Not born with me i'the same Town;
Yet I can tell he was Earl of _Essex_,
Of _Hertford_, and _Northampton_.
He was High Constable of _England_,
As History well expresses;
But now pretty Maids be of good Chear,
We're going up to the Presses.
And now the Presses open stand,
And ye see them all arow;
But never no more are said of these
Then what is said below.
Now down the Stairs come we again,
The Man goes first with a Staff;
Some two or three tumble down the Stairs,
And then the People laugh.
This is the great Sir _Francis Vere_,
That so the _Spaniards_ curry'd;
Four Colonels support his Tomb,
And here his Body's Buried.
That _Statue_ against the _Wall_ with one Eye,
Is Major General _Norris_;
He beat the _Spaniards_ cruelly,
As is affirm'd in Stories.
[Sidenote: Dick. _I warrant ye he had two, if he could have but kep'd
'em._]
His six Sons there hard by him stand,
Each one was a Commander;
To shew he could a Lady serve,
As well as the _Hollander_.
And there doth Sir _John Hollis_ rest,
Who was the Major General;
To Sir _John Norris_, that brave blade,
And so they go to Dinner all.
For now the Shew is at an end,
All things are done and said;
The Citizen pays for his Wife,
The Prentice for the Maid.
_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ CAMPION, _in the Comedy call'd_, she wou'd and
she wou'd not. _By Mr._ JOHN WELDON.
[Music]
_Caelia_ my Heart has often rang'd,
Like Bees o'er Gaudy Flowers;
And many Thousand Loves have chang'd,
'Till it was fix'd, 'till it was fix'd on yours;
But _Caelia_ when I saw those Eyes,
'Twas soon, 'twas soon determin'd there;
Stars might as well forsake the Skies,
And Vanish into Air:
Stars might as well forsake the Skies,
And Vanish into Air.
Now if from the great Rules I err,
New Beauties, new Beauties to admire;
May I again, again turn wanderer,
And never, never, never, never, never, no, never,
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, settle more:
May I again, again turn wanderer,
And never, never, never, never, never, no, never,
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, settle more.
_A_ SONG _made for the Entertainment of her Royal Highness. Set by
Mr._ LEVERIDGE. _Sung by Mrs._ LINDSEY _in_ CALIGULA.
[Music]
Tho' over all Mankind, besides my conquering Beauty,
Conquering beauty, my conquering beauty Reigns;
My conquering Beauty Reigns;
From him I love, from him I love when I meet disdain,
A killing damp, a killing damp comes o'er my Pride:
I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young,
I'm fair and young in vain:
I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young,
I'm fair and young in vain;
No, no, no, let him wander where he will,
Let him wander, let him wander,
Let him wander, let him wander where he will,
I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty,
Youth and Beauty,
I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty still;
I shall have Beauty that can charm a _Jove_,
Can Charm a _Jove_, and no fault,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no fault, no, no, no fault,
But constant Love:
From my Arms then let him fly, fly, fly,
From my Arms then let him fly;
Shall I languish, pine, and dye?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no not I.
_A_ SONG _in the Fair_ PENITENT. _Set by Mr._ ECCLES. _Sung by Mrs._
HUDSON.
[Music]
Stay, ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
Whither, whither wou'd you fly?
Too Charming, too Charming, too relentless Maid,
I follow not to conquer, not to conquer,
I follow not to conquer, but to dye:
You of the fearful, of the fearful are afraid,
Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
Whither, whither, whither, whither, ah whither wou'd you fly?
In vain, in vain I call, in vain, in vain I call,
While she like fleeting, fleeting Air;
When press'd by some tempestuous Wind,
Flys swifter from the voice of my Despair:
Nor cast a pitying, pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying look,
Not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind.
_A new_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ Tho. Wall. _Set to Musick by Mr._
Henry Eccles, _Junior._
[Music]
No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
The bright enchanting Fair;
_Almira_ thousands, thousands, thousands can undo,
And thousands more, and thousands more,
And thousands more may still despair,
And thousands more may still despair.
For oh her bright alluring Eyes,
And Graces all admire;
For her the wounded Lover dies,
And ev'ry Breast, and ev'ry Heart,
And ev'ry Breast is set on Fire.
