nothing but Deceit,
+ False Oaths and flattering Lies.
+
+Ah! _Coridon_ bid Life adieu,
+ The Gods will thee prefer;
+Their Gates are open'd wide for you,
+ But bolted against her:
+Do thou be true, you vow'd to Love,
+ _Phillis_ or Death you'll have;
+Now since the Nymph doth perjured prove,
+ Be just unto the Grave.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Heaven first created Woman to be Kind,
+ Both to be belov'd, and for to Love;
+If you contradict what Heav'n has design'd,
+ You'll be contemn'd by all the Pow'rs above:
+Then no more dispute me, for I am rashly bent,
+ To subject your Beauty
+ To kind Nature's Duty,
+Let me than salute you by Consent.
+
+Arguments and fair Intreats did I use,
+ But with her Consent could not prevail;
+She the Blessing modestly would still refuse,
+ Seeming for to slight my amorous Tale:
+Sometimes she would cry Sir, prithee Dear be good,
+ Oh Sir, pray Sir, why Sir?
+ Pray now, nay now, fye Sir,
+I would sooner die Sir, than be rude.
+
+I began to treat her then another way,
+ Modestly I melted with a Kiss;
+She then blushing look'd like the rising Day,
+ Fitting for me to attempt the Bliss:
+I gave her a fall Sir, she began to tear,
+ Crying she would call Sir,
+ As loud as she could baul Sir,
+But is prov'd as false, Sir, as she's Fair.
+
+
+
+
+RALPH'S _going to the Wars._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+To the Wars I must alass,
+ Though I do not like the Game,
+For I hold him to be an Ass,
+ That will lose his Life for Fame:
+_For these Guns are such pestilent things,
+ To pat a Pellet in ones Brow;
+Four vurlongs off ch've heard zome zay,
+ Ch'ill kill a Man he knows not how._
+
+When the Bow, Bill, Zword and Dagger,
+ Were us'd all in vighting;
+Ch've heard my Father swear and swagger,
+ That it was but a Flea-biting:
+_But these Guns_, &c.
+
+Ise would vight with the best of our Parish,
+ And play at Whisters with _Mary_;
+Cou'd thump the Vootball, yerk the Morrie,
+ And box at Visticuffs with any:
+_But these Guns_, &c.
+
+Varewel _Dick_, _Tom_, _Ralph_ and _Hugh_,
+ My Maypoles make all heretofore;
+Varewel _Doll_, _Kate_, _Zis_ and _Zue_,
+ For I shall never zee you more:
+_For these Guns are such pestilent things,
+ To pat a Pellet in ones Brow;
+Four vurlongs off ch've heard zome zay,
+ Ch'ill kill a Man he knows not how._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in Praise of Punch._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Come fill up the Bowl with the Liquor that fine is,
+ And much more Divine is,
+Than now a-days Wine is, with all their Art,
+ None here can controul:
+The Vintner despising, tho' Brandy be rising,
+ 'Tis Punch that must chear the Heart:
+The Lovers complaining, 'twill cure in a trice,
+And _Caelia_ disdaining, shall cease to be nice,
+ _Come fill up the Bowl_, &c.
+
+Thus soon you'll discover, the cheat of each Lover,
+When free from all Care you'll quickly find,
+As Nature intended 'em willing and kind:
+ _Come fill up the Bowl_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Bonny _Peggy Ramsey_ that any Man may see,
+And bonny was her Face, with a fair freckel'd Eye,
+Neat is her Body made, and she hath good Skill,
+And square is her Wethergig made like a Mill:
+ _With a hey trolodel, hey trolodel, hey trolodel lill,_
+ _Bonny_ Peggy Ramsey _she gives weel her Mill._
+
+_Peggy_ to the Mill is gone to grind a Bowl of Mault,
+The Mill it wanted Water, and was not that a fault;
+Up she pull'd her Petticoats and piss'd into the Dam,
+For six Days and seven Nights she made the Mill to gang;
+ _With a hey_, &c.
+
+Some call her _Peggy_, and some call her _Jean_,
+But some calls her Midsummer, but they all are mista'en;
+For _Peggy_ is a bonny Lass, and grinds well her Mill,
+For she will be Occupied when others they lay still:
+ _With a hey_, &c.
+
+_Peg_, thee and Ise grin a poke, and we to War will leanes,
+Ise lay thee flat upon thy Back and then lay to the steanes;
+Ise make hopper titter totter, haud the Mouth as still,
+When twa sit, and eane stand, merrily grind the Mill:
+ _With a hey_, &c.
+
+Up goes the Clap, and in goes the Corn,
+Betwixt twa rough steans _Peggy_ not to learn;
+With a Dam full of Water that she holdeth still,
+To pour upon the Clap for burning of the Mill:
+ _With a hey_, &c.
+
+Up she pull'd the Dam sure and let the Water in,
+The Wheel went about, and the Mill began to grind:
+The spindle it was hardy, and the steanes were they well pickt,
+And the Meal fell in the Mill Trough, and ye may all come lick:
+ _With a hey trolodel, hey trolodel, hey trolodel lill,_
+ _Bonny_ Peggy Ramsey _she gives weel her Mill._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Writ by the Famous Mr._ NAT. LEE.
+
+_Philander_ and _Sylvia_, a gentle soft Pair,
+Whose business was loving, and kissing their Care;
+In a sweet smelling Grove went smiling along,
+'Till the Youth gave a vent to his Heart with his Tongue:
+Ah _Sylvia_! said he, (and sigh'd when he spoke)
+Your cruel resolves will you never revoke?
+No never, she said, how never, he cry'd,
+'Tis the Damn'd that shall only that Sentence abide.
+
+She turn'd her about to look all around,
+Then blush'd, and her pretty Eyes cast on the Ground;
+She kiss'd his warm Cheeks, then play'd with his Neck,
+And urg'd that his Reason his Passion would check:
+Ah _Philander_! she said, 'tis a dangerous Bliss,
+Ah! never ask more and I'll give thee a Kiss;
+How never? he cry'd, then shiver'd all o'er,
+No never, she said, then tripp'd to a Bower.
+
+She stopp'd at the Wicket, he cry'd let me in,
+She answer'd, I wou'd if it were not a sin;
+Heav'n sees, and the Gods will chastise the poor Head
+Of _Philander_ for this; straight Trembling he said,
+Heav'n sees, I confess, but no Tell-tales are there,
+She kiss'd him and cry'd, you're an Atheist my Dear;
+And shou'd you prove false I should never endure:
+How never? he cry'd, and straight down he threw her.
+
+Her delicate Body he clasp'd in his Arms,
+He kiss'd her, he press'd her, heap'd charms upon charms;
+He cry'd shall I now? no never, she said,
+Your Will you shall never enjoy till I'm dead:
+Then as if she were dead, she slept and lay still,
+Yet even in Death bequeath'd him a smile:
+Which embolden'd the Youth his Charms to apply,
+Which he bore still about him to cure those that die.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Your Hay it is mow'd, and your Corn is reap'd,
+Your Barns will be full, and your Hovels heap'd;
+ Come, my Boys come,
+ Come, my Boys come,
+And merrily roar our Harvest home:
+ Harvest home,
+ Harvest home,
+And merrily roar our Harvest home.
+ _Come, my Boys come_, &c.
+
+We ha' cheated the Parson, we'll cheat him agen,
+For why should a Blockhead ha' One in Ten:
+ One in Ten,
+ One in Ten,
+For why should a Blockhead ha' One in Ten,
+ _One in Ten_, &c.
+
+For prating too long, like a Book learnt Sot,
+'Till Pudding and Dumpling are burnt to Pot:
+ Burnt to Pot,
+ Burnt to Pot,
+'Till Pudding and Dumpling are burnt to Pot.
+ _Burnt to Pot_, &c.
+
+We'll toss off our Ale till we cannot stand,
+And hey for the Honour of old _England_;
+ Old _England_,
+ Old _England_,
+And hey for the Honour of old _England_,
+ _Old_ England, _&c._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+I prithee send me back my Heart,
+ Since I cannot have thine:
+For if from yours you will not part,
+ Why then should you have mine.
+
+Yet now I think on't, let it be,
+ To send it me is vain;
+Thou hast a Thief in either Eye,
+ Will steal it back again.
+
+Why should two Hearts in one Breast be,
+ And yet not be together;
+Or Love, where is thy Sympathy,
+ If thou our Hearts do sever?
+
+But Love is such a Mystery,
+ I cannot find it out;
+For when I think I am best resolv'd,
+ Then I am most in Doubt.
+
+Then farewel Care, then farewel Woe,
+ I will no longer pine;
+But I'll believe I have her Heart,
+ As well as she hath mine.
+
+
+
+
+BACCHUS _turn'd Doctor. The Words by_ BEN. JOHNSON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Let Soldiers fight for Pay and Praise,
+ And Money be Misers wish;
+Poor Scholars study all their Days,
+ And Gluttons glory in their Dish:
+ _'Tis Wine, pure Wine, revives sad Souls,_
+ _Therefore give us chearing Bowls._
+
+Let Minions marshal in their Hair,
+ And in a Lover's lock delight;
+And artificial Colours wear,
+ We have the Native Red and White.
+ _'Tis Wine_, &c.
+
+Your Pheasant, Pout, and Culver Salmon,
+ And how to please your Palates think:
+Give us a salt _Westphalia-Gammon_,
+ Not Meat to eat, but Meat to drink.
+ _'Tis Wine_, &c.
+
+It makes the backward Spirits brave,
+ That lively, that before was dull;
+Those grow good Fellows that are grave,
+ And kindness flows from Cups brim full,
+ _'Tis Wine_, &c.
+
+Some have the Ptysick, some the Rhume,
+ Some have the Palsie, some the Gout;
+Some swell with Fat, and some consume,
+ But they are sound that drink all out.
+ _'Tis Wine_, &c.
+
+Some Men want Youth, and some want Health,
+ Some want a Wife, and some a Punk;
+Some Men want Wit, and some want Wealth,
+ But he wants nothing that is drunk.
+ _'Tis Wine, pure Wine, revives sad Souls,_
+ _Therefore give us chearing Bowls._
+
+
+
+
+JENNY _making Hay._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Poor _Jenny_ and I we toiled,
+ In a long Summer's Day;
+Till we were almost foiled,
+ With making of the Hay;
+Her Kerchief was of Holland clear,
+ Bound low upon her Brow;
+Ise whisper'd something in her Ear,
+ _But what's that to you?_
+
+Her Stockings were of Kersey green,
+ Well stitcht with yellow Silk;
+Oh! sike a Leg was never seen,
+ Her Skin as white as Milk:
+Her Hair as black as any Crow,
+ And sweet her Mouth was too;
+Oh _Jenny_ daintily can mow,
+ _But_, &c.
+
+Her Petticoats were not so low,
+ As Ladies they do wear them;
+She needed not a Page I trow,
+ For I was by to bear them:
+Ise took them up all in my Hand,
+ And I think her Linnen too;
+Which made me for to make a stand;
+ _But_, &c.
+
+King _Solomon_ had Wives enough,
+ And Concubines a Number;
+Yet Ise possess more happiness,
+ And he had more of Cumber;
+My Joys surmount a wedded Life,
+ With fear she lets me mow her;
+A Wench is better than a Wife,
+ _But_, &c.
+
+The Lilly and the Rose combine,
+ To make my _Jenny_ fair;
+There's no Contentment sike as mine;
+ I'm almost void of Care:
+But yet I fear my _Jenny's_ Face,
+ Will cause more Men to woe;
+Which if she should, as I do fear,
+ _Still, what is that to you?_
+
+
+
+
+_The Knotting_ SONG. _The Words by Sir_ CHARLES SYDNEY.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Hears not my _Phillis_ how the Birds,
+ Their feather'd Mates salute:
+They tell their Passion in their Words,
+ Must I alone, must I alone be mute:
+Phillis _without a frown or smile,_
+_Sat & knotted, & knotted, & knotted, and knotted all the while._
+
+The God of Love in thy bright Eyes,
+ Does like a Tyrant Reign;
+But in thy Heart a Child he lies,
+ Without a Dart or Flame.
+_Phillis_, &c.
+
+So many Months in silence past,
+ And yet in raging Love;
+Might well deserve one word at last,
+ My Passion should approve.
+_Phillis_, &c.
+
+Must then your faithful Swain expire,
+ And not one look obtain;
+Which to sooth his fond desire,
+ Might pleasingly explain.
+_Phillis_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ FRENCH KING _in a foaming Passion for the loss of his Potent
+Army in the_ NETHERLANDS, _which were Routed by his Grace the Duke of_
+MARLBOROUGH.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Old _Lewis le Grand_,
+ He raves like a Fury,
+ And calls for _Mercury_;
+Quoth he, if I can,
+ I'll finish my Days;
+For why should I live?
+Since the Fates will not give
+ One affable smile:
+Great _Marlborough_ Conquers,
+Great _Marlborough_ Conquers,
+ I'm ruin'd the while.
+
+The Flower of _France_,
+ And Troops of my Palace
+ Which march'd from _Versales_
+Who vow'd to Advance,
+ With Conquering Sword,
+Are cut, hack'd and hew'd,
+I well may conclude,
+ They're most of them Slain:
+Oh! what will become of,
+Oh! what will become of,
+ My Grand-Son in _Spain_.
+
+My fortify'd Throne,
+ Propt up by Oppression,
+ Must yield at Discretion,
+For needs must I own,
+ My Glory decays:
+Bold _Marlborough_ comes
+With ratling Drums,
+ And thundering Shot,
+He drives all before him,
+He drives all before him,
+ Oh! Where am I got?
+
+He pushes for Crowns,
+ And slays my Commanders,
+ And Forces in _Flanders_;
+Great Capital Towns,
+ For _CHARLES_ has declar'd:
+These things like a Dart,
+Has pierced my Heart,
+ And threatens my Death;
+Here do I lye sighing,
+Here do I lye sighing,
+ And Panting for Breath.
+
+This passionate Grief,
+ Draws on my Diseases,
+ Which fatally ceases
+My Spirits in chief,
+ A fit of the Gout,
+The Gravel and Stone,
+I have 'tis well known,
+ At this horrid News,
+Of _Marlborough's_ Triumph,
+Of _Marlborough's_ Triumph,
+ All Battles I lose.
+
+Wherever he comes,
+ He is bold and Victorious,
+ Successful and glorious,
+My two Royal Thumbs
+ With anguish I bite:
+To hear his Success;
+Yet nevertheless,
+ My passion's in vain:
+I pity my Darling,
+I pity my Darling,
+ Young _Philip_ in _Spain_.
+
+I am out of my Wits,
+ If e'er I had any;
+ My Foes they are many,
+Which plagues me by fits,
+ In _Flanders_ and _Spain_:
+I'm sick at my Heart,
+To think we must part,
+ With what we enjoy'd,
+Towns, Castles, are taken,
+Towns, Castles, are taken,
+ My Troops are destroy'd.
+
+I am I declare,
+ In a weak Condition,
+ Go call my Physician,
+And let him prepare
+ Some comfort with speed,
+Without all delay,
+Assist me I pray,
+ And hear my Complaint,
+A Dram of the Bottle,
+A Dram of the Bottle,
+ Or else I shall faint.
+
+Should I slip my Breath,
+ At this dreadful Season,
+ I think it but Reason,
+I should lay my Death,
+ To the daring Foes,
+Whose Fire and Smoak,
+Has certainly broke,
+ The Heart in my Breast:
+Oh! bring me a Cordial,
+Oh! bring me a Cordial,
+ And lay me to Rest.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Captain_ PACK.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Would you be a Man in Fashion?
+ Would you lead a Life Divine?
+Take a little Dram of Passion, (a little dram of Passion)
+ In a lusty Dose of Wine
+If the Nymph has no Compassion,
+ Vain it is to sigh and groan:
+Love was but put in for Fashion,
+ Wine will do the Work alone.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ THO. FARMER.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Though the Pride of my Passion fair _Sylvia_ betrays,
+ And frowns at the Love I impart;
+Though kindly her Eyes twist amorous Rays,
+ To tye a more fortunate Heart:
+Yet her Charms are so great, I'll be bold in my Pain,
+ His Heart is too tender,
+Too tender, that's struck with Disdain.
+
+Still my Heart is so just to my Passionate Eyes,
+ It dissolves with Delight while I gaze:
+And he that loves on, though _Sylvia_ denies,
+ His Love but his Duty obeys:
+I no more can refrain her neglects to pursue,
+ Than the force, the force
+Of her Beauty can cease to subdue.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When first I fair _Celinda_ knew,
+ Her Kindness then was great:
+Her Eyes I cou'd with Pleasure view,
+ And friendly Rays did meet:
+In all Delights we past the time,
+ That could Diversion move;
+She oft would kindly hear me Rhime
+ Upon some others Love:
+_She oft would kindly hear me Rhime,_
+ _Upon some others Love._
+
+But ah! at last I grew too bold,
+ Prest by my growing Flame;
+For when my Passion I had told,
+ She hated ev'n my Name:
+Thus I that cou'd her Friendship boast,
+ And did her Love pursue;
+And taught Contentment at the cost,
+ Of Love and Friendship too.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ FISHBURNE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Long had _Damon_ been admir'd,
+ By the Beauties of the Plain;
+Ev'ry Breast warm Love inspir'd,
+ For the proper handsome Swain:
+The choicest Nymph _Sicilia_ bred,
+ Was won by his resistless Charms:
+Soft Looks, and Verse as smooth, had led
+ And left the Captive in his Arms.
+
+But our _Damon's_ Soul aspires,
+ To a Goddess of his Race;
+Though he sues with chaster Fires,
+ This his Glories does deface:
+The fatal News no sooner blown
+ In Whispers up the Chesnut Row;
+The God _Sylvanus_ with a Frown,
+ Blasts all the Lawrels on his Brow.
