Come from the Temple, away to the Bed,
As the Merchant transports home his Treasure;
Be not so coy Lady, since we are wed,
'Tis no Sin to taste of the Pleasure:
Then come let us be blith, merry and free,
Upon my life all the waiters are gone;
And 'tis so, that they know where you go, say not so,
For I mean to make bold with my own.
What is it to me, if our Hands joyned be,
If our Bodies are still kept asunder:
It shall not be said, there goes a married Maid,
Indeed we will have no such wonder:
Therefore let's Embrace, there's none sees thy Face,
The Bride-Maids that waited are gone;
None can spy how you lye, ne'er deny, but say Ay,
For I mean to make bold with my own.
Sweet Love do not frown, but pull off thy Gown,
'Tis a Garment unfit for the Night;
Some say that Black, hath a relishing smack,
I had rather be dealing with White:
Then be not afraid, for you are not betray'd,
Since we two are together alone;
I invite you this Night, to do me right in my delight,
For I mean to make bold with my own.
Then come let us Kiss, and tast of our Bliss,
Which brave Lords and Ladies enjoy'd;
If all Maids should be of the humour of thee,
Generations would soon be destroy'd:
Then where were the Joys, the Girls and the Boys,
Would'st live in the World all alone;
Don't destroy, but enjoy, seem not Coy for a Toy,
For indeed I'll make bold with my own.
Prithee begin, don't delay but unpin,
For my Humour I cannot prevent it;
You are so streight lac'd, and your Top-knot so fast,
Undo it, or I straitway will rent it:
Or to end all the strife, I'll cut it with a Knife,
'Tis too long to stay 'till it's undone;
Let thy Wast be unlac'd, and in hast be embrac'd,
For I long to make bold with my own.
As thou art fair, and sweeter than the Air,
That dallies on _July's_ brave Roses;
Now let me be to thy Garden a Key,
That the Flowers of Virgins incloses:
And I will not be too rough unto thee,
For my Nature to mildness is prone;
Do no less than undress, and unlace all apace,
For this Night I'll make bold with my own.
_A TOPING_ SONG.
[Music]
I Am a Jolly Toper, I am a raged Soph,
Known by the Pimples in my Face, with taking Bumpers off,
And a Toping we will go, we'll go, we'll go,
And a Toping we will go.
Come let's sit down together, and take our fill of Beer,
Away with all disputes, for we'll have no Wrangling here,
And a Toping, _&c._
With clouds of Tobacco we'll make our Noddles clear,
We'll be as great as Princes, when our Heads are full of Beer,
And a Toping, _&c._
With Juggs, Muggs, and Pitchers, and Bellarmines of Stale,
Dash'd lightly with a little, a very little Ale,
And a Toping, _&c._
A Fig for the _Spaniard_, and for the King of _France_,
And Heaven preserve our Juggs, and Muggs, and Q----n from all mischance,
And a Toping, _&c._
Against the Presbyterians, pray give me leave to rail,
Who ne'er had thirsted for Kings Blood, had they been Drunk with stale,
And a Toping, _&c._
And against the Low-church Saints, who slily play their part,
Who rail at the Dissenters, yet love them in their Heart,
And a toping, _&c._
Here's a Health to the Queen, let's Bumpers take in hand,
And may Prince _G----'s_ Roger grow stiff again and stand,
And a Toping, _&c._
Oh how we toss about the never-failing Cann,
We drink and piss, and piss and drink, and drink to piss again
And a Toping, _&c._
Oh that my Belly it were a Tun of stall,
My Cock were turn'd into a Tap, to run when I did call,
And a Toping, _&c._
Of all sorts of Topers, a Soph is far the best,
For 'till he can neither go nor stand, by _Jove_ he's ne'er at rest,
And a Toping, _&c._
We fear no Wind or Weather, when good Liquor dwells within,
And since a Soph does live so well, then who would be a King,
And a Toping, _&c._
Then dead Drunk We'll march Boys, and reel into our Tombs,
That Jollier Sophs (if such their be) may come and take our rooms, Sir
And a Toping may they go, _&c._
_Sir_ JOHN JOHNSON'S _Farewell, by_ JO. HAINS.
[Music]
All Christians that have Ears to hear,
And Hearts inclin'd to pity;
Some of you all bestow one Tear,
Upon my mournful Ditty:
In _Queen-street_ did an Heiress live,
Whose downfall when I sing;
'Twill make the very Stones to grieve,
God prosper long our King.
For her a _Scotish_ Knight did die,
Was ever the like seen;
I shame to tell place, how, or why,
And so God bless the Queen:
Some say indeed she swore a Rape,
But God knows who was wrong'd;
For he that did it did escape,
And he did not was Hang'd.
Some say another thing beside,
If true? it was a Vice;
That _Campbell_ when she was his Bride,
Did trouble her but thrice:
'Twas this the young Girls Choler mov'd,
And in a Rage she swore;
E'er she'd be a Wife but three times lov'd,
She'd sooner be a Whore.
But don't you pity now her Case,
Was forc'd to send for Surgeon,
To show the Man that very place,
Where once she was a Virgin.
Parents take warning by her fall,
When Girls are in their Teens;
To marry them soon, or they will all,
Know what the Business means.
For Girls like Nuts (Excuse my Rhimes)
At bottom growing brown;
If you don't gather them betimes,
Will of themselves fall down:
God bless King _William_, and Queen _Mary_,
And Plenty and Peace advance;
And hang up those wish the contrary,
And then a Fig for _France_.
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ KING.
Banish my _Lydia_ these sad Thoughts,
Why sets thou musing so;
To hear the Ugly rail at faults,
They wou'd, they wou'd, but cannot do:
For let the Guilt be what it will.
So small, so small Account they bear;
That none yet thought it worth their while,
On such, on such to be severe,
On such, on such to be severe.
With far more reason thou may'st pine,
Thy self for being Fair;
For hadst thou but less Glorious been,
Thou of no Faults wou'dst hear:
So the great light that shines from far,
Has had its Spots set down;
While many a little useless Star,
Has not been tax'd with one.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.
[Music]
Love's Pow'r in my Heart shall find no Compliance,
I'll stand to my Guard, and bid open Defiance:
To Arms I will muster my Reason and Senses,
_Ta ra ra ra, Ta ra ra ra_, a War now commences.
Keep, keep a strict Watch, and observe ev'ry Motion,
Your Care to his Cunning exactly proportion;
Fall on, he gives ground, let him never recover,
_Victoria! Victoria!_ the Battle is over.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.
[Music]
Honest Shepher'd, since you're poor,
Think of loving me no more,
Take Advice in time,
Give o're your Solicitations:
Nature does in vain dispense,
To your Vertue, Courage, Sense,
Wealth can only influence,
A Woman's Inclinations.
What fond Nymph can e'er be kind,
To a Swain, but rich in Mind,
If as well she does not find
Gold within his Coffers?
Gold alone does Scorn remove,
Gold alone incites to Love,
Gold can most perswasive prove,
And make the fairest offers.
_The_ SHEPHERD'S _Wooing of Fair_ DULCINA.
[Music]
As at Noon _Dulcina_ rested,
In her sweet and shady Bow'r,
Came a Shepherd and requested,
In her Lap to sleep an Hour;
But from her look a Wound he took,
So deep that for a further Boon,
The Swain he prays, whereto she says,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.
But in vain she did conjure him,
For to leave her Presence so;
Having a thousand means to allure him,
And but one to let him go:
Where Lips invite, and Eyes delight,
And Cheeks as fresh as Rose in _June_,
Perswades to stay, what boot to say,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.
Words whose Hoops have now injoyned,
Him to let _Dulcina_ sleep;
Could a Man's Love be confined,
Or a Maid her promise keep?
No, for her Wast he held her fast,
As she was constant to her Tune;
And she speaks, for _Cupid's_ sake
Forgo me, _&c._
He demands what time and leisure,
Can there be more fit than now;
She says Men may say their Pleasure,
Yet I of it do not allow:
The Sun's clear light shineth more bright,
Quoth he, more fairer than the Moon:
For her to praise, she loves, she says,
Forgo me, _&c._
But no Promise, nor Profession,
From his Hands could Purchase scope;
Who would sell the sweet Possession,
Of such Beauty for a hope;
Or for the sight of lingring Night,
Forgo the pleasant Joys of Noon,
Tho' none so fair, her Speeches were,
Forgo me, _&c._
Now at last agreed these Lovers,
She was Fair, and he was Young,
If you'll believe me I will tell you,
True love fixed lasteth long:
He said my dear and only Phear,
Bright Ph[oe]bus Beams out-shin'd the Moon;
_Dulcina_ prays, and to him says,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.
_The Second Part._
Day was spent and Night approached,
_Venus_ fair was Lovers Friend,
She intreated bright _Apollo_,
That his Steeds their Race should end:
He could not say the Goddess nay,
But granted Love's fair Queen her boon;
The Shepherd came to his fair Dame,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.
Sweet (he said) as I did promise,
I am now return'd again;
Long delay you know breeds danger,
And to Lovers breadeth pain:
The Nymph said then, above all Men,
Still welcome Shepherd Morn and Noon,
The Shepherd prays, _Dulcina_ says,
Shepherd I doubt thou'rt come too soon.
When that bright _Aurora_ blushed,
Came the Shepherd to his dear;
Pretty Birds most sweetly warbled,
And the Noon approached near:
Yet still away the Nymph did say,
The Shepherd he fell in a Swoon;
At length she said, be not afraid,
Forgo me, _&c._
With grief of Heart the Shepherd hasted
Up the Mountains to his Flocks;
Then he took a Reed and piped,
Eccho sounded thro' the Rocks:
Thus did he play, and wish'd the Day,
Were spent, and Night were come e'er Noon;
The silent Night, Love's delight,
I'll go to Fair _Dulcina_ soon.
Beauties darling, fair _Dulcina_,
Like to _Venus_ for her Love,
Spent away the Day in Passion,
Mourning like the Turtle-Dove:
Melodiously, Notes low and high,
She warbled forth this doleful Tune;
Oh come again sweet Shepherd Swain,
Thou can'st not be with us too soon.
When as _Thetis_ in her place,
Had receiv'd the Prince of light;
Came in _Coridon_ the Shepherd,
To his Love and Heart's delight:
Then _Pan_ did play, the Wood-Nymphs they
Did skip and dance to hear the Tune;
_Hymen_ did say 'tis Holy-day,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.
_The Scolding Wife._
[Music]
Suppose a Man does all he can,
To unslave himself from a scolding Wife;
He can't get out, but hops about,
Like a Marry'd bird in the Cage of Life:
She on Mischief bent is ne'er content,
Which makes the poor Man cry out,
Rigid fate, Marriage State,
No reprieve but the Grave, oh 'tis hard Condition.
Come I'll tell you how this Wife to bow,
And quickly bring her to her last;
Your Senses please, indulge your ease,
But resist no joy and each humour taste,
Then let her squal, and tear and bawl,
And with whining cry her Eyes out,
Take a Flask, double Flask,
Whip it up, sip it up, that's your Physician.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
We merry Wives of _Windsor_,
Whereof you make your Play,
And act us on your Stages,
In _London_ Day by Day:
Alass it doth not hurt us,
We care not what you do;
For all you scoff, we'll sing and laugh,
And yet be Honest too.
Alass we are good Fellows,
We hate Dishonesty;
We are not like your City Dames,
In sport of Venery:
We scorn to Punk, or to be drunk,
But this we dare to do;
To sit and chat, laugh and be fat,
But yet be Honest too.
But should you know we _Windsor_ Dames,
Are free from haughty Pride:
And hate the tricks you Wenches have,
In _London_ and _Bankside_:
But we can spend, and Money lend,
And more than that we'll do,
We'll sit and chat, laugh and be fat,
And yet be Honest too.
It grieves us much to see your wants,
Of things that we have store,
In Forests wide and Parks beside,
And other places more:
Pray do not scorn the _Windsor_ Horn,
That is both fair and new;
Altho' you scold, we'll sing and laugh,
And yet be honest too.
And now farewel unto you all,
We have no more to say;
Be sure you imitate us right,
In acting of your Play:
If that you miss, we'll at you hiss,
As others us'd to do;
And at you scoff, and sing and laugh,
And yet be Honest too.
_The_ BATTLE-ROYAL.
[Music]
A Dean and Prebendary,
Had once a new vagary,
And were at doubtful strife Sir,
Who led the better life Sir,
And was the better Man:
The Dean he said that truly,
Since Bluff was so unruly,
He'd prove it to his Face, Sir,
That he had the more Grace, Sir,
And so the Fight began.
When Preb. reply'd like Thunder,
And roar'd out, 'twas no wonder,
For Gods the Dean had three, Sir,
And more by two than he, Sir,
Since he had got but one;
Now while these two were raging,
And in Disputes engaging,
The Master of the Charter,
Said both had got a Tartar,
For Gods that there were none.
For all the Books of _Moses_,
Were nothing but supposes,
And he deserv'd rebuke, Sir,
Who wrote the Pentateuch, Sir,
'Twas nothing but a Sham;
And as for Father _Adam_,
With Mrs. _Eve_ his Madam,
And what the Serpent spoke, Sir,
Was nothing but a Joke, Sir,
And well invented flam.
Thus in this Battle Royal,
As none would take denial,
The Dame for which they strove, Sir,
Could neither of them love, Sir,
For all had giv'n Offence;
She therefore slily waiting,
Left all three Fools a Prating,
And being in a Fright, Sir,
Religion took her flight, Sir,
And ne'er was heard on since.
_The Saint turn'd Sinner, Or the Dissenting Parson's Text under the_
QUAKER'S _Petticoats. To the foregoing Tune._
You Friends to Reformation,
Give Ear to my Relation,
For I shall now declare, Sir,
Before you are aware, Sir,
The matter very plain,
The matter very plain;
A Gospel Cushion Thumper,
Who dearly lov'd a Bumper,
And something else beside, Sir,
If he is not bely'd, Sir,
This was a Holy Guide, Sir,
For the Dissenting Train.
And for to tell you truly,
His Flesh was so unruly,
He could not for his Life, Sir,
Pass by the Draper's Wife, Sir,
The Spirit was so faint, _&c._
This Jolly handsome Quaker,
As he did overtake her,
She made his Mouth to water,
And thought long to be at her,
Such Sin is no great matter,
Accounted by a Saint.
Says he _my pretty Creature_,
_Your Charming Handsome Feature_,
_Has set me all on Fire_,
_You know what I desire_,
_There is no harm to Love_;
Quoth she if that's your Notion,
To Preach up such Devotion,
Such hopeful Guides as you, Sir,
Will half the World undo, Sir,
A Halter is your due, Sir,
If you such Tricks approve.
The Parson still more eager,
Than lustful _Turk_ or _Neger_,
Took up her Lower Garment,
And said there was no harm in't,
According to the Text;
For _Solomon_ more wiser,
Than any dull adviser,
Had many Hundred Misses,
To Crown his Royal Wishes,
And why shou'd such as this is,
Make you so sadly vext.
The frighted female Quaker,
Perceiv'd what he would make her,
Was forc'd to call the Watch in,
And stop what he was hatching,
To spoil the Light within, _&c._
They came to her Assistance,
And she did make resistance,
Against the Priest and Devil,
The Actors of all Evil,
Who were so Grand uncivil,
To tempt a Saint to Sin.