Then oh poor _Damon_, see thy Fate,
But never more complain;
For all a Thousand Hearts will stake,
And all may sigh, and all may die,
And all may sigh and die in vain.
_The_ DEAR JOY'S _Lamentation._
[Music]
Ho my dear Joy, now what dost thou think?
Hoop by my shoul our Country-men stink;
To _Ireland_ they can never return,
The Hereticks there our Houses will burn:
_Ah hone, ah hone, ah hone a cree._
A Pox on _T----l_ for a Son of a W----,
He was the cause of our coming o'er;
And when to _Dublin_ we came to put on our Coats,
He told us his business was cutting of Throats.
_Ah hone_, &c.
Our Devil has left us now in the Lurch,
A Plague light upon the _Protestant_ C----
If _P----s_ had let but the Bishops alone,
O then the Nation had all been our own.
_Ah hone_, &c.
And I wish other Measures had been taken,
For now I fear we shan't save our Bacon;
Now _Orange_ to _London_ is coming down-right,
And the Soldiers against him resolve not to Fight
_Ah hone_, &c.
What we shall do, the Lord himself knows,
Our Army is beaten without any blows;
Our M----r begins to feel some remorse,
For the Grey Mare has proved the better Horse.
_Ah hone_, &c.
If the _French_ do but come, which is all our Hopes,
We'll bundle the Hereticks all up with Ropes;
If _London_ stands to us as _Bristol_ has done,
We need not fear but _Orange_ must run.
_Ah hone_, &c.
But if they prove false, and to _Orange_ they scower,
By G---- all the M---- shall play from the _Tower_;
Our Massacree fresh in their Memories grown,
The Devil tauk me, we all shall go down.
_A hone, a hone, a hone a Cree._
_The Character of a_ Seat's-man; _written by one of the_ CRAFT: _To be
Sung on_ CRISPIN-Night. _Tune_ Packington's Pound.
[Music]
I am one in whom Nature has fix'd a Decree,
Ordaining my Life to happy and free;
With no Cares of the World I am never perplex'd,
And never depending, I never am vex'd:
I'm neither of so high nor so low a degree,
But Ambition and Want are both strangers to me;
My life is a compound of Freedom and Ease,
I go where I will, and I work when I please:
I live above Envy, and yet above Spight,
And have Judgment enough for to do my self right;
Some greater and richer I own there may be,
Yet as many live worse, as live better than me,
And few that from Cares live so quiet and free.
When Money comes in I live well 'till it's gone,
So with it I'm happy, Content when I've none:
I spend it Genteelly, and never repent,
If I lose it at Play, why I count it but Lent:
For that which at one time I Lose among Friends,
Another Night's Winnings still makes me amends:
And though I'm without the first Day of the Week,
I still make it out by Shift or by Tick:
In Mirth at my Work the swift Hours do pass,
And by _Saturday_ Night, I'm as rich as I was.
Then let Masters drudge on, and be Slaves to their Trade,
Let their Hours of Pleasure by Business be stay'd;
Let them venture their Stocks to be ruin'd by Trust,
Let Clickers bark on the whole Day at their Post:
Let 'em tire all that pass with their rotified Cant,
"Will you buy any Shoes, pray see what you want";
Let the rest of the World still contend to be great,
Let some by their Losses repine at their Fate:
Let others that Thrive, not content with their store,
Be plagu'd with the Trouble and Thoughts to get more.
Let wise Men invent, 'till the World be deceived,
Let Fools thrive thro' Fortune, and Knaves be believed;
Let such as are rich know no Want, but Content,
Let others be plagu'd to pay Taxes and Rent:
With more Freedom and Pleasure my Time I'll employ,
And covet no Blessings but what we enjoy.
Then let's celebrate _Crispin_ with Bumpers and Songs,
And they that drink Foul, may it blister their Tongues,
Here's two in a Hand, and let no one deny 'em,
Since _Crispin_ in Youth was a _Seat's-man_ as I am.