+
+Swains be wise, and check desire
+ In it's soaring, when you'll woe:
+_Damon_ may in Love require
+ _Thestyles_ and _Laura_ too:
+When Shepherds too ambitious are,
+ And Court _Astrea_ on a Throne;
+Like to the shooting of a Star,
+ They fall, and thus their shining's gone.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Pretty _Floramel_, no Tongue can ever tell,
+ The Charms that in thee dwell;
+ Those Soul-melting Pleasures,
+Shou'd the mighty _Jove_ once view, he'd be in Love,
+And plunder all above,
+ To rain down his Treasure:
+Ah! said the Nymph in the Shepherd's Arms,
+Had you half so much Love as you say I have Charms;
+ There's not a Soul, created for Man and Love,
+ More true than _Floramel_ wou'd prove,
+ I'd o'er the World with thee rove.
+
+Love that's truly free, had never Jealousie,
+ But artful Love may be
+ Both doubtful and wooing;
+Ah! dear Shepherdess, ne'er doubt, for you may guess,
+My Heart will prove no less,
+ Than ever endless loving:
+Then cries the Nymph, like the Sun thou shalt be,
+And I, like kind Earth, will produce all to thee;
+ Of ev'ry Flower in Love's Garden I'll Off'rings pay
+ To my Saint. Nay then pray
+ Take not those dear Eyes away.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ROBERT KING.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+By shady Woods and purling Streams,
+I spend my Life in pleasing Dreams;
+And would not for the World be thought
+To change my false delightful Thought:
+For who, alas! can happy be,
+That does the Truth of all things see?
+_For who, alas! can happy be,_
+_That does the Truth of all things see._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Sett by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+In _Chloris_ all soft Charms agree,
+ Enchanting Humour pow'rful Wit;
+Beauty from Affectation free,
+ And for Eternal Empire fit:
+Where-e'er she goes, Love waits her Eyes,
+ The Women Envy, Men adore;
+Tho' did she less the Triumph Prize,
+ She wou'd deserve the Conquest more.
+
+But Vanity so much prevails,
+ She begs what else none can deny her;
+And with inviting treach'rous Smiles
+ Gives hopes which ev'n prevent desire:
+Reaches at every trifling Heart,
+ Grows warm with ev'ry glimm'ring Flame:
+And common Prey so deads her Dart,
+ It scarce can wound a noble Game.
+
+I could lye Ages at her Feet,
+ Adore her careless of my Pain;
+With tender Vows her Rigour meet,
+ Despair, love on, and not complain:
+My Passion from all change secur'd,
+ Favours may rise, no Frown controuls;
+I any Torment can endure,
+ But hoping with a crowd of Fools.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ THO. FARMER.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When busie Fame o'er all the Plain,
+ _Velinda's_ Praises rung;
+And on their Oaten Pipes each Swain
+ Her matchless Beauty sung:
+The Envious Nymphs were forc'd to yield
+ She had the sweetest Face;
+No emulous disputes were held,
+ But for the second place.
+
+Young _Coridon_, whose stubborn Heart
+ No Beauty e'er could move;
+But smil'd at _Cupid's_ Bow and Dart,
+ And brav'd the God of Love:
+Would view this Nymph, and pleas'd at first,
+ Such silent Charms to see:
+With Wonder gaz'd, then sigh'd, and curs'd
+ His Curiosity.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FISHBURNE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Why am I the only Creature,
+ Must a ruin'd Love pursue;
+Other Passions yield to Nature,
+ Mine there's nothing can subdue:
+Not the Glory of Possessing,
+ Monarch wishes gave me ease,
+More and more the mighty Blessings
+ Did my raging Pains encrease.
+
+Nor could Jealousie relieve me,
+ Tho' it ever waited near;
+Cloath'd in gawdy Pow'r to grieve me,
+ Still the Monster would appear:
+That, nor Time, nor Absence neither,
+ Nor Despair removes my Pain;
+I endure them all together,
+ Yet my Torments still remain.
+
+Had alone her matchless beauty,
+ Set my amorous Heart on Fire,
+Age at last would do its Duty,
+ Fuel ceasing, Flames expire.
+But her Mind immortal grows,
+ Makes my Love immortal too;
+Nature ne'er created Faces,
+ Can the Charms of Souls undoe.
+
+And to make my Loss the greater,
+ She laments it as her own;
+Could she scorn me, I might hate her,
+ But alas! she shews me none:
+Then since Fortune is my Ruin,
+ In Retirement I'll Complain;
+And in rage for my undoing,
+ Ne'er come in its Power again.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Laurinda_, who did love Disdain,
+For whom had languish'd many a Swain:
+Leading her bleating Flocks to drink,
+She 'spy'd upon a River's brink
+A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare,
+How much he lov'd, but lov'd not her.
+
+At first she laugh'd, but gaz'd a while,
+Which soon it lessen'd to a smile;
+Thence to Surprize and Wonder came,
+Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame:
+Then cry'd she out, Ah! now I prove
+Thou art a God most mighty _Jove_.
+
+She would have spoke, but shame deny'd,
+And bid her first consult her Pride;
+But soon she found that aid was gone,
+For _Jove_, alass! had left her none:
+Ah! now she burns! but 'tis too late,
+For in his Eyes she reads her Fate.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Fair _Caelia_ too fondly contemns those Delights,
+Wherewith gentle Nature hath soften'd the Nights;
+If she be so kind to present us with Pow'r,
+The Fault is our own to neglect the good Hour:
+Who gave thee this Beauty, ordain'd thou should'st be,
+As kind to thy Slaves, as the Gods were to thee.
+
+Then _Caelia_ no longer reserve the vain Pride,
+Of wronging thy self, to see others deny'd;
+If Love be a Pleasure, alass! you will find,
+We both are not happy, when both are most kind:
+But Women, like Priests, do in others reprove,
+And call that thing Lust, which in them is but Love.
+
+What they thro' their Madness and Folly create,
+We poor silly Slaves still impute to our Fate;
+But in such Distempers where Love is the Grief,
+'Tis _Caelia_, not Heaven, must give us Relief:
+Then away with those Titles of Honour and Cause,
+Which first made us sin, by giving us Laws.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ WILLIAM TURNER.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+I Lik'd, but never Lov'd before
+ I saw that charming Face;
+Now every Feature I adore,
+ And doat on ev'ry Grace:
+She ne'er shall know that kind desire,
+ Which her cold Looks denies,
+Unless my Heart that's all on Fire,
+ Should sparkle through my Eyes:
+Then if no gentle Glance return,
+ A silent Leave to speak;
+My Heart which would for ever burn,
+ Alass! must sigh and break.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in_ Valentinian.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Where would coy _Amyntas_ run,
+ From a despairing Lover's Story?
+When her Eyes have Conquest won,
+ Why should her Ear refuse the Glory:
+Shall a Slave, whose Racks constrain,
+Be forbidden to complain;
+Let her scorn me, let her Fly me,
+Let her Looks, her Love deny me:
+Ne'er shall my Heart yield to despair,
+Or my Tongue cease to tell my Care,
+Or my Tongue cease to tell my Care:
+Much to love, and much to pray,
+Is to Heav'n the only way.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Pelham Humphreys.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+ A Wife I do hate,
+For either she's False, or she's Jealous;
+ But give me a Mate,
+Who nothing will ask us or tell us:
+ She stands at no Terms,
+Nor Chaffers by way of Indenture:
+ Or Loves for the Farms,
+But takes the kind Man at a Venture.
+
+ If all prove not right,
+Without an Act, Process or Warning,
+ From Wife for a Night,
+You may be divorc'd the next Morning,
+ Where Parents are Slaves,
+Their Brats can't be any other;
+ Great Wits and great Braves,
+Have always a Punk to their Mother.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Tell me ye _Sicilian_ Swains,
+Why this Mourning's o'er your Plains;
+ Where's your usual Melody?
+Why are all your Shepherds mad,
+And your Shepherdesses sad?
+ What can the mighty meaning be?
+ _Chorus._ _Sylvia_ the Glory of our Plains;
+ _Sylvia_ the Love of all our Swains;
+ That blest us with her Smiles:
+Where ev'ry Shepherd had a Heart,
+And ev'ry Shepherdess a Part;
+ Slights our Gods, and leaves our Isle,
+ Slights our Gods, and leaves our Isle.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When gay _Philander_ left the Plain,
+The Love, the Life of ev'ry Swain;
+His Pipe the mournful _Strephon_ took,
+By some sad Bank and murm'ring Brook:
+Whilst list'ning Flocks forsook their Food,
+And Melancholy by him stood;
+On the cold Ground himself he laid,
+And thus the Mournful Shepherd play'd.
+
+Farewel to all that's bright and gay,
+No more glad Night and chearing Day;
+No more the Sun will gild our Plain,
+'Till the lost Youth return again:
+Then every pensive Heart that now,
+With Mournful Willow shades his Brow;
+Shall crown'd with chearful Garlands sing,
+And all shall seem Eternal Spring.
+
+Say, mighty _Pan_, if you did know,
+Say all ye rural Gods below;
+'Mongst all Youths that grac'd your Plain,
+So gay so beautiful a Swain:
+In whose sweet Air and charming Voice,
+Our list'ning Swains did all Rejoyce;
+Him only, O ye Gods! restore
+Your Nymphs, and Shepherds ask no more.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ THO. KINGSLEY.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+How Happy's the Mortal whose Heart is his own,
+And for his own Quiet's beholden to none,
+ (_Eccho._ Beholden to none, to none;)
+That to Love's Enchantments ne'er lendeth an Ear,
+Which a Frown or a Smile can equally bear,
+ (_Eccho._ Can equally bear, can bear,)
+Nor on ev'ry frail Beauty still fixes an Eye,
+But from those sly Felons doth prudently fly,
+ (_Eccho._ Doth prudently, prudently fly, doth fly;)
+For the Heart that still wanders is pounded at last,
+And 'tis hard to relieve it when once it is fast,
+ (_Eccho._ When once it is fast, is fast.)
+
+By sporting with Dangers still longer and longer,
+The Fetters and Chains of the Captive grows stronger;
+He drills on his Evil, then curses his Fate,
+And bewails those Misfortunes himself did create:
+Like an empty Camelion he lives on the Air,
+And all the Day lingers 'twixt Hope and Despair;
+Like a Fly in the Candle he sports and he Games,
+'Till a Victim in Folly, he dies in the Flames.
+
+If Love, so much talk'd of, a Heresie be,
+Of all it enslaves few true Converts we see;
+If hectoring and huffing would once do the Feat,
+There's few that would fail of a Vict'ry Compleat;
+But with Gain to come off, and the Tyrant subdue,
+Is an Art that is hitherto practis'd by few;
+How easie is Freedom once had to maintain,
+But Liberty lost is as hard to regain.
+
+This driv'ling and sniv'ling, and chiming in Parts,
+This wining and pining, and breaking of Hearts;
+All pensive and silent in Corners to sit,
+Are pretty fine Pastimes for those that want Wit:
+When this Passion and Fashion doth so far abuse 'em,
+It were good the State should for Pendulums use 'em;
+For if Reason it seize on, and make it give o'er,
+No Labour can save, or reliev't any more.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+A Thousand several ways I try'd,
+ To hide my Passion from your view;
+Conscious that I should be deny'd,
+ Because I cannot Merit you:
+Absence, the last and worst of all,
+ Did so encrease my wretched Pain,
+That I return'd, rather to fall
+ By the swift Fate, by the swift Fate of your Disdain.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+To the Grove, gentle Love, let us be going,
+Where the kind Spring and Wind all Day are Woing;
+He with soft sighing Blasts strives to o'er-take her,
+She would not tho' she flies, have him forsake her,
+But in circling Rings returning,
+And in purling Whispers Mourning;
+She swells and pants, as if she'd say,
+Fain I would, but dare not stay.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Tell me no more of Flames in Love,
+ That common dull pretence,
+Fools in Romances use to move
+ Soft Hearts of little Sense:
+No, _Strephon_, I'm not such a Slave,
+ Love's banish'd Power to own;
+Since Interest and Convenience have
+ So long usurp'd his Throne.
+
+No burning Hope or cold Despair,
+ Dull Groves or purling Streams,
+Sighing and talking to the Air
+ In Love's fantastick Dreams,
+Can move my Pity or my Hate,
+ But Satyrist I'll prove,
+And all ridiculous create
+ That shall pretend to Love.
+
+Love was a Monarch once, 'tis true,
+ And God-like rul'd alone,
+And tho' his Subjects were but few,
+ Their Hearts were all his own;
+But since the Slaves revolted are,
+ And turn'd into a State,
+Their Int'rest is their only Care,
+ And Love grows out of Date.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Wealth breeds Care, Love, Hope and Fear;
+What does Love our Business hear?
+While _Bacchus_ merry does appear,
+ Fight on and fear no sinking,
+Charge it briskly to the Brim,
+'Till the flying Top-sails swim,
+We owe the great Discovery to him
+ Of this new World of Drinking.
+
+Grave Cabals that States refine,
+Mingle their Debates with Wine;
+_Ceres_ and the God o'th' Wine;
+ Makes every great Commander.
+Let sober Sots Small-beer subdue,
+The Wise and valiant Wine does woe;
+The _Stagyrite_ had the honour to
+ Be drunk with _Alexander_.
+
+Stand to your Arms, and now Advance
+A Health to the _English_ King of _France_;
+On to the next a _bon Speranze_,
+ By _Bacchus_ and _Apollo_.
+Thus in State I lead the Van,
+Fall in your Place by your right-hand Man,
+Beat Drum! now March! Dub a dub, ran dan,
+ He's a _Whig_ that will not follow.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Fishburn.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Tho' Fortune and Love may be Deities still,
+ To those they Oblige by their Pow'r;
+For my Part, they ever have us'd me so ill,
+ They cannot expect I'll adore:
+Hereafter a Temple to Friendship I'll raise,
+And dedicate there all the rest of my Days,
+ To the Goddess accepted my Vows,
+ _To the Goddess accepted my Vows_.
+
+Thou perfectest Image of all things Divine,
+ Bright Center of endless Desires,
+May the Glory be yours, and the Services mine,
+ When I light at your Altars the Fires.
+I offer a Heart has Devotion so pure,
+It would for your Service all Torments endure,
+ Might you but have all things you wish,
+ _Might you_, &c.
+
+But yet the Goddess of Fools to despise,
+ I find I'm too much in her Power;
+She makes me go where 'tis in vain to be wise,
+ In absence of her I adore:
+If Love then undoes me before I get back,
+I still with resignment receive the Attack,
+ Or languish away in Despair,
+ _Or languish_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+He himself courts his own Ruin,
+ That with too great Passion sues 'em:
+When Men Whine too much in Wooing,
+ Women with like Coquets use 'em:
+Some by this way of addressing
+ Have the Sex so far transported,
+That they'll fool away the Blessing
+ For the Pride of being Courted.
+
+Jilt and smile when we adore 'em,
+ While some Blockhead buys the Favour;
+Presents have more Power o'er 'em
+ Than all our soft Love and Labour,
+Thus, like Zealots, with screw'd Faces,
+ We our fooling make the greater,
+While we cant long winded Graces,
+ Others they fall to the Creature.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Cease lovely _Strephon_, cease to charm;
+ Useless, alas! is all this Art;
+It's needless you should strongly arm,
+ To take a too, too willing Heart:
+I hid my weakness all I could,
+ And chid my pratling tell-tale Eyes,
+For fear the easie Conquest should
+ Take from the value of the Prize.
+
+But oh! th' unruly Passion grew
+ So fast, it could not be conceal'd,
+And soon, alas! I found to you
+ I must without Conditions yield,
+Tho' you have thus surpriz'd my Heart,
+ Yet use it kindly, for you know,
+It's not a gallant Victor's part
+ To insult o'er a vanquish'd Foe.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+You happy Youths, whose Hearts are free
+ From Love's Imperial Chain,
+Henceforth be warn'd and taught by me,
+ And taught by me to avoid inchanting Pain,
+Fatal the Wolves to trembling Flocks,
+ Sharp Winds to Blossoms prove:
+To careless Seamen, hidden Rocks;
+ To human quiet Love.
+
+Fly the Fair-Sex, if Bliss you prize,
+ The Snake's beneath the Flow'r:
+Whoever gaz'd on Beauties Eyes,
+ That tasted Quiet more?
+The Kind with restless Jealousie,
+ The Cruel fill with Care;
+With baser Falshood those betray,
+ These kill us with Despair.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ STAGGINS.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When first _Amyntas_ charm'd my Heart,
+ The heedless Sheep began to stray;
+The Wolves soon stole the greatest part,
+ And all will now be made a Prey:
+Ah! let not Love your Thoughts possess,
+'Tis fatal to a Shepherdess;
+ The dangerous Passion you must shun,
+ Or else like me, be quite undone.
+
+
+
+
+A SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ RICHARD CROONE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+How happy and free is the resolute Swain,
+ That denies to submit to the Yoak of the Fair;
+Free from Excesses of Pleasure and Pain,
+ Neither dazl'd with Hope, nor deprest with Despair.
+He's safe from Disturbance, and calmly enjoys
+All the Pleasures of Love, without Clamour and Noise.
+
+Poor Shepherds in vain their Affections reveal,
+ To a Nymph that is peevish, proud sullen and coy;
+Vainly do Virgins their Passions conceal,
+ For they boil in their Grief, 'till themselves they destroy,
+And thus the poor Darling lies under a Curse:
+To be check'd in the Womb, or o'erlaid by the Nurse.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Sung by Mrs._ Cross _in the_ Mock-Astrologer, _Set by Mr._ RAMONDON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Why so pale and wan fond Lover?
+ Prithee, prithee, Prithee why so pale:
+Will, when looking well can't move her,
+ Looking Ill, looking ill prevail?
+Why so dull and mute young Sinner?
+ Prithee, prithee why so mute;
+Will, when speaking well can't win her,
+ Saying nothing, nothing do't?