The Parson then confounded,
To see himself surrounded,
With Mob and sturdy Watch-men,
Whose Business 'tis to catch Men,
In Lewdness with a Punk, _&c._
He made some faint Excuses,
And all to hide Abuses,
In taking up the Linnen,
Against the Saints Opinion,
Within her soft Dominion,
Alledging he was Drunk.
But tho' he feigned Reeling,
They made him Pay for feeling,
And Lugg'd him to a Prison,
To bring him to his Reason,
Which he had lost before;
And thus we see how Preachers,
That should be Gospel-Teachers,
How they are strangely blinded,
And are so Fleshly minded,
Like Carnal Men inclined,
To lye with any Whore.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ DAMASCENE.
Beauty, like Kingdoms not for one,
Was made to be possest alone;
By bounteous Nature 'twas design'd,
To be the Joy of Human-kind.
So the bright Planet of the Day,
Doth unconfin'd his Beams display;
And generous heat to all dispence,
Which else would dye without that Influence.
Nor is your mighty Empire less,
On you depends Man's Happiness;
If you but frown, we cease to be,
And only live by your Decree.
But sure a Tyrant cannot rest,
Nor harbour in so fair a Breast;
In Monsters Cruelty we find,
An Angel's Face, must have an Angel's Mind.
_The_ BALLAD _of the True_ TROJAN.
[Music:
_Troy_ had a breed of brave stout Men,
yet _Greece_ made shift to rout her;
cause each Man Drank as much as Ten,
and thence grew ten times stouter:
Tho' _Hector_ was a _Trojan_
true as ever pist 'gain wall Sir,
_Achilles_ bang'd him black and blue, for he Drank more than all Sir,
for he Drank more, for he drank more, for he drank more than all Sir,
for he drank more, for he drank more, for he drank more than all Sir.]
Let _Bacchus_ be our God of War,
We shall fear nothing then Boys;
We'll Drink all dead, and lay 'em to Bed,
And if they wake not Conquered,
We'll Drink 'em dead again Boys:
Nor were the _Grecians_ only fam'd,
For Drinking and for fighting;
For he that Drank and wan't asham'd,
Was ne'er asham'd on's Writing.
He that will be a Souldier then,
Or Wit, must drink good Liquor;
It makes base Cowards Fight like Men,
And roving Thoughts fly quicker:
Let _Bacchus_ be both God of War,
And God of Wit, and then Boys,
We'll Drink and fight, and Drink and write,
And if the Sun set with his Light,
We'll Drink him up again Boys.
_Young_ STREPHON _and_ PHILLIS.
[Music]
Young _Strephon_ and _Phillis_,
They sat on a Hill;
But the Shepherd was wanton,
And wou'd not sit still:
His Head on her Bosom,
And Arms round her Wast;
He hugg'd her, and kiss'd her,
And clasp'd her so fast:
'Till playing and jumbling,
At last they fell tumbling;
And down they got 'em,
But oh! they fell soft on the Grass at the Bottom.
As the Shepherdess tumbled,
The rude Wind got in,
And blew up her Cloaths,
And her Smock to her Chin:
The Shepherd he saw
The bright _Venus_, he swore,
For he knew her own Dove,
By the Feathers she wore:
'Till furious Love sallying,
At last he fell dallying,
And down, down he got him,
But oh! oh how sweet, and how soft at the Bottom.
The Shepherdess blushing,
To think what she'd done;
Away from the Shepherd,
She fain wou'd have run:
Which _Strephon_ perceiving,
The wand'rer did seize;
And cry'd do be angry,
Fair Nymph if you please:
'Tis too late to be cruel,
Thy Frowns my dear Jewel,
Now no more Stings have got 'em,
For oh! Thou'rt all kind, and all soft at the Bottom.
_The Yielding_ LASS.
[Music]
There's none so Pretty,
As my sweet _Betty_,
She bears away the Bell;
For sweetness and neatness,
And all Compleatness,
All other Girls doth excell.
Whenever we meet,
She'll lovingly greet,
Me still, with a how d'ye do;
Well I thank you, quoth I,
Then she will reply,
So am I Sir, the better for you.
Then I ask'd her how,
She told me, not now,
For Walls, and Ears, and Eyes;
Nay, she bid me take heed,
What ever I did,
'Tis good to be merry and Wise.
I took her by th' Hand,
She did not withstand,
And I gave her a smirking Kiss;
She gave me another,
Just like the tother,
Quoth I, what a Comfort is this?
This put me in Heart,
To play o'er my part,
That I had intended before;
She bid me to hold,
And not be too bold,
Until she had fastned the Door.
She went to the Hatch,
To see that the Latch,
And Cranies were all cock-sure;
And when she had done,
She bid me come on,
For now we were both secure.
And what we did there,
I dare not declare,
But think that silence is best;
And if you will know,
Why I Kiss'd her, or so,
I'll leave you to guess at the rest.
_The Praise of_ HULL _Ale_.
[Music]
Let's wet the whistle of the Muse,
That sings the praise of every Juice,
This House affords for Mortal use,
_Which no Body can deny_.
Here's Ale of _Hull_, which 'tis well known,
Kept _King_ and _Keyser_ out of Town,
Now in, will never hurt the Crown,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Here's _Lambeth_ Ale to cool the Maw,
And Beer as spruce as e'er you saw,
But Mum as good as Man can draw,
_Which no Body_, &c.
If Reins be loose as some Mens Lives,
Whereat the Purling Female grieves,
Here's stitch-Back that will please your Wives,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Here's Cyder too, ye little wot,
How oft 'twill make ye go to Pot,
'Tis Red-streak all, or it is not,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Here's Scholar that has doft his Gown,
And donn'd his Cloak and come to Town,
'Till all's up drink his College down,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Here's _North_-down, which in many a Case,
Pulls all the Blood into the Face,
Which blushing is a sign of Grace,
_Which no Body_, &c.
If Belly full of Ale doth grow,
And Women runs in Head you know,
Old _Pharoah_ will not let you go,
_Which no Body can deny._
Here's that by some bold Brandy hight,
Which _Dutch-men_ use in Case of fright,
Will make a Coward for to Fight,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Here's _China_ Ale surpasseth far,
What _Munden_ vents at _Temple-bar_,
'Tis good for Lords and Ladies Ware,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Here's of _Epsom_ will not Fox
You, more than what's drawn out of Cocks
Of _Middleton_, yet cures the Pox,
_Which no Body_, &c.
For ease of Heart, here's that will do't,
A Liquor you may have to boot,
Invites you or the Devil to't,
_Which no Body_, &c.
For Bottle Ale, though it be windy,
Whereof I cannot chuse but mind ye,
I would not have it left behind ye,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Take Scurvy-Grass, or Radish Ale,
'Twill make you like a Horse to Stale,
And cures whatsoever you Ail,
_Which no Body_, &c.
For Country Ales, as that of _Chess_,
Or of _Darby_ you'll confess,
The more you Drink, you'll need the less,
_Which no Body_, &c.
But one thing must be thought upon,
for Morning-Draught when all is done,
A Pot of Purl for _Harrison_,
_Which no Body can deny_.
_The_ NEWS _Monger. To the same Tune._
Let's Sing as one may say the Fate
Of those that meddle with this and that,
And more than comes to their shares do Prate,
_Which no Body can deny._
Such, who their Wine and Coffee Sip,
And let fall Words 'twixt Cup and Lip,
To scandal of good Fellowship,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Those Clubbers who when met and sate,
Where every Seat is Chair of State,
As if they only knew what's what,
_Which no Body_, &c.
D---- me says one, were I so and so,
Or as the King, I know what I know,
The Devil to wood with the _French_ should go,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Would the King Commission grant
To me, were _Lewis_, _John_ of _Gaunt_,
I'd beat him, or know why I shant,
_Which no Body_, &c.
I'd undertake bring Scores to Ten,
Of mine at Hours-warning-Men,
To make _France_ tremble once again,
_Which no Body_, &c.
The Claret takes, yet e'er he Drinks,
Cries Pox o'th' _French-men_, but methinks
It must go round to my Brother,
_Which no Body_, &c.
He's the only Citizen of Sence,
And Liberty is his Pretence,
And has enough of Conscience,
_Which no Body_, &c.
The Bully that next to him sat,
With a Green Livery in his Hat,
Cry'd what a Plague would the _French_ be at,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Z---- had the King without Offence,
Been rul'd by me, you'd seen long since,
Chastisement for their Insolence,
_Which no Body_, &c.
They take our Ships, do what they please,
Were ever play'd such Pranks as these,
As if we were not Lord o'th' Seas,
_Which no Body_, &c.
I told the King on't th' other Day,
And how th' Intrigues o'th' matter lay,
But Princes will have their own way,
_Which no Body_, &c.
The next Man that did widen Throat,
Was wight in half pil'd Velvet Coat,
But he, and that not worth a Groat,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Who being planted next the Door,
(Pox on him for a Son of Whore)
Inveighs against the Embassador,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Had the King (quoth he) put me upon't,
You should have found how I had don't,
But now you see what has come on't,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Quoth he if such an Act had stood,
That was designed for Publick good,
'Thad pass'd more than is understood,
_Which no Body_, &c.
But now forsooth our strictest Laws,
Are 'gainst the Friends o'th' good old Cause,
And if one Hangs, the other Draws,
_Which no Body_, &c.
But had I but so Worthy been,
To sit in Place that some are in,
I better had advis'd therein,
_Which no Body_, &c.
I am one that firm doth stand,
For Manufactures of the Land,
Then Cyder takes in, out of hand,
_Which no Body_, &c.
This _English_ Wine (quoth he) and Ale,
Our Fathers drank before the Sale
Of Sack on Pothecarys Stall
_Which no Body_, &c.
These Outlandish drinks, quoth he,
The _French_, and _Spanish_ Foppery,
They tast too much of Popery,
_Which no Body_, &c.
And having thus their Verdicts spent,
Concerning King and Parliament,
They Scandalize a Government,
_Which no Body_, &c.
An Hierarchy by such a Prince,
As may be said without Offence,
None e'er could boast more Excellence,
_Which no Body_, &c.
God bless the King, the Queen and Peers,
Our Parliament and Overseers,
And rid us of such Mutineers,
_Which no Body can deny_.
_A_ SATYR _on the Times. To the foregoing Tune._
A World that's full of Fools and Mad-men,
Of over-glad, and over-sad Men,
With a few good, but many bad Men,
_Which no Body can deny_.
So many Cheats and close Disguises,
So many Down for one that Rises,
So many Fops for one that Wise is,
_Which no Body_, &c.
So many Women ugly Fine,
Their inside Foul, their outside shine,
So many Preachers few Divines,
_Which no Body_, &c.
So many of Religious Sect,
Who quite do mis-expound the Text,
About ye know not what perplext,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Many Diseases that do fill ye,
Many Doctors that do kill ye,
Few Physicians that do heal ye,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Many Lawyers that undo ye,
But few Friends who will stick to ye,
And other Ills that do pursue ye,
_Which no Body_, &c.
So many Tradesmen Lyars,
So many cheated Buyers,
As even Numeration tyers,
_Which no Body_, &c.
So many loose ones and high-flying,
Who live as if there were no dying,
Heaven and Hell, and all defying,
_Which no Body_, &c.
So many under Scanty Fates,
Who yet do live at lofty rates,
And make show of great Estates,
_Which no Body_, &c.
And if they will not take Offence,
Many great Men of little Sense,
Who yet to Politicks make Pretence,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Many meriting lower Fate,
Have Title, Office, and Estate,
Their Betters waiting at their Gate,
_Which no Body_, &c.
The Worthless meet with higher Advances,
As the Wise bestower Fancies,
To the Worthy nothing chances,
_Which no Body_, &c.
The Worthy and the Worthless Train,
Modest, silent, nothing gain,
Impudent begging all obtain,
_Which no Body_, &c.
A World wherein is Plenteous store,
Of Foppish, Rich, Ingenious Poor,
Neglected beg from Door to Door,
_Which no Body_, &c.
A World compos'd, 'tis strange to tell,
Of seeming Paradise, yet real Hell,
Yet all agree to lov't too well,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Where Pious, Lew'd, the Fool, the Wise,
The one like to the other dies,
And leaves a World of Vanities,
_Which no Body_, &c.
Proud and Covetous, Beaus and Bullies,
Like one o'your musing Melanchollies,
I cry for their Ill's, and laugh at their Follies,
_Which no Body can deny_.
LUCINDA _has the Devil and all. By Mr._ H. Hall.
[Music]
_Lucinda_ has the de'el and all, the de'el and all, the de'el and
all,
Of that bright Thing we Beauty call;
But if she won't come to my Arms,
What care I, why, what care I, what, what care I for all her Charms?
Beauty's the Sauce to Love's high Meat,
But who minds Sauce that must not Eat:
It is indeed a mighty Treasure,
But in using lies the Pleasure;
Bullies thus, that only see't,
Damn all the Gold, damn all the Gold, all, all the Gold in
_Lombard-street_.
_Queen_ ELIZABETH'S _Farewel_.
[Music]
I'll tell you all, both great and small,
I tell you all truly;
That we have cause, and very great cause,
For to lament and cry,
Fye, Oh! fye, oh! fye, oh! fye!
Fye on thee cruel Death!
For thou hast ta'en away from us!
Our Queen _Elizabeth_.
Thou mayst have taken other Folks,
That better might be mist;
And have let our Queen alone,
Who lov'd no Popish Priest:
In Peace she rul'd all this Land,
Beholding unto no Man,
And did the Pope of _Rome_ withstand,
And yet was but a Woman.
A Woman said I? nay, that is more,
Than any one can tell;
So Fair she was, so Chast she was,
That no one knew it well!
With that, from _France_ came _Monsieur_ o'er,
A purpose for to Wooe her;
Yet still she liv'd and Dy'd a Maid,
Do what they could unto her.
She never acted any Ill thing,
Which made her Conscience prick her;
Nor never would submit to him,
That call'd is Christ's Vicar:
But rather chose couragiously,
To fight under Christ's Banner;
'Gainst _Pope_ and _Turk_, and King of _Spain_,
And all that durst withstand her.
But if that I had _Argus's_ Eyes,
They were too few to Weep;
For our Queen _Elizabeth_,
That now is fall'n asleep:
Asleep indeed, where she shall rest,
Until the Day of Doom:
And then she shall rise unto the Shame
Of the great Pope of _Rome_.
_The same in_ LATIN.
_Vobis magnis parvis dicam,
Et sum veredicus;
Offerri causam maximam,
Esse in tristibus,
VÊ tibi mors! malum tibi!
Pro mortem tetricam!
Tu enim nobis dempsisti,
Reginam_ Elizam.
_Poteras plures capere,
Citra injuriam;
Reginamq; non rapere,
Anti-sacri-colam:_
_QuietË gentem hÊc Rexit,
Nulliq; devincta,
Papamque_ RomÊ _despexit,
Et tandem FÊmella_.
_Ah, ah, quid dixi FÊmella?
De hoc fama silet;
Adeo fuit casta-Bella,
Ut nemini liquet:
En Dux_ Andinus _adiit,
Illam petiturus;
Virgo vixit & obiit,
HÊc nihilominus_.
_Nec mali quid hÊc effecit,
ConscientiÊ stimulo;
Nec semet ipsam subjecit,
Christi-vicario:
At maluit magnamimis,
Sub Christi vexellis,
Pugnare cum_ Pap‚, Turcis,
_Ac multis aliis_.
