_The BROADEST._
My Nose is the Broadest how like you Sir, that,
It feeds on good Liquor and grows very fat;
For like to a Panack it covers my Face,
To make other Noses the more in disgrace.
And look how it glisters like Copper-smith's Hall,
To which our good Noses are summoned all;
When if that the Colours hold out not good red,
A Fine must be levied and set on their Head.
For having the Broadest and fairest to the Eye,
The Sergeant of Noses appointed am I;
Then let my Nose challenge the chiefest from the rest,
Of all other Noses the Broadest is best.
_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_ LUDGATE _Prisoners._
[Music]
Noble King _Lud_,
Full long hast thou stood,
Not framed of Wood, but of Stone
Of Stone sure thou art,
Like our Creditors Heart,
That regards not our sorrowful Moan.
Within the Gate,
They cry at the Grate,
Pray Remember our Fate and shew Pity;
The poor and distress'd,
Who in Bonds are oppress'd,
Entreat the relief of the City
In Threadbare Coats,
We tear our Throats,
With pitiful Notes that would move
All Creatures, but Brutes,
To give ear to our Suits,
And themselves like true Christians approve.
But in vain we cry,
With a Box hanging by,
Good Sirs cast an Eye on our Case;
No Beau nor Town Mistress,
Are touched with our Distress,
But hold up their Nose at the Place.
The Lawyer jogs on,
Without looking upon
Th' afflicted, whose Moans he gives being;
Nor thinks on us Cits,
But Breviates and Writs,
And demurrs on Exorbitant Feeing,
The _Serjeants_ and _Yeomen_,
Who seek to undo Men,
Though Good-men and True-men ne'er mind us;
But rejoyce they get,
By our being in Debt,
And that where they have brought us, they find us.
The Merchant alone,
Makes our sorrows his own,
And allows there is none but may fail;
Since that is free,
By losses at Sea,
May be immurr'd in a Gaol.
His Purse and his Board,
With Plenty are stor'd,
Due Relief to afford to the Needy;
While the Priest in his Coach,
Joggs on to Debauch,
To cloath us or feed us too Greedy.
Others go by,
And hearing our cry,
They cast up their Eye in Disdain;
Affirming that we,
If once get free,
Should quickly be Prisoners again,
But let 'em take heed,
That reproach us indeed,
And thus at our need go by grinning;
Since it is so Man,
That there is no Man,
Knows his End, that may know his Beginning.
_Room for Gentlemen._
[Music]
Room for Gentlemen, here comes a Company,
Room for Gentlemen, here comes my Lord-Mayor;
You Barons, you Knights, and also you 'Squires,
Give Room for Gentlemen, here comes my Lord Mayor.
First comes the Worshipful Company,
Of Gallant _Mercers_ into this Place;
With their worthy Caps of Maintenance,
Upon their Shoulders to their great grace:
Side by side do they go as you see here,
_Room for_, &c.
Next to them here comes the _Grocers_,
A Company of Gallants bold;
Who willingly do give Attendance,
As all the People may behold:
In their Gowns and their Caps with gallant Cheer.
Room for, _&c._
Then the _Drapers_ they come next,
With their Streamers flying so fair;
And their Trumpets sounding most loudly,
Attending still upon my Lord Mayor:
Their Whifflers, their Batchelors, and all they have there,
Give Room, _&c._
Then comes the Company of gallant _Fishmongers_,
Attending his Lordship's coming here;
As duty bindeth they do still wait,
Until his Lordship doth appear:
Then they rise, and go with lusty cheer,
With Loving Hearts before the Lord Mayor.
The _Goldsmiths_ they are next to them,
A braver Company there cannot be;
All in their Liveries going most bravely,
And Colours spread most gallantly:
They do wait, they attend, and then they stay there,
Until the coming of my Lord Mayor.
The _Merchant-Taylors_ now they come in,
A Company both stout and bold;
Most willing to perform their Duties,
Scorning of any to be controul'd:
In their Gowns and their Caps, and ancient Affairs,
All attend, _&c._
The _Haberdashers_ a Company be,
Of Gentlemen both Grave and Wise;
To all good Orders they do agree,
For the City's good they still devise:
They set to their helping as you may hear,
Still to the comfort of City and Mayor.
The _Skinners_ they a Company be,
As gallant Men as be the rest;
Their Duties they perform truly,
As honestly as do the best:
Their Antients, then Drums, then Trumpets be there,
Attending still, _&c._
Truly the _Salters_ a Company Grave,
Of Understanding be good and Wise;
And to perform all godly Orders,
Within the City they devise:
When occasion doth serve they present themselves there,
With all the Company, _&c._
The _Iron-mongers_ a Company be,
Who know their Duties every one;
And willingly they do Obey,
And wait his Lordship still upon:
From the Morning they rise they still do stay there,
Until the departing of, _&c._
The Company of worthy _Vintners_,
His Lordship still do wait upon;
With all their Furniture along most gallantly,
In order they go every one:
Until the Companys do appear,
And then they go before, _&c._
A Company there is of worthy _Cloth-workers_,
Who wait and give Attendance still:
When his Lordship hath any occasion,
They ready are to obey his Will;
For fear any Service should be wanting there,
They will present themselves before the Lord Mayor.
God bless our King and Counsel all,
And all his true Subjects in this Land;
And cut down all those false Hereticks,
That would the Gospel still withstand:
God prosper this City, and all that are here,
And I wish you to say God bless my Lord-Mayor.
_The Batchelor's Choice._
[Music]
I Fain wou'd find a passing good Wife,
That I may live merry all Days of my Life,
But that I do fear much sorrow and strife,
Then I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.