+Quit, quit for shame, this will not move,
+ This cannot, cannot, cannot, cannot take her;
+If of her self she will not love,
+ Nothing can, nothing can make her,
+ The Devil, the Devil, the Devil, the Devil take her.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _occasioned by a Lady's wearing a Patch upon a becoming place
+on her Face. Set by Mr._ John Weldon.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+That little Patch upon your Face
+ Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair,
+Wou'd seem a Foil, wou'd seem a Foil,
+ Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair:
+On you it hides a charming Grace,
+ And you in Pity, you in Pity,
+ You in Pity plac'd it there;
+On you it hides a Charming Grace,
+ And you in Pity, you in Pity,
+ In Pity plac'd it there.
+_And you in Pity, Pity,_
+ _And you in Pity plac'd it there._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE _at the_ THEATER.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you,
+ 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won:
+All his Designs are aim'd to undo you,
+ Break off the Love he has begun:
+When he's Addressing, and prays for the Blessing,
+ Which none but his _Iris_ can give alone;
+O then beware, 'tis all to undo you,
+ 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won:
+She that's believing, while he is deceiving,
+ Like many already, will be undone;
+_Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you,
+ 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ RAMONDON, _Sung at the_ Theatre.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair,
+ How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair,
+ O that she were as willing,
+To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
+ And make her Eyes less killing;
+To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
+ And make her Eyes less killing;
+To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
+ And make her Eyes less killing;
+To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
+ And make her Eyes less killing.
+
+I Sigh, I Sigh, I Languish now,
+ And Love will not let me rest;
+I drive about the Park and Bow,
+ Where-e'er I meet my Dearest.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Cease whining _Damon_ to Complain,
+ Of thy Unhappy Fate;
+That _Sylvia_ should thy Love disdain,
+ Which lasting was and great.
+
+For Love so constant flames so bright,
+ More unsuccessful prove:
+Than cold neglect and sudden slight,
+ To gain the Nymph you love.
+
+Then only you'll obtain the Prize,
+ When you her Coyness use;
+If you pursue the Fair, she flies,
+ But if you fly, pursues.
+
+Had _Phoebus_ not pursu'd so fast
+ The seeming cruel she;
+The God a Virgin had embrac'd,
+ And not a lifeless Tree.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd the_ BRITTISH ENCHANTERS. _Set by Mr._
+J. ECCLES.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Plague us not with idle Stories,
+ Whining Loves, whining Loves, whining Loves,
+ And Senceless Glories.
+ What are Lovers? what are Kings?
+ What, at best, but slavish Things?
+ What are Lovers? what are Kings?
+ What, at best, but slavish Things?
+ What, at best, but slavish Things?
+
+Free I liv'd as Nature made me,
+Love nor Beauty durst invade me,
+No rebellious Slaves betray'd me,
+Free I liv'd as Nature made me,
+Each by turns as Sence inspired me,
+_Bacchus_, _Ceres_, _Venus_ fir'd me,
+I alone have learnt true Pleasure,
+Freedom, Freedom, Freedom is the only, only Treasure.
+
+
+
+
+JUNO _in the Prize._
+
+_Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Let Ambition fire thy Mind,
+ Thou wert born o'er Men to Reign;
+Not to follow Flocks design'd,
+ Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain:
+Not to follow Flocks design'd,
+ Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain.
+
+Crowns I'll throw beneath thy Feet,
+ Thou on Necks of Kings shalt tread,
+Joys in Circles, Joys shall meet,
+ Which way e're thy fancy leads.
+
+
+
+
+_The Beau's Character in the Comedy call'd_ Hampstead-Heath. _Set and
+Sung by Mr._ Ramondon.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+ A Whig that's full,
+ An empty Scull,
+A Box of _Burgamot_;
+ A Hat ne'er made
+ To fit his Head
+No more than that to Plot.
+ A Hand that's White,
+ A Ring that's right,
+A Sword, Knot, Patch and Feather;
+ A Gracious Smile,
+ And Grounds and Oyl,
+Do very well together.
+
+ A smatch of _French_,
+ And none of Sence,
+All Conquering Airs and Graces;
+ A Tune that Thrills,
+ A Lear that Kills,
+Stoln Flights and borrow'd Phrases.
+ A Chariot Gilt,
+ To wait on Jilt,
+An awkward Pace and Carriage;
+ A Foreign Tower,
+ Domestick Whore,
+And Mercenary Marriage.
+
+ A Limber Ham,
+ G---- D---- ye M'am,
+A Smock-Face, tho' a Tann'd one;
+ A Peaceful Sword,
+ Not one wise Word,
+But State and Prate at Random.
+ Duns, Bastards, Claps,
+ And Am'rous Scraps,
+Of _Caelia_ and _Amadis_;
+ Toss up a Beau,
+ That Grand Ragou,
+That Hodge-Podge for the Ladies.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in the Innocent Mistress. Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by
+Mrs._ Hodgson.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When I languish'd and wish'd you wou'd something bestow,
+ You bad me to give it a Name;
+But by Heav'n I know it as little as you,
+ Tho' my Ignorance passes for Shame:
+You take for Devotion each passionate Glance,
+ And think the dull Fool is sincere;
+But never believe that I spake in Romance,
+ On purpose to tickle, on purpose, on purpose,
+ On purpose to tickle your Ear:
+To please me than more, think still I am true,
+And hug each Apocryphal Text;
+Tho' I practice a Thousand false Doctrines on you,
+ I shall still have enough, I shall still have enough,
+ Shall still have enough for the next.
+
+
+
+
+VENUS _to_ PARIS _in the Prize Musick. Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Hither turn thee, hither turn thee, hither turn thee gentle Swain,
+Hither turn thee, hither turn thee, hither turn thee gentle Swain,
+Let not _Venus_, let not _Venus_, let not _Venus_ sue in vain;
+_Venus_ rules, _Venus_ rules, _Venus_ rules the Gods above,
+Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them, and she rules Love?
+ _Venus_ rules the Gods above,
+Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them,
+Love rules them, Love rules them, and she rules Love.
+ Love rules them, and she rules Love.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_The Words by Mr._ WARD, _Set by Mr._ HARRIS.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Belinda_! why do you distrust,
+ So faithful and so kind a Heart:
+Which cannot prove to you unjust,
+ But must it self endure the smart:
+No, no, no, no the wandring Stars,
+ Shall sooner cease their Motion;
+And Nature reconcile the Jars,
+ 'Twixt _Boreas_ and the Ocean:
+The fixed Poles shall seem to move,
+ And ramble from their Places;
+E'er I'll from fair _Belinda_ rove,
+ Or slight her charming Graces.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ William Turner.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Long was the Day e're _Alexis_ my Lover,
+ To finish my Hopes would his Passion reveal;
+He could not speak, nor I could not discover,
+ What my poor aking Heart was so loath to conceal:
+Till the Strength of his Passion his Fear had remov'd,
+Then we mutually talk'd, and we mutually lov'd.
+
+Groves for Umbrella's did kindly o'er-shade us,
+ From _Phoebus_ hot rages, who like envy in strove;
+Had not kind Fate this Provision made us,
+ All the Nymphs of the Air would have envy'd our Love:
+But we stand below Envy that ill-natur'd Fate,
+And above cruel Scorn is happy Estate.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set to Musick by Mr._ John Eccles.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+As _Cupid_ roguishly one Day,
+Had all alone stole out to play;
+The _Muses_ caught the little, little, little Knave,
+And captive Love to Beauty gave:
+The _Muses_ caught the little, little, little Knave,
+And captive Love to Beauty gave:
+The laughing Dame soon miss'd her Son,
+And here and there, and here and there,
+ And here and there distracted run;
+Distracted run, and here and there,
+ And here and there, and here and there distracted run:
+And still his Liberty to gain, his Liberty to gain,
+ Offers his Ransom,
+But in vain, in vain, in vain;
+The willing, willing Prisoner still hugs his Chain,
+And Vows he'll ne'er be free,
+And Vows he'll ne'er be free,
+No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
+No, no, no, no, no he'll ne'er be free again,
+No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
+No, no, no, no, no he'll ne'er be free again.
+
+
+
+
+_Old_ SOLDIERS.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Of old Soldiers, the Song you would hear,
+And we old Fidlers have forgot who they were,
+But all we remember shall come to your Ear,
+ _That we are old Soldiers of the Queens,_
+ _And the Queens old Soldiers._
+
+With the _Old Drake_, that was the next Man
+To _Old Franciscus_, who first it began,
+To sail through the Streights of _Magellan_,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+That put the proud _Spanish Armado_ to wrack,
+And Travell'd all o'er the old World, and came back,
+In his old Ship, laden with Gold and old Sack,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With an _Old Cavendish_, that seconded him,
+And taught his old Sails the same Passage to swim,
+And did them therefore with Cloth of Gold Trim,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+Like an _Old Rawleigh_, that twice and again,
+Sailed over most part of the _Seas_, and then
+Travell'd all o'er the World with his Pen,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With an _Old John Norris_, the General,
+That at old _Gaunt_, made his Fame Immortal,
+In spight of his Foes, with no loss at all,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+Like _Old Brest Fort_, an invincible thing,
+When the old _Queen_ sent him to help the _French_ King,
+Took from the proud _Fox_, to the World's wond'ring,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+Where an old stout _Fryer_, as goes the Story,
+Came to push of Pike with him in Vain-glory,
+But he was almost sent to his own _Purgatory_,
+ _By this old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With an _Old Ned Norris_, that kept _Ostend_,
+A terror to Foe, and a Refuge to Friend,
+And left it Impregnable to his last End,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+That in the old unfortunate Voyage of all,
+March'd o'er the old Bridge, and knock'd at the Wall,
+Of _Lisbon_, the Mistress of _Portugal_,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With an _Old Tim Norris_, by the old _Queen_ sent,
+Of _Munster_ in _Ireland_, Lord President,
+Where his Days and his Blood in her service he spent,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With an _Old Harry Norris_, in Battle wounded,
+In his Knee, whose Leg was cut off, and he said,
+You have spoil'd my Dancing, and dy'd in his Bed,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With an _Old Will Norris_, the oldest of all,
+Who went voluntary, without any Call,
+To th' old _Irish_ Wars, to's Fame Immortal,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With an _Old Dick Wenman_, the first in his Prime,
+That over the Walls of old _Cales_ did Clime,
+And there was Knighted, and liv'd all his Time,
+ _Like an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With _Old Nando Wenman_, when _Brest_ was o'er thrown,
+Into the Air, into the Seas, with Gunpowder blown,
+Yet bravely recovering, long after was known,
+ _For an Old Soldier_, &c.
+
+When an _Old Tom Wenman_, whose bravest delight,
+Was in a good Cause for his Country to Fight,
+And dy'd in _Ireland_, a good old Knight,
+ _And an old Soldier_, &c.
+
+With a Young _Ned Wenman_, so valiant and bold,
+In the Wars of _Bohemia_, as with the Old,
+Deserves for his Valour to be Enroll'd,
+ _An old Soldier_, &c.
+
+And thus of Old Soldiers, ye hear the Fame,
+But ne'er so many of one House and Name,
+And all of old _John Lord Viscount_ of _Thame_,
+ _An old Soldier of the Queens,_
+ _And the Queens old Soldier._
+
+
+
+
+_On the Tombs in_ Westminster Abby.
+
+
+_You must suppose it to be_ Easter _Holy-Days: At what time_ Sisly
+_and_ Dol, Kate _and_ Peggy, Moll _and_ Nan, _are marching to_
+Westminster, _with a Leash of Prentices before 'em; who go rowing
+themselves along with their right Arms to make more hast, and now and
+then with a greasie Muckender wipe away the dripping that bastes their
+Foreheads. At the Door they meet a crowd of_ Wapping _Sea-men_,
+Southwark _Broom-men, the Inhabitants of the_ Bank-Side, _with a
+Butcher or two prickt in among them. There a while they stand gaping
+for the Master of the Show, staring upon the Suburbs of their dearest
+delight, just as they stand gaping upon the painted Cloth before they
+go into the Puppet Play. By and by they hear the Bunch of Keys, which
+rejoyces their Hearts like the sound of the_ Pancake-Bell. _For now
+the Man of Comfort peeps over the Spikes, and beholding such a learned
+Auditory, opens the Gate of_ Paradise, _and by that time they are half
+got into the first Chapel, (for time is very precious) he lifts up his
+Voice among the Tombs, and begins his Lurrey in manner and form
+following._
+
+_To the foregoing Tune; In Imitation of the Old Soldiers._
+
+Here lies _William de Valence_,
+ A right good Earl of _Pembroke_,
+And this is his Monument which you see,
+ I'll swear upon a Book.
+
+He was high Marshal of _England_,
+ When _Henry_ the Third did Reign;
+But this you take upon my Word,
+ That he'll ne'er be so again.
+
+Here the Lord _Edward Talbot_ lies,
+ The Town of _Shrewsbury's_ Earl;
+Together with his Countess fair,
+ That was a most delicate Girl.
+
+The next to him there lyeth one,
+ Sir _Richard Peckshall_ hight;
+Of whom we only this do say,
+ He was a _Hampshire_ Knight.
+
+But now to tell you more of him,
+ There lies beneath this Stone:
+Two Wives of his, and Daughters four,
+ To all of Us unknown.
+
+Sir _Bernard Brockhurst_ there doth lie,
+ Lord Chamberlain to Queen _Ann_;
+Queen _Ann_ was _Richard_ the Second's Queen,
+ And was King of _England_.
+
+Sir _Francis Hollis_, the Lady _Frances_,
+ The same was _Suffolk's_ Dutchess;
+Two Children of _Edward_ the Third,
+ Lie here in Death's cold Clutches.
+
+This is the Third King _Edward's_ Brother,
+ Of whom our Records tell
+Nothing of Note, nor say they whether,
+ He be in Heaven or Hell.
+
+This same was _John_ of _Eldeston_,
+ He was no Costermonger;
+But _Cornwall's_ Earl, and here's one dy'd,
+ 'Cause he could live no longer.
+
+The Lady _Mohun_, Dutchess of _York_,
+ And Duke of _York's_ Wife also;
+But Death resolv'd to Horn the Duke,
+ She lies now with Death below.
+
+The Lady _Ann Ross_, but wot ye well,
+ That she in Childbed dy'd;
+The Lady Marquiss of _Winchester_,
+ Lies Buried by her side.
+
+Now think your Penny well spent good Folks,
+ And that you're not beguil'd;
+Within this Cup doth lie the Heart
+ Of a _French Embassador's_ Child.
+
+But how the Devil it came to pass,
+ On purpose, or by chance;
+The Bowels they lie underneath,
+ The Body is in _France_.
+
+[Sidenote: Dol. _I warrant ye the_ Pharises _carried it away._]
+
+There's _Oxford's_ Countess, and there also
+ The Lady _Burleigh_ her Mother;
+And there her Daughter, a Countess too,
+ Lie close by one another.
+
+These once were bonny Dames, and tho'
+ There were no Coaches then,
+Yet could they jog their Tails themselves,
+ Or had them jogg'd by Men.
+
+[Sidenote: Dick. _Ho, ho, ho, I warrant ye they did as other Women
+did, ha_ Ralf. Ralf. _Oy, Oy._]
+
+But woe is me! those high born Sinners;
+ That went to pray so stoutly;
+Are now laid low, and 'cause they can't,
+ Their Statues pray devoutly.
+
+This is the Dutchess of _Somerset_,
+ By Name the Lady _Ann_;
+Her Lord _Edward_ the Sixth Protected,
+ Oh! he was a Gallant Man.
+
+[Sidenote: Tom. _I have heard a Ballad of him sang at_ Ratcliff Cross.
+Mol. _I believe we have it at home over our Kitchin Mantle-Tree._]
+
+In this fair Monument which you see,
+ Adorn'd with so many Pillars;
+Doth lie the Countess of _Buckingham_,
+ And her Husband, Sir _George Villers_.
+
+This old Sir _George_ was Grandfather,
+ And the Countess she was Granny;
+To the great Duke of _Buckingham_,
+ Who often topt King _Jammy_.
+
+Sir _Robert Eatam_, a _Scotch_ Knight,
+ This Man was Secretary;
+And scribl'd Compliments for two Queens,
+ Queen _Ann_, and eke Queen _Mary_.
+
+This was the Countess of _Lenox_,
+ Yclep'd the Lady _Marget_:
+King _James's_ Grandmother, and yet
+ 'Gainst Death she had no Target.
+
+This was Queen _Mary_, Queen of _Scots_,
+ Whom _Buchanan_ doth bespatter;
+She lost her Head at _Tottingham_,
+ What ever was the Matter.
+
+[Sidenote: Dol. _How came she here then?_ Will. _Why ye silly Oafe
+could not she be brought here, after she was Dead?_]
+
+The Mother of our Seventh _Henry_,
+ This is that lyeth hard by;
+She was the Countess wot ye well,
+ Of _Richmond_ and of _Derby_.
+
+_Henry_ the Seventh lieth here,
+ With his fair Queen beside him,
+He was the Founder of this Chapel,
+ Oh! may no ill betide him.
+
+Therefore his Monument's in Brass,
+ You'll say that very much is;
+The Duke of _Richmond_ and _Lenox_,
+ There lieth with his Dutchess.
+
+[Sidenote: Rog. _I warrant ye these were no small Fools in those
+days._]
+
+And here they stand upright in a Press
+ With Bodies made of Wax;
+With a Globe and a Wand in either Hand,
+ And their Robes upon their Backs.
+
+Here lies the Duke of _Buckingham_,
+ And the Dutchess his Wife;
+Him _Felton_ Stabb'd at _Portsmouth_ Town,
+ And so he lost his Life.
+
+Two Children of King _James_ these are,
+ Whom Death keeps very chary;
+_Sophia_ in the Cradle lies,
+ And this is the Lady _Mary_.
+
+[Sidenote: Bess. _Good Woman pray still your Child, it keeps such a
+bawling, we can't hear what the Man says._]
+
+And this is Queen _Elizabeth_,
+ How the _Spaniards_ did infest her?