_Sin mihi_ Argi _oculi,
Deessent LachrymÊ_;
ElizabethÊ _fletui,
Nuper demortuÊ,
De nata hic obdormiet,
Die novissimo:
Et tunc expergefaciet,
Pap‚ propudio_.
_The Pressing Constable. Set by Mr._ Leveridge.
[Music]
I Am a cunning Constable,
And a Bag of Warrants I have here,
To Press sufficient Men, and able,
At _Horn-castle_ to appear:
But now-a-days they're grown so cunning,
That hearing of this Martial strife;
They all away from hence are running,
_Where I miss the Man, I'll press the Wife._
Ho, who's at Home? Lo, here am I,
Good-morrow Neighbour. Welcome, Sir;
Where is your Husband? Why truly
He's gone abroad, a Journey far:
Do you not know when he comes back?
See how these Cowards fly for Life!
The King for Soldiers must not lack,
_If I miss the Man, I'll take the Wife._
Shew me by what Authority
You do it? Pray Sir, let me know;
It is sufficient for to see,
The Warrant hangs in Bag below:
Then pull it out, if it be strong,
With you I will not stand at strife:
My Warrant is as broad as long,
_If I miss the Man, I'll Press the Wife._
Now you have Prest me and are gone,
Please you but let me know your Name;
That when my Husband he comes home,
I may declare to him the same:
My Name is Captain _Ward_, I say,
I ne'er fear'd Man in all my life:
The King for Soldiers must not stay,
_Missing the Man, I'll Press the Wife._
_The same in_ LATIN.
_Astutus Constabularius,
Mandata gero in tergore:
Cincturos evocaturus_,
Cornu-Castello _affore:
At hodiË adeÚ sapiunt,
Audit‚ lite Bellic‚,
Omnes abhinc profugiunt_,
Virum supplebit F[oe]mina.
_Ecquisnam domi En ego
Salve. Sis salvus, Domine:
Ubinam Vir est? Haud nego,
Procul abest in itinere:
N‡m es ignara redit˚s?
Ut fugiunt pro tutamine!
Non egeat Rex Militibus_,
Viros supplebunt F[oe]minÊ.
_HÊc quo Guaranto factitas,
AmbÚ dicas, Domine?
Sufficiat ut videas,
Quod pendet abdomine;
Educas, si vim habeat,
Tecum nolam certamina,
Pro ratione, voluntas stat_,
Virum supplebit F[oe]minÊ.
_Compress‚ me, ituro te,
Si placet, reddas nomina.
Sic ut reverso conjuge,
Illi declarem omnia_,
Ward _ducor Capitaneus,
Sat notus pro magnanime
Non egeat Rex milibus_,
Viros supplebunt F[oe]minÊ.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.
[Music]
Love is a Bauble,
No Man is able,
To say, it is this, or 'tis that;
An idle Passion,
Of such a Fashion,
'Tis like I cannot tell what.
Fair in the Cradle,
Foul in the Saddle,
Always too cold, or too hot;
An errant Lyar,
Fed by Desire,
It is, and yet it is not.
Love is a Fellow,
Clad all in Yellow,
The Canker-worm of the Mind;
A privy Mischief,
And such a sly Thief,
No Man knows where him to find.
Love is a Wonder,
'Tis here, and 'tis yonder,
'Tis common to all Men, we know;
A very Cheater,
Ev'ry ones better,
Then hang him, and let him go.
_The same in_ LATIN.
_Amor est Pegma,
Merum ∆nigma,
Quid sit nemo detegat:
Vesana Passio,
Cui nulla ratio,
Parem natura negat_.
_Cunis formosus,
Sell‚ C[oe]nosus,
Calor, aut frigiditas:
Furens Libido,
Dicta cupido,
Est, & non est entitas_.
_Amor amasius,
Totus silaceus,
Est Eruca animi;
Deditus malis,
Ac prÊdo qualis,
Non inventus ullibi_.
_Hic & ubiq;
Compar utriq;
Ad stuporem agitat:
Nullus deterior,
Quovis superior,
In malam rem abeat._
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.
[Music]
Young _Strephon_ he has Woo'd me long,
And Courted me with Pipe and Song;
But I a silly, silly peevish Twit,
For want of Sense, for want of Wit,
Have phoo'd, and cry'd,
Have pish'd, and fy'd,
And play'd the fool, and lost my Time,
And almost slipp'd, and almost slipp'd,
And almost slipp'd my Maiden Prime.
But now I thank my gracious Heav'n,
I hope my faults are all forgiven;
I've struck the Bargain, eas'd my pain,
And am resolv'd to take my Swain:
To phoo, and cry,
And pish, and fye,
And make a Virgin's coy Pretence,
Is all, all, all, is all, all, all, is all, all, all,
For want of Sense.
_A_ SONG. Tune, _How happy's the Lover_.
How happy's that Husband who after few Years,
Of railing and brawling, Confusion and Folly,
Shall see his Lantipley drown'd in her Tears,
Then prithee _Alexis_ be Jolly, be Jolly,
Then prithee _Alexis_ be Jolly.
_A_ Song. _Set by Mr._ Leveridge.
[Music:
Fortune is blind
and Beauty unkind,
the Devil take 'em both,
one is a witch,
& tothere's a bitch
in neither's Faith or Troth:
There's hazard in hap,
deceit in a Lap,
But no fraud in a Brimmer;
If truth in the bottom lye,
thence to redeem her we'll drain,
we'll drain, we'll drain,
we'll drain the whole Ocean dry.]
Honour's a Toy,
For Fools a Decoy,
Beset with Care and Fear;
And that (I wuss)
Kills many a Puss,
Before her clymacht Year:
But freedom and mirth,
Create a new Birth,
While Sack's the _Aqua VitÊ_,
That Vigour and Spirit gives,
Liquor Almighty!
Whereby the poor Mortal lives.
Let us be blith,
In spight of Death's Syth,
And with an Heart and half,
Drink to our Friends,
And think of no Ends,
But keep us sound and safe:
While Healths do go round,
No Malady's found,
The Maw-sick in the Morning,
For want of his wonted strain;
Is as a Warning,
To double it over again.
Let us maintain
Our Traffique with _Spain_,
And both the _Indies_ slight;
Give us their Wines,
Let them keep their Mines,
We'll pardon Eighty Eight:
There's more certain Wealth
Secur'd from stealth,
In one Pipe of Canary,
Than in an unfortunate Isle;
Let us be wary,
We do not our selves beguile.
_The_ LATIN _to the foregoing_ SONG.
_Sors sine visu,
Form·q; Risu,
Sint pro DÊmone;
HÊc malefica,
Ita venefica,
Fallax utraque;
Sors mea est fors,
Sin˘sque vecors,
Sed fraus nulla; tu toto
In fundo si veritas sit,
Potu Epoto,
Oceanus situs fit._
_Honor & lusus,
Stultis illusus,
Car‚ catenat‚,
H‚cque (ut fatur)
Catus necatur,
Morte non parat‚:
Dum vero GrÊcamur,
Non Renovamur,
Nam Aqua VitÊ vinum,
Vires spirit˙sque dat,
Idque dicunum,
A morte nos Elevat._
_Fam simus lÊti,
Spret‚ vi lethi,
Cordatissime:
Ut Combibones
(non ut gnathones)
Saxti-rectique:
Dum proculÊ Spument,
Morbi absument:
Ac manË Corpus Onustum,
PrÊ alienatione,
Acuit gustum,
Pro Iteratione_.
_Prestet quotannis,
Merks cum_ Hispanis,
India _sit sola;
Vinum prÊbeant,
Aurum teneant,
Absit spinola:
Sunt opes, pro certo,
Magis ‡ furto,
In Vini potione,
Quam Terra Incognit‚;
Pro cautione,
Ne nobis fit subdola._
_The Raree-show, from Father_ HOPKINS.
[Music]
From Father _Hopkins_, whose Vein did inspire him,
_Bays_ sends this Raree-show publick to view;
Prentices, Fops and their Footmen admire him,
Thanks Patron, Painter, and Monsieur _Grabeau_.
Each Actor on the Stage his luck bewailing,
Finds that his loss is Infallibly true;
_Smith_, _Nokes_, and _Leigh_ in a Feaver with railing,
Curse Poet, Painter, and Monsieur _Grabeau_.
_Betterton_, _Betterton_, thy Decorations,
And the Machines were well written we knew;
But all the Words were such stuff we want Patience,
And little better is Monsieur _Grabeu_.
D---- me says _Underhill_, I'm out two hundred,
Hoping that Rain-bows and Peacocks would do;
Who thought infallible _Tom_ could have blunder'd,
A Plague upon him and Monsieur _Grabeu_.
_Lane_ thou hast no Applause for thy Capers,
Tho' all without thee would make a Man spew;
And a Month hence will not pay for the Tapers,
Spite of _Jack Laureat_ and Monsieur _Grabeu_.
_Bays_ thou wouldst have thy Skill thought universal,
Tho' thy dull Ear be to Musick untrue;
Then whilst we strive to confute the _Rehearsal_,
Prithee learn thrashing of Monsieur _Grabeu_.
With thy dull Prefaces still thou wouldst treat us,
Striving to make thy dull Bauble look fair;
So the horn'd Herd of the City do cheat us,
Still most commending the worst of their Ware.
Leave making _Opera's_, and Writing _Lyricks_,
'Till thou hast Ears and canst alter thy strain;
Stick to thy Talent of bold Panegyricks,
And still remember the breathing the Vein.
Yet if thou thinkest the Town will extol 'em,
Print thy dull Notes, but be thrifty and Wise;
Instead of Angels subscrib'd for the Volume,
Take a round Shilling, and thank my Advice.
In imitating thee this may be charming,
Gleaning from Laureats is no shame at all;
And let this Song be sung the next performing,
Else ten to one but the Prices will fall.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Abroad as I was walking, I spy'd two Maids a wrestling,
The one threw the other unto the Ground;
One Maid she let a Fart, struck the other to the Heart,
Was not this a grievous Wound?
This Fart it was heard into Mr. _Bowman's_ Yard,
With a great and a mighty Power;
For ought that I can tell, it blew down _Bridwell_,
And so overcame the _Tower_.
It blew down _Paul's_ Steeple, and knock'd down many People,
Alack was the more the pity;
It blew down _Leaden-hall_, and the Meal-sacks and all,
And the Meal flew about the City.
It blew down the _Exchange_, was not this very strange,
And the Merchants of the City did wound;
This Maid she like a Beast, turn'd her fugo to the _East_,
And it roar'd in the Air like Thunder.
_The Jolly_ PEDLAR's _Pretty Thing_.
[Music]
A Pedlar proud as I heard tell,
He came into a Town:
With certain Wares he had to sell,
Which he cry'd up and down:
At first of all he did begin,
With Ribbonds, or Laces, Points, or Pins,
Gartering, Girdling, Tape, or Filleting,
_Maids any Cunny-skins_.
I have of your fine perfumed Gloves,
And made of the best Doe-skin;
Such as young Men do give their Loves,
When they their Favour Win:
Besides he had many a prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.
I have of your fine Necklaces,
As ever you did behold;
And of your Silk Handkerchiefs,
That are lac'd round with Gold:
Besides he had many a prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.
Good fellow, says one, and smiling sat,
Your Measure does somewhat Pinch;
Beside you Measure at that rate,
It wants above an Inch:
And then he shew'd her a prettier Thing,
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.
The Lady was pleas'd with what she had seen,
And vow'd and did protest;
Unless he'd shew it her once again,
She never shou'd be at rest:
With that he shew'd her his prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.
With that the Pedlar began to huff,
And said his Measure was good,
If that she pleased to try his stuff,
And take it whilst it stood:
And than he gave her a prettier Thing,
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.
Good fellow said she, when you come again,
Pray bring good store of your Ware;
And for new Customers do not sing,
For I'll take all and to spare:
With that she hugg'd his prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds, or Laces, Points, or Pins,
Gartering, Girdling, Tape, or Filleting,
Maids any Cunny-skins_.
_A_ SONG, _by Mr._ ESCOURT, _To a Tune of Mr._ WELDON'S.
[Music]
The Ordinance a-board,
Such Joys does afford,
As no mortal, no mortal, no mortal, no mortal, no
mortal e'er more can desire;
Each Member repairs,
From the _Tower_ to the stairs,
And by water, by water, by water, they all go to fire.
Of each Piece that's a-shore,
They search from the bore,
And to proving, to proving, to proving, to proving, to
proving, they go in fair Weather;
Their Glasses are large,
And whene'er they discharge,
There's a boo huzza, a boo huzza, a boo huzza, Guns
and Bumpers go off together.
Old _Vulcan_ for _Mars_,
Fitted Tools for his Wars,
To enable him, enable him, enable him, enable him,
enable him to conquer the faster;
But had _Mars_ ever been
Upon our _Wolwich_ Green,
To have heard boo, huzza, boo, huzza, boo, huzza,
he'd have own'd Great _Marlborough_ his Master.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
A Young Man and a Maid, _put in all, put in all_,
Together lately play'd, _put in all_;
The Young Man was in Jest,
O the Maid she did protest:
She bid him do his best, _put in all, put in all_.
With that her rowling Eyes, _put_, &c.
Turn'd upward to the Skies, _put_, &c.
My Skin is White you see,
My Smock above my Knee,
What wou'd you more of me, _put_, &c.
I hope my Neck and Breast, _put_, &c.
Lie open to your chest, _put in all_,
The Young Man was in heat,
The Maid did soundly Sweat,
A little farther get, _put_, &c.
According to her Will, _put_, &c.
This Young Man try'd his Skill, _put in all_;
But the Proverb plain does tell,
That use them ne'er so well,
For an Inch they'd take an Ell, _put_, &c.
When they had ended sport, _put_, &c.
She found him all too short, _put in all_;
For when he'd done his best,
The Maid she did protest,
'Twas nothing but a Jest, _put in all, put in all_.
_A_ SONG. _The Words by_ JO. HAINS, _Set by Mr._ CHURCH.
[Music]
I Courted and Writ,
Shew'd my Love and my Wit,
And still pretty _Flavia_ deny'd;
'Twas her Virtue I thought,
Made me prove such a Sot,
To adore her the more for her Pride:
'Till I happen'd to sit,
By her Mask'd in a Pit,
Whilst a crowd of gay Beaus held her play;
When so wantonly free,
Was her smart Repartee,
I was cur'd and went blushing, went blushing away.
How Lovers Mistake,
The Addresses they make,
When they swear to be Constant and true;
For all the Nymphs hold,
Tho' the Sport be still old,
That their Play-mates must ever be new:
Each pretty new Toy,
How they'll long to enjoy,
And then for a newer will Pine;
But when they perceive,
Others like what they leave,
Then they cry for their Bauble again.
PERKIN _in a_ Cole-Sack: _Or, the_ Collier's _Buxome Wife of St._
James's.
[Music]
Come all that are disposed a while,
And listen to my Story;
I shall not you of ought beguile,
But plainly lay before ye:
How Buxome _Ruth_ had often strove,
With no small Pains and Labour;
Her own Sufficiency to prove,
By many a Brawny Neighbour.
She oft was heard for to Complain,
But still with little Profit;
That Nature made her Charms in vain,
Unless some good come of it:
Her Booby seldom was at home,
And therefore could not please her;
Which made more welcome Guest to come,
In Charity to ease her.
Her wishes all were for an Heir,
Tho' _Venus_ still refus'd her;
Which made the pensive Sinner Swear
The Goddess had abus'd her:
And since her Suit she did deny,
To shew her good Intention;
She was resolv'd her self to try
An Old, but rare Invention.
