Chapter VI (3)

[Sidenote: Rog. _I warrant ye these were no small Fools in those days._]

And here they stand upright in a Press
With Bodies made of Wax;
With a Globe and a Wand in either Hand,
And their Robes upon their Backs.

Here lies the Duke of _Buckingham_,
And the Dutchess his Wife;
Him _Felton_ Stabb'd at _Portsmouth_ Town,
And so he lost his Life.

Two Children of King _James_ these are,
Whom Death keeps very chary;
_Sophia_ in the Cradle lies,
And this is the Lady _Mary_.

[Sidenote: Bess. _Good Woman pray still your Child, it keeps such a bawling, we can't hear what the Man says._]

And this is Queen _Elizabeth_,
How the _Spaniards_ did infest her?
Here she lies Buried, with Queen _Mary_,
And now agrees with her Sister.

To another Chapel now we come,
The People follow and chat;
This is the Lady _Cottington_,
And the People cry, who's that?

This is the Lady _Frances Sidney_,
The Countess of _Suffolk_ was she;
And this the Lord _Dudley Carleton_ is,
And then they look up and see.

Sir _Thomas Brumley_ lieth here,
Death would him not reprieve;
With his four Sons, and Daughters four,
That once were all alive.

The next is Sir _John Fullerton_,
And this is his Lady I trow;
And this is Sir _John Puckering_,
Whom none of you did know.

That's the Earl of _Bridgwater_ in the middle,
Who makes no use of his Bladder;
Although his Lady lie so near him,
And so we go up a Ladder.

[Sidenote: Kate. _He took more pains, than I would ha done for a Hundred such._]

_Edward_ the First, that Gallant Blade,
Lies underneath this Stone;
And this is the Chair which he did bring,
A good while ago from _Scone_.

In this same Chair, till now of late,
Our Kings and Queens were Crown'd;
Under this Chair another Stone
Doth lie upon the Ground.

[Sidenote: Ralf. _Gad I warrant there has been many a Maiden-head got in that Chair._ Tom. _Gad and I'll come hither and try one of these Days, an't be but to get a Prince._ Dol. _A_ Papist _I warrant him._]

On that same Stone did _Jacob_ sleep,
Instead of a Down Pillow;
And after that 'twas hither brought,
By some good honest Fellow.

_Richard_ the Second lieth here,
And his first Queen, Queen _Ann_;
_Edward_ the Third lies here hard by,
Oh! there was a Gallant Man.

For this was his two handed Sword,
A Blade both true and Trusty;
The _French_ Men's Blood was ne'er wip'd off,
Which makes it look so rusty.

Here he lies again, with his Queen _Philip_,
A _Dutch_ Woman by Record,
But that's all one, for now alass!
His Blade's not so long as his Sword.

King _Edward_ the Confessor lies
Within this Monument fine;
I'm sure, quoth one, a worser Tomb
Must serve both me and mine.

_Harry_ the Fifth lies there, and there
Doth lie Queen _Eleanor_;
To our first _Edward_ she was Wife,
Which was more than ye knew before.

_Henry_ the Third lies there Entomb'd,
He was Herb _John_ in Pottage;
Little he did, but still Reign'd on,
Although his Sons were at Age.

Fifty six Years he Reigned King,
E'er he the Crown would lay by;
Only we praise him, 'cause he was
Last Builder of the _Abby_.

Here _Thomas Cecil_ lies, who's that? Why 'tis the Earl of _Exeter_; And this his Countess is, to Die How it perplexed her.

[Sidenote: Dol. _Ay, ay, I warrant her, rich Folks are as unwilling to die as poor Folks._]

Here _Henry Cary_, Lord _Hunsdon_ rests,
What a noise he makes with his Name?
Lord Chamberlain was he unto
Queen _Elizabeth_ of great Fame.

[Sidenote: Sisly. _That's he for whom our Bells ring so often, is it not_ Mary? Mol. _Ay, ay, the very same._]

And here's one _William Colchester_
Lies of a Certainty;
An Abbot was he of _Westminster_,
And he that saith no, doth lie.