_The Female Scuffle. To the foregoing Tune._
Of late in the Park a fair Fancy was seen,
Betwixt an old _Baud_ and a lusty young _Quean_;
Their parting of Money began the uproar,
I'll have half says the _Baud_, but you shan't says the _Whore_:
Why 'tis my own House,
I care not a Louse,
I'll ha' three parts in four, or you get not a Souse.
'Tis I, says the _Whore_, must take all the Pains,
And you shall be damn'd e'er you get all the Gains;
The _Baud_ being vex'd, straight to her did say,
Come off wi' your _Duds_, and I pray pack away,
And likewise your _Ribbonds_, your _Gloves_, and your _Hair_,
For naked you came, and so out you go bare;
Then _Buttocks_ so bold,
Began for to Scold,
_Hurrydan_ was not able her _Clack_ for to hold.
Both _Pell-Mell_ fell to't, and made this uproar,
With these Compliments, th'art a _Baud_, th'art a _Whore_:
The _Bauds_ and the _Buttocks_ that liv'd there around,
Came all to the Case, both _Pockey_ and _Sound_,
To see what the reason was of this same Fray,
That did so disturb them before it was Day;
If I tell you amiss,
Let me never more Piss,
This _Buttocks_ so bold she named was _Siss_.
By _Quiffing_ with _Cullies_ three Pound she had got,
And but one part of four must fall to her Lot;
Yet all the _Bauds_ cry'd, let us turn her out bare,
Unless she will yield to return her half share;
If she will not, we'll help to strip off her Cloaths,
And turn her abroad with a slit o' the Nose:
Who when she did see,
There was no Remedy,
For her from the Tyranous _Bauds_ to get free;
The _Whore_ from the Money was forced to yield,
And in the Conclusion the _Baud_ got the Field.
_An Elegy on_ MOUNTFORT. _To the foregoing Tune._
Poor _Mountfort_ is gone, and the Ladies do all
Break their Hearts for this Beau, as they did for _Duvall_;
And they the two Brats for this Tragedy damn
At _Kensington_ Court, and the Court of _Bantam_,
They all vow and Swear,
That if any Peer,
Should acquit this young Lord, he shou'd pay very dear;
Nor will they be pleased with him who on the Throne is,
If he do's not his part to revenge their _Adonis_.
With the Widow their amorous Bowels do yearn,
There are divers pretend to an equal Concern;
And by her Perswasion their Hearts they reveal,
In case if not guilty, to bring an Appeal:
They all will unite,
The young Blade to indite,
And in Prosecution will joyn Day and Night;
In the mean time full many a Tear and a Groan is,
Wherever they meet, for their departed _Adonis_.
With the Ladies foul Murther's a horrible Sin
Of one Handsome without, tho' a Coxcomb within;
For not being a Beau, the sad Fate of poor _Crab_,
Tho' himself hang'd for Love, was a Jest to each Drab;
Then may _Jering_ live long,
And may _Risby_ among
The Fair with _Jack Barkley_, and _Culpepper_ throng:
May no Ruffin whose Heart as hard as a Stone is,
Kill any of those for a Brother _Adonis_.
No Lady henceforth can be safe with her Beau,
They think if this Slaughter unpunish'd should go;
Their Gallants, for whose Persons they most are in Pain,
Must no sooner be envy'd, but strait must be Slain:
For all _B----_ shape,
None car'd for the Rape,
Nor whether the Virtuous their Lust did escape;
Their Trouble of Mind, and their anguish alone is,
For the too sudden Fate of departed _Adonis_.
Let not every vain Spark think that he can engage,
The Heart of a Female, like one on the Stage;
His Flute, and his Voice, and his Dancing are rare,
And wherever they meet, they prevail with the Fair:
But no quality Fop,
Charms like Mr. _Hop_,
Adorn'd on the Stage, and in _East-India_ Shop;
So that each from _Miss Felton_, to ancient _Drake Joan_ is,
Bemoaning the Death of the Player _Adonis_.
Yet _Adonis_ in spight of this new Abjuration,
Did banter the lawful King of this great Nation:
Who call'd God's anointed a foolish old Prig,
Was both a base and unmannerly _Whigg_:
But since he is Dead
No more shall be said,
For he in Repentance has laid down his Head;
So I wish each Lady, who in mournful Tone is,
In Charity Grieve for the Death of _Adonis_.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ JAMES TOWNSHEND, _Organist of_ LYN RIGES. _The Words by_
J.R.