Abroad by known Example taught,
To one with Child she hasts her;
Whereby five Guineas which she brought,
The Bargain is made fast, Sir:
The Infant soon as brought to light,
(For so they had agreed it)
Must fall to Buxome _Ruth_ by right,
To save her sinking Credit.
Her petticoats with Cushions rear'd,
Her Belly struts before her;
Her _Ben's_ Abilitys are prais'd,
And he poor Fool adores her.
Her Stomach sick, and squeamish grown,
She pewkes like Breeding Woman,
While he is proud to make it known,
That he has prov'd a true Man.
Nine Months compleat, the trusty Dame,
Her Pain she finds increases;
While _Ruth_ affected with the same,
Makes ugly and wry Faces:
And now a Coach must needs be had,
The Brat to shake about, Sir;
But e'er return'd _Ben_ was a Dad,
For _Perkin_ had crept out, Sir.
The good Ale Firkin strait is tapp'd,
And Women all are Jolly;
While no one in her round is 'scap'd,
For fear of Melancholy:
And _Ruth_ in Bed could in her turn,
Tho' modest of Behaviour;
With all her Heart a Bob have born,
Had she not fear'd a Feaver.
Thus Jovially the time they spend,
In Merriment and Quaffing;
Whilst each one does the Brat commend,
As _Ben_ did still keep Laughing:
And now to tell is my Intent,
How Fortune to Distaste her;
_Ruth's_ future Boasting did prevent,
By one most sad Disaster.
A Search was made at t'other Home,
By Overseers quick sighted;
The Mother to Confession comes,
By Threats being much Affrighted;
Thus all their Mirth at once was Cool,
Fate all their hopes did hamper;
So _Ben_ lives on the self same Fool,
Tho' _Ruth_ was forc'd to scamper.
_And if the Truth of this you doubt,
The Overseers can make it out._
_The Man of_ Honour: _Or, the Unconstant World turn'd upside down: To
the foregoing_ Tune.
How is the World transform'd of late,
In Country, Court, and City;
As if we were decreed by Fate,
To sing a mournful Ditty:
About the dismal change of Things,
There was no sooth in Fauner;
In the blest Reigns of former Kings,
_When I was a Man of Honour_.
I kept a Castle of my own,
With Land five Thousand Acres;
When old King _Harry_ grac'd the Throne,
Before the Time of Quakers:
My Doors and Gates stood open Wide,
I lackt no Ring nor Runner;
An Ox each Day I did provide,
_When I was_, &c.
My Guess all Day went in and out,
To Feast and cheer their Senses;
Could I but bring the Year about,
I grudg'd not my Expences:
My Talent was to feast the Poor,
I valu'd no Court Fauner;
Of Cooks I kept full half a Score,
_When I was_, &c.
When _Christmas_ Day was drawing near,
To Cheer and make them Merry;
I Broach'd my humming Stout _March_ Beer,
As brown as the Hawthorn Berry:
Of which there was not any lack,
I was my self the Donor;
'Twas fetch'd up in a Leathern _Jack_,
_When I was_, &c.
I never lay in Trades-mens Books,
For Gaudy Silks or Sattins;
Nor did I pay with Frowning looks,
Or broken Scraps of _Latin_:
They had my Gold and Silver free,
I fear'd not any Dunner;
All Men was glad to deal with me,
_When I was a Man of Honour_.
I never kept my _Hawkes_ and _Hounds_,
Or Lew'd and Wanton Misses;
I'd never sell or Mortgage Towns,
To purchase Charming Kisses:
Of those that seek their Prey by Night,
Each cunning Female Fauner;
My Lady was my Hearts Delight,
_When I was_, &c.
I never hid my Noble Head,
For any Debt contracted;
Nor from the Nation have I fled,
For Treasons basely Acted:
Nor did I in the least Rebel,
To make my self a Runner:
My Loyalty was known full well,
_When I was_, &c.
I never did betray my trust,
For Bribes more sweet than Honey;
Nor was I false, or so unjust,
To sink the Nations Money:
My _Lands_ and _Livings_ to enlarge,
By wronging each good Donor:
I Built not at the Nation's Charge,
_When I was_, &c.
We find now in these latter Days,
Some Men hath delegated;
From Truth, and found out greedy ways,
This should be regulated:
And act henceforth with Heart and Hand,
Oppose the Sons of _Bonner_;
I lov'd my King and serv'd my Land,
_When I was_, &c.
For Bounty, Love and large Relief,
For Noble Conversation;
For easing the poor Widows Grief,
In Times of Lamentation:
For House of Hospitality,
I'll challenge any Donor;
There's few or none that can outvey,
_King_ Henry's _Man of Honour_.
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ FRANK.
Fickle Bliss, fantastick Treasure,
Love how soon, how soon,
How soon thy Joys, are past?
Since we soon must lose the Pleasure,
Oh! 'twere better ne'er to tast:
Gods! How sweet would be possessing,
Did not Time its Charms destroy;
Or could Lovers with the Blessing,
Lose the Thoughts of _Cupid's_ Joy:
Lose the Thoughts, the Thoughts,
The Thoughts of _Cupid's_ Joy.
Cruel Thoughts, that pain yet please me,
Ah! no more my rest destroy;
Shew me still if you would ease me,
Love's Deceits, but not it's Joy:
Gods what kind, yet cruel Powers,
Force my Will to rack my Mind!
Ah! too long we wait for Flowers,
Too, too soon, to fade design'd.
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ Akeroyde.
[Music]
That scornful _Sylvia's_ Chains I wear,
The Groves and Streams can tell;
Those blasted with my Sighs appear,
These with my Tears my Tears, o're swell.
But Sighs and Tears bring no redress,
And Love that sees, that sees me grieve;
Conspires with _Sylvia_ to oppress,
The Heart he should relieve.
The God that should reward my Pain,
Makes _Sylvia_ more my Foe:
As She encreases in Disdain,
He makes my Passion grow:
And must I, must I still admire,
Those Eyes that cause my Grief?
'Tis just, since I my self conspire
Against my own Relief.
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ ROBERT KING.
All own the Young _Sylvia_ is fatally Fair;
All own the Young _Sylvia_ is pretty;
Confess her good Nature, and easie soft Air,
Nay more, that's She's wanton and witty.
Yet all the keen Arrows at _Damon_ still cast,
Cou'd never, cou'd never, his quiet destroy,
'Till the cunning _Coquett_, shot me flying at last;
_By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy_,
_By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy._
So tho' the young _Sylvia_ were not very Fair,
Tho' she were but indifferently pretty;
Much wanting _Aurelia's_, or _CÊlia's_ soft Air,
But not the dull sence of the City:
Yet still the dear Creature wou'd please without doubt,
And give me abundance of Joy;
Since all that is missing is plainly made out,
_By a Jene say, Jene say quoy._
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ FRANK.
[Music]
A Swain in despair,
Cryed Women ne'er trust,
Alass they are all
Unkind or unjust.
A Nymph who was by,
Soon thus did reply;
The Men we all find
More false and unkind.
Except me he cryed,
And me She replyed,
Then try me said he,
I dare not said she:
The Swain did pursue,
Each alter'd their Mind:
She vow'd He was true,
He swore She was kind.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.
[Music]
Wo'as me poor Lass! what mun I do?
Gin I did my bonny _Sawney_ slight,
He now gangs a blither Lass to woo,
And I alene poor Lass ligs ev'ry Night.
Curse on Fickleness and Pride,
By which we silly Women are undone:
What my _Sawney_ begg'd and I deny'd
Alass! I long to grant, but now he's gone.
When he was kind I made a Strife,
Yet I then deny'd with mickle Woe;
For he su'd as gin, he begg'd for Life,
And almost dy'd poor Lad! when I said no:
Well I keen'd, he woo'd to wed,
Yet fear'd to own, I lov'd the canny Loon;
Ah would he have stay'd he might have sped,
Waa's me! why would my _Sawney_ gang so soon.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Richest Gift of lavish Nature,
Matchless darling of my Heart;
Ah! too dear, too charming Creature,
You on Earth a Heav'n impart.
Rapt in Pleasure past expressing,
I with Bliss almost expire;
Cou'd we still be thus possessing,
God's who would your State desire.
Kindling Glances quickning Kisses,
That like Time so soon are past;
Crowding Joys to eager Blisses,
Still renewing may you last:
Nor by a fantastick Fashion,
Being lawful please the less;
But may I indulge my Passion,
Blest in none but her I bless.
TOM _Tinker_.
[Music]
_Tom_ Tinker's my true love, and I am his Dear,
And I will go with him his Budget to bear;
For of all the young Men he has the best luck,
All the Day he will Fuddle, at Night he will ----
This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take Ill.
With Hammer on Kettle he tabbers all Day,
At Night he will tumble on Strumil or Hay;
He calls me his Jewel, his delicate Duck,
And then he will take up my Smicket to ----
_This way_, &c.
_Tom Tinker_ I say was a Jolly stout Lad,
He tickled young _Nancy_ and made her stark mad;
To have a new Rubbers with him on the Grass,
By reason she knew that he had a good ----
_This way_, &c.
There was an old Woman on Crutches she came,
To lusty _Tom Tinker_, _Tom Tinker_ by Name;
And tho' she was Aged near threescore and five,
She kickt up her Heels and resolved to ----
_This way_, &c.
A beautiful Damsel came out of the West,
And she was as Jolly and brisk as the best;
She'd Dance and she'd caper as wild as a Buck,
And told _Tom_ the _Tinker_, she would have some ----
_This way_, &c.
A Lady she call'd him her Kettle to mend,
And she resolved her self to attend;
Now as he stood stooping and mending the Brass,
His Breeches was torn and down hung his ----
_This way_, &c.
Something she saw that pleased her well,
She call'd in the _Tinker_ and gave him a spell;
With Pig, Goose and Capon, and good store of suck,
That he might be willing to give her some ----
_This way_, &c.
He had such a Trade that he turn'd me away,
Yet as I was going he caus'd me to stay;
So as towards him I was going to pass,
He gave me a slap in the Face with his ----
_This way_, &c.
I thought in my Heart he had struck off my Nose,
I gave him as good as he brought I suppose;
My Words they were ready and wonderful blunt,
Quoth I, I had rather been stobb'd in my ----
_This way_, &c.
I met with a Butcher a killing a Calf,
I then stepp'd to him and cryed out half:
At his first denial I fell very sick,
And he said it was all for a touch of his ----
_This way_, &c.
I met with a Fencer a going to School,
I told him at Fencing he was but a Fool;
He had but three Rapiers and they were all blunt,
And told him he should no more play at my ----
_This way_, &c.
I met with a Barber with Razor and Balls,
He fligger'd and told me for all my brave alls;
He would have a stroke, and his words they were blunt,
I could not deny him the use of my ----
_This way_, &c.
I met with a Fidler a Fidling aloud,
He told me he had lost the Case of his Croud;
I being good natur'd as I was wont,
Told him he should make a Case of my ----
_This way, and that way, and which way you can,
For the Fairest of Women will lye with a Man._
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ KING.
When on her Eyes,
When on her Eyes,
My happy Stars I gaze,
A strange Commotion seizes every part.
Fain would I speak, fain would I speak,
The cause of my Disease;
But fear to tell the Story of my Heart.
Her look severe,
Her look severe,
Yet O endearing awes,
Yet O endearing awes,
The Women's Envy,
The Women's Envy,
But Mankind's applause,
But Mankind's applause.
_Miss_ CUDDY.
[Music]
Poor _Sawney_ had marry'd a Wife,
And he knew not what to do with her;
For she'd eat more Barly-bread,
Then he knew how to give her:
We'll all sup together, we'll all sup, _&c._
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather.
We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather.
We'll put the Sheep's-head in the Pot,
The Wool and the Horns together;
And we will make Broth of that,
And we'll all sup together,
We'll all sup together, we'll all sup together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
We'll all lig together, _&c._
The Wool shall thicken the Broth,
The Horns shall serve for Bread,
By this you may understand,
The Virtue that's in a Sheep's-head:
And we'll all sup together, we'll all sup together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
And we'll all lig together, _&c._
Some shall lig at the Head,
And some shall lig at the Feet,
Miss _Cuddy_ wou'd lig in the middle,
Because she'd have all the Sheet:
We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
And we'll all lig together, _&c._
Miss _Cuddy_ got up in the Loft,
And _Sawney_ wou'd fain have been at her,
Miss _Cuddy_ fell down in her Smock,
And made the glass Windows to clatter:
We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
We'll all lig together, _&c._
The Bride she went to Bed,
The Bridegroom followed after,
The Fidler crepp'd in at the Feet,
And they all lig'd together,
We'll all lig together, _&c._
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.
[Music]
Beneath a cool Shade _Amaryllis_ was sate,
Complaining of Love and bemoaning her Fate;
Ah! she cry'd, why must Maids be so formal and Coy,
To deny what they think is their only true Joy?
And Custom impose on us so much ado,
When our Hearts are on fire, and Love bids us fall too;
And Custom impose on us so much ado,
When our hearts are on fire, and Love bids us fall too.
Young _Strephon_ was near her, and heard the Complaint,
He easily guest what the Damsel did want;
He rush'd in upon her, in Kisses reply'd,
Caught her fast in his Arms, she faintly deny'd:
What they did without study, we soon may divine,
'Twas _Strephon's_ Luck then, the next Minute be mine.
CLARINDA'S _Complaint_. _Tune of_ Ianthe _the Lovely_.
With sighing and wishing, and Green-sickness Diet,
With nothing of Pleasure, and little of Quiet;
With a Granum's Inspection, and Doctor's Direction,
But not the Specifick, that suits my Complexion:
The Flower of my Age is full blown in my Face,
Yet no Man considers, yet no Man considers
My comfortless Case.
Young Women were valued, as I have been told,
In the late times of Peace, above Mountains of Gold;
But now there is Fighting, we are nothing but sliting,
Few Gallants in Conjugal Matters delighting:
'Tis a shame that Mankind, should love killing and slaying
And mind not supplying the stock that's decaying.
Unlucky _Clarinda_, to love in a Season,
When _Mars_ has forgotten to do _Venus_ Reason;
Had I any Hand in Rule and Command,
I'd certainly make it a Law of the Land:
That killers of Men, to replenish the Store,
Be bound to the Wedlock, and made to get more.
Enacted moreover for better dispatch,
That where a good Captain meets with an o'ermatch,
His honest Lieutenant with Soldier-like Grace,
Shall relieve him on Duty, and serve in his Place:
Thus killers and slayers of able good Men,
Without beat of Drum may recruit 'em agen.
_A_ BALLAD _by the late Lord_ DORSET, _when at Sea_.
[Music]
To you fair Ladies now at Land,
We Men at Sea indite;
But first wou'd have you understand,
How hard it is to write:
The Muses now, and _Neptune_ too,
We must implore to write to you;
_With a Fa la, la, la, la_,
The Muses now, _&c._
But tho' the Muses should be kind,
And fill our empty Brain;
Yet if rough _Neptune_ cause the Wind,
To rouse the _Azure_ Main:
Our Paper, Pens, and Ink and we,
Rowl up and down our Ships at Sea,
_With a Fa la_, &c.
Then if we write not by each Post,
Think not that we're unkind;
Nor yet conclude that we are lost,
By _Dutch_, by _French_, or Wind,
Our grief will find a speedier way,
The Tide shall bring them twice a day,
_With a Fa la_, &c.