If I should Marry a Maid that is Fair,
With her round cherry Cheeks and her flaxen Hair,
Many close Meetings I must forbear,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry a Maid that is Foul,
The best of my Pleasure will be but a Scoul.
She'll sit in a corner like to an Owl,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.
If I should Marry a Maid that's a Slut,
My Diet a dressing abroad I must put,
For fear of Distempers to trouble my Gut,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.
If I should Marry a Maid that's a Fool,
To learn her more Wit I must put her to School,
Or else fool-hardy keep in good rule,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry a Maid that's a Scold,
My Freedom at home is evermore sold,
Her Mouth is too little her Tongue for to hold,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that's a Whore,
I must keep open for her my back Door,
And so a kind Wittal be called therefore,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry a Maid that is Proud,
She'll look for much more than can be allow'd,
No Wife of that making I'll have I have vow'd,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry a Maid that is meek,
The rule of my Household I might go seek,
For such a kind Soul I care not a Leek,
And I'll, _&c._
I would have a Wife to come at a Call,
Too fat, nor too lean, too low, nor too tall,
But such a good Wife as may please all,
Else I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
Else I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.
_The Second Part._
If I should go seek the whole World about,
To find a kind and loving Wife out,
That labour were lost, I am in great doubt,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.
If I Marry with one that is Young,
With a false Heart and flattering Tongue,
Sorrow and Care may be my Song,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that is Old,
I never should have the Pleasures I would,
But Arm full of Bones frozen with Cold,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that is Poor,
By me my best Friends will set little store
And so go a Begging from door to door,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that is Rich,
She'll ever upbraid me she brought me too much,
And make me her Drudge, but I'll have none such,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that is Blind,
All for to seek and worse for to find,
I then should have nothing to please my Mind,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that is Dumb,
How could she welcome my Friends that come,
For her best language is to say Mum,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.
If I should Marry with one that is Deaf,
Hard of Belief, and Jealous 'till death,
To the Jawm of a Chimney spend I my Breath,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that is Fine,
She will spend all in Ale and in Wine,
Spend she her own, she shall not spend mine,
And I'll, _&c._
If I should Marry with one that is Tall,
I having but little she would have it all,
Then will I live single, whate'er it befal,
And I'll, _&c._
For when I am Married I must be glad,
To please my Wife though never so bad,
Then farewel the Joys that lately I had,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.
_Maids that will not when you may,
When you would, you shall have nay._
_The Power of Verse._
[Music]
Tho' thou'rt ugly and Old,
A damn'd Slut and a Scold,
Yet if you will tip me a Guinea;
By the help of my Rhimes,
To the latest of Times,
Thou shalt have thy Adorers dear _Jenny_.
We Bards have a knack,
To turn White into Black,
And make Vice seem Vertue, which odd is;
True Poetical Cant,
Dubbs a Rebel a Saint,
And refines a Jilt into a Goddess.
These trick Rhiming Sages,
Observ'd in all Ages,
To dress naked Truth in a Fable;
And tho' ev'ry story,
Out-did Purgatory,
They still were believ'd by the Rabble.
Pray what was _Acteon_,
Whom Dogs made a Prey on,
But a Sportsman undone by his Chasing;
Or the fam'd _Diomede_,
Of whom his Nags fled,
But a Jockey quite ruin'd by racing?
_MedÊa_, 'tis sung,
Could make old Women Young.
Tho' she nought but a true waiting-Maid is;
Who with Comb of black Lead,
With Paint white and Red,
With Patch and wash, vamps up grey Ladies.
_Vulcan_ left the Bellows,
And Sooty left good Fellows,
That he might take of _Nectar_ a Cann full;
_Venus_ was a gay Trull,
To the Cuckoldly Fool,
_Mars_ a Bully that beat on her Anvil.
_Neptune_ was a Tarpawling,
And _Ph[oe]bus_ by calling,
A Mountebank, Wizard, and Harper;
Jolly _Bacchus_ a Lad,
Of the Wine-drawing Trade,
And _Mercury_ a Pimp and a Sharper.
_Pallas_ was a stale Maid,
With a grim _Gorgon's_ head,
Whose ugliness made her the Chaster,
A Scold great was _Juno_,
As I know, or you know,
And _Jove_ was as great a Whore-master.
Then prithee dear Creature,
Now show thy good nature,
This once be my Female _Mac[oe]nas_;
And Times yet unknown,
My _Jenny_ shall own,
Chast as _Pallas_, but fairer than _Venus_.
_The Bonny Lass: Or, the Button'd_ SMOCK.
[Music]
Sit you merry Gallants,
For I can tell you News,
Of a Fashion call'd the Button'd Smock,
The which our Wenches use:
Because that in the City,
In troth it is great pity;
Our Gallants hold it much in scorn.
They should put down the City:
But is not this a bouncing Wench,
And is not this a Bonny;
In troth she wears a _Holland_ Smock,
If that she weareth any.
A bonny Lass in a Country Town,
Unto her Commendation;
She scorns a _Holland_ Smock,
Made after the old Fashion:
But she will have it _Holland_ fine,
As fine as may be wore;
Hem'd and stitch'd with _Naples_ Silk,
And button'd down before:
But is not, _&c._
Our Gallants of the City,
New Fashions do devise;
And wear such new found fangle things,
Which country Folk despise:
As for the Button'd Smock,
None can hold it in scorn;
Nor none can think the Fashion ill,
It is so closely worn:
Although it may be felt,
It's seldom to be seen;
It passeth all the Fashions yet,
That heretofore hath been.