[Music]
Fly _Damon_ fly, 'tis Death to stay,
Nor listen to the _Syren's_ Song;
Nor hear her warbling Fingers play,
That kills in Consort with her Tongue:
Oft to despairing Shepherds Verse,
Unmov'd she tunes the trembling Strings;
Oft does some pitying Words rehearse,
But little means the thing she Sings.
Cease on her lovely Looks to gaze,
Nor court your Ruin in her Eyes;
Her Looks too 's dangerous as her Face,
At once engages and Destroys:
Speak not if you'd avoid your Fate,
For then she darts Resentment home;
But fly, fly _Damon_ e'er too late,
Or else be Deaf, be Blind, be Dumb.
MERCURY _to_ PARIS, _in the Prize Musick, Compos'd by Mr._ John
Eccles.
[Music]
Fear not Mortal, none shall harm thee,
With this Sacred Rod I'll Charm thee;
Freely gaze, and view all over,
Thou mayst every Grace discover:
Though a thousand Darts fly round thee,
Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee;
_Though a thousand Darts fly round thee,_
_Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee._
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ W. Morley.
[Music]
Born to surprize the World,
Born to surprize the World, and teach the Great,
The slippery Danger of exalted State;
Victorious _Marlborough_, Victorious _Marlborough_, to Battle flies,
Arm'd, Arm'd with new Lightning from bright _Anna's_ Eyes:
Wonders, Wonders like these no former Age has seen,
The Subjects Heroes, the Subjects Heroes, and a Saint the Queen.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.
[Music]
In vain, in vain, in vain, in vain, in vain,
In vain the God I ask,
He'll ne'er remove the Dart;
And still I love the pretty, pretty Boy,
Altho', altho' he wound my Heart:
Henceforth I'll be contented then,
No more will I desire;
No, no, no more, no, no, no more will I desire,
To slight her whom I love so much,
That but creates the Fire:
Well might I expect the Fate,
As well as any other;
Since he ne'er spares the Gods themselves,
Nor does he spare his Mother.
_An Amorous_ SONG. _To the Tune of_, The bonny Christ-Church Bells.
[Music]
See how fair and fine she lies,
Upon her Bridal Bed;
No Lady at the Court,
So fit for the Sport,
Oh she look'd so curiously White and Red:
After the first and second time,
The weary Bridegroom slacks his Pace;
But Oh! she cries, come, come my Joy,
And cling thy Cheek close to my Face:
Tinkle, tinkle, goes the Bell under the Bed,
Whilst Time and Touch they keep;
Then with a Kiss,
They end their Bliss,
And so fall fast asleep.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.
[Music]
_Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you,
_Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you,
Where's the harm in saying so?
_Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you,
Where's the harm in saying so?
Why shou'd my Sighs, why shou'd my Sighs,
Why shou'd my Sighs and Fondness move you?
To encrease, to encrease your Shepherd's Woe:
Flame pent in still burns and scorches,
'Till it burns a Lover's Heart:
Love declar'd like lighted Torches,
Wastes it self and gives less Pain:
Love declar'd like lighted Torches,
Wastes it self, wastes it self,
Wastes it self, and gives less Smart.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ISUM.
[Music]
_Caelia's_ Charms are past expressing,
Were she kind as she is Fair;
_Caelia's_ Charms are past expressing,
Were she kind as she is Fair:
Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing,
Nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care;
Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing,
Nor Earth a Nymph, nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care.
But Unkindness, Unkindness mars her Beauty,
And useless makes that Heav'nly,
That Heav'nly, that Heav'nly frame;
But Unkindness mars her Beauty,
And useless makes that Heav'nly, Heav'nly frame:
While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
Which ill Nature others name:
While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
Which ill Nature others name.
_The Hopeful Bargain: Or a Fare for a Hackney-Coachman, giving a
Comical relation, how an_ Ale-draper _at the Sign of the_
Double-tooth'd Rake _in or near the new_ Palace-yard, Westminster,
_Sold his Wife for a Shilling, and how she was sold a Second time for
five Shillings to_ JUDGE; _My Lord ---- Coachman, and how her Husband
receiv'd her again after she had lain with other Folks three Days and
Nights_, &c. _The Tune_ Lilly Bullero.