The King with wonder and surprize,
Will think the Seas grown bold;
For that the Tide does higher rise,
Then e'er it did of old:
But let him know that 'tis our Tears,
Sends floods of Grief to _White-Hall_ Stairs,
_With a Fa la_, &c.
Shou'd Count _Thoulouse_ but come to know,
Our sad and dismal Story;
The _French_ wou'd scorn so weak a Foe,
Where they can get no Glory:
For what resistance can they find,
From Men as left their Hearts behind,
_With a Fa la_, &c.
To pass our tedious time away,
We throw the merry Main;
Or else at serious _Ombra_ play,
But why shou'd we in vain,
Each others ruin thus pursue,
We were undone when we left you,
_With a Fa la_, &c.
When any mournful Tune you hear,
That dyes in e'ery Note;
As if it sigh'd for each Man's care,
For being so remote:
Think then how often Love we've made,
To you while all those Tunes were play'd,
_With a Fa la._, &c.
Let Wind and Weather do its worst,
Be you to us but kind;
Let _French-men_ Vapour, _Dutch-men_ Curse,
No Sorrows we shall find:
'Tis then no matter how things go,
Nor who's our Friend, nor who our Foe,
_With a Fa la._, &c.
Thus having told you all our Loves,
And likewise all our Fears;
In hopes this Declaration moves,
Some Pity to our Tears:
Let's hear of no Inconstancy,
We have too much of that at Sea,
_With a Fa, la, la, la, la._
_Bonny_ KATHERN LOGGY. _A_ Scotch SONG.
[Music]
As I came down the hey Land Town,
There was Lasses many,
Sat in a Rank, on either Bank,
And ene more gay than any;
Ise leekt about for ene kind Face,
And Ise spy'd _Willy Scroggy_;
Ise spir'd of him what was her Name,
And he caw'd her _Kathern Loggy_.
A sprightly bonny Gurl sha was,
And made my Heart to rise _Joe_;
Sha was so fair sa blith a Lass,
And Love was in her Eyes so:
Ise walkt about like ene possest,
And quite forgot poor _Moggy_;
For nothing now could give me rest,
But bonny _Kathern Loggy_.
My pratty _Katy_ then quoth I,
And many a Sigh I gave her;
Let not a Leard for _Katy_ die,
But take him to great Favour:
Sha laught aloud, and sa did aw,
And bad me hemward to ge;
And still cry'd out awaw, awaw,
Fro bonny _Kathern Loggy_.
A Fardel farther I would see,
And some began to muse me;
The Lasses they sat wittally,
And the Lads began to Rooze me:
The Blades with Beaus came down she knows,
Like ring Rooks fro _Strecy Boggy_;
And four and twanty _Highland_ Lads,
Were following _Kathern Loggy_.
When I did ken this muckle Trame,
And every ene did know her;
I spir'd of _Willy_ what they mean,
Quo he they aw do Mow her:
There's ne'er a Lass in aw _Scotland_,
From _Dundee_ to _Strecy Boggy_;
That has her Fort so bravely Mann'd,
As bonny _Kathern Loggy_.
At first indeed I needs must tell,
Ise could not well believe it;
But when Ise saw how fow they fell,
Ise could not but conceive it.
There was ne'er a Lad of any note,
Or any deaf young Roguey;
But he did lift the welly Coat,
Of bonny _Kathern Loggy_.
Had I kenn'd on Kittleness,
As I came o'er the Moore _Joe_;
Ise had n'er ban as Ise ha dun,
Nor e'er out-stankt my seln so:
For I was then so stankt with stint,
I spurr'd my aw'd Nagg _Fogey_;
And had I kenn'd sha had been a Whore,
I had ne'er Lov'd _Kathern Loggy_.
(_The_ Catholick _Brother_) _A_ SONG.
[Music]
Dear _Catholick_ brother are you come from the Wars,
So lame of your foots and your Face full of Scars;
To see your poor _Shela_ who with great grief was fill'd,
For you my dear Joy when I think you were kill'd.
_With a Fa la, la._
O my shoul my dear _Shela_, I'm glad you see me,
For if I were dead now, I could not see thee;
The Cuts in my Body, and the Scars in my Face,
I got them in Fighting for Her Majesty's Grace.
But oh my dear _Shela_ dost thou now love me,
So well as you did, e're I went to the Sea;
By _Cri----_ and St. _Pa----_ my dear Joy I do,
And we shall be Married to morrow Just now.
I'll make a Cabin for my dearest to keep off the Cold,
And I have a Guinea of yellow red Gold;
To make Three halfs of it I think will be best,
Give Two to my _Shela_ and the Tird to the _Priest_.
Old _Philemy_ my Father was full Fourscore Years old,
And tho' he be dead he'll be glad to be told;
That we Two are Married, my dear spare no cost,
But send him some Letter, upon the last Post.
_The Triumphs of_ PEACE, _or the_ WIDDOWS _and_ MAIDS _Rejoycing_.
[Music]
Dear Mother I am Transported,
To think of the boon Comrades;
They say we shall all be Courted,
Kind Widows as well as maids,
Oh! this will be joyful News:
_We'll dress up our Houses with Holly,
We'll broach a Tub of humming Bub,
To treat those that come with a rub a dub dub,
For dear Mother they'll make us Jolly._
Dear Mother to see them mounted,
'Twou'd tickle your Heart with Joy;
By me they all shall be counted,
Heroical Sons of _Troy_:
The Bells in the Steeples shall ring,
_We'll stick all our Houses with Holly_,
_We'll broach a Tub of humming Bub_,
_To treat those that comes with a rub a dub dub_,
_For dear Mother they'll make us Jolly_.
I'll dress me as fine as a Lady,
Against they come into the Town;
My Ribbonds are all bought ready,
My Furbelow-Scarf and Gown;
To pleasure the Warlike Boys,
_We'll dress up our Houses_, &c.
They are delicate brisk and Brawny,
Troth neither too lean nor fat;
No matter for being Tawny,
They're never the worse for that;
We'll give them a welcome Home,
_And dress up our Houses_, &c.
They come from the Field of Battle,
To quarter in Ladies Arms;
'Tis pretty to hear them Prattle,
And tell of their loud Alarms:
We'll Crown them with Garlands gay,
_And dress up our Houses_, &c.
Those boys are the Pride of _Britain_,
They love us and so they may;
Dear Mother it is but fitting,
We shou'd be as kind as they:
The Conduits shall run with Wine,
_We'll dress up our Houses_, &c.
Those battling Sons of Thunder,
Now at their returning back;
I know they will be for Plunder,
Virginities go to wrack:
But let them do what they please,
_We'll dress up our Houses_, &c.
_A_ SONG. _Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE _at the_ Theatre.
[Music]
Fill the Glass, fill, fill, fill the Glass,
Let Hautboys sound, whilst bright _Celinda_,
Bright _Celinda's_ Health go round.
Fill the Glass, fill, fill, fill the Glass,
Let Hautboys sound, whilst bright _Celinda_,
Bright _Celinda's_ Health goes round.
With eternal Beauty blest, ever blooming,
Ever blooming still be best;
Drink your Glass, drink your glass,
Drink your Glass and think,
Think, think the rest,
Drink your Glass and think,
Think, think the rest.
_An_ IRISH SONG.
Hub ub, ub, boo;
Hub ub, ub, boo;
Dish can't be true,
De War dees cease,
But der's no Peash,
I know and find,
'Tis Sheal'd and Sign'd,
But won't believe 'tis true,
Hub, ub, ub, boo, Hub ub, ub, boo.
_A hone, a hone_,
Poor _Teague's_ undone,
I dare not be,
A Rapparee,
I ne'er shall see,
_Magraw Macree_,
Nor my more dear Garone,
_A hone, a hone._
Awa, awa,
I must huzza,
'Twill hide my Fears,
And save my Ears,
The Mob appears,
Her'sh to _Nassau_,
Dear Joy 'tis _Usquebaugh_,
Huzza, Huzza, Huzza.
_The_ BATH _Teazers: Or a Comical Description of the Diversions at_
BATH.
[Music]
I'll tell thee _Dick_ where I have lately been,
_There's rare doings at_ Bath,
Amongst Beauties divine, the like was ne'er seen,
_There's rare doings at_ Bath,
And some dismal Wits that were eat up with Spleen,
_There's rare doings at_ Bath.
_There's rare doings at_ Bath.
_Raffling and Fidling, and Piping and Singing,_
_There's rare doings at_ Bath.
Where all drink the Waters to recover Health,
And some sort of Fools there throw off their Wealth,
And now and then Kissing, and that's done by stealth,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
And now for the Crew that pass in the Throng,
That live by the Gut, or the Pipe, or the Song,
And teaze all the Gentry as they pass along,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
First _Corbet_ began my Lord pray your Crown,
You'll hear a new Boy I've Just brought to Town,
I'm sure he will please you, or else knock me down,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
Besides I can boast of my self and two more,
And _Leveridge_ the Bass, that sweetly will roar,
'Till all the whole Audience joins in an ancore,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
Next _H----b L----r_ and _B----r_ too,
With Hautboy, one Fidle, and Tenor so bleu,
And fusty old Musick, not one Note of New,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
Next _Morphew_ the Harper with his Pigg's Face,
Lye tickling a Treble and vamping a Bass,
And all he can do 'tis but Musick's disgrace,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
Then comes the Eunuch to teaze them the more,
Subscribe your two Guineas to make up fourscore,
I never Perform'd at so low rate before,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
Then come the Strolers among the rest,
And little Punch _Powel_ so full of his Jest,
With pray Sir, good Madam, it's my Show is best,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
Thus being Tormented, and teaz'd to their Souls,
They thought the best way to get rid of these Fools,
The Case they referr'd to the Master of the R----ls,
_There's rare doings_, &c.
Says his Honour, and then he put on a Frown,
And since you have left it to my Thoughts alone,
I'll soon have them all whipp'd out of the Town,
O _rare doings at_ Bath, _Raffling, and Fidling_, &c.
_The Distress'd_ SHEPHERD, _A_ SONG.
[Music]
I am a poor Shepherd undone,
And cannot be Cur'd by Art;
For a Nymph as bright as the Sun,
Has stole away my Heart:
And how to get it again,
There's none but she can tell;
To cure me of my Pain,
By saying she loves me well:
And alass poor Shepherd,
Alack and a welladay;
Before I was in Love,
Oh every Month was _May_.
If to Love she cou'd not incline,
I told her I'd die in an Hour;
To die says she 'tis in thine,
But to Love 'tis not in my Power.
I askt her the Reason why,
She could not of me approve;
She said 'twas a Task too hard,
To give any Reason for Love:
_And alass poor Shepherd_, &c.
She ask'd me of my Estate,
I told her a Flock of Sheep;
The Grass whereon they Graze,
Where she and I might Sleep:
Besides a good Ten Pound,
In old King _Harry's_ Groats;
With Hooks and Crooks abound,
And Birds of sundry Notes:
_And alass poor Shepherd_, &c.
_A_ SONG.
I Love to Madness, rave t'enjoy,
But heaps of Wealth my Progress bar;
Curse on the Load that stops my way,
My Love's more Rich and Brighter far:
Were I prest under Hills of Gold,
My furious Sighs should make my escape;
I'd sigh and blow up all the Mould,
And throw the Oar in _CÊlia's_ Lap.
Were thou some Peasant mean and small,
And all the spacious Globe were mine;
I'd give the World, the Sun and all,
For one kind brighter Glance of thine:
This Hour let _CÊlia_ with me live,
And Gods cou'd I but of you borrow,
I'd give what only you can give,
For that dear Hour, I'd give to morrow.
_The loving Couple: Or the Merry_ WEDDING.
[Music]
A Jolly young _Grocer_ of _London Town_,
Fell deeply in Love with his Maid:
And often he courted her to lye down,
But she told him she was afraid:
Sometimes he would struggle,
But still she would Boggle,
And never consent to his wicked Will;
But said he must tarry,
Until he would marry,
And then he should have his fill.
But when that he found he could not obtain,
The Blessing he thus pursu'd;
For tho' he had try'd her again and again,
She vow'd she would not be leud:
At last he submitted,
To be so outwitted,
As to be catch'd in the Nuptial snare;
Altho' the young Hussie,
Before had been busie,
With one that she lov'd more dear.
The Morning after they marry'd were,
The Drums and the Fiddles came;
Then oh what a thumping and scraping was there,
To please the new marry'd Dame:
There was fiddle come fiddle,
With hey diddle diddle,
And all the time that the Musick play'd;
There was Kissing and Loving,
And Heaving and Shoving,
For fear she should rise a Maid.
But e'er three Months they had marry'd been,
A Thumping Boy popp'd out;
Ads---- says he you confounded Queen,
Why what have you been about?
You're a Strumpet cries he,
You're a Cuckold cries she,
And when he found he was thus betray'd;
There was Fighting and Scratching,
And Rogueing and Bitching,
Because she had prov'd a Jade.
_A_ SONG, _Tune of Chickens and Sparrow-grass._
What sayest thou,
If one should thrust thee thro'?
What sayest thou,
If one shou'd Plough?
I say Sir, you may do what you please,
I shall scarce stir,
Tho' you ne'er cease,
Thro', thro', you may thrust me thro'.
Such Death is a Pleasure,
When Life's a Disease.
_The precaution'd_ Nymph, _Set by_ L. Ramondon.
[Music]
Go, go, go, go falsest of thy Sex be gone,
Leave, leave, oh leave, leave me to my self alone;
Why wou'd you strive by fond pretence,
Thus to destroy my Innocence.
Know, _CÊlia_ you too late betray'd,
Then thus you did the Nymph upbraid;
Love like a Dream usher'd by night,
Flyes the approach of Morning light.
Go falsest of your Sex begone,
Oh! Leave me to my self alone;
She that believes Man when he swears,
Or but regards his Oaths or Pray'rs,
May she, fond she, be most accurst,
Nay more, be subject to his Lust.
_The Life and Death of Sir_ HUGH _of the_ GRIME. _To the Tune of_
Chevy-chace.
As it befel upon one time,
About _Mid-summer_ of the Year;
Every Man was taxt of his Crime,
For stealing the good Lord Bishop's Mare.
The good Lord _Screw_ sadled a Horse,
And rid after the same serime;
Before he did get over the Moss,
There was he aware of Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_.
Turn, O turn, thou false Traytor,
Turn and yield thy self unto me;
Thou hast stol'n the Lord Bishop's Mare,
And now thinkest away to flee.
No, soft Lord _Screw_, that may not be,
Here is a broad Sword by my side;
And if that thou canst Conquer me,
The Victory will soon be try'd.
I ne'er was afraid of a Traytor bold,
Altho' thy Name be _Hugh_ in the _Grime_;
I'll make thee repent thy Speeches foul,
If Day and Life but give me time.
Then do thy worst, good Lord _Screw_,
And deal your blows as fast as you can;
It will be try'd between me and you,
Which of us two shall be the best Man.
Thus as they dealt their blows so free,
And both so Bloody at that time;
Over the Moss ten Yeomen they see,
Come for to take Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_.
Sir _Hugh_ set his Back again a Tree,
And then the Men compast him round;
His mickle Sword from his Hand did flee,
And then they brought Sir _Hugh_ to the Ground.
Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_ now taken is,
And brought back to _Garland_ Town;
Then cry'd the good Wives all in _Garland_ Town,
Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_, thou'st ne'er gang down.