This is the Bishop of _Durham_,
By Death here lay'd in Fetters;
_Henry_ the Seventh lov'd him well,
And so he wrote his Letters.

Sir _Thomas Bacchus_, what of him?
Poor Gentleman not a Word;
Only they Buried him here; but now
Behold that Man with a Sword.

_Humphry de Bohun_, who though he were
Not born with me i'the same Town;
Yet I can tell he was Earl of _Essex_,
Of _Hertford_, and _Northampton_.

He was High Constable of _England_,
As History well expresses;
But now pretty Maids be of good Chear,
We're going up to the Presses.

And now the Presses open stand,
And ye see them all arow;
But never no more are said of these
Then what is said below.

Now down the Stairs come we again,
The Man goes first with a Staff;
Some two or three tumble down the Stairs,
And then the People laugh.

This is the great Sir _Francis Vere_,
That so the _Spaniards_ curry'd;
Four Colonels support his Tomb,
And here his Body's Buried.

That _Statue_ against the _Wall_ with one Eye,
Is Major General _Norris_;
He beat the _Spaniards_ cruelly,
As is affirm'd in Stories.

[Sidenote: Dick. _I warrant ye he had two, if he could have but kep'd 'em._]

His six Sons there hard by him stand,
Each one was a Commander;
To shew he could a Lady serve,
As well as the _Hollander_.

And there doth Sir _John Hollis_ rest,
Who was the Major General;
To Sir _John Norris_, that brave blade,
And so they go to Dinner all.

For now the Shew is at an end,
All things are done and said;
The Citizen pays for his Wife,
The Prentice for the Maid.

_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ CAMPION, _in the Comedy call'd_, she wou'd and she wou'd not. _By Mr._ JOHN WELDON.

[Music]

_Caelia_ my Heart has often rang'd,
Like Bees o'er Gaudy Flowers;
And many Thousand Loves have chang'd,
'Till it was fix'd, 'till it was fix'd on yours;
But _Caelia_ when I saw those Eyes,
'Twas soon, 'twas soon determin'd there;
Stars might as well forsake the Skies,
And Vanish into Air:
Stars might as well forsake the Skies,
And Vanish into Air.

Now if from the great Rules I err,
New Beauties, new Beauties to admire;
May I again, again turn wanderer,
And never, never, never, never, never, no, never,
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, settle more:
May I again, again turn wanderer,
And never, never, never, never, never, no, never,
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, settle more.

_A_ SONG _made for the Entertainment of her Royal Highness. Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE. _Sung by Mrs._ LINDSEY _in_ CALIGULA.

[Music]

Tho' over all Mankind, besides my conquering Beauty, Conquering beauty, my conquering beauty Reigns; My conquering Beauty Reigns; From him I love, from him I love when I meet disdain, A killing damp, a killing damp comes o'er my Pride: I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young in vain: I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young in vain; No, no, no, let him wander where he will, Let him wander, let him wander, Let him wander, let him wander where he will, I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty, I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty still; I shall have Beauty that can charm a _Jove_, Can Charm a _Jove_, and no fault, No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no fault, no, no, no fault, But constant Love: From my Arms then let him fly, fly, fly, From my Arms then let him fly; Shall I languish, pine, and dye? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no not I.

_A_ SONG _in the Fair_ PENITENT. _Set by Mr._ ECCLES. _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON.

[Music]

Stay, ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly? Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly? Whither, whither wou'd you fly? Too Charming, too Charming, too relentless Maid, I follow not to conquer, not to conquer, I follow not to conquer, but to dye: You of the fearful, of the fearful are afraid, Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly? Whither, whither, whither, whither, ah whither wou'd you fly?

In vain, in vain I call, in vain, in vain I call, While she like fleeting, fleeting Air; When press'd by some tempestuous Wind, Flys swifter from the voice of my Despair: Nor cast a pitying, pitying, pitying, pitying look behind, No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying look, Not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind, No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind, No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind.

_A new_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ Tho. Wall. _Set to Musick by Mr._ Henry Eccles, _Junior._

[Music]

No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
The bright enchanting Fair;
_Almira_ thousands, thousands, thousands can undo,
And thousands more, and thousands more,
And thousands more may still despair,
And thousands more may still despair.