+Here she lies Buried, with Queen _Mary_,
+ And now agrees with her Sister.
+
+To another Chapel now we come,
+ The People follow and chat;
+This is the Lady _Cottington_,
+ And the People cry, who's that?
+
+This is the Lady _Frances Sidney_,
+ The Countess of _Suffolk_ was she;
+And this the Lord _Dudley Carleton_ is,
+ And then they look up and see.
+
+Sir _Thomas Brumley_ lieth here,
+ Death would him not reprieve;
+With his four Sons, and Daughters four,
+ That once were all alive.
+
+The next is Sir _John Fullerton_,
+ And this is his Lady I trow;
+And this is Sir _John Puckering_,
+ Whom none of you did know.
+
+That's the Earl of _Bridgwater_ in the middle,
+ Who makes no use of his Bladder;
+Although his Lady lie so near him,
+ And so we go up a Ladder.
+
+[Sidenote: Kate. _He took more pains, than I would ha done for a
+Hundred such._]
+
+_Edward_ the First, that Gallant Blade,
+ Lies underneath this Stone;
+And this is the Chair which he did bring,
+ A good while ago from _Scone_.
+
+In this same Chair, till now of late,
+ Our Kings and Queens were Crown'd;
+Under this Chair another Stone
+ Doth lie upon the Ground.
+
+[Sidenote: Ralf. _Gad I warrant there has been many a Maiden-head got
+in that Chair._ Tom. _Gad and I'll come hither and try one of these
+Days, an't be but to get a Prince._ Dol. _A_ Papist _I warrant him._]
+
+On that same Stone did _Jacob_ sleep,
+ Instead of a Down Pillow;
+And after that 'twas hither brought,
+ By some good honest Fellow.
+
+_Richard_ the Second lieth here,
+ And his first Queen, Queen _Ann_;
+_Edward_ the Third lies here hard by,
+ Oh! there was a Gallant Man.
+
+For this was his two handed Sword,
+ A Blade both true and Trusty;
+The _French_ Men's Blood was ne'er wip'd off,
+ Which makes it look so rusty.
+
+Here he lies again, with his Queen _Philip_,
+ A _Dutch_ Woman by Record,
+But that's all one, for now alass!
+ His Blade's not so long as his Sword.
+
+King _Edward_ the Confessor lies
+ Within this Monument fine;
+I'm sure, quoth one, a worser Tomb
+ Must serve both me and mine.
+
+_Harry_ the Fifth lies there, and there
+ Doth lie Queen _Eleanor_;
+To our first _Edward_ she was Wife,
+ Which was more than ye knew before.
+
+_Henry_ the Third lies there Entomb'd,
+ He was Herb _John_ in Pottage;
+Little he did, but still Reign'd on,
+ Although his Sons were at Age.
+
+Fifty six Years he Reigned King,
+ E'er he the Crown would lay by;
+Only we praise him, 'cause he was
+ Last Builder of the _Abby_.
+
+Here _Thomas Cecil_ lies, who's that?
+ Why 'tis the Earl of _Exeter_;
+And this his Countess is, to Die
+How it perplexed her.
+
+[Sidenote: Dol. _Ay, ay, I warrant her, rich Folks are as unwilling to
+die as poor Folks._]
+
+Here _Henry Cary_, Lord _Hunsdon_ rests,
+ What a noise he makes with his Name?
+Lord Chamberlain was he unto
+ Queen _Elizabeth_ of great Fame.
+
+[Sidenote: Sisly. _That's he for whom our Bells ring so often, is it
+not_ Mary? Mol. _Ay, ay, the very same._]
+
+And here's one _William Colchester_
+ Lies of a Certainty;
+An Abbot was he of _Westminster_,
+ And he that saith no, doth lie.
+
+This is the Bishop of _Durham_,
+ By Death here lay'd in Fetters;
+_Henry_ the Seventh lov'd him well,
+ And so he wrote his Letters.
+
+Sir _Thomas Bacchus_, what of him?
+ Poor Gentleman not a Word;
+Only they Buried him here; but now
+ Behold that Man with a Sword.
+
+_Humphry de Bohun_, who though he were
+ Not born with me i'the same Town;
+Yet I can tell he was Earl of _Essex_,
+ Of _Hertford_, and _Northampton_.
+
+He was High Constable of _England_,
+ As History well expresses;
+But now pretty Maids be of good Chear,
+ We're going up to the Presses.
+
+And now the Presses open stand,
+ And ye see them all arow;
+But never no more are said of these
+ Then what is said below.
+
+Now down the Stairs come we again,
+ The Man goes first with a Staff;
+Some two or three tumble down the Stairs,
+ And then the People laugh.
+
+This is the great Sir _Francis Vere_,
+ That so the _Spaniards_ curry'd;
+Four Colonels support his Tomb,
+ And here his Body's Buried.
+
+That _Statue_ against the _Wall_ with one Eye,
+ Is Major General _Norris_;
+He beat the _Spaniards_ cruelly,
+ As is affirm'd in Stories.
+
+[Sidenote: Dick. _I warrant ye he had two, if he could have but kep'd
+'em._]
+
+His six Sons there hard by him stand,
+ Each one was a Commander;
+To shew he could a Lady serve,
+ As well as the _Hollander_.
+
+And there doth Sir _John Hollis_ rest,
+ Who was the Major General;
+To Sir _John Norris_, that brave blade,
+ And so they go to Dinner all.
+
+For now the Shew is at an end,
+ All things are done and said;
+The Citizen pays for his Wife,
+ The Prentice for the Maid.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ CAMPION, _in the Comedy call'd_, she wou'd and
+she wou'd not. _By Mr._ JOHN WELDON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Caelia_ my Heart has often rang'd,
+ Like Bees o'er Gaudy Flowers;
+And many Thousand Loves have chang'd,
+ 'Till it was fix'd, 'till it was fix'd on yours;
+But _Caelia_ when I saw those Eyes,
+ 'Twas soon, 'twas soon determin'd there;
+Stars might as well forsake the Skies,
+ And Vanish into Air:
+Stars might as well forsake the Skies,
+ And Vanish into Air.
+
+Now if from the great Rules I err,
+ New Beauties, new Beauties to admire;
+May I again, again turn wanderer,
+ And never, never, never, never, never, no, never,
+ Never, never, never, never, never, never, never,
+ Never, never, never, settle more:
+May I again, again turn wanderer,
+ And never, never, never, never, never, no, never,
+ Never, never, never, never, never, never, never,
+ Never, never, never, settle more.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _made for the Entertainment of her Royal Highness. Set by
+Mr._ LEVERIDGE. _Sung by Mrs._ LINDSEY _in_ CALIGULA.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Tho' over all Mankind, besides my conquering Beauty,
+Conquering beauty, my conquering beauty Reigns;
+My conquering Beauty Reigns;
+From him I love, from him I love when I meet disdain,
+A killing damp, a killing damp comes o'er my Pride:
+I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young,
+I'm fair and young in vain:
+I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young,
+I'm fair and young in vain;
+No, no, no, let him wander where he will,
+Let him wander, let him wander,
+Let him wander, let him wander where he will,
+I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty,
+ Youth and Beauty,
+I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty still;
+I shall have Beauty that can charm a _Jove_,
+Can Charm a _Jove_, and no fault,
+No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no fault, no, no, no fault,
+ But constant Love:
+From my Arms then let him fly, fly, fly,
+From my Arms then let him fly;
+Shall I languish, pine, and dye?
+No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no not I.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in the Fair_ PENITENT. _Set by Mr._ ECCLES. _Sung by Mrs._
+HUDSON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Stay, ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
+Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
+Whither, whither wou'd you fly?
+Too Charming, too Charming, too relentless Maid,
+I follow not to conquer, not to conquer,
+I follow not to conquer, but to dye:
+You of the fearful, of the fearful are afraid,
+Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
+Whither, whither, whither, whither, ah whither wou'd you fly?
+
+In vain, in vain I call, in vain, in vain I call,
+While she like fleeting, fleeting Air;
+When press'd by some tempestuous Wind,
+Flys swifter from the voice of my Despair:
+Nor cast a pitying, pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
+No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying look,
+Not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
+No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
+No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind.
+
+
+
+
+_A new_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ Tho. Wall. _Set to Musick by Mr._
+Henry Eccles, _Junior._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
+No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
+ The bright enchanting Fair;
+_Almira_ thousands, thousands, thousands can undo,
+ And thousands more, and thousands more,
+ And thousands more may still despair,
+ And thousands more may still despair.
+
+For oh her bright alluring Eyes,
+ And Graces all admire;
+For her the wounded Lover dies,
+And ev'ry Breast, and ev'ry Heart,
+ And ev'ry Breast is set on Fire.
+
+Then oh poor _Damon_, see thy Fate,
+ But never more complain;
+For all a Thousand Hearts will stake,
+And all may sigh, and all may die,
+ And all may sigh and die in vain.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ DEAR JOY'S _Lamentation._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Ho my dear Joy, now what dost thou think?
+Hoop by my shoul our Country-men stink;
+To _Ireland_ they can never return,
+The Hereticks there our Houses will burn:
+ _Ah hone, ah hone, ah hone a cree._
+
+A Pox on _T----l_ for a Son of a W----,
+He was the cause of our coming o'er;
+And when to _Dublin_ we came to put on our Coats,
+He told us his business was cutting of Throats.
+ _Ah hone_, &c.
+
+Our Devil has left us now in the Lurch,
+A Plague light upon the _Protestant_ C----
+If _P----s_ had let but the Bishops alone,
+O then the Nation had all been our own.
+ _Ah hone_, &c.
+
+And I wish other Measures had been taken,
+For now I fear we shan't save our Bacon;
+Now _Orange_ to _London_ is coming down-right,
+And the Soldiers against him resolve not to Fight
+ _Ah hone_, &c.
+
+What we shall do, the Lord himself knows,
+Our Army is beaten without any blows;
+Our M----r begins to feel some remorse,
+For the Grey Mare has proved the better Horse.
+ _Ah hone_, &c.
+
+If the _French_ do but come, which is all our Hopes,
+We'll bundle the Hereticks all up with Ropes;
+If _London_ stands to us as _Bristol_ has done,
+We need not fear but _Orange_ must run.
+ _Ah hone_, &c.
+
+But if they prove false, and to _Orange_ they scower,
+By G---- all the M---- shall play from the _Tower_;
+Our Massacree fresh in their Memories grown,
+The Devil tauk me, we all shall go down.
+ _A hone, a hone, a hone a Cree._
+
+
+
+
+_The Character of a_ Seat's-man; _written by one of the_ CRAFT: _To be
+Sung on_ CRISPIN-Night. _Tune_ Packington's Pound.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+I am one in whom Nature has fix'd a Decree,
+Ordaining my Life to happy and free;
+With no Cares of the World I am never perplex'd,
+And never depending, I never am vex'd:
+I'm neither of so high nor so low a degree,
+But Ambition and Want are both strangers to me;
+My life is a compound of Freedom and Ease,
+I go where I will, and I work when I please:
+I live above Envy, and yet above Spight,
+And have Judgment enough for to do my self right;
+Some greater and richer I own there may be,
+Yet as many live worse, as live better than me,
+And few that from Cares live so quiet and free.
+
+When Money comes in I live well 'till it's gone,
+So with it I'm happy, Content when I've none:
+I spend it Genteelly, and never repent,
+If I lose it at Play, why I count it but Lent:
+For that which at one time I Lose among Friends,
+Another Night's Winnings still makes me amends:
+And though I'm without the first Day of the Week,
+I still make it out by Shift or by Tick:
+In Mirth at my Work the swift Hours do pass,
+And by _Saturday_ Night, I'm as rich as I was.
+
+Then let Masters drudge on, and be Slaves to their Trade,
+Let their Hours of Pleasure by Business be stay'd;
+Let them venture their Stocks to be ruin'd by Trust,
+Let Clickers bark on the whole Day at their Post:
+Let 'em tire all that pass with their rotified Cant,
+"Will you buy any Shoes, pray see what you want";
+Let the rest of the World still contend to be great,
+Let some by their Losses repine at their Fate:
+Let others that Thrive, not content with their store,
+Be plagu'd with the Trouble and Thoughts to get more.
+
+Let wise Men invent, 'till the World be deceived,
+Let Fools thrive thro' Fortune, and Knaves be believed;
+Let such as are rich know no Want, but Content,
+Let others be plagu'd to pay Taxes and Rent:
+With more Freedom and Pleasure my Time I'll employ,
+And covet no Blessings but what we enjoy.
+
+Then let's celebrate _Crispin_ with Bumpers and Songs,
+And they that drink Foul, may it blister their Tongues,
+Here's two in a Hand, and let no one deny 'em,
+Since _Crispin_ in Youth was a _Seat's-man_ as I am.
+
+
+
+
+_The Female Scuffle. To the foregoing Tune._
+
+
+Of late in the Park a fair Fancy was seen,
+Betwixt an old _Baud_ and a lusty young _Quean_;
+Their parting of Money began the uproar,
+I'll have half says the _Baud_, but you shan't says the _Whore_:
+ Why 'tis my own House,
+ I care not a Louse,
+I'll ha' three parts in four, or you get not a Souse.
+
+'Tis I, says the _Whore_, must take all the Pains,
+And you shall be damn'd e'er you get all the Gains;
+The _Baud_ being vex'd, straight to her did say,
+Come off wi' your _Duds_, and I pray pack away,
+And likewise your _Ribbonds_, your _Gloves_, and your _Hair_,
+For naked you came, and so out you go bare;
+ Then _Buttocks_ so bold,
+ Began for to Scold,
+_Hurrydan_ was not able her _Clack_ for to hold.
+
+Both _Pell-Mell_ fell to't, and made this uproar,
+With these Compliments, th'art a _Baud_, th'art a _Whore_:
+The _Bauds_ and the _Buttocks_ that liv'd there around,
+Came all to the Case, both _Pockey_ and _Sound_,
+To see what the reason was of this same Fray,
+That did so disturb them before it was Day;
+ If I tell you amiss,
+ Let me never more Piss,
+This _Buttocks_ so bold she named was _Siss_.
+
+By _Quiffing_ with _Cullies_ three Pound she had got,
+And but one part of four must fall to her Lot;
+Yet all the _Bauds_ cry'd, let us turn her out bare,
+Unless she will yield to return her half share;
+If she will not, we'll help to strip off her Cloaths,
+And turn her abroad with a slit o' the Nose:
+ Who when she did see,
+ There was no Remedy,
+For her from the Tyranous _Bauds_ to get free;
+The _Whore_ from the Money was forced to yield,
+And in the Conclusion the _Baud_ got the Field.
+
+
+
+
+_An Elegy on_ MOUNTFORT. _To the foregoing Tune._
+
+
+Poor _Mountfort_ is gone, and the Ladies do all
+Break their Hearts for this Beau, as they did for _Duvall_;
+And they the two Brats for this Tragedy damn
+At _Kensington_ Court, and the Court of _Bantam_,
+ They all vow and Swear,
+ That if any Peer,
+Should acquit this young Lord, he shou'd pay very dear;
+Nor will they be pleased with him who on the Throne is,
+If he do's not his part to revenge their _Adonis_.
+
+With the Widow their amorous Bowels do yearn,
+There are divers pretend to an equal Concern;
+And by her Perswasion their Hearts they reveal,
+In case if not guilty, to bring an Appeal:
+ They all will unite,
+ The young Blade to indite,
+And in Prosecution will joyn Day and Night;
+In the mean time full many a Tear and a Groan is,
+Wherever they meet, for their departed _Adonis_.
+
+With the Ladies foul Murther's a horrible Sin
+Of one Handsome without, tho' a Coxcomb within;
+For not being a Beau, the sad Fate of poor _Crab_,
+Tho' himself hang'd for Love, was a Jest to each Drab;
+ Then may _Jering_ live long,
+ And may _Risby_ among
+The Fair with _Jack Barkley_, and _Culpepper_ throng:
+May no Ruffin whose Heart as hard as a Stone is,
+Kill any of those for a Brother _Adonis_.
+
+No Lady henceforth can be safe with her Beau,
+They think if this Slaughter unpunish'd should go;
+Their Gallants, for whose Persons they most are in Pain,
+Must no sooner be envy'd, but strait must be Slain:
+ For all _B----_ shape,
+ None car'd for the Rape,
+Nor whether the Virtuous their Lust did escape;
+Their Trouble of Mind, and their anguish alone is,
+For the too sudden Fate of departed _Adonis_.
+
+Let not every vain Spark think that he can engage,
+The Heart of a Female, like one on the Stage;
+His Flute, and his Voice, and his Dancing are rare,
+And wherever they meet, they prevail with the Fair:
+ But no quality Fop,
+ Charms like Mr. _Hop_,
+Adorn'd on the Stage, and in _East-India_ Shop;
+So that each from _Miss Felton_, to ancient _Drake Joan_ is,
+Bemoaning the Death of the Player _Adonis_.
+
+Yet _Adonis_ in spight of this new Abjuration,
+Did banter the lawful King of this great Nation:
+Who call'd God's anointed a foolish old Prig,
+Was both a base and unmannerly _Whigg_:
+ But since he is Dead
+ No more shall be said,
+For he in Repentance has laid down his Head;
+So I wish each Lady, who in mournful Tone is,
+In Charity Grieve for the Death of _Adonis_.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ JAMES TOWNSHEND, _Organist of_ LYN RIGES. _The Words by_
+J.R.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Fly _Damon_ fly, 'tis Death to stay,
+ Nor listen to the _Syren's_ Song;
+Nor hear her warbling Fingers play,
+ That kills in Consort with her Tongue:
+Oft to despairing Shepherds Verse,
+ Unmov'd she tunes the trembling Strings;
+Oft does some pitying Words rehearse,
+ But little means the thing she Sings.
