[Music]
Stand clear, my Masters
'ware your Shins,
For now to Bark my
Muse begins,
Tis of a Dog, I
write now:
Yet let me tell you
for excuse,
That Muse or Dog, or
Dog or Muse,
Have no intent to
bite now.
In Doggrel Rhimes my
Lines are writ,
As for a Dog I thought
it fit,
And fitting best his
Carkass.
Had I been silent as
a Stoick,
Or had I writ in
Verse Heroick,
Then had I been a
Stark Ass.
Old _Homer_ wrote of
Frogs and Mice,
And _Rabblaies_ wrote of
Nits and Lice,
And _Virgil_ of
a Flye:
One wrote the Treatise
of the Fox,
Another prais'd the
Frenchman's Pox,
Whose praise was but
a Lye.
Great _Alexander_ had
a Horse,
A famous Beast of
mighty force
Yecleap'd _Buce-_
_phalus_:
He was a stout and
sturdy Steed,
And of an exc'lent Race
and Breed,
But that concerns
not us.
I list not write the
Baby praise
Of Apes, or Owls, or
Popingeys,
Or of the Cat
_Grammalkin:_
But of a true and trusty
Dog,
Who well could fawn,
But never cog,
His Praise my Pen must
walk in.
And _Drunkard_ he is
falsely nam'd,
For which that Vice he
ne'er was blam'd,
For he Loves not God
_Bacchus_:
The Kitchin he esteems
more dear,
Than Cellars full of
Wine or Beer,
Which oftentimes doth
wreck us.
He is no Mastiff, huge
of Lim,
Or Water-spaniel, that
can Swim,
Nor Blood-Hound nor
no Setter:
No Bob-tail Tyke, or
Trundle-tayl,
Nor can he Partridge spring
or Quail,
But yet he is much
better.
No Dainty Ladies
fisting-Hound,
That lives upon our
_Britain_ Ground,
Nor Mungrel Cur or
Shogh:
Should Litters or whole
Kennels dare,
With Honest _Drunkard_
to compare,
My Pen writes, _marry
fough_.
The Otter-Hound, the
Fox-Hound, nor
The swift Foot Grey-Hound
car'd he for,
Nor _Cerberus_ Hell's
Bandogg;
His Service proves them
Curs and Tikes,
And his Renown a
Terror strikes,
In Water-Dog and
Land-Dog.
'Gainst brave _Buquoy_ or
stout _Dampiere_,
He durst have Bark'd
without Fear,
Or 'gainst the hot
Count _Tilly_:
At _Bergen_ Leaguer and
_Bredha_,
Against the Noble
_Spinola_,
He shew'd himself not
silly.
He serv'd his Master
at commands,
In the most Warlike
_Netherlands_,
In _Holland_, _Zeeland_,
_Brabant_:
He to him still was
true and just,
And if his fare were but
a Crust,
He patiently would
knab on't.
He durst t have stood
Stern _Ajax_ Frown,
When Wise _Ulysses_
talk'd him down
In grave _Diebus_
_illis_;
When he by cunning
prating won
The Armour from
fierce Tellamon,
That 'longed to
_Achilles_.
Brave _Drunkard_, oft on
God's dear Ground,
Took such poor Lodging
as he found,
In Town, Field, Camp
or Cottage;
His Bed but cold, his
Dyet thin,
He oft in that poor case
was in,
To want both Meat and
Pottage.
Two rows of Teeth for
Arms he bore,
Which in his Mouth he
always wore,
Which serv'd to fight and
feed too:
His grumbling for his
Drum did pass,
And barking (lowd) his
Ordnance was,
Which help'd in time of
need too.
His Tail his Ensign
he did make,
Which he would oft display
and shake,
Fast in his Poop
uprear'd:
His Powder hot, but
somewhat dank,
His Shot in (scent) most
dangerous rank,
Which sometimes made him
feared.
Thus hath he long serv'd
near and far,
Well known to be a
_Dog of War_,
Though he ne'er shot with
Musket:
Yet Cannons roar or
Culverings,
That whizzing through
the welkin sings,
He slighted as a
Pus-Cat.
For Guns, nor Drums,
nor Trumpets clang.
Nor hunger, cold, nor
many a pang,
Could make him leave his
Master:
In Joy, and in
Adversity,
In Plenty, and in
Poverty,
He often was a
Taster.
Thus serv'd he on the
_Belgia_ Coast,
Yet ne'er was heard to
brag or boast,
Of Services done by
him:
He is no Pharisee
to blow,
A Trumpet, his good
Deeds to show,
'Tis pity to bely
him.
At last he Home return'd
in Peace,
Till Wars, and Jars, and
Scars increase
'Twixt us, and _France_,
in malice:
Away went he and
crost the Sea,
With's Master, to the
Isle of _Rhea_,
A good way beyond
_Callice_.
He was so true, so good,
so kind,
He scorn'd to stay at Home
behind,
And leave his Master
frustrate;
For which could I like
_Ovid_ write,
Or else like _Virgil_ could
indite,
I would his Praise
illustrate.
I wish my Hands could
never stir,
But I do love a
thankful Curr,
More than a Man
ingrateful:
And this poor Dog's
Fidelity,
May make a thankless
Knave descry,
How much that Vice is
hateful.
For why, of all the
Faults of Men,
Which they have got from
Hell's black Den,
Ingratitude the
worst is:
For Treasons, Murders,
Incests, Rapes,
Nor any Sin in
any shapes,
So bad, nor so
accurst is.
I hope I shall no
Anger gain,
If I do write a word
Or twain,
How this Dog was
distressed;
His Master being
wounded dead,
Shot, cut and slash'd, from
Heel to Head,
Think how he was
oppressed.
To lose him that he
loved most,
And be upon a Foreign
Coast,
Where no Man would
relieve him:
He lick'd his Masters
Wounds in Love,
And from his Carkass
would not move,
Altho' the sight
did grieve him.