For oh her bright alluring Eyes, And Graces all admire; For her the wounded Lover dies, And ev'ry Breast, and ev'ry Heart, And ev'ry Breast is set on Fire.

Then oh poor _Damon_, see thy Fate, But never more complain; For all a Thousand Hearts will stake, And all may sigh, and all may die, And all may sigh and die in vain.

_The_ DEAR JOY'S _Lamentation._

[Music]

Ho my dear Joy, now what dost thou think? Hoop by my shoul our Country-men stink; To _Ireland_ they can never return, The Hereticks there our Houses will burn: _Ah hone, ah hone, ah hone a cree._

A Pox on _T----l_ for a Son of a W----, He was the cause of our coming o'er; And when to _Dublin_ we came to put on our Coats, He told us his business was cutting of Throats. _Ah hone_, &c.

Our Devil has left us now in the Lurch, A Plague light upon the _Protestant_ C---- If _P----s_ had let but the Bishops alone, O then the Nation had all been our own. _Ah hone_, &c.

And I wish other Measures had been taken, For now I fear we shan't save our Bacon; Now _Orange_ to _London_ is coming down-right, And the Soldiers against him resolve not to Fight _Ah hone_, &c.

What we shall do, the Lord himself knows, Our Army is beaten without any blows; Our M----r begins to feel some remorse, For the Grey Mare has proved the better Horse. _Ah hone_, &c.

If the _French_ do but come, which is all our Hopes, We'll bundle the Hereticks all up with Ropes; If _London_ stands to us as _Bristol_ has done, We need not fear but _Orange_ must run. _Ah hone_, &c.

But if they prove false, and to _Orange_ they scower, By G---- all the M---- shall play from the _Tower_; Our Massacree fresh in their Memories grown, The Devil tauk me, we all shall go down. _A hone, a hone, a hone a Cree._

_The Character of a_ Seat's-man; _written by one of the_ CRAFT: _To be Sung on_ CRISPIN-Night. _Tune_ Packington's Pound.

[Music]

I am one in whom Nature has fix'd a Decree, Ordaining my Life to happy and free; With no Cares of the World I am never perplex'd, And never depending, I never am vex'd: I'm neither of so high nor so low a degree, But Ambition and Want are both strangers to me; My life is a compound of Freedom and Ease, I go where I will, and I work when I please: I live above Envy, and yet above Spight, And have Judgment enough for to do my self right; Some greater and richer I own there may be, Yet as many live worse, as live better than me, And few that from Cares live so quiet and free.

When Money comes in I live well 'till it's gone, So with it I'm happy, Content when I've none: I spend it Genteelly, and never repent, If I lose it at Play, why I count it but Lent: For that which at one time I Lose among Friends, Another Night's Winnings still makes me amends: And though I'm without the first Day of the Week, I still make it out by Shift or by Tick: In Mirth at my Work the swift Hours do pass, And by _Saturday_ Night, I'm as rich as I was.

Then let Masters drudge on, and be Slaves to their Trade, Let their Hours of Pleasure by Business be stay'd; Let them venture their Stocks to be ruin'd by Trust, Let Clickers bark on the whole Day at their Post: Let 'em tire all that pass with their rotified Cant, "Will you buy any Shoes, pray see what you want"; Let the rest of the World still contend to be great, Let some by their Losses repine at their Fate: Let others that Thrive, not content with their store, Be plagu'd with the Trouble and Thoughts to get more.

Let wise Men invent, 'till the World be deceived, Let Fools thrive thro' Fortune, and Knaves be believed; Let such as are rich know no Want, but Content, Let others be plagu'd to pay Taxes and Rent: With more Freedom and Pleasure my Time I'll employ, And covet no Blessings but what we enjoy.

Then let's celebrate _Crispin_ with Bumpers and Songs, And they that drink Foul, may it blister their Tongues, Here's two in a Hand, and let no one deny 'em, Since _Crispin_ in Youth was a _Seat's-man_ as I am.