+
+Cease on her lovely Looks to gaze,
+ Nor court your Ruin in her Eyes;
+Her Looks too 's dangerous as her Face,
+ At once engages and Destroys:
+Speak not if you'd avoid your Fate,
+ For then she darts Resentment home;
+But fly, fly _Damon_ e'er too late,
+ Or else be Deaf, be Blind, be Dumb.
+
+
+
+
+MERCURY _to_ PARIS, _in the Prize Musick, Compos'd by Mr._ John
+Eccles.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Fear not Mortal, none shall harm thee,
+With this Sacred Rod I'll Charm thee;
+Freely gaze, and view all over,
+Thou mayst every Grace discover:
+Though a thousand Darts fly round thee,
+Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee;
+ _Though a thousand Darts fly round thee,_
+ _Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ W. Morley.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Born to surprize the World,
+Born to surprize the World, and teach the Great,
+The slippery Danger of exalted State;
+Victorious _Marlborough_, Victorious _Marlborough_, to Battle flies,
+Arm'd, Arm'd with new Lightning from bright _Anna's_ Eyes:
+Wonders, Wonders like these no former Age has seen,
+The Subjects Heroes, the Subjects Heroes, and a Saint the Queen.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+In vain, in vain, in vain, in vain, in vain,
+ In vain the God I ask,
+ He'll ne'er remove the Dart;
+And still I love the pretty, pretty Boy,
+ Altho', altho' he wound my Heart:
+Henceforth I'll be contented then,
+ No more will I desire;
+ No, no, no more, no, no, no more will I desire,
+To slight her whom I love so much,
+ That but creates the Fire:
+Well might I expect the Fate,
+ As well as any other;
+Since he ne'er spares the Gods themselves,
+ Nor does he spare his Mother.
+
+
+
+
+_An Amorous_ SONG. _To the Tune of_, The bonny Christ-Church Bells.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+See how fair and fine she lies,
+ Upon her Bridal Bed;
+ No Lady at the Court,
+ So fit for the Sport,
+ Oh she look'd so curiously White and Red:
+After the first and second time,
+ The weary Bridegroom slacks his Pace;
+But Oh! she cries, come, come my Joy,
+ And cling thy Cheek close to my Face:
+Tinkle, tinkle, goes the Bell under the Bed,
+ Whilst Time and Touch they keep;
+ Then with a Kiss,
+ They end their Bliss,
+ And so fall fast asleep.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you,
+_Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you,
+Where's the harm in saying so?
+_Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you,
+Where's the harm in saying so?
+Why shou'd my Sighs, why shou'd my Sighs,
+Why shou'd my Sighs and Fondness move you?
+To encrease, to encrease your Shepherd's Woe:
+Flame pent in still burns and scorches,
+'Till it burns a Lover's Heart:
+Love declar'd like lighted Torches,
+Wastes it self and gives less Pain:
+Love declar'd like lighted Torches,
+Wastes it self, wastes it self,
+Wastes it self, and gives less Smart.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ISUM.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Caelia's_ Charms are past expressing,
+ Were she kind as she is Fair;
+_Caelia's_ Charms are past expressing,
+ Were she kind as she is Fair:
+Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing,
+ Nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care;
+Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing,
+ Nor Earth a Nymph, nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care.
+
+But Unkindness, Unkindness mars her Beauty,
+ And useless makes that Heav'nly,
+ That Heav'nly, that Heav'nly frame;
+But Unkindness mars her Beauty,
+ And useless makes that Heav'nly, Heav'nly frame:
+While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
+ Which ill Nature others name:
+While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
+ Which ill Nature others name.
+
+
+
+
+_The Hopeful Bargain: Or a Fare for a Hackney-Coachman, giving a
+Comical relation, how an_ Ale-draper _at the Sign of the_
+Double-tooth'd Rake _in or near the new_ Palace-yard, Westminster,
+_Sold his Wife for a Shilling, and how she was sold a Second time for
+five Shillings to_ JUDGE; _My Lord ---- Coachman, and how her Husband
+receiv'd her again after she had lain with other Folks three Days and
+Nights_, &c. _The Tune_ Lilly Bullero.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+There lives an Ale-draper near _New-palace-yard_,
+ Who used to Jerk the Bum of his Wife;
+And she was forced to stand on her Guard,
+ To keep his Clutches from her Quoiff:
+She poor Soul the weaker Vessel,
+ To be reconcil'd was easily won;
+He held her in scorn,
+ But she Crown'd him with Horn,
+ _Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._
+
+He for a Shilling sold his Spouse,
+ And she was very willing to go;
+And left the poor Cuckold alone in the House,
+ That he by himself his Horn might blow:
+A Hackney Coachman he did buy her,
+ And was not this a very good Fun;
+With a dirty Pinner,
+ As I am a Sinner,
+ _Without Hood or Scarff, but rough as she run._
+
+The Woman gladly did depart,
+ Between three Men was handed away;
+He for her Husband did care not a Fart,
+ He kept her one whole Night and Day:
+Then honest _Judge_ the Coachman bought her,
+ And was not this most cunningly done?
+Gave for her five Shilling,
+To take her was willing,
+ _Without Hood or Scarff_, &c.
+
+The Cuckold to _Judge_, a Letter did send,
+ Wherein he did most humbly crave;
+Quoth he, I prithee, my Rival Friend,
+ My Spouse again I fain would have:
+And if you will but let me have her,
+ I'll pardon what she e'er has done;
+I swear by my Maker,
+Again I will take her,
+ _Without Hood and Scarff_, &c.
+
+He sent an old Baud to interceed,
+ And to perswade her to come back;
+That he might have one of her delicate breed,
+ And he would give her a ha'p'uth of Sack:
+Therefore prithee now come to me,
+ Or else poor I shall be undone:
+Then do not forgo me,
+But prithee come to me,
+ _Without Hood or Scarff, tho' rough_, &c.
+
+The Coachman then with much ado,
+ Did suffer the Baud to take her out;
+Upon the Condition that she would be true,
+ And let him have now and then a Bout:
+But he took from her forty Shillings,
+ And gave her a parting Glass at the _Sun_;
+And then with good buyt' ye,
+Discharged his Duty,
+ _And turn'd her a grazing, rough as she run._
+
+The Cuckold invited the Coachman to dine,
+ And gave him a Treat at his own Expence;
+They drown'd all Cares in full brimmers of Wine,
+ He made him as welcome as any Prince:
+There was all the Hungregation,
+ Which from _Cuckolds-Point_ was come;
+They kissed and fumbled,
+They touzed and tumbled,
+ _He was glad to take her rough as she run._
+
+_Judge_ does enjoy her where he list,
+ He values not the old Cuckold's Pouts;
+And she is as good for the Game as e'er pist,
+ Fudge on his Horns sits drying of Clouts:
+She rants and revels when she pleases,
+ And to end as I begun,
+The Horned Wise-acre,
+Is forced to take her
+ _Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._
+
+
+
+
+_The_ MAIDEN LOTTERY: _Containing 70 Thousand Tickets, at a Guinea
+each; the Prizes being Rich and Loving Husbands, from three Thousand
+to one Hundred a Year, which Lottery will begin to draw on next_
+VALENTINE'S _Day._
+
+_Then pretty Lasses venture now,_
+_Kind_ Fortune _may her Smiles alow._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Young Ladies that live in the City,
+ Sweet beautiful proper and Tall;
+And Country Maids who dabling wades,
+ Here's happy good News for you all:
+A Lottery now out of hand,
+ Erected will be in the _Strand_;
+Young Husbands with Treasure, and Wealth out of measure
+ Will fairly be at your Command:
+_Of her that shall light of a Fortunate Lot,_
+ _There's Six of three Thousand a Year to be got._
+
+I tell you the Price of each Ticket,
+ It is but a Guinea, I'll vow;
+Then hasten away, and make no delay,
+ And fill up the Lottery now:
+If _Gillian_ that lodges in Straw,
+ Shall have the good Fortune to draw
+A Knight or a 'Squire, he'll never deny her,
+ 'Tis fair and according to Law;
+_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
+_There's Ten of two Thousand a Year to be got._
+
+The number is Seventy Thousand,
+ When all the whole Lot is compleat;
+Five Hundred of which, are Prizes most rich,
+ Believe me for this is no Cheat:
+There's Drapers and Taylors likewise,
+ Brave Men that you cannot despise;
+Come _Bridget_ and _Jenny_, and throw in your Guinea,
+ A Husband's a delicate Prize:
+_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
+_There's Ten of one Thousand a Year to be got._
+
+Suppose you should win for your Guinea,
+ A Man of three Thousand a Year;
+Would this not be brave; what more would you have?
+ You soon might in Glory appear:
+In glittering Coach you may ride,
+ With Lackeys to run by your side;
+For why should you spare it? Faith win Gold and wear it;
+ Now who would not be such a Bride?
+_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
+_There's Sixty, Five Hundreds a Year to be got._
+
+Old Widows, and Maids above Forty,
+ Shall not be admitted to draw:
+There's five Hundred and Ten, as proper young Men,
+ Indeed, as your Eyes ever saw:
+Who scorns for one Guinea of Gold,
+ To lodge with a Woman that's Old;
+Young Maids are admitted, in hopes to be fitted,
+ With Husbands couragious and bold:
+_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
+_There are wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got._
+
+Kind Men that are full of good Nature,
+ The flaxen, the black, and the brown;
+Both lusty and stout, and fit to hold out,
+ The prime and the top of the Town:
+So clever in every part,
+ They'll please a young Girl to the Heart;
+Nay, kiss you, and squeese you, and tenderly please you,
+ For Love has a conquering Dart:
+_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
+_There are Wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got._
+
+Then never be fearful to venture,
+ But Girls bring you Guineas away;
+Come merrily in, for we shall begin,
+ To draw upon _Valentine's_ Day:
+The Prizes are many and great,
+ Each Man with a worthy Estate;
+Then come away _Mary_, _Sib_, _Susan_, and _Sarah_,
+ _Joan_, _Nancy_, and pretty fac'd _Kate_:
+_For now is the time if you'll purchase a Lot,_
+_While Wealthy kind Husbands they are to be got._
+
+Amongst you I know there is many,
+ Will miss of a Capital Prize:
+Yet nevertheless, no Sorrows express,
+ But dry up your watry Eyes:
+Young Lasses it is but in vain,
+ In sorrowful Sighs to complain;
+Then ne'er be faint hearted, tho' Luck be departed,
+ For all cannot reckon to gain:
+_Yet venture young Lasses, your Guineas bring in,_
+_The Lucky will have the good Fortune to win._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _on the_ JUBILEE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Come Beaus, Virtuoso's, rich Heirs and Musicians
+ Away, and in Troops to the _Jubile_ jog;
+Leave Discord and Death, to the College Physicians,
+ Let the Vig'rous whore on, and the impotent Flog:
+Already _Rome_ opens her Arms to receive ye,
+And ev'ry Transgression her Lord will forgive ye.
+
+Indulgences, Pardons, and such Holy Lumber,
+ As cheap there is now as our Cabbages grown;
+While musty old Relicks of Saints without number,
+ For barely the looking upon, shall be shown:
+These, were you an Atheist, must needs overcome ye,
+That first were made Martyrs, and afterwards Mummy.
+
+They'll shew ye the River, so Sung by the Poets,
+ With the Rock from whence, Mortals were knockt o'th' Head;
+They'll shew ye the place too, as some will avow it,
+ Where once a She Pope was brought fairly to Bed:
+For which, ever since, to prevent Interloping,
+ In a Chair her Successors still suffer a Groping.
+
+What a sight 'tis to see the gay Idol accoutred,
+ With Mitre and Cap, and two Keys by his side;
+Be his inside what 'twill, yet the Pomp of his outward,
+ Shows _Servus servorum_, no hater of Pride,
+These Keys into Heav'n will as surely admit ye,
+As Clerks of a Parish to a Pew in the City.
+
+What a sight 'tis to see the old Man in Procession,
+ Through _Rome_ in such Pomp as here _Caesar_ did ride,
+Now scattering of Pardons, here Crossing, there Blessing,
+ With all his shav'd Spiritual Train'd-bans by his side;
+As, _Confessors_, _Cardinals_, _Monks_ fat as Bacons,
+From Rev'rend _Arch-Bishops_, to Rosie _Arch-Deacons_.
+
+Then for your Diversion the more to regale ye,
+ Fine Music you'll hear, and high Dancing you'll see;
+Men who much shall out-warble your Famous _Fideli_,
+ And make ye meer Fools, of _Balloon_ and _L'Abbe_:
+And to shew ye how fond they're to Kiss _Vostre Manos_,
+ Each _Padre_ turns Pimp, all _Nuns_ Courtezana's.
+
+And when you've some Months at old _Babylon_ been-_a_,
+ And on Pardons, and Punks, all your _Rhino_ is spent;
+And when you have seen all, that there is to be seen-_a_,
+ You'll return not so Rich, tho' as Wise as you went:
+And 'twill be but small Comfort after so much Expence-_a_,
+ That your Heirs will do just so an Hundred Years hence-_a_.
+
+
+
+
+_A Young Man's_ WILL.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+A _Young Man_ sick and like to die,
+ His last _Will_ being written found;
+I give my _Soul_ to _God_ on high,
+ And my _Body_ to the Ground:
+Unto some _Church-men_ do I give,
+ Base Minds to greedy Lucre bent;
+_Pride_ and _Ambition_ whilst they live,
+ _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.
+
+_Item._ Poor folks _brown Bread_ I give,
+ And eke _bare Bones_, with hungry Cheeks;
+_Toil_ and _Travel_ whilst they live,
+ And to feed on _Roots_ and _Leeks_:
+_Item._ To Rich Men I bestow,
+ High _Looks_, low _Deeds_, and Hearts of Flint;
+And that themselves they seldom know,
+ _By this_, &c.
+
+Proud stately _Courtiers_ do I _Will_,
+ Two Faces in one Head to wear,
+For Great Men _Bribes_, I think most fit,
+ _Pride_ and _Oppression_ through the Year:
+_Tenants_ I give them leave to lose,
+ And _Landlords_ for to raise their _Rent_;
+_Rogues_ to Fawn, Collogue and glose,
+ _By this_, &c.
+
+_Item._ To _Soldiers_ for their _Fees_,
+ I give them _Wounds_ their Bodies full;
+And for to beg on bended Knees,
+ With Cap in Hand to every _Gull_:
+_Item_. I will poor _Scholars_ have,
+ For all their Pains and Travel spent:
+_Raggs_, _Jaggs_, and _Taunts_ of every Knave,
+ _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.
+
+To _Shoemakers_ I grant this Boon,
+ Which _Mercury_ gave them once before;
+Altho' they earn two Pence by Noon,
+ To spend e'er Night two Groats and more:
+And _Blacksmiths_ when the Work is done,
+ I give to them incontinent,
+To drink two Barrels with a Bun,
+ _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.
+
+To _Weavers_ swift, this do I leave,
+ Against that may beseem them well:
+That they their good Wives do deceive,
+ Bring home a Yard and steal an Ell:
+And _Taylors_ too must be set down,
+ A _Gift_ to give them I am bent;
+To cut four Sleeves to every Gown,
+ _By this_, &c.
+
+To Tavern haunters grant I more,
+ Red Eyes, Red Nose, and Stinking Breath;
+And Doublets foul with drops before,
+ And foul Shame until their _Death_:
+And _Gamesters_ that will never leave,
+ Before their Substance be all spent;
+The Wooden _Dagger_ I bequeath,
+ _By this_, &c.
+
+To common Fidlers I _Will_ that they,
+ Shall go in poor and thread-bare Coats;
+And at most places where they Play,
+ To carry away more _Tunes_ than _Groats_:
+To wand'ring _Players_ I do give,
+ Before their _Substance_ be all spent;
+Proud Silk'n _Beggars_ for to live,
+ _By this_, &c.
+
+To _Wenching_ Smell-smocks give I these,
+ Dead looks, gaunt purrs, and crasy Back;
+And now and then the foul _Disease_,
+ Such as _Gill_ gave to _Jack_;
+To _Parretors_ I give them clear,
+ For all their _Toil_ and _Travel_ spent;
+The _Devil_ away such _Knaves_ to bear,
+ By _this my_ Will _and_ Testament.
+
+I _Will_ that _Cutpurses_ haunt all _Fairs_,
+ And thrust among the thickest Throng;
+That neither _Purse_ nor _Pocket_ spare,
+ But what they get to bear along:
+But if they Falter in their Trade,
+ And so betray their bad intent;
+I give them _Tyburn_ for their share,
+ _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.
+
+To serving Men I give this Gift,
+ That when their Strength is once decay'd;
+The Master of such Men do shift,
+ As Horsemen do a toothless _Jade_:
+_Item._ I give them leave to _Pine_,
+ For all their Service so ill spent:
+And with _Duke Humphry_ for to Dine,
+ _By this_, &c.
+
+_Item._ To _Millers_ I Grant withal,
+ That they Spare, nor Poke, nor Sack;
+But with _Grist_, so e'er befal,
+ They Grind a Strike, and steal a Peck:
+I _Will_ that _Butchers_ Huff their Meat,
+ And sell a lump of _Ramish_ scent;
+For Weather Mutton good and sweet,
+ _By this_, &c.
+
+I _Will_ Ale Wives punish their Guests,
+ With hungry Cakes and little Canns;
+And Barm their Drink with new found _Yeest_,
+ Such as is made of _Pispot_ Grounds:
+And she that meaneth for to Gain,
+ And in her House have Money spent,
+I _Will_ she keep a pretty Punck,
+ _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.
+
+To jealous Husbands I do grant,
+ Lack of Pleasure, want of Sleep;
+That Lanthorn Horns they never want,
+ Tho' ne'er so close their Wives they keep:
+And for their Wives, I _Will_ that they,
+ The closer up that they are pent;
+The closer still they seek to Play,
+ _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.
+
+For Swearing _Swaggerers_ nought is left,
+ To give them for a parting Blow;
+But leaving off of damned Oaths,
+ And that of them I will bestow:
+_Item._ I give them for their Pain,
+ That when all Hope and Livelihood's spent,
+A Wallet or a Hempen Chain,
+ _By this_ &c.