By chance a Souldier
passing by,
That did his Masters
Coat espy,
And quick away he
took it:
But _Drunkard_ followed
to a Boat,
To have again his Master's
Coat,
Such Theft he could not
brook it.
So after all his wo
and wrack,
To _Westminster_ he was
brought back,
A poor half starved
Creature;
And in remembrance of
his cares,
Upon his back he
closely wears
A Mourning Coat by
Nature.
Live _Drunkard_, sober
_Drunkard_ live,
I know thou no offence
wilt give,
Thou art a harmless
Dumb thing;
And for thy love I'll
freely grant,
Rather than thou shouldst
ever want,
Each Day to give thee
something.
Thou shalt be _Stellifide_
by me,
I'll make the _Dog-star_
wait on thee,
And in his room I'll
seat thee:
When _Sol_ doth in his
Progress swing,
And in the Dog-days
hotly sing,
He shall not over-
heat thee.
I lov'd thy Master, so
did all
That knew him,
great and small,
And he did well
deserve it:
For he was Honest,
Valiant, Good,
And one that Manhood
understood,
And did till Death
preserve it.
For whose sake, I'll
his Dog prefer,
And at the Dog at
_Westminster_,
Shall _Drunkard_ be a
Bencher;
Where I will set a
work his Chops,
Not with bare Bones, or
broken scraps,
But Victuals from my
Trencher.
So honest _Drunkard_
now adieu,
Thy Praise no longer
I'll pursue,
But still my Love is
to thee:
And when thy Life is
gone and spent,
These Lines shall be thy
Monument,
And shall much Service
do thee.
_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ AYLIFF _in the Play call'd_ Love Triumphant:
_Or_, Nature will Prevail, _Sett by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.
[Music]
How happy's the Husband, how happy's the Husband,
Whose Wife has been try'd, has been try'd,
Not damn'd to the Bed, not damn'd to the Bed of an
ignorant Bride;
Secure of what's left, secure of what's left, he ne'er
misses the rest,
But where there's enough, enough, enough, but where
there's enough, supposes a Feast:
So foreknowing the Cheat,
He escapes the Deceit;
And in spight of the Curse he resolves, he resolves to
be blest.
And in spight of the Curse he resolves, he resolves to
be blest.
He resolves to be blest, he resolves, he resolves to
be blest.
If Children are blessings, his comfort's the more,
Whose Spouse has been known to be fruitful before;
And the Boy that she brings ready made to his Hand,
May stand him in stead for an Heir to his Land:
Shou'd his own prove a Sot,
When 'tis lawfully got
As when e'er it is so, if it won't I'll be hang'd.
_A New_ SONG, _to the Tune of the Old Batchelor._
[Music]
If ever you mean to be kind,
To me the Favour, the Favour allow;
For fear that to Morrow should alter my Mind,
Oh! let me now, now, now,
If in Hand then a Guinea you'll give,
And swear by this kind Embrace;
That another to Morrow, as you hope to live,
Oh! then I will strait unlace:
For why should we two disagree,
Since we have, we have opportunity.
_A_ SONG, _Set to Musick by Mr._ Will. Richardson.
[Music]
I know her false, I know her base,
I know that Gold alone can move;
I know she Jilts me to my Face,
And yet good Gods, and yet good Gods I know I Love.
I see too plain and yet am Blind,
Wou'd think her true, while she forsooth;
To me and to my Rival's kind,
Courts him, courts me, courts him, courts me, and Jilts us both.
_A_ Scotch SONG.
[Music]
Fye _Jockey_ never prattle more so like a _Loon_,
No Rebel e'er shall gar my Heart to Love:
_Sawney_ was a Loyal _Scot_ tho' dead and gone,
And _Jenny_ in her _Daddy's_ way with muckle Joy shall move:
Laugh at the _Kirk-Apostles_ & the Canting swarms,
And fight with bonny Lads that love their Monarchy and King,
Then _Jenny_ fresh and blith shall take thee in her Arms,
And give thee twanty Kisses, and perhaps a better thing.
_A_ SONG _in the_ Fairy Queen. _Sung by Mrs._ Dyer.
[Music]
I Am come to lock all fast,
Love without me cannot last:
Love, like counsels of the Wise,
Must be hid from vulgar Eyes;
'Tis holy, 'tis holy, and we must, we must conceal it,
They prophane it, they prophane it, who reveal it,
They prophane it, they profane it, who reveal it.
_A New_ SONG, _Set to the FLUTE._
[Music]
After the pangs of fierce Desire,
The doubts and hopes that wait on Love;
And feed by turns the raging Fire,
How charming must Fruition prove:
When the triumphant Lover feels,
None of those Pains which once he bore;
Or when reflecting on his Ills,
He makes his Pleasure, Pleasure more,
He makes his Pleasure, Pleasure more.
_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ Sir Anthony Love: _Or_, The Rambling
Lady, _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.
[Music]
In vain _Clemene_, you bestow,
The promis'd Empire of your Heart;
If you refuse to let me know,
The wealthy Charms of every part.
My Passion with your kindness grew,
Tho' Beauty gave the first desire,
But Beauty only to pursue,
Is following a wandring Fire.
As Hills in perspective, suppress,
The free enquiry of the sight:
Restraint makes every Pleasure less,
And takes from Love the full delight.
Faint Kisses may in part supply,
Those eager Longings of my Soul;
But oh! I'm lost, if you deny,
A quick possession of the whole.
_A_ SONG, _Set to Musick by Mr._ GRAVES.
[Music]
My dear _Corinna_ give me leave,
To gaze, to gaze on her I Love;
The Gods cou'd never, never yet conceive,
Her Worth, tho' from above;
There's none on Earth can equalize,
So sweet, so sweet a Soul as she;
Who ever gains so great a Prize,
Has all, has all that Heav'n can be.
Curse on my Fate, who plac'd me here,
In a Sphere, a Sphere, so much below,
My Love, my Life, my all that's dear;
And yet she must not know:
The torment for her I sustain,
Shall ill, shall ill rewarded be;
When loving, when loving, and not Lov'd again,
Does prove, does prove, a Hell to me.