_The Female Scuffle. To the foregoing Tune._

Of late in the Park a fair Fancy was seen, Betwixt an old _Baud_ and a lusty young _Quean_; Their parting of Money began the uproar, I'll have half says the _Baud_, but you shan't says the _Whore_: Why 'tis my own House, I care not a Louse, I'll ha' three parts in four, or you get not a Souse.

'Tis I, says the _Whore_, must take all the Pains, And you shall be damn'd e'er you get all the Gains; The _Baud_ being vex'd, straight to her did say, Come off wi' your _Duds_, and I pray pack away, And likewise your _Ribbonds_, your _Gloves_, and your _Hair_, For naked you came, and so out you go bare; Then _Buttocks_ so bold, Began for to Scold, _Hurrydan_ was not able her _Clack_ for to hold.

Both _Pell-Mell_ fell to't, and made this uproar, With these Compliments, th'art a _Baud_, th'art a _Whore_: The _Bauds_ and the _Buttocks_ that liv'd there around, Came all to the Case, both _Pockey_ and _Sound_, To see what the reason was of this same Fray, That did so disturb them before it was Day; If I tell you amiss, Let me never more Piss, This _Buttocks_ so bold she named was _Siss_.

By _Quiffing_ with _Cullies_ three Pound she had got, And but one part of four must fall to her Lot; Yet all the _Bauds_ cry'd, let us turn her out bare, Unless she will yield to return her half share; If she will not, we'll help to strip off her Cloaths, And turn her abroad with a slit o' the Nose: Who when she did see, There was no Remedy, For her from the Tyranous _Bauds_ to get free; The _Whore_ from the Money was forced to yield, And in the Conclusion the _Baud_ got the Field.

_An Elegy on_ MOUNTFORT. _To the foregoing Tune._

Poor _Mountfort_ is gone, and the Ladies do all Break their Hearts for this Beau, as they did for _Duvall_; And they the two Brats for this Tragedy damn At _Kensington_ Court, and the Court of _Bantam_, They all vow and Swear, That if any Peer, Should acquit this young Lord, he shou'd pay very dear; Nor will they be pleased with him who on the Throne is, If he do's not his part to revenge their _Adonis_.

With the Widow their amorous Bowels do yearn, There are divers pretend to an equal Concern; And by her Perswasion their Hearts they reveal, In case if not guilty, to bring an Appeal: They all will unite, The young Blade to indite, And in Prosecution will joyn Day and Night; In the mean time full many a Tear and a Groan is, Wherever they meet, for their departed _Adonis_.

With the Ladies foul Murther's a horrible Sin Of one Handsome without, tho' a Coxcomb within; For not being a Beau, the sad Fate of poor _Crab_, Tho' himself hang'd for Love, was a Jest to each Drab; Then may _Jering_ live long, And may _Risby_ among The Fair with _Jack Barkley_, and _Culpepper_ throng: May no Ruffin whose Heart as hard as a Stone is, Kill any of those for a Brother _Adonis_.

No Lady henceforth can be safe with her Beau, They think if this Slaughter unpunish'd should go; Their Gallants, for whose Persons they most are in Pain, Must no sooner be envy'd, but strait must be Slain: For all _B----_ shape, None car'd for the Rape, Nor whether the Virtuous their Lust did escape; Their Trouble of Mind, and their anguish alone is, For the too sudden Fate of departed _Adonis_.

Let not every vain Spark think that he can engage, The Heart of a Female, like one on the Stage; His Flute, and his Voice, and his Dancing are rare, And wherever they meet, they prevail with the Fair: But no quality Fop, Charms like Mr. _Hop_, Adorn'd on the Stage, and in _East-India_ Shop; So that each from _Miss Felton_, to ancient _Drake Joan_ is, Bemoaning the Death of the Player _Adonis_.

Yet _Adonis_ in spight of this new Abjuration, Did banter the lawful King of this great Nation: Who call'd God's anointed a foolish old Prig, Was both a base and unmannerly _Whigg_: But since he is Dead No more shall be said, For he in Repentance has laid down his Head; So I wish each Lady, who in mournful Tone is, In Charity Grieve for the Death of _Adonis_.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ JAMES TOWNSHEND, _Organist of_ LYN RIGES. _The Words by_ J.R.