The good Lord Bishop is come to Town,
And on the Bench is set so high;
And every Man was tax'd to his crime,
At length he call'd Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_.
Here am I, thou false Bishop,
Thy Humours all to fulfil;
I do not think my Fact so great,
But thou may'st put into thy own Will.
The Quest of Jury-Men was call'd,
The best that was in _Garland_ Town;
Eleven of them spoke all in a-breast,
Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ thou'st ne'er gang down.
Then other Questry-men was call'd,
The best that was in _Rumary_;
Twelve of them spoke all in a-breast,
Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ thou'st now Guilty.
Then came down my good Lord _Boles_,
Falling down upon his Knee;
Five hundred Pieces of Gold will I give,
To grant Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ to me.
Peace, peace, my good Lord _Boles_,
And of your Speeches set them by;
If there be Eleven _Grimes_ all of a Name,
Then by my own Honour they all should dye.
Then came down my good Lady _Ward_,
Falling low upon her Knee;
Five hundred Measures of Gold I'll give,
And grant Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_ to me.
Peace, peace, my good Lady _Ward_,
None of your proffers shall him buy,
For if there be Twelve _Grimes_ all of a Name,
By my own Honour all should dye.
Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime's_ condemn'd to dye,
And of his Friends he had no lack;
Fourteen Foot he leapt in his Ward,
His Hands bound fast upon his Back.
Then he look'd over his left Shoulder,
To see whom he could see or 'spye;
There was he aware of his Father dear,
Came tearing his Hair most pitifully.
Peace, peace, my Father dear,
And of your Speeches set them by;
Tho' they have bereav'd me of my Life,
They cannot bereave me of Heaven so high.
He look'd over his right Shoulder,
To see whom he could see or 'spye;
There was he aware of his Mother dear,
Came tearing her Hair most pitifully.
Pray have me remember'd to _Peggy_ my Wife,
As she and I walk'd over the Moor;
She was the cause of the loss of my Life,
And with the old Bishop she play'd the Whore.
Here _Johnny Armstrong_, take thou my Sword;
That is made of the metal so fine;
And when thou com'st to the Border side,
Remember the Death of Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_.
_The disappointed_ TAYLOR: _Or good Work done for Nothing._
[Music]
A Taylor good Lord, in the Time of Vacation,
When Cabbage was scarce and when Pocket was low,
For the Sale of good Liquor pretended a Passion,
To one that sold Ale in a Cuckoldy Row:
Now a Louse made him Itch,
Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.
One Day she came up, when at Work in his Garret,
To tell what he Ow'd, that his Store he might know;
Says he it is all very right I declare it,
Says she then I hope you will pay e'er I go?
Now a Louse, _&c._
Says Prick-Louse my Jewel, I love you most dearly,
My Breast every Minute still hotter does grow,
I'll only says she for the Juice of my Barly,
And other good Drink in my Cellar below:
Now a Louse made him Itch,
Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.
Says he you mistake, 'tis for something that's better,
Which I dare not Name, and you care not to show;
Says she I'm afraid you are given to flatter,
What is it you Mean, and pray where does it grow:
Now a Louse, _&c._
Says he 'tis a Thing that has never a handle,
'Tis hid in the Dark, and it lies pretty low;
Says she then I fear that you must have a Candle,
Or else the wrong way you may happen to go:
Now a Louse, _&c._
Says he was it darker than ever was Charcole,
Tho' I never was there, yet the way do I know;
Says she if it be such a terrible dark Hole,
Don't offer to Grope out your way to it so:
Now a Louse, _&c._
Says he you shall see I will quickly be at it,
For this is, oh this is the way that I'll go;
Says she do not tousle me so for I hate it,
I vow by and by you will make me cry oh:
So they both went to work,
Now a Kiss, then a Jirk,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.
The Taylor arose when the business was over,
Says he you will rub out the Score e'er you go;
Says she I shall not pay so dear for a Lover,
I'm not such a Fool I would have you to know:
Now a Louse made him Itch,
Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.
_The Penurious_ QUAKER: _Or, the High priz'd_ HARLOT.
[Music]
_Quaker._ My Friend thy Beauty seemeth good,
We Righteous have our failings;
I'm Flesh and Blood, methinks I cou'd,
Wert thou but free from Ailings.
_Harlot._ Believe me Sir I'm newly broach'd,
And never have been in yet;
I vow and swear I ne'er was touch'd,
By Man 'till this day sennight.
_Quaker._ Then prithee Friend, now prithee do,
Nay, let us not defer it;
And I'll be kind to thee when thou
Hast laid the Evil Spirit.
_Harlot._ I vow I won't, indeed I shan't,
Unless I've Money first, Sir;
For if I ever trust a Saint,
I wish I may be curst, Sir.
_Quaker._ I cannot like the Wicked say,
I Love thee and Adore thee,
And therefore thou wilt make me pay,
So here is Six pence for thee.
_Harlot._ Confound you for a stingy WHIG,
Do ye think I live by Stealing;
Farewel you Puritannick Prig,
I scorn to take your Shilling.
_A_ SONG. _Tune of the_ Old Rigadoon:
_Lais_ when you
Lye wrapp'd in Charms,
In your Spouses Arms,
How can you deny,
The Youth to try,
What is his due.
Sure you ne'er have
Been touch'd by Man,
That you ne'er can,
Admit the Slave.
Come let him in,
And if he does
Not pay what he owes,
Ne'er trust the Fool again.
Let another Spark supply his Place,
For a Woman should not want;
And Nature sure ne'er made a Man so base,
But with asking he would grant:
But if all Mankind were agreed to spoil your Race,
By _Jove_ my Dear they shan't.
_The travelling_ TINKER, _and the Country_ ALE-WIFE: _Or, the lucky
Mending of the leaky_ COPPER.
[Music]
A Comely Dame of _Islington_,
Had got a leaky Copper;
The Hole that let the Liquor run,
Was wanting of a Stopper:
A Jolly _Tinker_ undertook,
And promised her most fairly;
With a thump thump thump, and knick knack knock,
To do her Business rarely.
He turn'd the Vessel to the Ground,
Says he a good old Copper;
But well may't Leak, for I have found
A Hole in't that's a whopper:
But never doubt a _Tinkers_ stroke,
Altho' he's black and surly,
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
He'll do your Business purely.
The Man of Mettle open'd wide,
His Budget's mouth to please her,
Says he this Tool we oft employ'd,
About such Jobbs as these are:
With that the Jolly _Tinker_ took,
A Stroke or two most kindly;
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
He did her Business finely.
As soon as Crock had done the Feat,
He cry'd 'tis very hot ho;
This thrifty Labour makes me Sweat,
Here, gi's a cooling Pot ho:
Says she bestow the other Stroke,
Before you take your Farewel;
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
And you may drink a Barrel.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ABELL.
I'll press, I'll bless thee Charming fair,
Thou Darling of my Heart;
I'll press, I'll bless thee Charming fair,
Thou darling of my Heart:
I'll clasp, I'll grasp thee close my Dear,
And Doat on every Part.
I'll clasp, I'll grasp thee close my Dear,
And Doat on every Part!
I'll bless thee now thou Darling,
Thou Darling of my Heart;
I'll bless thee now, _&c._
With fond excess of Pleasure,
I'll make the Panting cry, Panting cry;
Then wisely use your Treasure,
Then wisely use your Treasure,
Refusing, still comply.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
What shall I do, I've lost my Heart,
'Tis gone, 'tis gone I know not whither;
Love cut its strings,
Then lent it Wings
And both are flown together:
Fair Ladies tell for Love's sweet sake,
Did any of you find it?
Come, come it lies,
In your Lips or Eyes,
Tho' you'll not please to mind it.
But if't be lost,
Then farewel Frost,
I will enquire no more;
For Ladies they
Steal Hearts away,
But only to restore:
_For Ladies they_, &c.
Tune, _si votr' epousa_.
_Chloris_ can you
Forgive the fault that I have done;
_Chloris_ can you
Forgive me when I sue,
Faith it is true,
That had you let me farther gone,
I had ruin'd you,
And mischiev'd my self too:
Yet I ne'er should
Have ventur'd on a Maid so Chast,
Had not your Eye,
Shot thro' my Soul,
And conjur'd all the Sense away,
That there did lye.
_Lumps of_ PUDDING.
[Music]
When I was in the low Country,
When I was in the low Country;
What slices of Pudding and pieces of Bread,
My Mother gave me when I was in need.
My Mother she killed a good fat Hog,
She made such Puddings would choak a Dog;
And I shall ne'er forget 'till I dee,
What lumps of Pudding my Mother gave me.
She hung them up upon a Pin,
The Fat run out and the Maggots crept in;
If you won't believe me you may go and see,
What lumps, _&c._
And every Day my Mother would cry,
Come stuff your Belly Girl until you die;
'Twou'd make you to laugh if you were to see,
What lumps, _&c._
I no sooner at Night was got into Bed,
But she all in kindness would come with speed;
She gave me such parcels I thought I should dee,
With eating of Pudding, _&c._
At last I Rambled abroad and then,
I met in my Frolick an honest Man;
Quoth he my dear _Philli_ I'll give unto thee,
Such Pudding you never did see.
Said I honest Man, I thank thee most kind,
And as he told me indeed I did find;
He gave me a lump which did so agree,
One bit was worth all my Mother gave me.
_The_ QUAKER's SONG.
[Music]
Walk up to Virtue Strait,
And from all Vice retire;
Turn not on this Hand nor on that,
To compass thy Desire.
Side not with wicked ones,
Nor such as are Prophane;
But side with good and goodly ones,
That come from _Amsterdam_.
Arm not thy self with Pride,
That's not the way to Bliss;
But Arm thy self with holy Zeal,
And take this loving Kiss.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
_Lorenzo_ you amuse the Town,
And with your Charms undo, Sir;
_Laurinda_ can resist a Frown,
But must not be from you, Sir:
You make them all resign their Hearts,
And fix their Eyes a gazing;
The _Porcupine_ has not more Darts,
From every part amazing.
You Bill and Cooe when you are kind,
And happy's the Nymph believes you;
You are true, but you are not Blind,
For never a Nymph deceives you;
Tho' she were naught, you'll ne'er be caught,
But still have your Wits about you;
You're a Hero, and you have Fought,
There's ne'er a Hector can flout you.
You are good, and you are bad,
And you can be what you please, Sir;
You are an honest trusty Lad,
And I'll Wager ne'er had the Disease, Sir:
Then here's to you, a Glass or two,
For farther I dare not venture;
And then my Dear I bid thee adieu,
For I must be now a Dissenter.
_A_ SONG.
_Tune of_ Oh! how happy's he. _Pag._ 104.
Ah! how happy's he,
Lives from drinking free,
Can enjoy his Humour, Paper and his Pen;
Nor ensnar'd with Wine,
Or some Whores design,
But in harmless Sonnets thinking does ever mend;
Prigs shall never vex him,
Pox shall ne'er perplex him,
If his Pocket's full, sits down and counts his Joy;
If it be not so,
Takes a Tune or two,
'Till by wise Content, his trouble does destroy.
When a Monarch reels,
He his Thoughts conceals,
Whether WHIG or _Tory_, never does express;
With a sober Dose
Of _Coffee_ funks his Nose,
And reading all the News does leave the World to guess:
But when his Noddle's full,
O then he hugs his Soul,
And homeward flush'd with Joy does trudge apace,
When on Pillow laid,
Then with Mind display'd
Argues with himself the Queen and Nation's Case.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Had I but Love,
I'd quit all Treasure,
Had I but Love,
I'd Envy none above:
Camp and Court,
Have no such Pleasure;
Camp and Court,
Have both such pretty Sport.
_Wo_. Let me alone, let me alone,
Says the Fool,
Or I'll cry out, Sir;
_Man_. Prithee do, prithee do,
With all my Soul,
But you shan't stir.
Such is Love,
And such is living,
Such is Love,
And such was mighty _Jove_:
Gods and Kings,
Have both been contriving,
Gods and Kings,
To catch these pretty things.
_Wo_. Let me go, what d'ye do, pray forbear,
Alass I cannot bear it;
_Man_. Hold your Tongue, hold your Tongue,
Never fear you peevish Chit.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.
Love's Passion never knew 'till this,
A blissful Happiness like mine;
With Joy now _CÊlia_ crowns my wish,
And _Cupid_ both our Hearts does joyn:
With Joy now _CÊlia_ crowns my wish.
And _Cupid_ both our Hearts does joyn.
Whene'er our Hearts dart fiery Beams,
Fierce as the pangs of our Desires;
The meeting Glances kindle flames
More pure than fancyed fires:
Then _CÊlia_ let's no Pleasure want,
To perfect the most happy State;
The bliss you fear too soon to grant,
You'll rather think enjoyed too late.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ABELL.
[Music]
_CÊlia_ be not too complying,
Ease not soon a Lovers pain;
Love increases by denying,
Soon we leave what soon we gain.
CÊlia _be not too complying_, &c.
If in Courtship you're delighting,
And wou'd no Adorer loose;
Let your looks be still inviting,
But your Vertue still refuse.
_Let your looks be still inviting_, &c.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ABELL.
[Music]
A Little Love may prove a Pleasure,
Too great a Passion is a Pain;
When we our Flame by reason measure,
Blest is our Fate, and light our Chain:
Who then would long a Slave remain?
True Hearts are like a Fairy Treasure,
Talk'd of, but ever sought in vain;
A little Love may prove a Pleasure,
Too great a Passion is a Pain.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
When first I lay'd Siege to my _Chloris_,
When first I lay'd Siege to my _Chloris_:
Cannon Oaths I brought down,
To batter the Town,
And boom'd her with amorous Stories.
Billet deux like small Shot did so ply her,
Billet deux like small Shot did so ply her;
And sometimes a Song,
Went whistling along,
Yet still I was never the nigher.
At length she sent Word by a Trumpet,
At length she sent Word by a Trumpet,
That if I lik'd the Life,
She would be my Wife,
But she would be no Man's Strumpet.
I told her that _Mars_ wou'd ne'er Marry,
I told her that _Mars_ wou'd ne'er Marry;
I swore by my Scars,
Got in Combates and Wars,
That I'd rather dig Stones in a Quarry.
At length she granted the Favour,
At length she granted the Favour;
With the dull Curse,
For better for worse,
And saved the Parson the Labour.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Seignor_ BAPTIST.
[Music]
Why alas do you now leave me,
You who vow'd a Love so true;
Can you hope whilst you deceive me,
Others will be just to you?
Oh you know what you forsake,
You're pursuing,
My undoing,
But you know not what you take.
Is your fit of Passion over,
Will you Kill me dear unkind;
Is your Heart then such a Rover,
As no Vows, no Oaths can bind:
Hear at least my last adieu,
See me lying,
See me dying,
And remember 'tis for you.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.
[Music]
When Beauty such as yours has mov'd desires,
A kind return, a kind return,
Should raise the glowing Fires;
But tho' you hate me, I am still
Devoted wholly to your Will:
Not all your Frowns can quench my Flame,
My Love is something more than Name,
And as it ought, will ever, ever be the same.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.
[Music]
See bleeding at your Feet there lies,
One murder'd by Disdain;
That Heart you wounded with your Eyes,
Is by your Rigour slain:
Expiring now I cannot live,
Death no delay will brook,
Unless some pitying word you give,
Or kind relenting Look,
Or kind relenting Look.
For then from Fate by Rapture born,
And taken from your Arms;
The Heart thus rescued from your Scorn,
I'll offer to your Charms:
Love's eager Rites, I'll then pursue,
And Sacrificing dye;
Altar and Beauteous Goddess you,
And Priest, and Victim I.