[Music]
There lives an Ale-draper near _New-palace-yard_,
Who used to Jerk the Bum of his Wife;
And she was forced to stand on her Guard,
To keep his Clutches from her Quoiff:
She poor Soul the weaker Vessel,
To be reconcil'd was easily won;
He held her in scorn,
But she Crown'd him with Horn,
_Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._
He for a Shilling sold his Spouse,
And she was very willing to go;
And left the poor Cuckold alone in the House,
That he by himself his Horn might blow:
A Hackney Coachman he did buy her,
And was not this a very good Fun;
With a dirty Pinner,
As I am a Sinner,
_Without Hood or Scarff, but rough as she run._
The Woman gladly did depart,
Between three Men was handed away;
He for her Husband did care not a Fart,
He kept her one whole Night and Day:
Then honest _Judge_ the Coachman bought her,
And was not this most cunningly done?
Gave for her five Shilling,
To take her was willing,
_Without Hood or Scarff_, &c.
The Cuckold to _Judge_, a Letter did send,
Wherein he did most humbly crave;
Quoth he, I prithee, my Rival Friend,
My Spouse again I fain would have:
And if you will but let me have her,
I'll pardon what she e'er has done;
I swear by my Maker,
Again I will take her,
_Without Hood and Scarff_, &c.
He sent an old Baud to interceed,
And to perswade her to come back;
That he might have one of her delicate breed,
And he would give her a ha'p'uth of Sack:
Therefore prithee now come to me,
Or else poor I shall be undone:
Then do not forgo me,
But prithee come to me,
_Without Hood or Scarff, tho' rough_, &c.
The Coachman then with much ado,
Did suffer the Baud to take her out;
Upon the Condition that she would be true,
And let him have now and then a Bout:
But he took from her forty Shillings,
And gave her a parting Glass at the _Sun_;
And then with good buyt' ye,
Discharged his Duty,
_And turn'd her a grazing, rough as she run._
The Cuckold invited the Coachman to dine,
And gave him a Treat at his own Expence;
They drown'd all Cares in full brimmers of Wine,
He made him as welcome as any Prince:
There was all the Hungregation,
Which from _Cuckolds-Point_ was come;
They kissed and fumbled,
They touzed and tumbled,
_He was glad to take her rough as she run._
_Judge_ does enjoy her where he list,
He values not the old Cuckold's Pouts;
And she is as good for the Game as e'er pist,
Fudge on his Horns sits drying of Clouts:
She rants and revels when she pleases,
And to end as I begun,
The Horned Wise-acre,
Is forced to take her
_Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._
_The_ MAIDEN LOTTERY: _Containing 70 Thousand Tickets, at a Guinea
each; the Prizes being Rich and Loving Husbands, from three Thousand
to one Hundred a Year, which Lottery will begin to draw on next_
VALENTINE'S _Day._
_Then pretty Lasses venture now,_
_Kind_ Fortune _may her Smiles alow._
[Music]
Young Ladies that live in the City,
Sweet beautiful proper and Tall;
And Country Maids who dabling wades,
Here's happy good News for you all:
A Lottery now out of hand,
Erected will be in the _Strand_;
Young Husbands with Treasure, and Wealth out of measure
Will fairly be at your Command:
_Of her that shall light of a Fortunate Lot,_
_There's Six of three Thousand a Year to be got._
I tell you the Price of each Ticket,
It is but a Guinea, I'll vow;
Then hasten away, and make no delay,
And fill up the Lottery now:
If _Gillian_ that lodges in Straw,
Shall have the good Fortune to draw
A Knight or a 'Squire, he'll never deny her,
'Tis fair and according to Law;
_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
_There's Ten of two Thousand a Year to be got._
The number is Seventy Thousand,
When all the whole Lot is compleat;
Five Hundred of which, are Prizes most rich,
Believe me for this is no Cheat:
There's Drapers and Taylors likewise,
Brave Men that you cannot despise;
Come _Bridget_ and _Jenny_, and throw in your Guinea,
A Husband's a delicate Prize:
_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
_There's Ten of one Thousand a Year to be got._
Suppose you should win for your Guinea,
A Man of three Thousand a Year;
Would this not be brave; what more would you have?