[Music]

Fly _Damon_ fly, 'tis Death to stay,
Nor listen to the _Syren's_ Song;
Nor hear her warbling Fingers play,
That kills in Consort with her Tongue:
Oft to despairing Shepherds Verse,
Unmov'd she tunes the trembling Strings;
Oft does some pitying Words rehearse,
But little means the thing she Sings.

Cease on her lovely Looks to gaze,
Nor court your Ruin in her Eyes;
Her Looks too 's dangerous as her Face,
At once engages and Destroys:
Speak not if you'd avoid your Fate,
For then she darts Resentment home;
But fly, fly _Damon_ e'er too late,
Or else be Deaf, be Blind, be Dumb.

MERCURY _to_ PARIS, _in the Prize Musick, Compos'd by Mr._ John Eccles.

[Music]

Fear not Mortal, none shall harm thee, With this Sacred Rod I'll Charm thee; Freely gaze, and view all over, Thou mayst every Grace discover: Though a thousand Darts fly round thee, Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee; _Though a thousand Darts fly round thee,_ _Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee._

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ W. Morley.

[Music]

Born to surprize the World, Born to surprize the World, and teach the Great, The slippery Danger of exalted State; Victorious _Marlborough_, Victorious _Marlborough_, to Battle flies, Arm'd, Arm'd with new Lightning from bright _Anna's_ Eyes: Wonders, Wonders like these no former Age has seen, The Subjects Heroes, the Subjects Heroes, and a Saint the Queen.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.

[Music]

In vain, in vain, in vain, in vain, in vain,
In vain the God I ask,
He'll ne'er remove the Dart;
And still I love the pretty, pretty Boy,
Altho', altho' he wound my Heart:
Henceforth I'll be contented then,
No more will I desire;
No, no, no more, no, no, no more will I desire,
To slight her whom I love so much,
That but creates the Fire:
Well might I expect the Fate,
As well as any other;
Since he ne'er spares the Gods themselves,
Nor does he spare his Mother.

_An Amorous_ SONG. _To the Tune of_, The bonny Christ-Church Bells.

[Music]

See how fair and fine she lies,
Upon her Bridal Bed;
No Lady at the Court,
So fit for the Sport,
Oh she look'd so curiously White and Red:
After the first and second time,
The weary Bridegroom slacks his Pace;
But Oh! she cries, come, come my Joy,
And cling thy Cheek close to my Face:
Tinkle, tinkle, goes the Bell under the Bed,
Whilst Time and Touch they keep;
Then with a Kiss,
They end their Bliss,
And so fall fast asleep.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.

[Music]

_Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you, _Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you, Where's the harm in saying so? _Corinna_ if my Fate's to love you, Where's the harm in saying so? Why shou'd my Sighs, why shou'd my Sighs, Why shou'd my Sighs and Fondness move you? To encrease, to encrease your Shepherd's Woe: Flame pent in still burns and scorches, 'Till it burns a Lover's Heart: Love declar'd like lighted Torches, Wastes it self and gives less Pain: Love declar'd like lighted Torches, Wastes it self, wastes it self, Wastes it self, and gives less Smart.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ISUM.

[Music]

_Caelia's_ Charms are past expressing,
Were she kind as she is Fair;
_Caelia's_ Charms are past expressing,
Were she kind as she is Fair:
Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing,
Nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care;
Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing,
Nor Earth a Nymph, nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care.

But Unkindness, Unkindness mars her Beauty,
And useless makes that Heav'nly,
That Heav'nly, that Heav'nly frame;
But Unkindness mars her Beauty,
And useless makes that Heav'nly, Heav'nly frame:
While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
Which ill Nature others name:
While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
Which ill Nature others name.