+
+Time and longest Livers do I make,
+ The Supervisor of my _Will_:
+My Gold and Silver let them take,
+ That will dig for't in _Malvein_ Hill.
+
+
+
+
+_A New_ SONG, _Sung at the Playhouse. By Mr._ DOGGET.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+In the Devil's Country there lately did dwell,
+ A crew of such Whores as was ne'er bred in Hell,
+The Devil himself he knows it full well,
+ _Which no Body can deny, deny;_
+ _Which no Body can deny._
+
+There were Six of the Gang, and all of a Bud,
+Which open'd as soon as got into the Blood,
+There are five to be hang'd, when the other proves good,
+ _Which no Body_, &c.
+
+But it seems they have hitherto sav'd all their Lives,
+Since they cou'd not live honest, there's four made Wives,
+The other two they are not Marry'd but Sw----s,
+ _Which no Body_, &c.
+
+The Eldest the Matron of t'other Five Imps,
+Though as Chast as _Diana_, or any o'th' Nymphs,
+Yet rather than Daughter shall want it, she Pimps,
+ _Which no Body_, &c.
+
+Damn'd Proud and Ambitious both Old and the Young,
+And not fit for honest Men to come among,
+A damn'd Itch in their Tail, and a sting in their Tongue,
+ _Sing tantara rara Whores all, Whores all,_
+ _Sing tantara rara Whores all._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Marriage it seems is for Better for Worse,
+Some count it a Blessing and others a Curse;
+The Cuckolds are Blest if the Proverb prove true,
+And then there's no doubt but in Heav'n there's enough:
+Of honest rich Rogues who ne'er had got there,
+If their Wives had not sent them thro' trembling and fear.
+
+Some Women are Honest, tho' rare in a Wife,
+Yet with Scolding and Brawling they'll shorten your Life,
+You ne'er can enjoy your Bottle and Friend;
+But your Wife like an Imp, is at your Elbow's end:
+Crying fie, fie you Sot, come, come, come, come,
+So these are Unhappy abroad and at home.
+
+We find the Batchelor liveth best,
+Tho' Drunk or Sober he takes his rest;
+He never is troubl'd with Scolding or Strife,
+'Tis the best can be said of a very good Wife:
+But merrily Day and Night does spend,
+Enjoying his Mistress, Bottle, and Friend.
+
+A Woman out-wits us, do what we can,
+She'll make a Fool of ev'ry Wise Man;
+Old Mother _Eve_ did the _Serpent_ obey,
+And has taught all her Sex that damnable way:
+Of Cheating and Couzening all Mankind,
+'Twere better if _Adam_ had still been Blind.
+
+The poor Man that Marries he thinks he does well,
+I pity's Condition, for sure he's in Hell;
+The Fool is a Sotting and spends all he gets,
+The Child is a Bawling, the Wife daily Frets:
+That Marriage is pleasant we all must agree,
+Consider it well, there's none happier can be.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+The _Caffalier_ was gone, and the _Roundhead_ he was come,
+Was the greatest Blessing under the Sun;
+Before the Devil in Hell sally'd out, and ript the Placket of Letter,
+Ay, and take her Money too,
+ _Cot bless hur Master_ Roundhead, _and send hur well to do._
+
+Now hur can go to _Shrewsperry_ her Flannel for to sell,
+Hur can carry a creat sharge of Money about hur,
+Thirty or Forty Groats lap'd in a _Welsh_ Carter,
+Ay, and think hur self rich too,
+ _Cot bless_, &c.
+
+Now hur can coe to Shurch, or hur can stay at home,
+Hur can say hur _Lord's Prayer_, or hur can let it alone:
+Hur can make a Prayer of hur own Head, lye with hur Holy Sister,
+Ay, and say a long Crace too,
+ _Cot bless_, &c.
+
+But yet for all the great Cood that you for hur have done,
+Would you wou'd made Peace with our King, and let hur come home,
+Put off the Military Charge, Impost, and Excise,
+Ay, and free Quarter too.
+ _Then Cot shall bless you Master_ Roundhead, _and send hur well to do._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ CROSS. _Set by Mr._ JEREMIAH CLARK.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Divine _Astrea_ hither flew,
+ To _Cynthia's_ brighter Throne;
+She left the Iron World below,
+ To bless the Silver Moon:
+_She left the Iron World below,_
+ _To bless the Silver Moon._
+
+Tho' _Phoebus_ with his hotter Beams,
+ Do's Gold in Earth Create;
+That leads those wretches to Extreams,
+ Of Av'rice, Lust, and Hate.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in the_ Surpriz'd Lovers. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by
+Mr._ BOWMAN.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When first I saw her charming Face,
+Her taking Shape and moving Grace;
+My Rosie Cheeks, my Rosie Cheeks did glow with heat,
+My Heart and my Pulse did beat, beat, beat,
+My Heart and my Pulse did beat;
+I wish'd for a, I wish'd for a, do you, do you guess what,
+Do you guess what makes Soldiers fight,
+Soldiers Fight, and States-men Plot.
+
+Subdues us all in every thing,
+And makes, makes a Subject of a King;
+Still she deny'd, and I reply'd,
+Away she flew, I did pursue,
+ At last I catch'd her fast;
+But oh! had you seen, but oh! had you seen,
+Had you seen what had past between;
+Oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear,
+I fear, I fear, I have spoil'd her Wast.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYD.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+The _Devil_ he pull'd of his Jacket of Flame,
+ The _Fryer_ he pull'd off his Cowle;
+The _Devil_ took him for a Dunce of the Game,
+ And the _Fryer_ took him for a Fool:
+He piqu'd, and repiqu'd so oft, that at last,
+ He swore by the Jolly fat _Nuns_;
+If Cards came no better than those that are past,
+ Oh! oh! I shall lose all my _Buns_.
+
+
+
+
+_A New_ SONG. _Translated from the_ FRENCH.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Pretty Parret say, when I was away,
+And in dull absence pass'd the Day;
+ What at home was doing;
+ With Chat and Play,
+ We are Gay,
+ Night and Day,
+Good Chear and Mirth Renewing;
+_Singing, Laughing all, Singing Laughing all, like pretty pretty_ Poll.
+
+Was no Fop so rude, boldly to Intrude,
+And like a sawcy Lover wou'd,
+ Court, and Teaze my Lady:
+ A Thing you know,
+ Made for Show,
+ Call'd a Beau,
+Near her was always ready,
+_Ever at her call, like pretty, pretty_ Poll.
+
+Tell me with what Air, he approach'd the Fair,
+And how she could with Patience bear,
+ All he did and utter'd;
+ He still address'd,
+ Still caress'd,
+ Kiss'd and press'd,
+ Sung, Prattl'd, Laugh'd, and Flutter'd:
+_Well receiv'd in all, like pretty, pretty_ Poll.
+
+Did he go away, at the close of the Day,
+Or did he ever use to stay
+ In a Corner dodging;
+ The want of Light,
+ When 'twas Night,
+ Spoil'd my sight,
+ But I believe his Lodging,
+_Was within her call, like pretty, pretty_ Poll.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _by a Person of Honour. Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+At Noon in a sultry Summer's Day,
+The brightest Lady of the _May_,
+Young _Chloris_ Innocent and Gay,
+ Sat Knotting in a shade:
+Each slender Finger play'd its part,
+With such activity and Art;
+As wou'd inflame a Youthful Heart,
+ And warm the most decay'd.
+
+Her Fav'rite Swain by chance came by;
+She had him quickly in her Eye,
+Yet when the bashful Boy drew nigh,
+ She wou'd have seem'd afraid,
+She let her Iv'ry Needle fall,
+And hurl'd away the twisted Ball;
+Then gave her _Strephon_ such a call,
+ As wou'd have wak'd the Dead.
+
+Dear gentle Youth is't none but thee?
+With Innocence I dare be free;
+By so much Trust and Modesty,
+ No Nymph was e'er betray'd,
+Come lean thy Head upon my Lap,
+While thy soft Cheeks I stroak and clap;
+Thou may'st securely take a Nap,
+ Which he poor Fool, obey'd.
+
+She saw him Yawn, and heard him Snore,
+And found him fast a sleep all o're;
+She sigh'd ---- and cou'd no more,
+ But starting up she said,
+Such Vertue shou'd rewarded be,
+For this thy dull Fidelity;
+I'll trust thee with my Flocks, not me,
+ Pursue thy Grazing Trade.
+
+Go milk thy Goats, and Sheer thy Sheep,
+And watch all Night thy Flocks, to keep;
+Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep,
+ By me mistaken Maid.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Jeremy Clark.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+While the Lover is thinking,
+ With my Friend I'll be Drinking
+And with Vigour pursue my Delight;
+ While the Fool is designing,
+ His fatal confining,
+With _Bacchus_ I'll spend the whole Night:
+ With the God I'll be Jolly,
+ Without Madness or Folly.
+Fickle Woman to Marry Implore,
+ Leave my Bottle and Friend,
+ For so Foolish an end,
+When I do, may I never Drink more.
+
+
+
+
+_A Health to the_ TACKERS.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Here's a Health to the Tackers, my Boys,
+ But mine A----se for the Tackers about;
+May the brave _English_ Spirits come in,
+ And the Knaves and _Fanaticks_ turn out:
+Since the _Magpyes_ of late, are confounding the State,
+ And wou'd pull our Establishments down;
+Let us make 'em a Jest, for they Shit in their Nest,
+ And be true to the Church and the Crown.
+
+Let us chuse such Parliament Men
+ As have stuck to their Principles tight;
+And wou'd not their Country betray
+ In the Story of _Ashby_ and _White_:
+Who care not a T----d, for a _Whig_, or a Lord,
+ That won't see our Accounts fairly stated;
+For _C----ll_ ne'er fears, the Address of those Peers,
+ Who the Nation of Millions have Cheated.
+
+The next thing adviseable is,
+ Since _Schism_ so strangely abounds;
+To oppose e'ery Man that's set up
+ By _Dissenters_, in Corporate Towns:
+For _High-Church_, and _Low-Church_, has brought us to no _Church_,
+ And Conscience so bubbl'd the Nation;
+For who is not still for Conformity Bill,
+ Will be surely a R---- on Occasion.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Since _Caelia_ only has the Art,
+And only she can Captivate,
+ And wanton in my Breast;
+All other Pleasure I despise,
+Than what are from my _Caelia's_ Eyes,
+ In her alone I'm blest.
+
+Whene'er she Smiles, new Life she gives,
+And happy, happy who receives,
+ From her Inchanting Breath;
+Then prithee _Caelia_ smile once more,
+Since I no longer must adore,
+ For when you frown 'tis Death.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Ah! how lovely sweet and dear,
+Is the kind relenting Fair,
+Who Reprieve us in Despair;
+Oh! that thus my Nymph wou'd say,
+Come, come my Dear thy Cares repay,
+Be Blest my Love, be mine to Day:
+ _Come, come my dear, thy Cares repay,_
+ _Be blest my Love, be mine to Day._
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Advance, advance, advance gay Tenants of the Plain,
+Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain,
+ Loud Eccho spread my Voice,
+ Loud Eccho spread my Voice,
+Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, loud Eccho,
+Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, spread my Voice,
+Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain,
+Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ KING _and the Shepherd, and_ GILLIAN _the Shepherd's Wife, with
+her churlish Answer to the_ KING.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+In Elder Time, there was of Yore,
+ When Guides of churlish Glee;
+Were us'd among our Country Earls,
+ Though no such thing now be.
+
+The which King _Alfred_ liking well,
+ Forsook his stately Court;
+And in Disguise unknown went forth,
+ To see that jovial Sport.
+
+How _Dick_ and _Tom_, in clouted Shoon,
+ And Coats of russet Grey,
+Esteem'd themselves more brave than them,
+ That went in Golden ray.
+
+In Garments fit for such a Life,
+ The good King _Alfred_ went,
+All ragg'd and torn, as from his Back
+ The Beggar his Cloaths had rent.
+
+A Sword and Buckler good and strong,
+ To give _Jack Sauce_ a rap;
+And on his Head, instead of Crown,
+ He wore a _Monmouth_ Cap.
+
+Thus coasting through _Somersetshire_,
+ Near _Newton_ Court he met
+A Shepherd Swain of lusty Limb,
+ That up and down did jet.
+
+He wore a Bonnet of good Grey,
+ Close buttoned to his Chin;
+And at his Back a leather Scrip,
+ With much good Meat therein.
+
+God speed, good Shepherd, quoth the King,
+ I come to be thy Guest;
+To taste of thy good Victuals here,
+ And drink that's of the best.
+
+Thy Scrip I know, hath Cheer good store,
+ What then the Shepherd said?
+Thou seem'st to be some sturdy Thief,
+ And mak'st me sore afraid.
+
+Yet if thou wilt thy Dinner win,
+ The Sword and Buckler take;
+And if thou canst into my Scrip,
+ Therewith an entrance make.
+
+I tell thee, Roister, it hath store
+ Of Beef, and Bacon fat;
+With sheafs of Barly-bread to make
+ Thy Mouth to water at.
+
+Here stands my Bottle, here my Bag,
+ If thou canst win them Roister;
+Against the Sword and Buckler here,
+ My Sheep-hook is my Master.
+
+_Benedicit_ now, quoth our good King,
+ It never shall be said;
+That _Alfred_ of the Shepherd's Hook,
+ Will stand a whit afraid.
+
+So soundly thus they both fell to't,
+ And giving Bang for Bang;
+At every Blow the Shepherd gave,
+ King _Alfred's_ Sword cry'd twang.
+
+His Buckler prov'd his chiefest Fence,
+ For still the Shepherd's Hook;
+Was that the which King _Alfred_ could,
+ In no good manner brook.
+
+At last when they had fought four Hours,
+ And it grew just Mid-day;
+And wearied both, with right good Will,
+ Desir'd each others stay.
+
+King, Truce I cry, quoth _Alfred_ then,
+ Good Shepherd hold thy Hand:
+A sturdier Fellow than thy self,
+ Lives not within this Land.
+
+Nor a lustier Roister than thou art,
+ The churlish Shepherd said,
+To tell thee plain, thy Thievish looks,
+ Now makes my Heart afraid.
+
+Else sure thou art some Prodigal,
+ Which hast consum'd thy store;
+And now com'st wand'ring in this place,
+ To rob and steal for more.
+
+Deem not of me, then quoth our King,
+ Good Shepherd in this sort;
+A Gentleman well known I am,
+ In good King _Alfred's_ Court.
+
+The Devil thou art, the Shepherd said,
+ Thou goest in Rags all torn;
+Thou rather seem'st, I think to be,
+ Some Beggar basely born.
+
+But if thou wilt mend thy Estate,
+ And here a Shepherd be;
+At Night to _Gillian_ my sweet Wife,
+ Thou shalt go home with me.
+
+For she's as good a Toothless Dame,
+ As mumbleth on Brown Bread;
+Where thou shalt lie on hurden Sheets,
+ Upon a fresh Straw Bed.
+
+Of Whig and Whey, we have good store,
+ And keep good Pease-straw Fires;
+And now and then good Barly Cakes,
+ As better Days requires.
+
+But for my Master which is Chief,
+ And Lord of _Newton_ Court;
+He keeps I say, his Shepherds Swains,
+ In far more braver sort.
+
+We there have Curds, and clouted Cream,
+ Of Red Cows morning Milk;
+And now and then fine Buttered Cakes,
+ As soft as any Silk.
+
+Of Beef and reised Bacon store,
+ That is most Fat and Greasy;
+We have likewise to feast our Chaps,
+ And make them glib and easie.
+
+Thus if thou wilt my Man become,
+ This usage thou shalt have;
+If not, adieu, go hang thy self,
+ And so farewel Sir Knave.
+
+King _Alfred_ hearing of this Glee,
+ The churlish Shepherd said;
+Was well content to be his Man,
+ So they a Bargain made.
+
+A Penny round, the Shepherd gave,
+ In earnest of this Match;
+To keep his Sheep in Field and fold,
+ As Shepherds use to watch.
+
+His Wages shall be full Ten Groats,
+ For Service of a Year;
+Yet was it not his use, old Lad,
+ To hire a Man so dear.
+
+For did the King himself (quoth he)
+ Unto my Cottage come;
+He should not for a Twelvemonths Pay,
+ Receive a greater Sum.
+
+Hereat the bonny King grew blith,
+ To hear the clownish Jest;
+How silly sots, as custom is,
+ Do discant at the best.
+
+But not to spoil the Foolish sport,
+ He was content good King;
+To fit the Shepherd's humour right,
+ In every kind of thing.
+
+A Sheep-hook then, with _Patch_ his Dog,
+ And Tar-box by his side;
+He with his Master, jig by jowl,
+ Unto old _Gillian_ hy'd.
+
+Into whose sight no sooner came,
+ Whom have you here (quoth she)
+A Fellow I doubt, will cut our Throats,
+ So like a Knave looks he.
+
+Not so old Dame, quoth _Alfred_ strait,
+ Of me you need not fear;
+My Master hir'd me for Ten Groats,
+ To serve you one whole Year.
+
+So good Dame _Gillian_ grant me leave,
+ Within your House to stay;
+For by St. _Ann_, do what you can,
+ I will not yet away.
+
+Her churlish usage pleas'd him still,
+ Put him to such a Proof,
+That he at Night was almost choak'd,
+ Within that smoaky Roof.
+
+But as he sat with smiling cheer,
+ The event of all to see;
+His Dame brought forth a piece of Dow,
+ Which in the Fire throws she.
+
+Where lying on the Hearth to bake,
+ By chance the Cake did burn;
+What can'st thou not, thou Lout (quoth she)
+ Take Pains the same to turn:
+
+Thou art more quick to take it out,
+ And eat it up half Dow,
+Than thus to stay till't be enough,
+ And so thy Manners show.