_A Mock Song to_ If Love's a sweet Passion.
[Music]
If Wine be a Cordial why does it Torment?
If a Poison oh! tell me whence comes my Content?
Since I drink it with Pleasure, why should I complain?
Or repent ev'ry Morn when I know 'tis in vain:
Yet so charming the Glass is, so deep is the Quart,
That at once it both drowns and enlivens my Heart.
I take it off briskly and when it is down,
By my jolly Complexion I make my Joy known;
But oh! how I'm blest when so strong it does prove,
By its soveraign heat to expel that of Love:
When in quenching the Old, I creat a new Flame,
And am wrapt in such Pleasures that still want a Name.
_The_ LOYAL _Subject's WISH. By Mrs._ ANNE MORCOTT.
[Music]
Let _Mary_ live long,
She's Vertuous and Witty,
All charmingly Pretty;
Let _Mary_ live long,
And Reign many Years:
Wou'd the Cloud was gone o'er,
That troubles us sore,
When the Sun-shine appears;
We shall be deliver'd,
We shall be deliver'd,
From fury and fears.
Heavens send the King home,
With Laurels to crown him,
Each Rebel to own him;
And may he live long,
And Reign many Years:
When the Conquest is plain,
And three Kingdoms regain'd;
Let his Enemies fall,
Then _CÊsar_ shall flourish,
Then _CÊsar_ shall flourish,
In spight of them all.
All glorious and gay,
Let the King live for ever:
May he languish never, never:
Like Flowers in _May_,
His Actions smell sweet:
When the Wars are all done,
And he safe in his Throne;
Trophies lay at his Feet,
With loud Acclamations,
With loud Acclamations,
His Majesty greet.
_The Shepherdess_ LERINDA'S _Complaint, by_ Walter Overbury, _Gent._
[Music]
_Lerinda_ complaineth that _Strephon_ is dull,
And that nothing diverting proceeds from his Skull;
But when once _Lerinda_ vouchsafes to be kind,
To her long Admirer she'll then quickly find:
Such strange alteration as will her confute,
That _Strephon's_ transported, that _Strephon's_ transported,
That _Strephon's_ transported and grown more acute.
_Love will find out the Way._
[Music]
Over the Mountains,
And over the Waves;
Over the Fountains,
And under the Graves:
Over Rocks which are steepest,
Which do _Neptune_ obey;
Over Floods which are the deepest,
Love will find out the way.
Where there is no place,
For the Glow-worm to lie:
Where there is no space,
For receipt of a Flye:
Where the Gnat she dares not venture,
Lest her self fast she lay:
But if Love come he will enter,
And will find out the way.
You may esteem him
A Child by his force;
Or you may deem him
A Coward, which is worse:
But if he whom Love doth Honour,
Be conceal'd from the Day;
Set a Thousand Guards upon him
Love will find out the way.
Some think to lose him,
Which is too unkind;
And some do suppose him,
Poor Heart to be Blind:
But if ne'er so close you wall him,
Do the best that you may;
Blind Love, if so you call him,
Will find out the way.
Well may the Eagle
Stoop down to the Fist;
Or you may inveagle,
The Phenix of the East:
With Tears the Tyger's moved,
To give over his Prey;
But never stop a Lover,
He will post on his way.
From _Dover_ to _Barwick_,
And Nations thro'out;
Brave _Guy_ of _Warwick_,
That Champion stout:
With his Warlike behaviour,
Thro' the World he did stray;
To win his _Phillis's_ Favour,
Love will find out the way.
In order next enters,
_Bevis_ so brave;
After Adventures,
And Policy grave:
To see whom he desired,
His _Josian_ so gay,
For whom his Heart was fired,
Love found out the way.
_The Second Part, To the same Tune._
The gordian Knot,
Which true Lovers knit;
Undo you cannot,
Nor yet break it:
Make use of your Inventions,
Their Fancies to betray;
To frustrate your intentions,
Love will find out the way.
From Court to Cottage,
In Bower and in Hall;
From the King unto the Beggar,
Love conquers all:
Tho' ne'er so stout and Lordly,
Strive do what you may;
Yet be you ne'er so hardy,
Love will find out the way.
Love hath power over Princes,
Or greatest Emperor;
In any Provinces,
Such is Love's Power:
There is no resisting,
But him to obey;
In spight of all contesting,
Love will find out the way.
If that he were hidden,
And all Men that are;
Were strictly forbidden,
That place to declare:
Winds that have no abiding,
Pitying their delay;
Will come and bring him tydings,
And direct him the way.
If the Earth should part him.
He would gallop it o're:
If the Seas should overthwart him,
He would swim to the Shore:
Should his Love become a Swallow,
Thro' the Air to stray;
Love would lend Wings to follow,
And would find out the way.
There is no striving,
To cross his intent:
There is no contriving,
His Plots to prevent:
But if once the Message greet him,
That his true Love doth stay;
If Death should come and meet him,
Love will find out the way.
_A_ SONG, _in the Play call'd the Tragedy of_ CLEOMENES _the Spartan
Heroe: Sung by Mrs._ BUTLER, _Set by Mr._ H. PURCELL.
[Music]
No, no, poor suffering Heart, no change endeavour;
Chuse to sustain the smart rather than leave her:
My ravish'd Eyes behold such Charms about her,
I can Dye with her, but not live without her,
One tender Sigh of her to see me Languish:
Will more than pay the price of my past Anguish,
Beware, oh cruel Fair how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.
Love has in store for me one happy Minute,
And she will end my Pain who did begin it;
Then no Day void of Bliss and Pleasures leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
_Cupid_ shall guard the Door, the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death when they would seaze us;
Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying;
Love has found out a way to Live by Dying.
_The Jolly Trades-men._
[Music]
Sometimes I am a Tapster new,
And skilful in my Trade Sir,
I fill my Pots most duly,
Without deceit or froth Sir:
A Spicket of two Handfuls long,
I use to Occupy Sir:
And when I set a Butt abroach,
Then shall no Beer run by Sir.