_The Hopeful Bargain: Or a Fare for a Hackney-Coachman, giving a Comical relation, how an_ Ale-draper _at the Sign of the_ Double-tooth'd Rake _in or near the new_ Palace-yard, Westminster, _Sold his Wife for a Shilling, and how she was sold a Second time for five Shillings to_ JUDGE; _My Lord ---- Coachman, and how her Husband receiv'd her again after she had lain with other Folks three Days and Nights_, &c. _The Tune_ Lilly Bullero.

[Music]

There lives an Ale-draper near _New-palace-yard_,
Who used to Jerk the Bum of his Wife;
And she was forced to stand on her Guard,
To keep his Clutches from her Quoiff:
She poor Soul the weaker Vessel,
To be reconcil'd was easily won;
He held her in scorn,
But she Crown'd him with Horn,
_Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._

He for a Shilling sold his Spouse,
And she was very willing to go;
And left the poor Cuckold alone in the House,
That he by himself his Horn might blow:
A Hackney Coachman he did buy her,
And was not this a very good Fun;
With a dirty Pinner,
As I am a Sinner,
_Without Hood or Scarff, but rough as she run._

The Woman gladly did depart, Between three Men was handed away; He for her Husband did care not a Fart, He kept her one whole Night and Day: Then honest _Judge_ the Coachman bought her, And was not this most cunningly done? Gave for her five Shilling, To take her was willing, _Without Hood or Scarff_, &c.

The Cuckold to _Judge_, a Letter did send, Wherein he did most humbly crave; Quoth he, I prithee, my Rival Friend, My Spouse again I fain would have: And if you will but let me have her, I'll pardon what she e'er has done; I swear by my Maker, Again I will take her, _Without Hood and Scarff_, &c.

He sent an old Baud to interceed, And to perswade her to come back; That he might have one of her delicate breed, And he would give her a ha'p'uth of Sack: Therefore prithee now come to me, Or else poor I shall be undone: Then do not forgo me, But prithee come to me, _Without Hood or Scarff, tho' rough_, &c.

The Coachman then with much ado, Did suffer the Baud to take her out; Upon the Condition that she would be true, And let him have now and then a Bout: But he took from her forty Shillings, And gave her a parting Glass at the _Sun_; And then with good buyt' ye, Discharged his Duty, _And turn'd her a grazing, rough as she run._

The Cuckold invited the Coachman to dine, And gave him a Treat at his own Expence; They drown'd all Cares in full brimmers of Wine, He made him as welcome as any Prince: There was all the Hungregation, Which from _Cuckolds-Point_ was come; They kissed and fumbled, They touzed and tumbled, _He was glad to take her rough as she run._

_Judge_ does enjoy her where he list, He values not the old Cuckold's Pouts; And she is as good for the Game as e'er pist, Fudge on his Horns sits drying of Clouts: She rants and revels when she pleases, And to end as I begun, The Horned Wise-acre, Is forced to take her _Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._

_The_ MAIDEN LOTTERY: _Containing 70 Thousand Tickets, at a Guinea each; the Prizes being Rich and Loving Husbands, from three Thousand to one Hundred a Year, which Lottery will begin to draw on next_ VALENTINE'S _Day._

_Then pretty Lasses venture now,_ _Kind_ Fortune _may her Smiles alow._

[Music]

Young Ladies that live in the City,
Sweet beautiful proper and Tall;
And Country Maids who dabling wades,
Here's happy good News for you all:
A Lottery now out of hand,
Erected will be in the _Strand_;
Young Husbands with Treasure, and Wealth out of measure
Will fairly be at your Command:
_Of her that shall light of a Fortunate Lot,_
_There's Six of three Thousand a Year to be got._

I tell you the Price of each Ticket, It is but a Guinea, I'll vow; Then hasten away, and make no delay, And fill up the Lottery now: If _Gillian_ that lodges in Straw, Shall have the good Fortune to draw A Knight or a 'Squire, he'll never deny her, 'Tis fair and according to Law; _Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_ _There's Ten of two Thousand a Year to be got._

The number is Seventy Thousand, When all the whole Lot is compleat; Five Hundred of which, are Prizes most rich, Believe me for this is no Cheat: There's Drapers and Taylors likewise, Brave Men that you cannot despise; Come _Bridget_ and _Jenny_, and throw in your Guinea, A Husband's a delicate Prize: _Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_ _There's Ten of one Thousand a Year to be got._