But is not, _&c._
Our Wenches of the City,
That gains the Silver rare;
Sometimes they wear a Canvass Smock,
That's torn or worn Thread-bare:
Perhaps a Smock of Lockrum,
That dirty, foul, or black:
Or else a Smock of Canvass course,
As hard as any Sack.
But is not, _&c._
But she that wears the _Holland_ Smock,
I commend her still that did it;
To wear her under Parts so fine,
The more 'tis for her Credit:
For some will have the out-side fine,
To make the braver show;
But she will have her _Holland_ Smock
That's Button'd down below.
But is not, _&c._
But if that I should take in hand,
Her Person to commend;
I should vouchsafe a long Discourse,
The which I could not end:
For her Vertues they are many,
Her person likewise such;
But only in particular,
Some part of them I'll touch.
But is not, _&c._
Those Fools that still are doing,
With none but costly Dames;
With tediousness of wooing,
Makes cold their hottest flames:
Give me the Country Lass,
That trips it o'er the Field;
And ope's her Forest at the first.
And is not Coy to yield.
Who when she dons her Vesture,
She makes the Spring her Glass;
And with her Comely gesture,
Doth all the Meadows pass:
Who knows no other cunning,
But when she feels it come;
To gripe your Back, if you be slack,
And thrust your Weapon home.
'Tis not their boasting humour,
Their painted looks nor state;
Nor smells of the Perfumer,
The Creature doth create:
Shall make me unto these,
Such slavish service owe;
Give me the Wench that freely takes,
And freely doth bestow.
Who far from all beguiling,
Doth not her Beauty Mask;
But all the while lye smiling,
While you are at your task:
Who in the midst of Pleasure,
Will beyond active strain;
And for your Pranks, will con you thanks,
And cursey for your pain.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ACKEROYD.
Z----ds Madam return me my Heart,
Or by the Lord _Harry_ I'll make ye;
Tho' you sleep when I talk of my smart,
As I hope to be Knighted I'll wake ye;
If you rant, why by _Jove_,
Then I'll rant as well as you;
There's no body cares for your puffing,
You're mistaken in me;
Nay prithee, prithee, prithee pish,
We'll try who's the best at a huffing.
But if you will your Heart surrender,
And confess yourself uncivil;
'Tis probable I may grow tender,
And recal what I purpos'd of evil,
But if you persist in rigour,
'Tis a thousand to one but I teeze you;
For you'll find so much heat and such vigour,
As may trouble you forsooth or please you.
_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ The Maid's last Prayer: _Or_, Any
thing rather than fail.
[Music]
Tho' you make no return to my Passion,
Still, still I presume to adore;
'Tis in Love but an odd Reputation,
When faintly repuls'd to give o'er:
When you talk of your duty,
I gaze at your Beauty;
Nor mind the dull Maxim at all,
Let it reign in _Cheapside_,
With the Citizens Bride:
It will ne'er be receiv'd, it will ne'er, ne'er, it will
ne'er be receiv'd at _White-hall_.
What Apochryphal Tales are you told,
By one who wou'd make you believe;
That because of _to have_ and _to hold_,
You still must be pinn'd to his Sleeve:
'Twere apparent high-Treason,
'Gainst Love and 'gainst Reason,
Shou'd one such a Treasure engross;
He who knows not the Joys,
That attend such a choice,
Shou'd resign to another that does.
_The Cruel Fair requited, Written by_ J. R. _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.
[Music]
When Wit and Beauty meet in one,
That acts an Amorous part;
What Nymph its mighty Power can shun,
Or 'scape a wounded Heart:
Those Potent, wondrous Potent charms,
Where-e'er they bless a Swain;
He needs not sleep with empty Arms,
He needs not sleep with empty Arms,
Nor dread severe disdain.
_Astrea_ saw the Shepherds bleed,
Regardless of their Pain;
Unmov'd she hear'd their Oaten Reed,
They Dance and Sung in vain;
At length _Amintor_ did appear,
That Miracle of Man;
He pleas'd her Eyes and charm'd her Ear,
He pleas'd her Eyes and charm'd her Ear,
She Lov'd and call'd him PAN.
But he as tho' design'd by Fate,
Revenger of the harms,
Which others suffer'd from her hate,
Rifl'd and left her Charms;
Then Nymphs no longer keep in pain,
A plain well-meaning Heart;
Lest you shou'd joyn for such disdain,
Lest you shou'd joyn for such disdain,
In poor _Astrea's_ smart.
_A_ SONG, _Sung at the_ THEATRE-ROYAL, _in the Play call'd_ ALPHONSO
_King of_ NAPLES. _Set by Mr._ EAGLES.
[Music]
When _Sylvia_ was kind, and Love play'd in her Eyes,
We thought it no Morning till _Sylvia_ did rise;
Of _Sylvia_ the Hills and the Vallies all Rang,
For she was the Subject of every Song.
But now, oh how little her Glories do move,
That us'd to inflame us, with Raptures of Love;
Thy Rigour, oh _Sylvia_, will shorten thy Reign,
And make our bright Goddess a Mortal again.
Love heightens our Joys, he's the ease of our Care,
A spur to the Valiant, a Crown to the Fair;
Oh seize his soft Wings then before 'tis too late,
Or Cruelty quickly will hasten thy Fate.
'Tis kindness, my _Sylvia_, 'tis kindness alone,
Will add to thy Lovers, and strengthen thy Throne;
In Love, as in Empire, Tyrannical sway,
Will make Loyal Subjects forget to Obey.
_The_ SHEPHERD'S _Complaint. Set by Mr._ Williams.
[Music]
What, Love a crime, Inhumane Fair?
Repeal that rash Decree,
As well may pious Anthems bear;
The Name of Blasphemy:
'Tis Bleeding Hearts and Weeping Eyes,
Uphold your Sexes Pride;
Nor could you longer Tyrannize,
My Fetters laid aside.