Sometimes I am a Butcher,
And then I feel fat Ware Sir;
And if the Flank be fleshed well,
I take no farther care Sir:
But in I thrust my Slaughtering-Knife,
Up to the Haft with speed Sir;
For all that ever I can do,
I cannot make it bleed Sir.
Sometimes I am a Baker,
And Bake both white and brown Sir;
I have as fine a Wrigling-Pole,
As any is in all this Town Sir:
But if my Oven be over-hot,
I dare not thrust in it Sir;
For burning of my Wrigling-Pole,
My Skill's not worth a Pin Sir.
Sometimes I am a Glover,
And can do passing well Sir;
In dressing of a Doe-skin,
I know I do excel Sir:
But if by chance a Flaw I find,
In dressing of the Leather;
I straightway whip my Needle out,
And I tack 'em close together.
Sometimes I am a Cook,
And in _Fleet-Street_ I do dwell Sir:
At the sign of the Sugar-loaf,
As it is known full well Sir:
And if a dainty Lass comes by,
And wants a dainty bit Sir;
I take four Quarters in my Arms,
And put them on my Spit Sir.
In Weavering and in Fulling,
I have such passing Skill Sir;
And underneath my Weavering-Beam,
There stands a Fulling-Mill Sir:
To have good Wives displeasure,
I would be very loath Sir;
The Water runs so near my Hand,
It over-thicks my Cloath Sir.
Sometimes I am a Shoe-maker,
And work with silly Bones Sir:
To make my Leather soft and moist,
I use a pair of Stones Sir:
My Lasts for and my lasting Sticks,
Are fit for every size Sir;
I know the length of Lasses Feet,
By handling of their Thighs Sir.
The Tanner's Trade I practice,
Sometimes amongst the rest Sir;
Yet I could never get a Hair,
Of any Hide I dress'd Sir;
For I have been tanning of a Hide,
This long seven Years and more Sir;
And yet it is as hairy still,
As ever it was before Sir.
Sometimes I am a Taylor,
And work with Thread that's strong Sir;
I have a fine great Needle,
About two handfulls long Sir:
The finest Sempster in this Town,
That works by line or leisure;
May use my Needle at a pinch,
And do themselves great Pleasure.
_The slow Men of_ LONDON: _Or, the Widow_ BROWN. _To the same Tune._
There dwelt a Widow in this Town,
That was both Fair and Lovely;
Her Face was comely neat and brown,
To Pleasure she would move thee:
Her lovely Tresses shin'd like Gold,
Most neat is her Behaviour;
For truth it has of late been told,
There's many strove to have her.
There were three Young Men of this Town;
Slow Men of _London_;
And they'd go Wooe the Widow _Brown_,
Because they would be undone.
The one a Taylor was by Trade,
An excellent Occupation;
But Widows Love doth waste and fade,
I find by observation:
The second was a Farrier bold,
A Man of excellent Metal;
His Love to her was never cold,
So firm his Thoughts did settle,
There were, _&c._
The third a Weaver was that came,
a Suitor to this Widow;
Her Beauty did his Heart inflame,
Her Thoughts deceit doth shadow,
Widows can dissemble still,
When Young Men come a Wooing;
Yet they were guided by her Will,
That prov'd to their undoing.
There were three, _&c._
This Widow had a dainty Tongue,
And Words as sweet as Honey;
Which made her Suitors to her throng,
Till they had spent their Money:
The Taylor spent an Hundred Pound,
That he took up on Credit;
But now her Knavery he hath found,
Repents that are he did it.
These were three, _&c._
Threescore Pounds the Farrier had,
Left him by his Father;
To spend this Money he was mad,
His Dad so long did gather:
This Widow often did protest,
She lov'd him best of any;
Thus would she swear, when she did least,
To make them spend their Money.
These were three, _&c._
The Weaver spent his daily gains,
That he got by his Labour;
Some thirty Pounds he spent in vain,
He borrow'd of his Neighbour:
She must have Sack and Muscadine,
And Claret brew'd with Sugar:
Each Day they feed her chops with Wine,
For which they all might hug her.
These were three, _&c._
_The Second Part, To the same Tune._
She went Apparell'd neat and fine,
People well might wonder;
To see how she in Gold did shine,
Her fame abroad did thunder:
A water'd Camlet Gown she had,
A Scarlet Coat belaced
With Gold, which made her Suitors glad,
To see how she was graced.
These were, _&c._
The Taylor was the neatest Lad,
His Cloaths were oft Perfum'd;
Kind Entertainment still he had,
Till he his 'state consum'd:
The Farrier likewise spent his 'state,
The Weaver often kiss'd her:
But when that they in 'state were Poor,
They sought but still they miss'd her.
These were, _&c._
The Farrier and the Weaver too,
Were fain to fly the City:
The Widow did them quite undoe,
In faith more was the pity:
She of her Suitors being rid,
A Welchman came unto her:
By Night and Day his suit he ply'd,
Most roughly he did Woo her;
For wooing tricks he quite put down,
The Slow-men of _London_;
He over-reach'd the Widow _Brown_,
That had so many undone.
He swore he was a Gentleman,
Well landed in the Country:
And liv'd in Reputation there,
His Name Sir _Rowland Humphry_.
The Widow did believe him then,
And Love unto him granted;
Thus he her Favour did obtain,
Welchmen will not be daunted.
By cunning tricks he quite put down,
The Slow-men of _London_:
That came to Woo this Widow _Brown_,
Because they would be undone.
The Welchman ply'd her Night and Day,
Till to his Bow he brought her;
And bore away the Widow quite,
From all that ever sought her:
She thought to be a Lady gay,
But she was sore deceiv'd:
Thus the Welchman did put down,
The Slow-men of _London_:
For they would Wooe the Widow _Brown_,
Because they would be undone.
Thus she was fitted in her kind,
For all her former Knavery;
The Welchman did deceive her Mind,
And took down all her Bravery:
It had been better she had ta'en,
The Weaver, Smith, or Taylor;
For when she sought for State and Pomp,
The Welchman quite did fail her:
Then learn you Young Men of this Town,
You Slow-men of _London_:
Which way to take the Widow _Brown_,
For least you all be undone.