Suppose you should win for your Guinea, A Man of three Thousand a Year; Would this not be brave; what more would you have? You soon might in Glory appear: In glittering Coach you may ride, With Lackeys to run by your side; For why should you spare it? Faith win Gold and wear it; Now who would not be such a Bride? _Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_ _There's Sixty, Five Hundreds a Year to be got._

Old Widows, and Maids above Forty, Shall not be admitted to draw: There's five Hundred and Ten, as proper young Men, Indeed, as your Eyes ever saw: Who scorns for one Guinea of Gold, To lodge with a Woman that's Old; Young Maids are admitted, in hopes to be fitted, With Husbands couragious and bold: _Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_ _There are wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got._

Kind Men that are full of good Nature, The flaxen, the black, and the brown; Both lusty and stout, and fit to hold out, The prime and the top of the Town: So clever in every part, They'll please a young Girl to the Heart; Nay, kiss you, and squeese you, and tenderly please you, For Love has a conquering Dart: _Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,_ _There are Wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got._

Then never be fearful to venture, But Girls bring you Guineas away; Come merrily in, for we shall begin, To draw upon _Valentine's_ Day: The Prizes are many and great, Each Man with a worthy Estate; Then come away _Mary_, _Sib_, _Susan_, and _Sarah_, _Joan_, _Nancy_, and pretty fac'd _Kate_: _For now is the time if you'll purchase a Lot,_ _While Wealthy kind Husbands they are to be got._

Amongst you I know there is many, Will miss of a Capital Prize: Yet nevertheless, no Sorrows express, But dry up your watry Eyes: Young Lasses it is but in vain, In sorrowful Sighs to complain; Then ne'er be faint hearted, tho' Luck be departed, For all cannot reckon to gain: _Yet venture young Lasses, your Guineas bring in,_ _The Lucky will have the good Fortune to win._

_A_ SONG _on the_ JUBILEE.

[Music]

Come Beaus, Virtuoso's, rich Heirs and Musicians Away, and in Troops to the _Jubile_ jog; Leave Discord and Death, to the College Physicians, Let the Vig'rous whore on, and the impotent Flog: Already _Rome_ opens her Arms to receive ye, And ev'ry Transgression her Lord will forgive ye.

Indulgences, Pardons, and such Holy Lumber, As cheap there is now as our Cabbages grown; While musty old Relicks of Saints without number, For barely the looking upon, shall be shown: These, were you an Atheist, must needs overcome ye, That first were made Martyrs, and afterwards Mummy.

They'll shew ye the River, so Sung by the Poets,
With the Rock from whence, Mortals were knockt o'th' Head;
They'll shew ye the place too, as some will avow it,
Where once a She Pope was brought fairly to Bed:
For which, ever since, to prevent Interloping,
In a Chair her Successors still suffer a Groping.

What a sight 'tis to see the gay Idol accoutred, With Mitre and Cap, and two Keys by his side; Be his inside what 'twill, yet the Pomp of his outward, Shows _Servus servorum_, no hater of Pride, These Keys into Heav'n will as surely admit ye, As Clerks of a Parish to a Pew in the City.

What a sight 'tis to see the old Man in Procession, Through _Rome_ in such Pomp as here _Caesar_ did ride, Now scattering of Pardons, here Crossing, there Blessing, With all his shav'd Spiritual Train'd-bans by his side; As, _Confessors_, _Cardinals_, _Monks_ fat as Bacons, From Rev'rend _Arch-Bishops_, to Rosie _Arch-Deacons_.

Then for your Diversion the more to regale ye,
Fine Music you'll hear, and high Dancing you'll see;
Men who much shall out-warble your Famous _Fideli_,
And make ye meer Fools, of _Balloon_ and _L'Abbe_:
And to shew ye how fond they're to Kiss _Vostre Manos_,
Each _Padre_ turns Pimp, all _Nuns_ Courtezana's.