Then from your haughty Vision wake,
And listen to my Moan;
Tho' you refuse me for my sake,
Yet pity for your own;
For know proud Shepherdess you owe,
The Victim you despise,
More to the strictness of my Vow,
Than glories of your Eyes.
_A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd_ The Fairy Queen. _Sung by Mrs._
BUTLER. _Set by Mr._ H. Purcell.
[Music]
When I have often heard young Maids complaining,
That when Men promise most they most deceive;
Then I thought none of them worthy my gaining.
And what they swore I would never believe:
But when so humbly one made his Addresses,
With Looks so soft, and with Language so kind,
I thought it a Sin to refuse his Caresses,
Nature o'ercame, and I soon chang'd my Mind.
Should he employ all his Arts in deceiving,
Stretch his Invention, and quite crack his Brain,
I find such Charms, such true Joys in believing,
I'll have the pleasure, let him have the pain:
If he proves perjur'd, I shall not be cheated,
He may deceive himself, but never me;
'Tis what I look for, and shan't be defeated,
For I'm as false, and inconstant as he.
_A_ SONG. _The Words and Tune by Mr._ Edward Keen. _Sung by Mrs._
Willis, _in the Play call'd_ The Heiress: _Or_, The Salamanca Doctor.
[Music]
_C∆LIA'S_ bright Beauty all others transcend,
Like Lovers Sprightly Goddess she's flippant and gay;
Her rival Admirers in crouds do attend,
To her their devoirs and Addresses to pay:
Pert gaudy Coxcombs the Fair one adore,
Grave Dons of the Law and quere Prigs of the Gown;
Close Misers who brood o'er their Treasure in store,
And Heroes for plundring of modern renown,
But Men of plunder can ne'er get her under,
And Misers all Women despise,
She baulks the pert Fops in the midst of their hopes,
And laughs at the Grave and Precise.
Next she's caress'd by a musical crew,
Shrill Singing and Fidling, Beaus warbles o'th' Flute,
And Poets whom Poverty still will pursue,
That's a just cause for rejecting their suit:
Impudent Fluters the Nymph does abhor,
And Lovers with Fiddle at neck she disdains;
For these thought to have her for whistling for,
They courting with guts shew'd defect in their brains.
And to the pretender to make her surrender,
By singing no favour she'll show;
For she'll not make choice of a shrill Capons voice,
For a politick reason you know.
_A_ SONG.
[Music: The King is gone to _Oxon_ Town,
with all his might and main a;
the Nobles they attending on,
with all their gallant train a:
The May'r of the Town in his Furr Gown,
gave the King such a thing, the like was never seen;
_A pair of Gloves, I say a pair of Gloves_,
made of the Stags good Leather:
_A pair of gloves I say, a pair of Gloves_,
to keep his hands from the Weather;
Nay, some do say they gave him Gold,
_That's a lye, then said I_,
as soon as I heard it told;
for why shou'd they go give their Gold away,
to him that has so much of his own a?]
_A_ SONG _in_ Love's a Jest. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ECCLES. _Sung by Mrs._
HUDSON.
[Music]
Mortal's learn your Lives to measure,
Not by length of Time, but Pleasure;
Now the Hours invite comply,
Whilst you idly pass they flye:
Blest whilst a nimble pace they keep,
But in torment, in torment when they creep.
Mortals learn your Lives to measure,
Not by length of Time, but Pleasure;
Soon your Spring must have a fall,
Losing Youth is losing all;
Then you'll ask, but none will give,
And may linger, but not live.
_A_ SONG, _in the Play call'd_ Self-Conceit: _Or_, The Mother made a
Property. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles. _Sung by Mrs._ Bowman.
[Music]
Oh! the mighty pow'r of Love,
What Art against such Force can move;
The harmless Swain is ever blest,
Beneath some silent, shady Grove;
Until some Nymph invade his Breast,
And disapprove his eager Love.
Oh! the mighty power of Love,
What Art against such Force can move;
The Greatest Hero who in Arms,
Has gain'd a thousand Victories:
Submits to _CÊlia's_ brighter Charms,
And dreads a killing from her Eyes.
_A_ SONG, _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON, _in the Play call'd_ Love Triumphant:
_Or_, Nature will prevail. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ECCLES.
What state of Life can be so blest,
As Love that warms a Lover's Breast;
Two Souls in one the same desire,
To grant the Bliss and to require:
But if in Heaven a Hell we find,
'Tis all from thee, oh Jealousy!
Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! Jealousy, thou Tyrant, tyrant
Jealousy, thou tyrant, Jealousy, oh! oh! oh! oh! oh!
Jealousy, oh! oh! oh! Jealousy, thou tyrant of the mind.
All other ills tho' sharp they prove,
Serve to refine and sweeten Love;
In absence or unkind disdain,
Sweet hope relieves the Lovers pain:
But oh! no cure but death we find,
To set us free from Jealousy,
Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! _&c._
False in thy Glass all objects are,
Some set too near, and some too far;
Thou art the fire of endless Night,
The fire that burns and gives no light,
All torments of the damn'd we find,
In only thee, oh Jealousy!
Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! _&c._
_A_ Scotch SONG. _Set by Mr._ ROBERT COX.
[Music]
When _Jockey_ first I saw, my Soul was charm'd,
To see the bonny Lad so blith, so blith and gay;
My Heart did beat it being alarm'd,
That I to _Jockey_ nought, nought could say:
At last I courage took and Passion quite forsook,
And told the bonny Lad his Charms I felt;
He then did smile with a pleasing look,
And told me _Jenny_ in his Arms, his Arms should melt.