_The ROYAL Example. By Mr._ Henry Purcell.
[Music]
May her blest Example chace
Vice, in Troops out of the Land;
Flying from her awful Face,
Like trembling Ghost when Day's at Hand:
May her Hero bring us Peace,
Won with Honour in the Field:
And our Home-bred Factions cease,
He still our Sword, and she our Shield.
_The ROYAL Triumph of_ BRITAIN'S _Monarch_.
[Music]
New Pyramid's raise,
Bring the Poplar and Bayes,
To Crown our Triumphant Commander;
The _French_ too shall run,
As the _Irish_ have done,
Like the _Persians_, the _Persians_;
Like the _Persians_, the _Persians_,
Like the _Persians_ before _Alexander_.
Had the _Rubicon_ been,
Such a Stream as the _Boyn_,
Not _CÊsar_, not _CÊser_ himself had gone on:
King _William_ exceeds, great _CÊsar_ in Deeds,
More than he did, more than he did,
More than he did, great _Pompey_ before.
Tho' born in a State,
Fore-told was his Fate,
That he should be a Monarch ador'd:
One Globe was too small,
To contain such a Soul,
New Worlds must submit to his Sword.
So Great and Benign,
Is our Sov'reign Queen,
Made to share his Empire and Bed;
May she still fill his Arms,
With her lovely soft Charms,
And a Race of King _William's_ succeed.
_The Jolly_ BROOM-MAN: _Or, the unhappy BOY turn'd Thrifty._
[Music]
There was an Old Man, and he liv'd in a Wood,
and his Trade it was making of Broom,
And he had a naughty Boy, _Jack_ to his Son,
and he lay in Bed till 'twas Noon, 'twas Noon,
and he lay in Bed till 'twas Noon.
No Father e'er had, so lazy a Lad,
with sleep he his Time did consume,
In Bed where he lay, still every Day,
and would not go cut his green Broom, green Broom,
and would not go cut his green Broom.
The Father was vext, and sorely perplext,
with Passion he entered the Room;
Come Sirrah, he cry'd, I'll liquor your Hide,
if you will not go gather green Broom, green Broom,
if you will not go gather green Broom.
_Jack_ lay in his Nest, still taking his rest,
and valu'd not what was his Doom,
But now you shall hear, his Mother drew near,
and made him go gather green Broom, green Broom,
and made him go gather green Broom.
_Jack's_ Mother got up, and fell in a Rage,
and swore she would fire the Room,
If _Jack_ did not rise, and go to the Wood,
and fetch home a bundle of Broom, green Broom,
and fetch home a bundle of Broom.
This wakened him straight, before it was late,
as fearing the terrible Doom,
Dear Mother, quoth he, have pity on me,
I'll fetch home a Bundle of Broom, green Broom,
I'll fetch home a bundle of Broom.
Then _Jack_ he arose, and he slipt on his Cloaths,
and away to the Wood very soon;
To please the Old Wife, he took a sharp Knife,
and fell to the cutting of Broom, green Broom,
and fell to the cutting of Broom.
_Jack_ follow'd his Trade and readily made,
his Goods up for Country Grooms:
This done, honest _Jack_ took them at his Back,
and cry'd, will you buy any Brooms, green Brooms,
and cry'd, will you buy any Brooms.
Then _Jack_ he came by a Gentleman's House,
in which was abundance of Rooms;
He stood at the Door, and began for to roar,
crying, Maids will you buy any Brooms, green Brooms,
crying, Maids will you buy any Brooms.
I tell you they're good, just fetch'd from the Wood,
and fitted for sweeping of Rooms;
Come handle my Ware, for Girls I declare,
you never had better green Brooms, green Brooms,
you never had better green Brooms.
The Maiden did call, the Steward of the Hall,
who came in his Silks and Perfumes,
He gave _Jack_ his Price, and thus in a trice,
he sold all his Bundle of Brooms, green Brooms,
he sold all his Bundle of Brooms.
Likewise to conclude, they gave him rich Food,
with Liquor of Spicy Perfumes;
The hot Boyl'd and Roast, did cause _Jack_ to boast,
no Trade was like making of Brooms, green Brooms,
no Trade was like making of Brooms.
For first I am Paid, and then I am made,
right Welcome by Stewards and Grooms,
Here's Money, Meat and Drink, what Trade do you think
compares with the making of Brooms, green Brooms,
compares with the making of Brooms.
I have a good Trade, more Goods must be made,
to furnish young Lasses and Grooms,
Wherefore I shall lack a Prentice, quoth _Jack_,
I'll teach him the making of Brooms, green Brooms,
I'll teach him the making of Brooms.
_A_ SONG, _the Words and Tune by Mr._ Witt Green.
[Music]
Never sigh, but think of kissing,
More, and more, and more of Wishing;
To possess the mighty Blessing,
While they enjoy it they are true,
They'll hug, they'll cling, and heave up too,
But Liberty when once regain'd,
The Favour's to another feign'd.
Why should we then the Sex admire,
For 'twas never their desire,
To maintain a constant Fire;
If oagling, wheedling you'll believe,
They'll hourly study to deceive,
But we will find out better ways,
In Musick, Singing, spend our Days.
_The LOYAL Delights of a Contented Mind. The Words by Mr._ Mumford,
_Set by Mr._ H. Purcell.
[Music]
Oh how Happy's he, who from Business free,
Can Enjoy his Mistress, Bottle, and his Friend:
Not confin'd to State, nor the Pride of the Great;
Only on himself, not others doth depend:
Change can never vex him, Faction ne'er perplex him;
If the World goes well, a Bumper crowns his Joys,
If it be not so than he takes of two;
Till succeeding Glasses, Thinking doth destroy.