You soon might in Glory appear:
In glittering Coach you may ride,
With Lackeys to run by your side;
For why should you spare it? Faith win Gold and wear it;
Now who would not be such a Bride?
_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
_There's Sixty, Five Hundreds a Year to be got._
Old Widows, and Maids above Forty,
Shall not be admitted to draw:
There's five Hundred and Ten, as proper young Men,
Indeed, as your Eyes ever saw:
Who scorns for one Guinea of Gold,
To lodge with a Woman that's Old;
Young Maids are admitted, in hopes to be fitted,
With Husbands couragious and bold:
_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
_There are wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got._
Kind Men that are full of good Nature,
The flaxen, the black, and the brown;
Both lusty and stout, and fit to hold out,
The prime and the top of the Town:
So clever in every part,
They'll please a young Girl to the Heart;
Nay, kiss you, and squeese you, and tenderly please you,
For Love has a conquering Dart:
_Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_
_There are Wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got._
Then never be fearful to venture,
But Girls bring you Guineas away;
Come merrily in, for we shall begin,
To draw upon _Valentine's_ Day:
The Prizes are many and great,
Each Man with a worthy Estate;
Then come away _Mary_, _Sib_, _Susan_, and _Sarah_,
_Joan_, _Nancy_, and pretty fac'd _Kate_:
_For now is the time if you'll purchase a Lot,_
_While Wealthy kind Husbands they are to be got._
Amongst you I know there is many,
Will miss of a Capital Prize:
Yet nevertheless, no Sorrows express,
But dry up your watry Eyes:
Young Lasses it is but in vain,
In sorrowful Sighs to complain;
Then ne'er be faint hearted, tho' Luck be departed,
For all cannot reckon to gain:
_Yet venture young Lasses, your Guineas bring in,_
_The Lucky will have the good Fortune to win._
_A_ SONG _on the_ JUBILEE.
[Music]
Come Beaus, Virtuoso's, rich Heirs and Musicians
Away, and in Troops to the _Jubile_ jog;
Leave Discord and Death, to the College Physicians,
Let the Vig'rous whore on, and the impotent Flog:
Already _Rome_ opens her Arms to receive ye,
And ev'ry Transgression her Lord will forgive ye.
Indulgences, Pardons, and such Holy Lumber,
As cheap there is now as our Cabbages grown;
While musty old Relicks of Saints without number,
For barely the looking upon, shall be shown:
These, were you an Atheist, must needs overcome ye,
That first were made Martyrs, and afterwards Mummy.
They'll shew ye the River, so Sung by the Poets,
With the Rock from whence, Mortals were knockt o'th' Head;
They'll shew ye the place too, as some will avow it,
Where once a She Pope was brought fairly to Bed:
For which, ever since, to prevent Interloping,
In a Chair her Successors still suffer a Groping.
What a sight 'tis to see the gay Idol accoutred,
With Mitre and Cap, and two Keys by his side;
Be his inside what 'twill, yet the Pomp of his outward,
Shows _Servus servorum_, no hater of Pride,
These Keys into Heav'n will as surely admit ye,
As Clerks of a Parish to a Pew in the City.
What a sight 'tis to see the old Man in Procession,
Through _Rome_ in such Pomp as here _Caesar_ did ride,
Now scattering of Pardons, here Crossing, there Blessing,
With all his shav'd Spiritual Train'd-bans by his side;
As, _Confessors_, _Cardinals_, _Monks_ fat as Bacons,
From Rev'rend _Arch-Bishops_, to Rosie _Arch-Deacons_.
Then for your Diversion the more to regale ye,
Fine Music you'll hear, and high Dancing you'll see;
Men who much shall out-warble your Famous _Fideli_,
And make ye meer Fools, of _Balloon_ and _L'Abbe_:
And to shew ye how fond they're to Kiss _Vostre Manos_,
Each _Padre_ turns Pimp, all _Nuns_ Courtezana's.