_A Song. Sung by Mrs._ Temple. _Set by Mr._ J. Clark.
[Music]
I Seek no more to shady coverts,
_Jockey's_ Eyn are all my Joy;
Beauty's there I Ken, that cannot,
Must not, shall not, steal away:
What wou'd _Jockey_ now do to me,
Surely you're to me unkind;
Ise ne'er see you, nay you fly me,
Yet are ne'er from out my Mind.
Tell me why 'tis thus you use me,
Take me quickly to your Arms;
Where in blisses blithly basking,
Each may rival others Charms:
Oh but fye, my _Jockey_ pray now,
What d'ye, do not, let me go;
O I vow you will undoe me,
What to do I do not know.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ PHILL. HART.
[Music]
Tho' I love and she knows it, she cares not,
She regards not my Passion at all;
But to tell me she hates me she spares not,
As often as on her I call:
'Tis her Pleasure to see me in pain,
'Tis her pain to grant my desire;
Then if ever I Love her again,
May I never, never, never, never, may I never, be
free from Love's fire.
MIRTILLO. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Tho. Clark.
[Music]
_Mirtillo_, whilst you patch your Face,
By Nature form'd so fair,
We know each Spot conceals a Grace,
And wish, and wish to see it bare:
But since our Wish you've gratifi'd,
We find, we find, 'twas rashly made,
And that those Spots were but to hide, to hide
Excess of Lustre laid:
And that those Spots were but to hide, to hide
Excess of Lustre laid.
_The Rambling_ RAKE.
[Music]
Having spent all my Coin,
Upon Women and Wine,
I went to the C----h out of spite;
But what the Priest said,
Is quite out of my Head,
I resolv'd not to Edify by't.
While he open'd his Text,
I was plaguily vext,
To see such a sly Canting Crew,
Of _Satan's_ Disciples,
With P----r Books and B----s,
Enough to have made a Man Spew.
All the Women I view'd,
Both Religious and Lewd,
From the Sable Top-knots to the Scarlets;
But a Wager I'll lay,
That at a full Play,
The House does not swarm so with Harlots.
Lady _F----_ there sits,
Almost out of her Wits,
'Twixt Lust and Devotion debating;
She's as Vicious as Fair,
And has more Business there,
Than to hear Mr. _Tickle-text's_ prating.
Madam _L----l_ saw,
With her Daughters-in-law,
Whom she offers to Sale ev'ry Sunday;
In the midst of her Prayers,
She'll negociate Affairs,
And make Assignations for Monday.
Next a Lady much Fam'd,
Therefore must not be nam'd,
'Cause she'll give you no trouble in Teaching;
She has a very fine Book,
But does ne'er in it look,
Nor regard neither Praying nor Preaching.
There's a _Baronet's_ Daughter,
Her own Mother taught her,
By Precept and Practical Notion;
That to wear Gaudy Cloaths,
And to Ogle the Beaus,
Was at Church two sure Signs of Devotion.
From the Corner o' th' Square,
Comes a hopeful young Pair,
Religious as they see occasion;
But if Patches and Paint,
Be true signs of a Saint,
We've no Reason to doubt their Damnation.
When the Sermon was done,
He blest ev'ry one,
And they like good Christians retir'd;
Tho' they view'd ev'ry Face,
Each Head and each Dress,
Yet each one her self most admir'd.
I had view'd all the rest,
But the Parson had blest,
With his Benediction the People;
So I ran to the Crown,
Least the Church should fall down,
And beat out my Brains with the Steeple.
_The_ AIRY _old Woman_.
[Music]
You guess by my wither'd Face,
And Eyes no longer Shining;
That I can't Dance with a Grace,
Nor keep my Pipes from whining:
Yet I am still Gay and Bold,
To be otherwise were a Folly;
Methinks my Blood is grown Cold,
I'll warm it then thus and be jolly,
Jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, _&c._
Methinks my Blood is grown cold,
Grown cold, grown cold, grown cold, _&c._
I'll warm it then thus and be jolly.
I find by the slighting Beau's,
That Nature is declining;
Yet will I not knit my Brows,
Nor end my Days in pining:
Let other Dames Fret and Scold,
As they pass to the Stygian Ferry;
You see, though I am grown Old,
My Temper is youthful and merry,
Merry, merry, merry, merry, _&c._
You see though I am grown old,
Grown old, grown old, grown old, _&c._
My Temper is youthful and merry.
_A_ SONG _Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.
[Music]
I Try'd in Parks and Plays to find,
An Object to appease my Mind;
But still in vain it does appear,
Since Fair _Hyrtuilia_ is not there:
In vain alass I hope for Ease,
Since none but She alone can please.
_A_ SONG; _the Words by Captain_ DANVERS, _Set by Mr._ T. WILLIS.
[Music]
Forgive me _Cloe_ if I dare
Your Conduct disapprove;
The Gods have made you wond'rous Fair,
Not to Disdain, but Love;
Those nice pernicious Forms despise,
That cheat you of your Bliss;
Let Love instruct you to be wise,
Whilst Youth and Beauty is.
Too late you will repent the Time,
You lose by your Disdain;
The Slaves you scorn now in your Prime,
You'll ne'er retrieve again:
But when those Charms shall once decay,
And Lovers disappear;
Despair and Envy shall repay,
Your being now severe.
_A_ SONG _in the_ Rival Sisters, _Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell, _Sung by
Miss_ CROSS.
[Music]
How happy, how happy is she,
How happy, how happy is she,
That early, that early her Passion begins,
And willing, and willing with Love to agree,
Does not stay till she comes to her Teens:
Then, then she's all pure and Chast,
Then, then she's all pure and Chast,
Like Angels her Smiles to be priz'd;
Pleasure is seen Cherub Fac'd,
And Nature appears, and Nature appears undisguis'd.