_The good Fellow's Resolve_: _Tune_ as _May_ was in her youthful
Dress. _Vol._ 3. _P._ 199.
Now I'm resolv'd to Love no more,
But Sleep by Night, and Drink by Day;
Your Coyness _Chloris_ pray give o'er,
And turn your tempting Eyes away:
I'll place no happiness of mine,
On fading Beauty still to court;
And say she's glorious and divine,
When there's in Drinking better sport.
Love has no more Prerogative,
To make me desperate Courses take;
Nor me of _Bacchus_ Joys deprive,
For them I _Venus_ will forsake:
Despise the feeble Nets she lays,
And scorn the Man she can o'ercome;
In Drinking we see happy Days,
But in a fruitless Passion none.
'Tis Wine alone that cheers the Soul,
But Love and Women make us sad;
I'm merry while I court the Bowl,
Whilst he that Courts his Madam's mad.
Then fill it up Boys to the brim,
Since in it we refreshment find;
Come here's a Bumper unto him,
That courts good Wine, not Woman-kind.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.
[Music]
When crafty Fowlers would surprize,
The harmonious Lark that soars on high
It is by glancing in his Eyes,
The Sun-shine Rays which draws him nigh:
_It is by_, &c.
Charm'd with Reflections from the Glase,
He flies with eager hasty speed;
Ceasing the Musick of his Lays,
Into the Nets the Fowler spread.
So when _Clemelia_ would obtain,
The Prey her Fancy most desires;
She spreads her Dress like Nets in vain,
And all her Youthful gay attires.
'Till watching Opportunity,
She throws an Amorous charming Glance,
Then to her Net the Youth does flie,
And lies entangled in a Trance.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ BLOW.
[Music]
Boasting Fops who court the Fair,
For the Fame of being lov'd;
You who daily prating are
Of the Hearts your Charms have mov'd,
Still be vain in talk and dress,
But while Shadows you pursue;
Own that some who boast it less,
May be blest as much as you.
Love and Birding are Ally'd,
Baits and Nets alike they have;
The same Arts in both are try'd,
The unwary to inslave;
If in each you'd happy prove,
Without Noise still watch your way;
For in Birding and in Love,
While we talk it flies away.
_A_ SONG.
Must Love, that Tyrant of the Breast,
Have all our Songs, have all our Hours;
Whilst he alone disturbs our Rest,
And with his Cares our Hearts devours,
And with his Cares our Hearts devours:
No more let's blame ignoble Souls,
Who doat on Arbitrary Powers;
Since cruel Love our Wills controuls,
Yet all the World, yet all the World the Toy adores.
For shame let's break the feeble Bonds,
And our old Liberty regain;
Love against Reason seldom stands,
Whenever that sways, its Power is vain:
When Man the prize of Freedom knows,
_Cupid_ is easily out-brav'd;
The Bug-bear only conquers those,
Who fondly seek to be enslav'd.
_The Woman's Complaint to her Neighbour._
[Music]
Good morrow Gossip _Joan_,
Where have you been a Walking?
I have for you at Home,
A Budget full of Talking,
Gossip _Joan_.
My Sparrow's flown away,
And will no more come to me;
I've broke a Glass to Day,
The Price will quite undo me,
Gossip _Joan_.
I've lost a _Harry_ Groat,
Was left me by my Granny;
I cannot find it out,
I've search'd in every Cranny,
Gossip _Joan_.
My Goose has laid away,
I know not what's the Reason;
My Hen has hatch'd to Day,
A Week before the Season,
Gossip _Joan_.
I've lost my Wedding-Ring,
That was made of Silver gilt;
I had Drink would please a King,
And the whorish Cat has spill'd it,
Gossip _Joan_.
My Duck has eat a Snail,
And is not that a Wonder;
The HORNS bud out at Tail,
And have split her Rump asunder,
Gossip _Joan_.
My Pocket is cut off,
That was full of Sugar-candy;
I cannot stop my Cough,
Without a Gill of Brandy,
Gossip _Joan_.
O I am sick at Heart,
Therefore pray give me some Ginger;
I cannot Sneeze or Fart,
Therefore pray put in Finger,
Gossip _Joan_.
O pitty, pitty me,
Or I shall go Distracted;
I have cry'd 'till I can't see,
To think how things are acted,
Gossip _Joan_.
Let's to the Ale-house go,
And wash down all my Sorrow;
My Griefs you there shall know,
And we'll meet again to morrow,
Gossip _Joan_.
_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ Jer. Clark.
[Music]
I'm vext to think that _Damon_ wooes me,
Who with Sighs and Tears pursues me;
He still whining and repining,
Of my Rigour does complain:
I'd not see him, yet wou'd free him,
And my self, my self from pain:
I'll enjoy him, and so cloy him,
Love cures Love, more, more than Disdain.
_A_ SONG, _by Mr._ Burkhead.
[Music]
Claspt in my dear _Melinda's_ Arms,
Soft engaging, oh how she Charms;
Graces more divine,
In her Person shine,
Then _Venus_ self cou'd ever boast.
In the softest Moments of Love,
Melting, Panting, oh how she moves;
Come, come, come my Dear,
Now we've nought to fear,
Mortal sure was never so blest,
Come, come, come, _&c._
Pray don't trifle, my dearest forbear,
I shall die with Transports I fear;
Clasp me fast my Life,
'Twill more Pleasure give,
Both our stocks of Love let's Joyn,
Clasp me, _&c._
Now our Souls are charm'd in Bliss,
Raptures flow from every Kiss;
Words cannot reveal,
The fierce Joys I feel,
'Tis too much to bear and live,
Words cannot, _&c._
_A_ SONG, _in the_ Play _call'd the Ladies Fine Aires: Sung by Mr._
Pack, _in the Figure of a_ Bawd. _Set by Mr._ Barrett.
[Music]
How happy are we,
Who from thinking are free,
That curbing Disease o'the Mind:
Can indulge every Tast,
Love where we like best,
Not by dull Reputation confin'd.
When we're young fit to toy,
Gay Delights we enjoy,
And have crowds of new Lovers wooing;
When we're old and decay'd,
We procure for the Trade,
Still in ev'ry Age we're doing.
If a Cully we meet,
We spend what we get,
E'ery day for the next never think:
When we dye where we go,
We have no Sense to know,
For a Bawd always dyes in her drink.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FORCER.
[Music]
Farewel my useless Scrip,
And poor unheeded Flocks;
No more you'll round me trip,
Nor cloath me with your Locks:
Feed by yon purling Stream,
Where _Jockey_, where _Jockey_ first I knew:
I only think, I only think, I only think on him,
I cannot, cannot, cannot think on you.
Farewel each Shepherdess,
The bonny Lads adieu;
May each his Wish possess,
And to that Wish be true:
Your Oaten Pipes cou'd please,
But _Jockey_ then was kind;
Your bonny Tunes may cease,
The Lad has chang'd his Mind.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.
[Music]
Ere _Phillis_ with her looks did kill,
My Heart resisting,
My Heart resisting them was ill;
Now in its Wounds it finds a Cure,
When most they bleed, I least endure.
For tho' 'tis Death those looks to meet,
There's Life in dying at her feet;
Kill _Phillis_ then, kill with your Eyes,
If you let _Strephon_ live he dyes.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ KING.
[Music]
Not your Eyes _Melania_ move me,
Not your flowring Charms or Wit;
Not your daily Vows to love me,
Make my easy Soul submit.
Shape nor Dress can never sway me,
Nor the softest looks betray me;
_Shape nor Face can never sway me,_
_Nor the softest looks betray me._
But your Mind, my Dear, subdues me,
Where a thousand Graces shine;
Goodness, Love, and Honour moves me,
And my Passion's all Divine.
Goodness as a boundless Treasure,
Yields the purest sweetest pleasure.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Then come kind _Damon_, come away,
To _Cynthia's_ power advance:
The _Sylvians_ they shall pipe and play,
And we'll lead up, and we'll lead up,
And we'll lead up the Dance:
The _Sylvians_ they shall pipe and play,
And we'll lead up, and we'll lead up,
And we'll lead up the Dance;
The _Sylvians_ they, _&c._
Smile then with a Beam Divine,
We'll be blest if you but shine;
Happy then our Pains and Toils,
Wit only lives when Beauty smiles:
Happy then our Pains and Toils,
Wit only lives, Wit only lives,
When Beauty smiles;
Wit only lives, _&c._
_The Soldiers return from the Wars, or the Maids and Widdows
Rejoycing._ _Tune Page_ 278.
At the Change as I was walking,
I heard a Discourse of Peace;
The People all were a Talking,
That the tedious Wars will cease:
And if it do prove but true,
The Maids will run out of their Houses,
_To see the Troopers all come Home,_
_And the Grenadiers with their Drum a Drum Drum,_
_Then the Widdows shall all have Spouses._
The Scarlet colour is fine, Sir,
All others it doth excel;
The Trooper has a Carbine, Sir,
That will please the Maidens well:
And when it is Cock'd and Prim'd, Sir,
The Maids will run out of their Houses,
_To see the Troopers come come come_, &c.
There's _Joan_, and _Betty_, and _Nelly_,
And the rest of the Female Crew;
Each has an Itch in her Belly,
To play with the Scarlet hue:
And _Marg'ret_ too must be peeping,
_To see the Troopers_, &c.
The Landladys are preparing,
Her Maids are shifting their Smocks;
Each swears she'll buy her a Fairing,
And opens her _Christmas-box_:
She'll give it all to the Red-coats,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.
_Jenny_ she lov'd a Trooper,
And she shew'd her all her Gear;
_Doll_ has turn'd off the Cooper,
And now for a Grenadier:
His hand Grenadoes they will please her,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.
Old musty Maids that have Money,
Although no Teeth in their Heads;
May have a Bit for their Bunny,
To pleasure them in their Beds:
Their Hearts will turn to the Red-coats,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.
The Widdows now are a Singing,
And have thrown their Peaks aside;
For they have been us'd to stinging,
When their Garters were unty'd:
But the Red-coats they will tye 'em,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.
Wives and Widdows and Maidens,
I'm sure this News will please ye;
If any with Maiden-heads laden,
The Red-coats they will ease ye:
Then all prepare to be happy,
_To see the Troopers all come Home_, &c.
_A_ SONG. _Tune of_ Old Boree.
Come _CÊlia_ come, let's sit and talk a while,
About the Affairs of Loving:
Let a mutual Kiss our Cares and Fears beguile,
Far distant from this Grove:
Let's pass our Time in Mirth away,
Now we're remov'd from the noisy, noisy Court,
Now we're got out of the stormy Sea,
Into the safer Port.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Damascene.
[Music]
Who can _Dorinda's_ Beauty view,
And not her Captive be;
_Apollo_, _Daphne_ did pursue,
Embraced the Maid, though chang'd to a Tree:
If God's could love at such a rate,
Poor Mortals must adore:
_Dorinda's_ Merit is as great;
'Tis just, 'tis just to love her more.
_A_ HYMN _upon the Execution of two_ CRIMINALS, _by Mr._ RAMONDON.
[Music]
All you that must take a leap in the Dark,
Pity the Fate of _Lawson_ and _Clark_;
Cheated by Hope, by Mercy amus'd,
Betray'd by the sinful ways we us'd:
Cropp'd in our Prime of Strength and Youth,
Who can but weep at so sad a Truth;
_Cropp'd in our Prime_, &c.
Once we thought 'twould never be Night,
But now alass 'twill never be light;
Heavenly mercy shine on our Souls,
Death draws near, hark, _Sepulchres_ Bell Toles:
Nature is stronger in Youth than in Age,
Grant us thy Spirit Lord Grief to assuage:
Courses of Evil brought us to this,
Sinful Pleasure, deceitful Bliss:
We ne'er shou'd have cause so much to repent,
Could we with our Callings have been but Content:
The Snares of Wine and Women fair,
First were the cause that we now Despair.
You that now view our fatal End,
Warn'd by our Case your Carriage mend;
Soon or late grim Death will come,
Who'd not prepare for a certain Doom:
Span long Life with lifeless Joys,
What's in this World but care and noise.
Youth, tho' most blest by being so,
As vast thy Joy, as great thy Woe;
Ev'ry Sin that gives Delight,
Will in the end the Soul affright:
'Tis not thy Youth, thy Wealth nor Strength,
Can add to Life one Moments length.
God is as Merciful as Just,
Cleanse our Hearts, since die we must:
Sweet Temptations of worldly Joys,
Makes for our Grief, and our Peace destroys,
Think then when Man his Race has run,
Death is the Prize which he has won.
Sure there's none so absurd and odd,
To think with the Fool there is no God;
What is't we fear when Death we meet,
Where't not t' account at the Judgment-Seat:
That Providence we find each Hour,
Proves a supernatural Power;
In Mercy open thy bright Abode,
Receive our Souls tremendous God.
_The_ British ACCOUNTANT.
[Music]
You Ladies draw near, I can tell you good News,
If you please to give Ear, or else you may Choose;
Of a _British Accountant_ that's Frolick and free,
Who does wondrous Feats by the Rule of Three.
_Addition_, _Division_, and other such Rules,
I'll leave to be us'd by your Scribling Fools;
This Art is Improv'd unto such a Degree,
That he manages all by the Rule of Three.
You Dames that are Wed who can make it appear,
That you lose an Estate for want of an Heir:
This _Accountant_ will come without e'er a Fee,
And warrants a Boy by his Rule of Three.
Is the Widdow distress'd for the loss of her Spouse,
Tho' to have him again she cares not a Louse;
Her Wants he supplys whatsoever they be,
And all by his Art in the Rule of Three.
Do you Dream in the Night and fret at your Fate,
For want of the Man when you happen to wake;
You may presently send and satisfy'd be,
That he Pacifies all by the Rule of Three.
You Ladies who are with a Husband unblest,
And are minded to make him a delicate Beast;
He'll fix the Brow-antlers just where they should be,
And all by his Art in the Rule of Three.
You Lasses at large of the true Female Race,
Who are glad of the Men who will lye on their Face;
Do but try the bold _Britton_, you all will agree,
That you never did know such a Rule of Three.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.
The Night is come that will allow,
No longer any Coyness now,
But every freedom must to Love be given;
What tho' the Shadows of the Night,
Withdraw her Beauty from his sight,
The Youth another way, another way,
Another way will find his Heav'n.
See, see the charming Nymph is lay'd,
Never again to rise a Maid,
The vigorous Bridegroom now impatient grown;
Thrown himself by her side,
With eager Joy, and amourous Pride,
Ready to seize the Prey that's now his own.
And now that all have left the Place,
Transporting Joys crowd on apace,
The Nymph contends like one that would not win;
Entrain'd with Pleasure now she lies,
The Youth has gain'd the noble Prize,
And now her Fears are past, and Joys begin.
_A_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ ESCOURT.
[Music]
You tell me _Dick_ you've lately read
That we are beaten in _Spain_;
But prithee Boy hold up thy Head,
We'll beat 'em twice for it again
_With a Fal la la la la la la la._
Is this the Courage you us'd to boast,
Why thou art quite cast down;
You can reflect on what we've lost,
But ne'er think what we've won,
_With a Fal_, &c.
What tho' _Jack Spaniard_ crack and bounce,
He ne'er shall do so again;
We took last Year as many Towns,
As they have now took Men,
_With a Fal_, &c.