When his Noddle reels, he to _CÊlia_ steals;
And by Pleasures unconfin'd runs o'er the Night;
In the Morning wakes, a pleasing Farewel takes,
Ready for fresh Tipling, and for new Delight:
When his Table's full, oh, then he hugs his Soul;
And drinking all their Healths, a Welcome doth express:
When the Cloth's removed, then by all approv'd,
Comes the full grace Cup, Queen _Anna's_ good success.
_A_ RIDDLE.
[Music]
There is a Thing which in the light
Is seldom us'd, but in the Night,
It serves the Maiden Female crew,
The Ladies, and the good Wives too:
They us'd to take it in their Hand,
And then it will uprightly stand;
And to a Hole they it apply,
Where by it's good will it could Dye:
It wasts, goes out, and still within,
It leaves it's Moisture thick and thin.
_On a_ LADY _Drinking the Waters, The Words by Sir_ GEORGE ETHERIGE.
_Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.
[Music]
_Phillis_ lay aside your Thinking,
Youth and Beauty shou'd be Gay,
Laugh and talk, and mind your Drinking:
Whilst we pass the Time away,
Laugh and talk, and mind your Drinking,
Whilst we pass the Time away.
They ought only to be pensive,
Who dare not their Grief declare,
Lest their story be offensive,
But still languish in Despair,
Lest their, _&c._
Yet what more torments your Lovers,
They are Jealous, they obey,
One whose Restless Minds discovers,
She's no less a Slave than they,
One whose, _&c._
_The Lascivious Lover and the coy Lass._
[Music]
Pish fye, you're rude Sir,
I never saw such idle fooling;
You're grown so lewd Sir,
So debauch'd I hate your ways;
Leave, what are you doing?
I see you seek my ruin,
I'll cry out, pray make no delay,
But take your Hand away;
Ah! good Sir, pray Sir, don't you do so,
Never was I thus abus'd so,
By any Man, but you alone,
Therefore Sir, pray begone.
_Advice to a Miser. Set by Mr._ James Graves.
[Music]
Retire old Miser, and learn to be wiser,
In looking o'er Books ne'er spend all thy Time;
But rather be thinking, of roaring and drinking,
For by those to Promotion thou'lt speedily climb.
Then prithee be Jolly, desert this thy Folly,
Make welcome thy Friends, and ne'er repine;
For when thou art hurl'd into the next World,
Thy Heir I'll engage it in Splendor will shine.
When thy Breath is just vanish'd, his care will be banisht,
And scarce will he follow thy Corps to the Grave;
Then be cautious and wary, for nought but Canary,
He's a Fool that for others himself do's enslave.
_A_ SONG _in the Play call'd_, Rule a Wife and have Wife. _Set by Mr._
HENRY PURCELL. _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON.
There's not a Swain on the Plain,
Wou'd be blest like me,
Oh! cou'd you but, cou'd you but, cou'd you but, on me smile;
But you appear so severe,
That trembling with fear,
My heart goes pit a pat, pit a pat, pit a pat, all the while.
If I cry must I die, you make no reply,
But look shy, and with a scornful Eye,
Kill me by your cruelty;
Oh! can you be, can you be, can you be, can you be,
can you be, can you be, can you be, can you, can you,
can you be too hard to me.
_A_ SONG _in the Play call'd the_ LANCASHIRE WITCHES. _Sung by Mrs._
HUDSON, _and Set by Mr._ JOHN ECCLES.
[Music]
Tormenting Beauty leave my Breast,
In spight of _Cloe_ I'll have rest;
In vain is all her Syren Art,
Still longer to hold my troubled Heart:
For I'm resolv'd to break the Chain,
And o'er her Charms the Conquest gain,
And o'er her Charms the Conquest gain.
Insulting Beauty I have born,
Too long your Female Pride and scorn;
Too long have been your Publick Jest,
Your common Theme at ev'ry Feast:
Let others thee, vain Fair, pursue,
Whilst I for ever bid adieu,
Whilst I for ever bid adieu.
_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_, The Wives Excuse: _Or_, Cuckolds make
themselves. _Sung by Mr._ Mountford. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.
Say cruel _Amoret_, how long, how long,
In Billet-doux, and humble Song;
Shall poor _Alexis_, shall poor _Alexis_, poor _Alexis_ wooe?
If neither Writing, Sighing, Sighing, Dying,
Reduce you to a soft complying,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, when will you come too.
Full Thirteen Moons are now past o'er,
Since first those Stars I did adore,
That set my Heart on fire:
The conscious Play-house, Parks and Court,
Have seen my sufferings made your sport,
Yet I am ne'er the nigher.
A faithful Lover shou'd deserve,
A better Face, than thus to starve:
In sight of such a Feast;
But oh! if you'll not think it fit,
Your hungry Slave shou'd taste on bit;
Gives some kind looks at least.
_The Double Lover's Request._
[Music]
Such command o'er my Fate has your Love or your hate,
That nothing can make me more wretched or great:
Whilst expiring I lie, to live or to die,
Thus doubtful the Sentence of such I rely:
Your Tongue bids me go, tho' your Eyes say not so,
But much kinder Words from their Language do flow.
Then leave me not here, thus between Hope and Fear,
Tho' your Love cannot come, let your pity appear;
But this my request, you must grant me at least,
And more I'll not ask, but to you leave the rest;
If my fate I must meet, let it be at your Feet,
Death there with more joy, than else-where I wou'd greet.
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ ROB. KING.
[Music]
Tell me why so long you try me,
Still I follow, still you fly me;
Will the race be never done,
Will it be ever but begun:
Could I quit my Love for you,
I'd ne'er love more what e'er I do;
When I speak truth, you think I lie,
You think me false, but say not why.
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ BARINCLOE.
Tis a foolish mistake,
That Riches can speak,
Or e'er for good Rhetoric pass:
To a Fool I confess,
Your Gold may address,
Or else where the Master's an Ass:
To a Woman of Sense,
'Tis a sordid pretence,
That a Golden Effigies can move her;
No Face on the Coin,
Is half so Divine,
As that of a faithful young Lover.