From Twenty to Thirty, and then
Set up for a Lover in vain;
By that time we study how Men,
May be wrack'd with Neglect and Disdain:
Love dwells where we meet with desire,
Desire which Nature has given:
She's a Fool then that feeling the Fire,
Begins not to warm at Eleven.
_The Three Merry Travellers, who paid their shot wherever they came,
without ever a Stiver of Money._
[Music]
There was three Travellers, Travellers three,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
And they would go Travel the _North_ Country,
_Without ever a stiver of Money_.
They Travelled _East_, and they Travelled _West_,
_With a hey down_, &c.
Wherever they came still they drank of the best,
_Without ever_, &c.
At length by good Fortune they came to an Inn,
_With a hey down_, &c.
And they were as merry as e'er they had been,
_Without ever_, &c.
A Jolly young Widdow did smiling appear,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
Who drest them a Banquet of delicate cheer,
_Without ever a penny of Money_.
Both Chicken and Sparrow-grass she did provide,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
You're Welcome kind Gentlemen, welcome she cry'd,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.
They called for liquor, both Beer, Ale, and Wine,
_With a hey down_, &c.
And every thing that was curious and fine,
_Without ever_, &c.
They drank to their Hostess a merry full Bowl,
_With a hey down_, &c.
She pledg'd them in Love, like a generous Soul,
_Without ever_, &c.
The Hostess, her Maid, and Cousin all three,
_With a hey down_, &c.
They Kist and was merry, as merry cou'd be,
_Without ever_, &c.
Full Bottles and Glasses replenish'd the Board,
_With a hey down_, &c.
No liquors was wanting the house could afford,
_Without ever_, &c.
When they had been Merry good part of the Day,
_With a hey down_, &c.
They called their Hostess to know what's to pay,
_Without ever_, &c.
There's Thirty good shillings, and Six pence, she cry'd,
_With a hey down_, &c.
They told her that she should be soon satisfy'd,
_Without ever_, &c.
The Handsomest Man of the three up he got;
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
He laid her on her Back, and paid her the shot,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.
The middlemost Man to her Cousin he went,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
She being handsome, he gave her Content,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.
The last Man of all he took up with the Maid,
_With a hey down_, &c.
And thus the whole Shot it was lovingly paid,
_Without ever_, &c.
The Hostess, the Cousin, and Servant, we find,
_With a hey down_, &c.
Made Courtesies, and thank'd them for being so kind,
_Without ever_, &c.
The Hostess said, welcome kind Gentleman all,
_With a hey down_, &c.
If you chance to come this way be pleased to call,
_Without ever_, &c.
Then taking their Leaves they went merrily out,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down, derry_,
And they're gone for to Travel the Nation about,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.
_The Maids_ CONJURING _Book_.
[Music]
A Young Man lately in our Town,
He went to Bed one Night;
He had no sooner lay'd him down,
But was troubled with a Sprite:
So vigorously the Spirit stood,
Let him do what he can,
Sure then he said it must be lay'd,
By Woman, not by Man.
A Handsome Maid did undertake,
And into Bed she leap'd;
And to allay the Spirits Power,
Full close to him she crep'd:
She having such a Guardian care,
Her Office to discharge;
She open'd wide her Conjuring Book,
And lay'd the Leaves at large.
Her Office she did well perform,
Within a little space;
Then up she rose, and down he lay,
And durst not shew his Face;
She took her leave, and away she went,
When she had done the Deed;
Saying, if't chance to come again,
Then send for me with speed.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth,
Eternal _Io's_ sing;
The Gods of Love descend to Earth,
Their Darts have lost their Sting.
The Youth shall now complain no more,
On _Sylvia's_ needless Scorn;
But she shall Love if he adore,
And melt when he shall burn.
The Nymph no longer shall be shy,
But leave the Jilting Road;
And _Daphne_ now no more shall Fly,
The wounded Painted God.
But all shall be Serene and Fair,
No sad complaints of Love,
Shall fill the gentle whispering Air,
No Ecchoing sighs, the Grove.
Beneath the shades young _Strephon_ lies,
Of all his wish possess'd;
Gazing on _Sylvia's_ charming Eyes,
Whose Soul is there confess'd.
All soft and sweet the Maid appears,
With looks that know no Art;
And though she yields with Trembling Fears,
She yields with all her Heart.
_The_ PRESBYTERS _Gill_.
[Music]
Hang the Presbyters Gill,
Bring a Pint of Sack, _Will_,
More Orthodox of the two;
Though a slender Dispute,
Will strike the Elf Mute,
He's one of the honester Crew.
In a Pint there's small heart,
Sirrah, bring us a Quart,
There's substance and vigour met;
'Twill hold us in play,
Some Part of the Day,
But we'll sink him before Sun-set.
The daring old Pottle,
Does now bid us Battle,
Let's try what his strength can do;
Keep your Ranks, and your Files,
And for all his Wiles,
We'll tumble him down stairs too.
The Stout Brested _Lombard_,
His Brains ne'er incumbred,
With drinking of Gallons three;
_Trycongius_ was named,
And by _CÊsar_ Famed,
Who dubbed him Knight Cap-a-pee.
If then Honour be in't,
Why a Pox should be stint,
Our selves of the fulness it bears?
H'has less Wit than an Ape
In the Blood of a Grape,
Will not plunge himself o'er Head and Ears.
Then Summon the Gallon,
A stout Foe, and a Tall one,
And likely to hold us to't;
Keep but Coyn in your Purse,
The Word is Disburse,
I'll warrant he'll sleep at your Foot.