+
+But serve me such another Trick,
+ I'll thwack thee on the Snout;
+Which made the patient King, good Man,
+ Of her to stand in Doubt:
+
+But to be brief, to bed they went,
+ The good old Man and's Wife;
+But never such a Lodging had
+ King _Alfred_ in his Life:
+
+For he was laid in white Sheeps Wool,
+ New pull'd from tanned Fells,
+And o'er his Head hang'd Spiders Webbs,
+ As if they had been Bells.
+
+Is this the Country Guise, thought he,
+ Then here I will not stay;
+But hence be gone as soon as breaks
+ The peeping of the Day.
+
+The cackling Hens and Geese kept roost,
+ And perched at his side;
+Whereat the last the watchful Cock,
+ Made known the Morning Tide.
+
+Then up got _Alfred_ with his Horn,
+ And blew so long a Blast,
+That made _Gillian_ and her Groom,
+ In Bed full sore agast.
+
+Arise, quoth she, we are undone,
+ This Night, we lodged have,
+At unawares within our House,
+ A false dissembling Knave;
+
+Rise Husband, rise, he'll cut our Throats,
+ He calleth for his Mates,
+I'd give old _Will_ our good Cade Lamb,
+ He would depart our Gates.
+
+But still King _Alfred_ blew his Horn
+ before them, more and more,
+'Till that a hundred Lords and Knights,
+ All lighted at the Door:
+
+Which cry'd all hail, all hail good King,
+ Long have we look'd your Grace;
+And here you find (my merry Men all)
+ Your Sovereign in this place.
+
+We shall surely be hang'd up both,
+ Old _Gillian_ I much fear,
+The Shepherd said, for using thus
+ Our good King _Alfred_ here:
+
+O pardon, my Liege, quoth _Gillian_ then,
+ For my Husband and for me,
+By these ten Bones I never thought
+ The same that now I see:
+
+And by my Hook, the Shepherd said,
+ An Oath both good and true,
+Before this time, O noble King,
+ I never your Highness knew:
+
+Then pardon me and my old Wife,
+ That we may after say,
+When first you came into our House,
+ It was a happy Day.
+
+It shall be done, said _Alfred_ streight,
+ And _Gillian_ thy old Dame,
+For this thy churlish using me,
+ Deserveth not much Blame.
+
+For this thy Country Guise I see,
+ To be thus bluntish still,
+And where the plainest Meaning is,
+ Remains the smallest Ill.
+
+And Master, lo I tell thee now,
+ For thy low Manhood shown,
+A Thousand Weathers I'll bestow
+ Upon thee for thy own.
+
+And pasture Ground, as much as will
+ Suffice to feed them all,
+And this thy Cottage I will change
+ Into a stately Hall.
+
+As for the same, as Duty binds,
+ The Shepherd said, good King,
+A milk white Lamb once every Year,
+ I'll to your Highness bring.
+
+And _Gillian_ my Wife likewise,
+ Of Wool to make you Coats,
+Will give you as much at New Year's Tide,
+ As shall be worth ten Groats:
+
+And in your Praise my Bagpipe shall
+ Sound sweetly once a Year,
+How _Alfred_ our renowned King,
+ Most kindly hath been here.
+
+Thanks Shepherd, thanks, quoth he again
+ The next time I come hither,
+My Lords with me here in this House,
+ Will all be merry together.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Cease, cease of _Cupid_ to complain,
+Love, Love's a Joy even while a Pain;
+Oh! then think! oh! then think;
+Oh! then think how great his Blisses,
+Moving Glances, balmy Kisses,
+Charming Raptures, matchless Sweets,
+Love, Love alone, Love, Love alone,
+Love, Love alone, all Joys compleats.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Sung by Mrs._ BRACEGIRDLE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Come, come ye Nymphs,
+Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain,
+Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain,
+_Galatea_ leaves the Main,
+To revive us on the Plain,
+To revive us, to revive us, to revive us on the Plain;
+Come, come, come, come ye Nymphs,
+Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain,
+Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain,
+_Galatea_ leaves the Main,
+To revive us on the Plain,
+To revive us on the Plain,
+Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ John Barret.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Ianthia_ the lovely, the Joy of her Swain,
+By _Iphis_ was lov'd, and lov'd _Iphis_ again;
+She liv'd in the Youth, and the Youth in the Fair,
+Their Pleasure was equal, and equal their Care;
+No Time, no Enjoyment their Dotage withdrew;
+But the longer they liv'd, but the longer they liv'd,
+ Still the fonder they grew.
+
+A Passion so happy alarm'd all the Plain,
+Some envy'd the Nymph, but more envy'd the Swain;
+Some swore 'twould be pity their Loves to invade,
+That the Lovers alone for each other was made:
+But all, all consented, that none ever knew,
+A Nymph yet so kind, a Nymph yet so kind,
+ Or a Shepherd so true.
+
+Love saw 'em with Pleasure, and vow'd to take care
+Of the faithful, the tender, the innocent Pair;
+What either did want, he bid either to move,
+But they wanted nothing, but ever to love:
+Said, 'twas all that to bless him his God-head cou'd do,
+That they still might be kind, that they still might be kind,
+ And they still might be true.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Bring out your Coney-Skins
+Bring out your Coney-Skins Maids to me,
+ And hold them fair that I may see,
+Grey, Black and Blue, for the smaller Skins
+I'll give you Bracelets, Laces, Pins,
+ And for your whole Coney
+ Here's ready Money,
+Come gentle _Joan_, do thou begin
+With thy black Coney, thy black Coney-Skin,
+ And _Mary_ and _Joan_ will follow,
+ With their Silver-hair'd Skins and yellow;
+The White Coney-Skin I will not lay by,
+For tho' it be faint, it is fair to the Eye:
+The Grey it is worn, but yet for my Money,
+Give me the bonny, bonny black Coney;
+Come away fair Maids, your Skins will decay,
+Come and take Money Maids, put your Wares away:
+Ha'ye any Coney-Skins, ha'ye any Coney-Skins,
+Ha'ye any Coney-Skins here to sell?
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_The Words by Mr._ Clossold, _Set by Mr._ John WILFORD.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Nay pish, nay pish, nay pish Sir, what ails you;
+ Lord! What is't you do?
+I ne'er met with one so uncivil as you;
+You may think as you please, but if Evil it be,
+I wou'd have you to know, you're mistaken in me.
+You Men now so rude, and so boistrous are grown,
+A Woman can't trust her self with you alone:
+I cannot but wonder what 'tis that shou'd move ye;
+If you do so again, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear,
+ I swear I won't love ye.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Motley.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Draw _Cupid_ draw, and make fair _Sylvia_ know;
+The mighty Pain her suff'ring Swain does for her undergo;
+Convey this Dart into her Heart, and when she's set on Fire,
+Do thou return and let her burn, like me in chast desire;
+That by Experience she, may learn to pity me,
+Whene'er her Eyes do tyrannize o'er my Captivity:
+But when in Love we jointly move, and tenderly imbrace,
+Like Angels shine, and sweetly join to one another's Face.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG; _The Words by a Person of a Quality. Set to Musick by Mr._
+Robert Cary.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Some brag of their _Chloris_, and some of their _Phillis_,
+Some cry up their _Caelia_, and bright _Amaryllis_:
+Thus Poets and Lovers their Mistresses dub,
+And Goddesses fram'd from the Wash-bowl and Tub;
+But away with these Fictions, and Counterfeit Folly:
+There's a thousand more Charms in the Name of my _Dolly_.
+
+I cannot describe you her Beauty and Wit,
+Like Manna to each she's a relishing Bit;
+She alone by Enjoyment, the more does prevail,
+And still with fresh Pleasures does hoist up your Sail:
+Nay, had you a Surfeit, but took of all others,
+One Look from my _Dolly_ your Stomach recovers.
+
+
+
+
+_The Mountebank_ SONG. _Sung by Dr._ LEVERIGO, _and his merry Andrew_
+Pinkanello, _in_ Farewel to Folly. _Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.
+
+
+[Music:
+
+Here are People and Sports
+of all sizes and sorts,
+Coach'd Damsel with Squire,
+and Mob in the Mire,
+Tarpaulins, Trugmallions,
+Lords, Ladys, Sows,
+Babies, and Loobys in Scores.
+Some howling, some Bawling,
+some Leering, some Fleering,
+some Loving, some Shoving,
+with Legions of Furbelow'd Whores.
+
+To the Tavern, some go,
+and some to a Show,
+see Poppets for Moppets,
+Jack-puddings, for Cuddens,
+Rope Dancing, Mares Prancing,
+Boats flying, Quacks lying,
+Pick-pockets, pick Plackets,
+Beasts, Butchers, and Beaus.
+
+Fops prat'ling, Dies rat'ling,
+Rooks shaming, Puts Daming,
+Whores Painted, Mask's tainted,
+in Tallymans Furbelow'd Cloaths.
+
+The Mobs Joys would you know
+to yon Musick-house go,
+see Tailors, and Saylors,
+Whores Oily in Doily,
+hear Musick, makes you sick:
+Cows Skipping, Clowns tripping,
+some Joaking, some Smoaking, like Spiggit and Tap;
+short Measure, strange Pleasure
+thus Billing, and Swilling,
+some yearly, get fairly,
+for Fairings Pig, Pork, and a Clap.]
+
+
+
+
+_The Mountebank_ SONG. _Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE, _in a New Play
+call'd_, Farewel to Folly.
+
+
+[Music:
+
+See, Sirs, see here! a Doctor rare, who travels much at home!
+Here take my Bills, take my Bills,
+I cure all Ills, past, present, and to come;
+the Cramp, the Stitch, the Squirt, the Itch,
+the Gout, the Stone, the Pox,
+the Mulligrubs, the Bonny Scrubs,
+and all, all, all, all, all, _Pandora's_ Box;
+Thousands I've Dissected, Thousands new erected,
+and such Cures effected, as none e'er can tell.
+
+Let the Palsie shake ye, let the Chollick rack ye,
+let the Crinkums break ye, let the Murrain take ye;
+Take this, take this and you are well.
+Thousands, &c.
+
+Come Wits so keen, devour'd with Spleen;
+come Beaus who sprain'd your Backs,
+Great-belly'd Maids, old founder'd Jades,
+and Pepper'd Vizard Cracks.
+
+I soon remove the pains of Love,
+and cure the Love-sick Maid;
+the Hot, the Cold, the Young,
+the Old, the Living and the Dead.
+
+I clear the Lass with Wainscot Face,
+and from Pim-ginets free,
+Plump Ladies Red, like _Saracen's_-head,
+with toaping Rattafe.
+
+This with a Jirk, will do your work,
+and scour you o're and o're,
+Read, Judge and Try, and if you die,
+never believe me more,
+never, never, never, never, never believe me more.]
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in the_ Mock Marriage. _Sung by Mrs._ KNIGHT. _Set by Mr._
+Henry Purcell.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Oh! how you protest and solemnly swear,
+ Look humble, and fawn like an Ass;
+I'm pleas'd, I must own, when ever I see
+ A Lover that's brought to this pass.
+Keep, keep further off, you're naughty I fear,
+ I vow I will never, will never, will never yield to't;
+You ask me in vain; for never I swear,
+ I never, no never, I never, no never,
+I never, no never will do't.
+
+For when the Deed's done, how quickly you go,
+ No more of the Lover remains,
+In hast you depart, whate'er we can do,
+ And stubbornly throw off your Chains:
+Desist then in time, let's hear on't no more,
+ I vow I will never yield to't;
+You promise in vain, in vain you adore,
+ For I will never, no never will do't.
+
+
+
+
+JOCKEY'S _Lamentation._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Jockey_ met with _Jenny_ fair
+ Betwixt the dawning and the Day,
+And _Jockey_ now is full of Care,
+ For _Jenny_ stole his Heart away:
+Altho' she promis'd to be true,
+ Yet she, alas, has prov'd unkind,
+That which do make poor _Jenny_ rue,
+ For _Jenny's_ fickle as the Wind:
+And, _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_The Wind has blown my Plad away._
+
+_Jockey_ was a bonny Lad,
+ As e'er was born in _Scotland_ fair;
+But now poor _Jockey_ is run mad,
+ For _Jenny_ causes his Despair;
+_Jockey_ was a Piper's Son,
+ And fell in Love while he was young:
+But all the Tunes that he could play,
+ Was, _o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+And, _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_'Tis o'er the Hills and far away,_
+_'Tis o'er the Hills and far away,_
+_The Wind has blown my Plad away._
+
+When first I saw my _Jenny's_ Face,
+She did appear with sike a Grace,
+With muckle Joy my Heart was fill'd;
+But now alas with Sorrow kill'd.
+
+Oh! was she but as true as fair,
+ 'Twou'd put an end to my Despair;
+But ah, alass! this is unkind,
+ Which sore does terrify my Mind;
+_'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_That_ Jenny _stole my Heart away._
+
+Did she but feel the dismal Woe
+ That for her Sake I undergo,
+She surely then would grant Relief,
+ And put an end to all my Grief:
+But oh, she is as false as fair,
+ Which causes all my sad Despair;
+She triumphs in a proud Disdain,
+ And takes Delight to see my Pain;
+_'Tis o'er the Hills_, &c.
+
+Hard was my Hap to fall in Love,
+ With one that does so faithless prove;
+Hard was my fate to court the Maid,
+ That has my constant Heart betray'd:
+A thousand times to me she swore,
+ She would be true for evermore:
+But oh! alas, with Grief I say,
+ She's stole my Heart, and ran away;
+_'Twas o'er the Hills_, &c.
+
+Good gentle _Cupid_ take my part,
+ And pierce this false one to the Heart,
+That she may once but feel the Woe,
+ As I for her do undergo;
+Oh! make her feel this raging Pain,
+ That for her Love I do sustain;
+She sure would then more gentle be,
+ And soon repent her Cruelty;
+_'Tis o'er the Hills_, &c.
+
+I now must wander for her sake,
+ Since that she will no Pity take,
+Into the Woods and shady Grove,
+ And bid adieu to my false Love:
+Since she is false whom I adore,
+ I ne'er will trust a Woman more,
+From all their Charms I'll fly away,
+ And on my Pipe will sweetly play;
+_'Tis o'er the Hills_, &c.
+
+There by my self I'll sing and say,
+ _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away_,
+That my poor Heart is gone astray,
+ Which makes me grieve both Night and Day;
+Farewel, farewel, thou cruel she,
+ I fear that I shall die for thee:
+But if I live, this Vow I'll make,
+ To love no other for your sake.
+_'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_
+_The Wind has blown my Plad away._
+
+
+
+
+The Recruiting Officer: _Or_, The Merry Volunteers: _Being an
+Excellent New Copy of Verses upon raising Recruits._
+
+_To the foregoing Tune._
+
+
+Hark! now the Drums beat up again,
+For all true Soldiers Gentlemen,
+Then let us list, and march I say,
+Over the Hills and far away;
+Over the Hills and o'er the Main,
+To _Flanders_, _Portugal_ and _Spain_,
+Queen _Ann_ commands, and we'll obey,
+_Over the Hills and far away_.
+
+All Gentlemen that have a Mind,
+To serve the Queen that's good and kind;
+Come list and enter into Pay,
+Then o'er the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+Here's Forty Shillings on the Drum,
+For those that Volunteers do come,
+With Shirts, and Cloaths, and present Pay,
+When o'er the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+Hear that brave Boys, and let us go,
+Or else we shall be prest you know;
+Then list and enter into Pay,
+And o'er the Hills and far away,
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+The Constables they search about,
+To find such brisk young Fellows out;
+Then let's be Volunteers I say,
+Over the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+Since now the _French_ so low are brought,
+And Wealth and Honour's to be got,
+Who then behind wou'd sneaking stay?
+When o'er the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+No more from sound of Drum retreat,
+While _Marlborough_, and _Gallaway_ beat,
+The _French_ and _Spaniards_ every Day,
+When over the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+He that is forc'd to go and fight,
+Will never get true Honour by't,
+While Volunteers shall win the Day,
+When o'er the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+What tho' our Friends our Absence mourn,
+We all with Honour shall return;
+And then we'll sing both Night and Day,
+Over the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+The Prentice _Tom_ he may refuse,
+To wipe his angry Master's Shoes;
+For then he's free to sing and play,
+Over the Hills and far away;
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+Over Rivers, Bogs, and Springs,
+We all shall live as great as Kings,
+And Plunder get both Night and Day,
+When over the Hills and far away,
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+We then shall lead more happy Lives,
+By getting rid of Brats and Wives,
+That Scold on both Night and Day,
+When o'er the Hills and far away:
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+Come on then Boys and you shall see,
+We every one shall Captains be,
+To Whore and rant as well as they,
+When o'er the Hills and far away:
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+For if we go 'tis one to Ten,
+But we return all Gentlemen,
+All Gentlemen as well as they,
+When o'er the Hills and far away:
+ _Over the Hills_, &c.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ Scotch SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN BARRETT.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Ah! foolish Lass, what mun I do?
+My Modesty I well may rue,
+ Which of my Joy bereft me;
+For full of Love he came,
+But out of silly shame,
+With pish and phoo I play'd,
+To muckle the coy Maid,
+ And the raw young Loon has left me.