In War and Gaming it is the same,
According to the old Saying;
Who's sure to conquer ev'ry Game,
Quite loses the Pleasure of playing:
_With a Fal_, &c.
I think we have a Man of our own,
A Man if I may call him so;
For after those great Deeds he has done,
I may question if he's so or no,
_With a Fal_, &c.
But now if you wou'd know his Name,
'Tis _Johnny Marlborough_;
The beaten _French_ has felt his Fame,
And so shall the Spaniards too,
_With a Fal_, &c.
And since we cannot Justice do,
To ev'ry Victory;
In a full Glass our Zeal let's show,
To our General's Family,
_With a Fal_, &c.
For he has Eight fair Daughters,
And each of them is a Charmer;
There's Lady _Railton_, _Bridgwater_,
Fine _Sunderland_, Lady _Mount-Hermer_,
_With a Fal_, &c.
The other Four so Charming are,
They will with Raptures fill ye;
There's Lady _Hochstet_, _Schellenburgh_,
Bright _Blenheim_, and Lady _Ramillie_,
_With a Fal_, &c.
The last were got so fair and strong,
As in Story ne'er was told;
The first Four always will be Young,
And the last will never be Old,
_With a Fal_, &c.
At ev'ry Feast, e'er we are all deceas'd,
And the Service begins to be hard;
'Tis surely your Duty, to Toast a young Beauty,
Call'd Madamosel _Audenard_,
_With a Fal_, &c.
All Joy to his Grace, for the ninth of his Race,
She's as fair as most of the former;
But where is that he, dare so impudent be,
To compare her to Lady _Mount-Hermer_,
_With a Fal_, &c.
And now to make thy Hopes more strong,
And make you look like a Man;
Remember that all these belong,
To the Queen of Great _Britain_,
_With a Fal_, &c.
Then prithee _Dick_ hold up thy Head,
Altho' we were beaten in _Spain_;
As sure as Scarlet Colour is Red,
We'll beat them twice for it again:
_With a Fal_, &c.
_A_ SONG.
Let those Youths who Freedom prize,
Far from the conquering _Sylvia_ run,
Never see her killing Eyes,
Or hear her soft enchanting Tongue:
For such sure Destruction waits,
On those Darts with which she wounds;
No shepherd ever can escape,
But falls if _Sylvia_ does but Frown.
_Damon_ to his cost has prov'd,
All resistance is but vain;
Heaven has form'd her to be lov'd,
And made her Queen of all the Plain:
_Damon_ when he saw her Face,
From her Beauty would have fled;
But the Charmer turn'd her Voice,
And with a Song she struck him dead.
_A_ SONG.
[Music]
Your Melancholy's all a Folly,
The Peace I'm sure is Sign'd;
The _French_ are for't, so is our Court,
And the _Dutch_ must be inclin'd:
What is't to us who's King of _Spain_,
So we are Masters of the Main,
Our Fleet must always the Trade maintain,
If we are not Banter'd and Bubbl'd.
And Cheated and Banter'd and Bubbl'd.
We very well know when _Marlborough_,
Did take the Towns in _Flanders_;
'Twas _English-men_, did pay for them,
Tho' they put in _Dutch_ Commanders;
So that while we were humbling _France_,
_Hollands_ Power we did advance,
And made 'em Great at our expence,
And so we were Banter'd, _&c._
We must suppose, the WHIGS are Foes,
When Treatys they will Sign a;
To give the _Dutch_ so plaguy much,
And call it the Barrier Line a:
For how can we Great _Europe_ Sway,
Or keep the Ballance every way,
I fear we shall pay for't another Day,
For we have been Banter'd, _&c._
For Liberty, and Property,
'Twas once we us'd to Fight;
'Gainst Popery, and Slavery,
We did it with our Might:
But now the Taxes make us poor,
The Emperor may Swear and roar,
We neither can nor will do more,
For we have been Banter'd, _&c._
FANATICKS then, are now the Men,
Who Kingly Pow'r divide;
Their Villany to Monarchy,
'Tis makes 'em _France_ deride:
If _Hollanders_ wou'd choose a King,
As much as now their Praises Sing,
They wou'd Curse, and Damn, and Fling,
And cry they were Banter'd, _&c._
I swear adsnigs, the Canting WHIGS,
Have run their Knavish Race;
The Church and Queen, are Flourishing,
Now they are in Disgrace:
Great _Harly_ he has set us right,
And _France_ will banish _Perkenite_,
So we're no more the _Holland_ Bite,
Nor will we be Banter'd and Bubbl'd,
And Cheated and Banter'd and Bubbl'd.
_The_ MOHOCKS. _A_ SONG.
[Music]
There's a new set of Rakes,
Entitled Mohocks,
Who infest Her Majesties Subjects;
He who meets 'em at Night,
Must be ready for flight,
Or withstanding he many a Drub gets.
In their nightly Patrole,
They up and down rowle,
To the Bodily fear of the Nation;
Some say they are Gentle-
men, otherwise Simple,
And their Sense like their Reputation.
Others say that the Van's
Led by Noblemen,
Tho' to Forreigners this will but sound ill;
But let 'em take care,
How they manage th' Affair;
For a Lord may be kill'd by a Scoundrel.
Some count it a Plot,
And the Lord knows what,
Contriv'd by the WHIGS out of Season;
But shou'd it be so,
By the _High-Church_ or _Low_,
Rebellion was always high Treason.
Fie, curb the Disgrace,
'Tis imprudent and base,
Pray take the advice of a Stranger;
But if you go on,
Like Fools as ye've done,
When ye're Hang'd ye'll be quite out of Danger.
Tune _of Joy to the Bridegroom_.
My _Theodora_ can those Eyes,
From whence those Glories always shine:
Give light to every Soul that prys,
And only be obscure to mine:
_Give light to every Soul that prys_,
_And only be obscure to mine._
Send out one Beam t' enrich my Soul,
That doth in Clouds of darkness roul;
And chase away this gloomy Shade,
That in my Breast a Hell has made:
_And chase away this gloomy Shade_,
_That in my Breast a Hell has made._
Where fire burns, where Flame is bright,
Yet I the Comfort want of light:
O shine, then shine upon the Man,
That else in Darkness is undone:
_O shine, then shine upon the Man_,
_That else in Darkness is undone._
_A_ SONG _in Praise of_ BEGGING: _Or, the Beggars Rivall'd._
[Music]
Tho' Begging is an honest Trade,
Which wealthy Knaves despise;
Yet Rich Men may be Beggars made,
And we that Beg may rise:
The greatest Kings may be betray'd,
And lose their Sov'raign Power,
But he that stoops to ask his Bread,
But he that stoops to ask his Bread,
Can never fall much lower.
What lazy Foreigns Swarm'd of late,
Has spoil'd our Begging-trade;
Yet still we live and drink good Beer,
Tho' they our Rights invade:
Some say they for Religion fled,
But wiser People tell us,
They were forc'd Abroad to seek their Bread,
For being too Rebellious.
Let heavy Taxes greater grow,
To make our Army fight;
Where 'tis not to be had you know,
The King must lose his Right:
Let one side laugh, the other mourn,
We nothing have to fear;
But that great Lords will Beggars be,
To be as great as we are.
What tho' we make the World believe,
That we are Sick or lame;
'Tis now a Virtue to Deceive,
Our Teachers do the same:
In Trade Dissembling is no crime,
And we may live to see;
That Begging in a little time,
The only Trade will be.
Tune, _Let_ C∆SAR _rejoyce_.
_Alphonzo_, if you Sir,
Your Heart have resign'd;
Take care what you do, Sir,
For a Lover is blind.
Beware of the Snare,
That for Lovers is laid:
Beware of the Fair,
But more treacherous Maid:
For when tir'd with the Joy,
Of a Minutes delight;
You'll repent the next Morn,
What you did over Night.
_A new_ BALLAD, _Sung at_ Messieurs Brook _and_ Hellier's _Club, at
the_ Temple-_Tavern in_ Fleet-Street.
[Music]
Since _Tom's_ in the Chair, and e'ery one here
Appears in Gay humour and easie;
Say, why shou'd not I, a new Ballad try,
Bright Brethren o'th' Bottle to please ye.
This Wine is my Theme, this is all on's Esteem,
For _Brook_ and _Hellier_ cannot wrong us;
Let them get Wealth, who keeps us in Health,
By bringing neat Liquors among us,
_Let them get Wealth_, &c.
Each Vintner of late, has got an Estate,
By Brewing and Sophistication:
With Syder and Sloes, they've made a damn'd Dose,
Has Poisoned one half of the Nation:
But _Hellier_ and _Brook_, a Method have took,
To prove them all Scoundrels and Noddys;
And shew'd us a way which (if we don't stray)
Will save both our Pockets and Bodies.
This generous Juice, brisk Blood will produce,
And stupid ones raise to the bonny'st:
Make Poets and Wits, of you that are Cits,
And Lawyers (if possible) honest:
If any are Sick, or find themselves Weak,
With Symptoms of Gout or the Scurvy;
This will alone, the Doctor must own,
_Probatum est_ Healthy preserve ye.
Have any here Wives, that lead 'em sad lives,
For you know what pouting and storming;
Then drink of this Wine, and it will incline,
The weakest to vig'rous performing:
Each Spouse will say then, pray go there agen,
Tho' Money for the reck'ning you borrow;
Nay, for so much Bub, here I'll pay your Club,
So go there agen Dear to morrow.
Tho' one drinks red Port, another's not for't,
But chuses _Vienna_ or White-Wine;
Each takes what suits best, his Stomach or Tast,
Yet e'ery one's sure he drinks right Wine;
Thus pledg'd we all sit, and thus we are knit,
In Friendship together the longer;
As Musick in Parts, enlivens our Hearts,
And renders the Harmony stronger.
Now God bless the Queen, Peers, Parliament Men,
And keep 'em like us in true Concord;
And grant that all those, who dare be her Foes,
At _Tyburn_ may swing in a strong Cord;
We'll Loyalists be, and bravely agree,
With Lives and Estates to defend Her;
So then she'll not care, come Peace or come War,
For _Lewis_, the _Pope_, or _Pretender_.
_The_ LONDON PRENTICE.
[Music]
A Worthy _London_ Prentice,
Came to his Love by Night;
The Candles were lighted,
The Moon did shine so bright:
He knocked at the Door,
To ease him of his Pain;
She rose and let him in Love,
And went to Bed again.
He went into the Chamber,
Where his true Love did lye;
She quickly gave consent,
For to have his Company:
She quickly gave consent,
The Neighbours peeping out;
So take away your Hand,
Love let's blow the Candle out.
I would not for a Crown Love,
My Mistress should it know;
I'll in my Smock step down Love,
And I'll out the Candle blow;
The Streets they are so nigh,
And the People walk about;
Some may peep in and spy Love,
Let's blow the Candle out.
My Master and my Mistress,
Upon the Bed do lye;
Injoying one another,
Why should not you and I:
My Master kiss'd my Mistress,
Without any fear or doubt;
And we'll kiss one another,
Let's blow the Candle out.
I prithee speak more softly,
Of what we have to do;
Least that our noise of Talking,
Should make our Pleasure rue:
For kissing one another,
Will make no evil rout;
Then let us now be silent,
And blow the Candle out.
But yet he must be doing,
He could no longer stay;
She strove to blow the Candle out,
And push'd his Hand away:
The young Man was so hasty,
To lay his Arms about;
But she cryed I pray Love,
Let's blow the Candle out.
As this young Couple sported,
The Maiden she did blow;
But how the Candle went out,
Alas I do not know:
Said she I fear not now, Sir,
My Master nor my Dame;
And what this Couple did, Sir,
Alas I dare not Name.
_A_ SONG _out of the_ GUARDIAN.
[Music]
Oh the Charming Month of _May_,
When the Breezes fan the Trees, is
Full of Blossoms fresh and gay,
Full of Blossoms fresh and gay:
Oh the Charming Month of _May_,
Charming, Charming Month of _May_.
Oh what Joys our Prospect yields,
In a new Livery when we see every,
Bush and Meadow, Tree and Field, _&c._
Oh what Joys, _&c._ Charming Joys, _&c._
Oh how fresh the Morning Air,
When the Zephirs and the Hephirs,
Their Odoriferous Breaths compare,
Oh how fresh, _&c._ Charming fresh, _&c._
Oh how fine our Evenings walk,
When the Nightingale delighting,
With her Songs suspends our Talk,
Oh how fine, _&c._ Charming fine, _&c._
Oh how sweet at Night to Dream,
On mossy Pillows by the trillows,
Of a gentle Purling Stream,
Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._
Oh how kind the Country Lass,
Who her Cows bilking, leaves her Milking,
For a green Gown upon the Grass,
Oh how kind, _&c._ Charming kind, _&c._
Oh how sweet it is to spy,
At the Conclusion, her deep confusion,
Blushing Cheeks and down cast Eye,
Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._
Oh the Charming Curds and Cream,
When all is over she gives her Lover,
Who on her Skimming-dish carves her Name,
Oh the Charming Curds and Cream,
Charming, Charming Curds and Cream.
Tune, _Hopes farewel_.
Fates I defie, I defie your Advances,
Since _CÊlia_ has crown'd
My true Love with a Smile;
I'll laugh at your Darts,
Your Arrows and Lances,
Since her Bosom abounds,
With the Pleasures of Nile.
You shall never,
Me from her sever,
Since that my _CÊlia_ has thrown by her Scorn:
Then forbear,
To come so near,
For I from _CÊlia_ can never be torn.
_The Country_ FARMER'S _Campaign_: _By the Author of_ Banter'd and
Bubbl'd, _&c._
[Music]
Oh _Roger_ I've been to see _Eugene_,
By _Villars_ over-reach'd;
And that _Dutch_ Earl, great _Albermarle_,
So foolishly Detach'd:
For _Phil_ of _Spain_, saw _Doway_ tain,
And _Quesnoy_ close beset;
Saw _Frenchmen_ grin, at Count _Rechstrin_,
And _Dutchmen_ in a Sweat.
With both my Eyes _Auxiliaries_,
I saw desert our Cause;
Old _Zinzendorf_ did buy 'em off,
But never stopp'd their Maws:
Whilst ORMOND he most orderly,
Did march them towards _Ghent_;
The _German_ Dogs, with great _Dutch_ Hogs,
Their towns against him Pent.
Were not we mad to spend our Blood,
And weighty Treasure so;
Do they deserve, that we should serve,
Adad we'll make them know:
They'll be afraid, of Peace and Trade,
And downfal of the WHIGS;
Our glorious ANN, with _France_ and _Spain_,
Will dance then many a Jigg.
If they have a mind, 'fore Peace be Sign'd,
To own Great ANNA'S Power;
Such Terms she'll get, as she thinks fit,
And they shall have no more:
Great _Oxford's_ Earl, that weighty Pearl,
And Minister of State:
With _Bollingbrook_, I swear adzooks,
Old _England_ will be great.
We Farmers then, shall be fine Men,
And Money have good store;
Their WHIGISH Tax they'll have with a Pox,
When Monarchy's no more:
My Son I'm sure, will ne'er endure,
To pay their plaguy Funds;
'Tis with reproach, they ride in Coach,
It makes me mad Ads--
For twenty Years, with Popish fears,
We have been Banter'd much;
With Liberty, and Property,
And our very good Friends the _Dutch_:
But now I hope, our Eyes are ope,
And _France_ is more Sincere;
Then _Emperor_ with all his stir,
_Or Dounders Divil myn Heir._