But Men when they Love,
Their Passion to prove,
From the Court to the dull Country Novice;
To the Fair they're so kind,
First to fathom their Mind,
Next search the Prerogative Office:
No _imprimis_ I give,
Then the Fair one they give,
Notwithstanding their strong Protestations;
Till the Lady discover,
No Fortune, no Lover,
Then draws off her fond Inclination,
_The valiant_ SOLDIER'S, _and_ SAILOR'S _Loyal Subjects Health, to
the_ QUEEN, PRINCE _and Noble_ COMMANDERS.
[Music]
Now, now the Queen's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Troops on their March shall huzza, huzza, huzza,
Now now the Queen's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play,
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets,
Sound from the Shore, huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now now the Prince's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play,
Whilst the Troops on their March, shall huzza, huzza, huzza:
Now now the Prince's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound from the Shore huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now the brave _Eugene's_ Health,
Who shews the _French_ brave play;
And does March over Rocks, let's huzza, huzza, huzza,
Now the brave _Eugene's_ Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets
Sounds as they March, huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now now the Duke's Health,
Brave _Marlborough_ I say,
Whilst the Cannon do roar, let's huzza, huzza, huzza,
Now now the Duke's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound from the Shore, huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now brave _Ormond's_ Health Boys,
Whilst Colours do display:
And the _Britains_ in Fight, shall huzza, huzza, huzza;
Now brave _Ormond's_ Health Boys,
Whilst Colours do display:
And the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound from the Shore huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now Sir _Cloudsly's_ Health Boys
And Trumpets sound each Day,
Whilst the Tars with their Caps shall huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now Sir _Cloudsly's_ Health Boys,
And Trumpets sound each Day,
Whilst the Thundring Cannon
Loudly do roar huzza, huzza, huzza.
Brave _Peterborough's_ Health Boys,
Who boldly makes his way,
While the _French_ run let's huzza, huzza, huzza;
Brave _Peterborough's_ Health Boys,
And let the Haut-boys play,
While the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound as they March huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now now brave _Leak's_ Health,
Who is sailed away,
For to find the _French_ Fleet let's huzzza, huzza, huzza,
Now now brave _Leak's_ Health,
Who'll shew the _French_ fair play,
While the Drums and the Trumpets,
Sound from on Board, huzza, huzza, huzza.
_The_ BEAU'S _Ballad. Occasioned by the sight of a White Marble_
SIDE-TABLE.
[Music]
A Pox on the Fool,
Who could be so dull,
To contrive such a Table for Glasses:
Which at the first sight,
The Guests must affright,
More by half than their Liquor rejoyces.
'Tis so like a Tomb,
That whoever does come
Can't look on't without thus reflecting;
Heaven knows how soon,
We must lye under one,
And such Thoughts must needs be perplexing.
Then away with that Stone.
Break it, throw it down,
To some Church or other, else fling't in:
'Tis fitter by far,
To have a place there,
Than stand here to spoil Mirth and good Drinking.
There Death let it show,
To those who will go,
And Monuments there gaze and stare at;
We come here to live,
And sad Thoughts away drive,
With good store of immortal Claret.
Tho' the Glasses stand there,
They shan't do so here,
'Tis the only kind Lesson that teaches;
Whilst it seems to say,
Life's short, Drink away,
No time o'er your Liquor to Preach is.
Then fill up the Glass,
About let it pass,
Tho' the Marble of death doth remind us;
The Wine shall ne'er die,
Tho' you must and I,
We'll not leave a drop of't behind us.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Underneath the Castle Wall, the Queen of
Love sat mourning,
Tearing of her golden Locks, her red Rose,
Cheeks adorning;
With her Lilly white Hand she smote her Breasts,
And said she was forsaken,
With that the Mountains they did skip,
And the Hills fell all a quaking.
Underneath the rotten Hedge, the Tinkers
Wife sat shiting,
Tearing of a Cabbage Leaf, her shitten A--
A wiping;
With her cole black Hands she scratch'd her A--
And swore she was beshitten,
With that the Pedlars all did skip,
And the Fidlers fell a spitting.
_The unfortunate Lover. Set by Mr._ WILLIS.
[Music]
What shall I do, I am undone,
Where shall I fly my self to shun;
Ah! me my self, my self must kill,
And yet I die against my Will.
In starry Letters I behold,
My death is in the Heavens inroll'd,
There find I writ in Skies above,
That I, poor I, must die for Love.
'Twas not my Love deserv'd to die,
Oh no, it was unworthy I;
I for her Love should not have dy'd,
But that I had no worth beside.
Ah me! that Love such Woe procures,
For without her no Life endures;
I for her Virtues did her serve,
Doth such a Love a Death deserve.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
My Dear and only Love take heed,
How thou thy self expose;
And let not longing Lovers feed,
Upon such looks as those
I'll Marble Wall thee round about,
And Build without a Door;
But if my Love doth once break out,
I'll never Love thee more.
If thou hast love that thou refine,
And tho' thou seest me not;
Yet paralell'd that Heart of thine
Shall never be forgot:
But if Unconstancy admit,
A Stranger to bear sway;
My Treasure that proves counterfeit,
And he may gain the Day.
I'll lock my self within a Cell,
And wander under Ground;
For there is no such Faith in her,
As there is to be found:
I'll curse the Day that e'er thy Face,
My Soul did so betray;
And so for ever, evermore,
I'll sing Oh well-a-day!
Like _Alexander_ I will prove,
For I will reign alone;
I'll have no Partners in my Love,
Nor Rivals in my Throne:
I'll do by thee as _Nero_ did,
When _Rome_ was set on fire;
Not only all relief forbid,
But to the Hills retire.
I'll fold my Arms like Ensigns up,
Thy falshood to deplore;
And after such a bitter Cup,
I'll never love thee more.
Yet for the Love I bore thee once,
And lest that Love should die;
A Marble Tomb of Stone I'll write,
The Truth to testifie:
That all the Pilgrims passing by,
May see and so implore;
And stay and read the reason why,
I'll never love thee more.
_The Second Part of the Trader's Medly: Or, The Cries of_ LONDON.