See the bold Foe appears,
May he fall that him Fears,
Keep you but close Order, and then,
We will give him the Rout,
Be he never so stout,
And prepare for his Rallying agen.
Let's drain the whole Cellar,
Pipes, Buts, and the Dweller,
If the Wine floats not the faster;
_Will_, when thou do'st slack us,
By Warrant from _Bacchus_,
We will Cane thy Tun-belly'd Master.
_The Good_ FELLOW.
[Music]
A Pox on the Times,
Let 'em go as they will,
Tho' the Taxes are grown so heavy;
Our Hearts are our own,
And shall be so still,
Drink about, my Boys, and be merry:
Let no Man despair,
But drive away Care,
And drown all our Sorrow in Claret;
We'll never repine,
So they give us good Wine,
Let 'em take all our Dross, we can spare it.
We value not Chink,
Unless to buy drink,
Or purchase us Innocent Pleasure;
When 'tis gone we ne'er fret,
So we Liquor can get,
For Mirth of it self is a Treasure:
No Miser can be,
So happy as we,
Tho' compass'd with Riches he wallow;
Day and Night he's in Fear,
And ne'er without Care,
While nothing disturbs the Good Fellow.
Come fill up the Glass,
And about let it pass,
For Nature doth vacuums decline!
Down the spruce formal Ass,
That's afraid of his Face,
We'll drink 'till our Noses do _Ph[oe]bus_ out-shine:
While we've plenty of this,
We can ne'er do amiss,
'Tis an Antidote 'gainst our ruin;
And the Lad that drinks most,
With Honour may boast,
He fears neither Death, nor undoing.
_The Jovial_ PRISONER, _by_ S. P.
[Music]
A Pox on such Fools! let the Scoundrels rail,
Let 'em boast of their Liberty;
They're no freer than we, for the World's a Jayl,
And all Men Prisoners be.
The Drunkard's confin'd to his Claret,
The Miser to his Store;
The Wit to his Muse and a Garret,
And the Cully-Cit to his Whore.
The Parson's confin'd to his Piggs,
The Lawyer to Hatred and Strife;
The Fidler to's Borees and Jiggs,
And the Quack to his Glister-pipe.
The Church-man's confin'd to be civil,
The Quaker's a Prisoner too light;
The Papist is bound by the Devil,
And the Puritan's fetter'd with spite.
Since old _Adam's_ race are all Prisoners like us,
Let us merrily quaff and Sing;
Z----s why shou'd we pine for Liberty thus,
When we're each of's as free as a King.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.
[Music]
_Phillis_, I can ne'er forgive it,
Nor I think, shall e're out-live it;
Thus to treat me so severely,
Who have always lov'd sincerely.
_Damon_, you so fondly cherish,
Whilst poor I, alass! may perish;
I that love, which he did never,
Me you slight, and him you Favour.
Love given over: _Being a young Lady's Reply to her Parents, who would
have forc'd her to Marry one she had an Aversion against._
[Music]
As Cupid many Ages past,
Went out to take the Air;
And on the Rosy Morning Feast,
He met _Ophelia_ there.
A while he gaz'd, a while survey'd
Her Shape and every part;
But as his Eyes run o'er the Maid,
Hers reach'd his little Heart.
His Quiver straight and Bow he took,
And bent it for a flight;
And then by chance she cast a look,
Which spoil'd his purpose quite.
Disarm'd he knew not what to do,
Nor how to Crown his Love;
At last resolv'd, away he flew,
Another shape to prove.
A lustful Satyr straight return'd,
In hopes his Form wou'd take:
For many Nymphs for them have burn'd,
Burn'd 'cause they could not speak.
_Ophelia_ had no sooner spy'd,
His Godship, Goat and Man;
But loudly for assistance cry'd,
And fleetly homeward ran.
Perplex'd at her affright, but more
At's own defeat, he shook
The Monster off; then fled before,
And straight Man's Aspect took.
He smil'd, intreated, ly'd, and vow'd,
Nay, offer'd her a Sum;
And grew importunate and rude,
As she drew nearer home.
At last when Tears, nor ought cou'd move,
He thus bespoke the Fair;
Know Cruel Maid, I'm God of Love,
And can command Despair.
Yet Dame to sue, oh! bless me then,
As you regard your Ease;
For I am King of Gods and Men,
I give and banish Peace.
Or be thou Love, or be thou Hate,
Enrag'd _Ophelia_ swore;
I'll never change my Virgin state,
Nor ever see thee more.
Exploded Love resisted so,
In pity to Mankind;
His Arrows broke, and burnt his Bow,
And left his Name behind.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Lay by your Pleading,
The Law lies a Bleeding,
Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your Reading;
Small Power the World has,
And doth afford us,
Not half so many Privileges as the Sword does;
It fosters our Masters,
It plaisters Disasters,
And makes the Servants quickly greater than their Masters;
It ventures, it enters,
It circles, it Centres,
And sets a Prentice free despite of his Indenters.
This takes up all things,
And sets up small things,
This masters Money, tho' Money masters all things.
It's not in Season,
To talk of Reason,
Or count it Loyalty, when the Sword will have it Treason:
This conquers a Crown too,
The Cloak and the Gown too,
This sets up a Presbyter, and this doth pull him down too;
This subtile deceiver,
Turn'd Bonnet into Beaver,
Down drops a Bishop, and up steps a Weaver.