+
+Wou'd _Jockey_ knew how muckle I lue,
+Did I less Art, or did he shew,
+ More Nature, how bleast I'd be;
+I'd not have reason to complain,
+That I lue'd now in vain,
+Gen he more a Man was,
+I'd be less a coy Lass,
+ Had the raw young Loon weel try'd me.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ Justice Buisy, _or the_ Gentleman
+Quack: _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+No, no ev'ry Morning my Beauties renew,
+Where-ever I go, I have Lovers enough;
+I Dress and I Dance, and I Laugh and I Sing,
+Am lovely and lively, and gay as the Spring:
+I Visit, I Game, and I cast away Care,
+Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air,
+Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ WILLIS.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Now my Freedom's regain'd, and by _Bacchus_ I swear,
+All whining dull whimsys of Love I'll cashire:
+The Charm's more engaging in Bumpers of Wine,
+Then let _Chloe_ be Damn'd, but let this be Divine:
+Whilst Youth warms thy Veins, Boy embrace thy full Glasses,
+Damn _Cupid_ and all his poor Proselyte Asses;
+Let this be thy rule _Tom_, to square out thy Life,
+And when Old in a Friend, thou'lt live free from all Strife,
+Only envied by him that is plagu'd with a Wife.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ Scotch SONG, _the Words by Mr._ Peter Noble, _Set by Mr._ John
+Wilford.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Bonny _Scottish_ Lads that keens me weel,
+ Lith ye what, ye what good Luck Ise fun;
+_Moggey_ is mine own in spight o'th' De'el,
+ I alone her Heart has won:
+Near St. _Andrew's_ Kirk in _London_ Town,
+ There Ise, Ise met my Dearest Joy;
+Shinening in her Silken Hued and Gown,
+ But ne'er ack, ne'er ack she prov'd not Coy.
+
+Then after many Compliments,
+ Streight we gang'd into the Kirk;
+There full weel she tuck the documents,
+ And flang me many pleasing Smirk:
+Weel I weat that I have gear enough,
+ She's have a Yode to ride ont;
+She's neither drive the Swine, nor the Plough,
+ Whatever does betide ont.
+
+
+
+
+_A New_ SONG _in the Play call'd_, a DUKE and no DUKE. _Sung by Mrs._
+CIBBER.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Damon_ if you will believe me,
+ 'Tis not sighing o'er the Plain;
+Songs nor Sonnets can't relieve ye,
+ Faint Attempts in Love are vain:
+Urge but home the fair Occasion,
+ And be Master of the Field;
+To a powerful kind Invasion,
+ 'Twere a Madness not to yield.
+
+Tho' she vow's she'll ne'er permit ye,
+ Says you're rude, and much to blame;
+And with Tears implores your pity,
+ Be not merciful for shame:
+When the first assault is over,
+ _Chloris_ time enough will find;
+This so fierce and Cruel Lover,
+ Much more gentle, not so kind.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG. _The Words made to a Tune of the late Mr._ Henry Purcell's.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Drunk I was last Night that's poss,
+ My Wife began to Scold;
+Say what I cou'd for my Heart's Blood,
+ Her Clack she wou'd not hold:
+Thus her Chat she did begin,
+ Is this your time of coming in;
+The Clock strikes One, you'll be undone,
+ If thus you lead your Life:
+My Dear said I, I can't deny,
+ But what you say is true;
+I do intend, my Life to mend,
+ Pray lends the Pot to Spew.
+
+Fye, you Sot, I ne'er can bear,
+ To rise thus e'ery Night;
+Tho' like a Beast you never care,
+ What consequence comes by't:
+The Child and I may starve for you,
+ We neither can have half our due;
+With grief I find, you're so unkind,
+ In time you'll break my Heart:
+At that I smil'd, and said dear Child,
+ I believe your in the wrong;
+But if't shou'd be you're destiny,
+ I'll sing a merry Song.
+
+
+
+
+_The Gelding the Devil. Set by Mr._ Tho. Wroth.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+I met with the Devil in the shape of a Ram,
+Then over and over the Sow-gelder came;
+I rose and halter'd him fast by the Horns,
+And pick'd out his Stones, as you would pick out Corns;
+Maa, quoth the Devil, with that out he slunk,
+And left us a Carkass of Mutton that stunk.
+
+I chanc'd to ride forth a Mile and a half,
+Where I heard he did live in disguise of a Calf;
+I bound him and Gelt him e'er he did any evil,
+For he was at the best but a young sucking Devil:
+Maa, yet he cries, and forth he did steal,
+And this was sold after for excellent Veal.
+
+Some half a Year after in the Form of a Pig,
+I met with the Rogue, and he look'd very big;
+I caught at his Leg, laid him down on a Log,
+E'er a Man could Fart twice, I made him a Hog:
+Huh, huh quoth the Devil, and gave such a Jerk,
+That a _Jew_ was Converted and eat of that Pork.
+
+In Woman's attire I met him most fine,
+At first sight I thought him some Angel divine;
+But viewing his crab Face I fell to my Trade,
+I made him forswear ever acting a Maid:
+Meaw, quoth the Devil, and so ran away,
+Hid himself in a Fryer's old Weeds as they say.
+
+I walked along and it was my good chance,
+To meet with a Black-coat that was in a Trance;
+I speedily grip'd him and whip'd off his Cods,
+'Twixt his Head and his Breech, I left little odds:
+O, quoth the Devil, and so away ran,
+Thou oft will be curst by many a Woman.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+When _Jemmy_ first began to love,
+ He was the finest Swain;
+That ever yet a Flock had drove,
+ Or Danc'd upon the Plain:
+'Twas then that I, woe's me poor heart,
+ My Freedom threw away;
+And finding sweets in every part,
+ I could not say him nay.
+
+For ever when he spake of Love,
+ He wou'd his Eyes decline;
+Each Sigh he gave a Heart wou'd move,
+ Good faith, and why not mine:
+He'd press my Hand, and Kiss it oft,
+ His silence spoke his Flame;
+And whilst he treated me thus soft,
+ I wish'd him more to blame.
+
+Sometimes to feed my Flock with his,
+ _Jemmy_ wou'd me invite;
+Where he the finest Songs would Sing,
+ Me only to Delight:
+Then all his Graces he display'd,
+ Which were enough I trow;
+To conquer any Princely Maid,
+ So did he me I trow.
+
+But now for _Jemmy_ I must Mourn,
+ He to the Wars must go;
+His Sheephook to a Sword must turn,
+ Alack what shall I do?
+His Bagpipes into Warlike sounds,
+ Must now converted be;
+His Garlands into fearful Wounds,
+ Oh! what becomes of me?
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG; _to the Tune of_ Woobourn _Fair._
+
+Vol. 4. Pag. 330.
+
+
+Jilting is in such a Fashion,
+ And such a Fame,
+ Runs o'er the Nation,
+ There's never a Dame
+Of highest Rank, or of Fame,
+Sir, but will stoop to your Caresses,
+If you do but put home your Addresses:
+It's for that she Paints, and she Patches,
+All she hopes to secure is her Name, Sir.
+
+But when you find the Love fit comes upon her,
+Never trust much to her Honour;
+Tho' she may very high stand on't,
+Yet when her love is Ascendant,
+Her Vertue's quite out of Doors
+ High Breeding, rank Feeding,
+ With lazy Lives leading,
+ In Ease and soft Pleasures,
+ And taking loose Measures,
+ With Play-house Diversions,
+ And Midnight Excursions,
+ With Balls Masquerading,
+ And Nights Serenading,
+Debauch the Sex into Whores, Sir.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+_Set by Mr._ PACK.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Farewel ungrateful Traytor,
+ Farewel my Perjur'd Swain:
+Let never injur'd Creature,
+ Believe a Man again:
+The pleasure of possessing,
+ Surpasses all expressing;
+But Joys too short a Blessing,
+ And love too long a Pain:
+_But Joys too short a Blessing,_
+ _And Love too long a Pain._
+
+'Tis easie to deceive us,
+ In pity of your Pain;
+But when we Love, you leave us,
+ To rail at you in vain:
+Before we have descry'd it,
+ There is no Bliss beside it;
+But she that once has try'd it,
+ Will never Love again.
+
+The Passion you pretended,
+ Was only to obtain;
+But when the Charm is ended,
+ The Charmer you disdain:
+Your Love by ours we measure,
+ 'Till we have lost our Treasure;
+But dying is a Pleasure,
+ When living is a Pain.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+You I Love by all that's true,
+More than all things here below;
+with a Passion far more great,
+Than e'er Creature loved yet:
+And yet still you cry forbear,
+Love no more, or Love not here.
+
+Bid the Miser leave his Ore,
+Bid the Wretched sigh no more;
+Bid the Old be young again,
+Bid the _Nun_ not think of Man:
+_Sylvia_ thus when you can do,
+Bid me then not think on you.
+
+Love's not a thing of Choice, but Fate,
+What makes me Love, that makes you Hate:
+_Sylvia_ you do what you will,
+Ease or Cure, Torment or Kill:
+Be Kind or Cruel, False or True,
+Love I must, and none but you.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG.
+
+Note: _You must Sing 8 lines to the first Strain._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Let's be merry blith and jolly,
+Stupid Dulness is a Folly;
+'Tis the Spring that doth invite us,
+Hark, the chirping Birds delight us:
+Let us Dance and raise our Voices,
+Every Creature now rejoyces;
+Airy Blasts and springing Flowers,
+Verdant Coverings, pleasant Showers:
+Each plays his part to compleat this our Joy,
+And can we be so dull as to deny.
+
+Here's no foolish surly Lover,
+That his Passions will discover;
+No conceited fopish Creature,
+That is proud of Cloaths or Feature:
+All things here serene and free are,
+They're not Wise, are not as we are;
+Who acknowledge Heavens Blessings,
+In our innocent Caressings:
+Then let us Sing, let us Dance, let us Play,
+'Tis the Time is allow'd, 'tis the Month of _May_.
+
+
+
+
+_A New_ SONG, _the Words by Mr._ J.C. _Set to Musick by Dr._ Prettle.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+No _Phillis_, tho' you've all the Charms,
+ Ambitious Woman can desire;
+All Beauty, Wit, and Youth that warms,
+ Or sets our foolish Hearts on fire:
+Yet you may practice all your Arts,
+ In vain to make a Slave of me;
+You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart,
+ Revolted from your Tyranny:
+_You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart,_
+ _Revolted from your Tyranny._
+
+When first I saw those dang'rous Eyes,
+ They did my Liberty betray;
+But when I knew your Cruelties,
+ I snatch'd my simple Heart away:
+Now I defy your Smiles to win,
+ My resolute Heart, no pow'r th'ave got;
+Tho' once I suck'd their Poyson in,
+ Your Rigour prov'd an Antidote.
+
+
+
+
+_The Epilogue to the_ Island Princes, _Set by Mr._ Clark, _Sung by
+Mrs._ Lindsey, _and the Boy._
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Now to you ye dry Wooers,
+Old Beaus, and no doers,
+So doughty, so gouty,
+So useless and toothless,
+Your blindless, cold kindness,
+ Has nothing of Man;
+Still doating, or gloating,
+Still stumbling, or fumbling,
+Still hawking, still baulking,
+ You flash in the Pan:
+Unfit like old Brooms,
+For sweeping our Rooms,
+You're sunk and you're shrunk,
+ Then repent and look to't;
+In vain you're so upish, in vain you're so upish.
+ You're down ev'ry foot.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ Scotch SONG, _Set by Mr._ R. BROWN.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Jockey_ loves his _Moggy_ dearly,
+ He gang'd with her to _Perth_ Fair;
+There we Sung and Pip'd together,
+ And when done, then down I'd lay her:
+I so pull'd her, and so lull'd her,
+ Both o'erwhelm'd with muckle Joy;
+_Mog._ kiss'd _Jockey_, _Jockey_ _Moggy_,
+ From long Night to break of Day.
+
+I told _Mog._ 'twas muckle pleasing,
+ _Moggey_ cry'd she'd do again such;
+I reply'd I'd glad gang with thee,
+ But 'twould wast my muckle Coyn much:
+She lamented, I relented,
+ Both wish'd Bodies might increase;
+Then we'd gang next Year together,
+ And my Pipe shall never cease.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG, _in the_ Lucky Younger Brother, _or, the_ Beau Defeated;
+_Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _and Sung by Mr._ BOWMAN.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Delia_ tir'd _Strephon_ with her Flame,
+ While languishing, while languishing she view'd him;
+The well dress'd Youth despis'd the Dame,
+ But still, still; but still the old Fool pursu'd him:
+Some pity on a Wretch bestow,
+ That lyes at your Devotion;
+Perhaps near fifty Years ago,
+Perhaps near fifty Years ago,
+ I might have lik'd the Motion.
+
+If you, proud Youth, my Flame despise,
+ I'll hang me in my Garters;
+Why then make hast to win the Prize,
+ Among loves foolish Martyrs:
+Can you see _Delia_ brought so low,
+ And make her no Requitals?
+_Delia_ may to the Devil go, _Delia_ may to the Devil,
+Devil go, to the Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil go for
+ _Strephon_;
+Stop my Vitals, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop my Vitals.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ John Weldon.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+Swain thy hopeless Passion smother,
+Perjur'd _Caelia_ loves another;
+In his Arms I saw her lying,
+Panting, Kissing, Trembling, Dying:
+There the Fair deceiver swore,
+As once she did to you before.
+
+Oh! said you, when She deceives me,
+When that Constant Creatures leave me;
+_Isis_ Waters back shall fly,
+And leave their _Ouzy_ Channels dry:
+Turn your Waters, leave your Shore,
+For perjur'd _Caelia_ loves no more.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd the_ BITER, _Set by Mr._ John Eccles,
+_and Sung by Mr._ Cook.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Chloe_ blush'd and frown'd and swore,
+ And push'd me rudely from her;
+I call'd her Faithless, Jilting Whore,
+ To talk to me of Honour:
+But when I rose and wou'd be gone,
+ She cry'd nay, whither go ye?
+Young _Damon_ saw, now we're alone,
+ Do, do, do what you will, do what you will with _Chloe_:
+Do what you will, what you will, what you will with _Chloe_,
+Do what you will, what you will, what you will with _Chloe_.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _in_ Rinaldo _and_ Armida: _Set by Mr._ John Eccles. _Sung by
+Mr._ Gouge.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+The Jolly, Jolly Breeze,
+That comes whistling through the Trees;
+From all the blissful Regions brings,
+Perfumes upon its spicy Wings:
+With its wanton motion curling,
+Curling, curling, curling the crystal Rills,
+Which down, down, down, down the Hills,
+Run, run, run, run, run o'er Golden gravel purling.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _on the_ Punch Bowl. _To the foregoing Tune._
+
+
+The Jolly, Jolly Bowl,
+That does quench my thirsty Soul;
+When all the mingling Juice is thrown,
+Perfum'd with fragrant Goar Stone:
+With it's wanton Toast too, curling,
+Curling, curling, curling, curling the Nut-brown Riles,
+Which down, down, down, down by the Gills,
+Run through ruby Swallows purling.
+
+
+
+
+_The_ PROLOGUE _in the_ Island-Princess, _Set and Sung by Mr._
+LEVERIDGE.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+You've been with dull Prologues here banter'd so long,
+They signify nothing, or less than a Song;
+To sing you a Ballad this Tune we thought fit,
+For Sound has oft nickt you, when Sence could not hit:
+Then Ladies be kind, and Gentlemen mind,
+Wit Capers, play Sharpers, loud Bullies, tame Cullies,
+Sow grumblers, Wench Fumblers give ear ev'ry Man:
+Mobb'd Sinners in Pinners, kept Foppers, Bench-hoppers,
+High-Flyers, Pit-Plyers, be still if you can:
+You're all in Damnation, you're all in Damnation for Leading the Van.
+
+Ye Side-Box Gallants, whom the vulgar call Beaus,
+Admirers of Self, and nice Judges of Cloaths;
+Who now the War's over cross boldly the Main,
+Yet ne'er were at Seiges, unless at Campaign:
+Spare all on the Stage, Love in every Age,
+Young Tattles, Wild Rattles, Fan-Tearers, Mask-Fleerers,
+Old Coasters, Love boasters, who set up for Truth:
+Young Graces, Black Faces, some Faded, some Jaded,
+Old Mothers, and others, who've yet a Colt's Tooth:
+See us Act that in Winter, you'd all Act in Youth.
+
+You Gallery Haunters, who love to lye snug,
+And maunch Apples or Cakes, while some Neighbour you hugg;
+Ye lofties, Genteels, who above us all sit,
+And look down with Contempt, on the Mob in the Pit,
+Here's what you like best, Jigg, Song and the rest,
+Free Laughers, close Graffers, dry Jokers, old Soakers,
+Kind Cousins, by Dozens, your Customs don't break:
+Sly Spouses with Blouses, grave Horners, in Corners,
+Kind No-wits, save Poets, clap 'till your Hands ake,
+And tho' the Wits Damn us, we'll say the Whims take.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG _Set by Mr._ JOHN BARRETT, _and Sung by Mrs._ LINDSEY.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+_Caelia_ hence with Affectation,
+ Hence with all this careless Air;
+Hypocrisy is out of Fashion,
+ With the Witty and the Fair:
+Nature all thy Arts discloses,
+ While the Pleasures she supplies;
+Paint thy glowing Cheeks with Roses,
+ And inflame thy sparkling Eyes.
+
+Foolish _Caelia_ not to know,
+ Love thy Int'rest and thy Duty;
+Thou to love alone dost owe,
+ All thy Joy, and all thy Beauty:
+Mark the tuneful Feather'd kind,
+ At the coming of the Spring;
+All in happy Pairs are joyn'd,
+ And because they love they Sing.
+
+
+
+
+_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ CLARK.
+
+
+[Music]
+
+How often have I curs'd that sable Deceit,
+ For making me wish and admire;
+And rifle poor _Ovid_ to learn to intreat,
+ When Reason might check my desire:
+For sagely of late it has been disclos'd,
+ There's nothing, nothing conceal'd uncommon;
+No Miracles under a Mask repos'd,
+ When knowing _Cynthia's_ a Woman.
+
+Tho' Beauty's great Charms our Sences delude,
+ 'Tis the Centre attracts our Needle;
+And Love's a Jest when thought to intrude,
+ The design of it to unriddle:
+A Virgin may show strange coyness in Love,
+ And tell you Chimera's of Honour;
+But give her her Wish, the Man she approves,
+ No Labour he'll have to win her.
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge
+Melancholy, Vol. 5 of 6, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WIT AND MIRTH, VOL. 5 OF 6 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 26679.txt or 26679.zip *****
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