[Music]
Come buy my Greens and Flowers fine,
Your Houses to adorn;
I'll grind your Knives, to please your Wives,
And bravely cut your Corns:
Ripe Straw-berries here I have to sell,
With Taffity-Tarts and Pies;
I've Brooms to sell will please you well,
If you'll believe your Eyes.
Here's Salop brought from Foreign parts,
With dainty Pudding-Pyes;
And Shrewsbury-Cakes, with Wardens bak'd,
I scorn to tell you Lies:
With Laces long and Ribbons broad,
The best that e'er you see;
If you do lack an Almanack,
Come buy it now of me.
The Tinker's come to stop your holes,
And Sauder all your Cracks;
What e'er you think here's dainty Ink,
And choice of Sealing-Wax:
Come Maids bring out your Kitchin-stuff,
Old Rags, or Women's Hair;
I'll sell you Pins for Coney-skins,
Come buy my Earthen-ware.
Here's Limmons of the biggest size,
With Eggs and Butter too;
Brave News they say is come to Day,
If _Jones's_ News be true:
Here's Spiggot and fine Wooden-wares,
With Fossets to put in;
I'll bottom all your broken Chairs,
Then pray let me begin.
A Rabbit fat and plump I have,
Young Maidens love the same;
Come buy a Bird, I'm at a word,
Or Pullet of the Game:
I sell the best spice Ginger-Bread,
You ever did eat before;
While Madam _King_ her Dumplings,
She crys from Door to Door.
Come buy a Comb, or Buckle fine,
For Girdle of your Lass;
My Oysters too are very new,
With Trumpet sounding glass:
Your Lanthorn-horns I'll make them shine,
And mend them very well;
There's no Jack-line so good as mine,
As I have here to sell.
Come buy my Honey and my Book,
For Cuckolds to peruse;
Your Turnip-man is come again,
To tell his Dames some News:
I've Plumbs and Damsons very fine,
With very good mellow Pears;
Come buy a charming Dish of Fish,
And give it to your Heirs.
Come buy my Figs, before they're gone,
Here's Custards of the best;
And Mustard too, that's very new,
Tho' you may think I Jest:
My Holland-socks are very strong,
Here's Eels to skip and play;
My hot grey-pease buy if you please,
For I come no more to Day.
Old Suits or Cloaks, or Campaign Wigs,
With Rusty Guns or Swords:
When Whores or Pimps do buy my Shrimps,
I never take their words:
Your Chimney clean my Boy shall sweep,
While I do him command;
Card Matches cheap by lump or heap,
The best in all the Land.
Come taste and buy my Brandy-Wine,
'Tis newly come from _France_:
This Powder now is good I vow,
Which I have got by chance;
New Mackerel the best I have,
Of any in the Town;
Here's Cloath to sell will please you well,
As soft as any Down.
Work for the Cooper, Maids give Ear,
I'll hoop your Tubs and Pails:
And if your sight it is not right,
Here's that that never fails:
Milk that is new come from the Cow,
With Flounders fresh and fair;
Here's Elder-buds to purge your Bloods,
And Onions keen and rare.
Small-coal young Maids I've brought you here,
The best that e'er you us'd;
Here's Cherries round and very sound,
If they are not abus'd;
Here's Pippings lately come from _Kent_,
Pray taste and then you'll buy;
But mind my Song, and then e'er long,
You'll sing it as well as I.
_The Lover's_ CHARM.
[Music]
Tell me, tell me, charming Fair,
Why so cruel and severe;
Is't not you, ah! you alone,
Is't not you, ah! you alone,
Secures my wandering Heart your own:
Change, which once the most did please,
Now wants the power to give me ease;
You've fixt me as the Centure sure,
And you who kill alone can cure,
And you who kill alone can cure.
If refusing what was granted,
Be to raise my Passion higher;
Nymph believe me, I ne'er wanted,
Art for to inflame desire:
Calm my Thoughts, serene my Mind,
Still increasing was my Joy,
Till _Lavinia_ prov'd unkind,
Nothing could my Peace destroy.
_A_ SONG _in the_ Royal Mischief. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles. _Sung by
Mr._ Leveridge.
[Music]
Unguarded lies the wishing Maid,
Distrusting not to be betray'd;
Ready to fall with all her Charms,
A shining Treasure to your Arms:
Who hears this Story must believe,
No Heart can truer Joy receive;
Since to take Love and give it too,
Is all that Love for hearts can do.
_A Ligg of good Noses set forth in a Jest.
Most fitly compared to whom you think best._
[Music: _First Nose._]
[Music: _CHO. of all._]
[Music: _1 N._, _2d._ _3d._ _4th._]
[Music: _All shake Hands._]
_The LARGEST._
My Nose is the largest of all in this place,
Mark how it becometh the midst of my Face;
By measure I take it from the end to the Brow,
Four Inches by compass, the same doth allow.
Likewise it is forged of passing good Metal,
All of right Copper, the best in the Kettle;
For redness and Goodness the virtue is such,
That all other Metal it serveth to touch.
Old smug, nor the Tinker that made us so merry,
With their brave Noses more red than a Cherry;
None here to my Challenge can make a denial,
When my Nose cometh thus bravely to Tryal.
_All Sing._
Room for good Noses the best in our Town,
Come fill the Pot Hostess, your Ale it is brown;
For his Nose, and thy Nose, and mine shall not quarrel,
So long as one Gallon remains in the Barrel.
_The LONGEST._
My Nose is the Longest no Man can deny,
For 'tis a just handful right, mark from mine Eye;
Most seemly down hanging full low to my Chin,
As into my Belly it fain would look in.
It serves for a Weapon my Mouth to defend,
My Teeth it preserveth still like a good Friend;
Where if so I happen to fall on the Ground,
My Nose takes the burthen and keeps my Face sound.
It likewise delighteth to peep in the Cup,
Searching there deeply 'till all be drank up;
Then let my Nose challenge of Noses the best,
The longest with Ladies are still in request.
_All Sing._