It's this makes a Lay-man,
To Preach and to Pray Man,
And this made a Lord of him, which was before a Drayman;
For from this dull-pit,
Of _Saxbey's_ Pulpit,
This brought a holy Iron-monger to the Pulpit:
No Gospel can guide it,
No Law can decide it,
No Church or State can debate it,
'Till the Sword hath Sanctify'd it;
Such pitiful things be,
Happier than Kings be,
This brought in the Heraldry of _Thimblesby_ and _Slingsby_.
Down goes the Law-trix,
For from this Matrix,
Sprang holy _Hewson's_ power, and tumbl'd down St. _Patrick's_.
It batter'd the Gun-kirk,
So did it the Dum-kirk,
That he is fled and gone to the Devil in _Dunkirk_;
In _Scotland_ this waster,
Did work such disaster,
This brought the Money back for which they sold their Master:
This frighted the _Flemming_,
And made him so beseeming,
That he doth never think of his lost Lands redeeming.
But he that can tower,
Over him that is lower,
Would be counted but a Fool to give away his Power:
Take Books and rent them,
Who would invent them,
When as the Sword replys _Negatur Argumentur_:
The grand College Butlers,
Must vail to the Sutlers,
There's not a Library like to the Cutlers;
The Blood that is spilt, Sir,
Hath gain'd all the Guilt, Sir,
Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the Hilt, Sir.
_Queen_ DIDO.
[Music]
When _Dido_ was a _Carthage_ Queen,
She lov'd a _Trojan_ Knight;
Who sail'd about from Coast to Coast,
Of Metal brave in Fight:
As they Hunting rid, a Shower,
Did on their Heads with fury pour,
Drove 'em to a lonely Cave,
Where _∆neas_ with his Charms,
Caught fair _Dido_ in his Arms,
And got what he would have.
Then _Dido Hymen's_ Rites forgot,
Her Love was won in hast;
Her Honour she consider'd not,
But in her Breast him plac'd;
Now when their Loves were just began,
Great _Jove_ sent down his winged Son,
To fright _∆neas'_ sleep:
Make him by the break of Day,
From Queen _Dido_ steal away,
Which caus'd her wail and weep.
Poor _Dido_ wept, but what of that?
The Gods would have it so;
_∆neas_ nothing did amiss,
When he was forc'd to go:
Cease Lovers, cease your Vows to keep,
With your true Loves, but let 'em weep,
'Tis folly to be true;
Let this comfort serve your turn,
That tho' wretched _Dido's_ mourn,
You'll daily Court anew.
_False_ PHILLIS, _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.
[Music]
Since _Phillis_ swears Inconstancy,
Then I'll e'en do so too;
I careless am as well as she,
She values not her Vow.
To sigh, to languish, and protest,
Let feeble Fops approve;
The Women's way I like the best,
Enjoyment is their Love.
When I my _Phillis_ do embrace,
There's none can happier be;
But when she's gone, the next fair Face,
Is _Phillis_ then to me.
I find her Absence cools Desire,
As well as her Disdain;
When Hope denys to feed my Fire,
Despair shall ease my Pain.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Blush not redder than the Morning,
Though the Virgins give you Warning;
Sigh not at the chance befel you,
Though they smile, and dare not tell you;
_Sigh not at_, &c.
Maids like Turtles, love the Cooing,
Bill and Murmur in their Wooing;
Thus like you they start and tremble,
And their troubled Joys dissemble:
_Thus like you_, &c.
Grasp the Pleasure while 'tis coming,
Though your Beauty's now a blooming;
Lest old time our Joys should sever,
Ah! ah! they part, they part for ever:
_Lest old time_, &c.
_The Power of_ BEAUTY.
[Music]
In a Flowry Myrtle _Grove_,
The solitary Scene of Love,
On Beds of Vi'lets, all the Day,
The Charming _Floriana_ lay;
The little _Cupids_ hover'd in the Air,
They peep'd and smil'd, and thought their Mother there.
_Ph[oe]bus_ delay'd his Course a while,
Charm'd with the spell of such a Smile,
Whilst weary _Plough-men_ curs'd the stay,
Of the too _Uxorious_ Day:
The little _Cupids_ hover'd in the Air,
They peep'd and smil'd, and thought their Mother there.
But thus the _Nymph_ began to chide,
"That Eye, you owe the World beside,
You fix on me", then with a Frown
She sent her drooping Lover down;
With modest Blushes from the _Grove_ she fled,
Painting the Evening with unusual Red.
_The_ HUNT.
[Music]
Some in the Town go betimes to the _Downs_,
To pursue the fearful Hare;
Some in the Dark love to hunt in a _Park_,
For to chace all the Deer that are there:
Some love to see the Faulcon to flee,
With a joyful rise against the Air;
But all my delight is a Cunny in the Night,
When she turns up her silver Hair.
When she is beset, with a Bow, Gun, or Net,
And finding no shelter for to cover her;
She falls down flat, or in a Tuft does squat,
'Till she lets the Hunter get over her:
With her breast she does butt, and she bubs up her Scut,
When the Bullets fly close by her Ear;
She strives not to escape, but she mumps like an Ape,
And she turns up, _&c._
The Ferret he goes in, through flaggs thick and thin,
Whilst Mettle pursueth his Chace;
The Cunny she shows play, and in the best of her way,
Like a Cat she does spit in his Face:
Tho' she lies in the Dust, she fears not his Nest,
With her full bound up Sir, career;
With the strength that she shows, she gapes at the Nose,
And she turns up, _&c._
The sport is so good, that in Town or in Wood,
In a Hedge, or a Ditch you may do it;
In Kitchen or in Hall, in a Barn or in a Stall,
Or wherever you please you may go to it:
So pleasing it is that you can hardly miss,
Of so rich Game in all our Shire;
For they love so to play, that by Night or by Day,
They will turn up their Silver Hair.