And when you've some Months at old _Babylon_ been-_a_,
And on Pardons, and Punks, all your _Rhino_ is spent;
And when you have seen all, that there is to be seen-_a_,
You'll return not so Rich, tho' as Wise as you went:
And 'twill be but small Comfort after so much Expence-_a_,
That your Heirs will do just so an Hundred Years hence-_a_.

_A Young Man's_ WILL.

[Music]

A _Young Man_ sick and like to die,
His last _Will_ being written found;
I give my _Soul_ to _God_ on high,
And my _Body_ to the Ground:
Unto some _Church-men_ do I give,
Base Minds to greedy Lucre bent;
_Pride_ and _Ambition_ whilst they live,
_By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

_Item._ Poor folks _brown Bread_ I give,
And eke _bare Bones_, with hungry Cheeks;
_Toil_ and _Travel_ whilst they live,
And to feed on _Roots_ and _Leeks_:
_Item._ To Rich Men I bestow,
High _Looks_, low _Deeds_, and Hearts of Flint;
And that themselves they seldom know,
_By this_, &c.

Proud stately _Courtiers_ do I _Will_,
Two Faces in one Head to wear,
For Great Men _Bribes_, I think most fit,
_Pride_ and _Oppression_ through the Year:
_Tenants_ I give them leave to lose,
And _Landlords_ for to raise their _Rent_;
_Rogues_ to Fawn, Collogue and glose,
_By this_, &c.

_Item._ To _Soldiers_ for their _Fees_,
I give them _Wounds_ their Bodies full;
And for to beg on bended Knees,
With Cap in Hand to every _Gull_:
_Item_. I will poor _Scholars_ have,
For all their Pains and Travel spent:
_Raggs_, _Jaggs_, and _Taunts_ of every Knave,
_By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

To _Shoemakers_ I grant this Boon,
Which _Mercury_ gave them once before;
Altho' they earn two Pence by Noon,
To spend e'er Night two Groats and more:
And _Blacksmiths_ when the Work is done,
I give to them incontinent,
To drink two Barrels with a Bun,
_By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

To _Weavers_ swift, this do I leave,
Against that may beseem them well:
That they their good Wives do deceive,
Bring home a Yard and steal an Ell:
And _Taylors_ too must be set down,
A _Gift_ to give them I am bent;
To cut four Sleeves to every Gown,
_By this_, &c.

To Tavern haunters grant I more,
Red Eyes, Red Nose, and Stinking Breath;
And Doublets foul with drops before,
And foul Shame until their _Death_:
And _Gamesters_ that will never leave,
Before their Substance be all spent;
The Wooden _Dagger_ I bequeath,
_By this_, &c.

To common Fidlers I _Will_ that they,
Shall go in poor and thread-bare Coats;
And at most places where they Play,
To carry away more _Tunes_ than _Groats_:
To wand'ring _Players_ I do give,
Before their _Substance_ be all spent;
Proud Silk'n _Beggars_ for to live,
_By this_, &c.

To _Wenching_ Smell-smocks give I these,
Dead looks, gaunt purrs, and crasy Back;
And now and then the foul _Disease_,
Such as _Gill_ gave to _Jack_;
To _Parretors_ I give them clear,
For all their _Toil_ and _Travel_ spent;
The _Devil_ away such _Knaves_ to bear,
By _this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

I _Will_ that _Cutpurses_ haunt all _Fairs_,
And thrust among the thickest Throng;
That neither _Purse_ nor _Pocket_ spare,
But what they get to bear along:
But if they Falter in their Trade,
And so betray their bad intent;
I give them _Tyburn_ for their share,
_By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

To serving Men I give this Gift,
That when their Strength is once decay'd;
The Master of such Men do shift,
As Horsemen do a toothless _Jade_:
_Item._ I give them leave to _Pine_,
For all their Service so ill spent:
And with _Duke Humphry_ for to Dine,
_By this_, &c.

_Item._ To _Millers_ I Grant withal,
That they Spare, nor Poke, nor Sack;
But with _Grist_, so e'er befal,
They Grind a Strike, and steal a Peck:
I _Will_ that _Butchers_ Huff their Meat,
And sell a lump of _Ramish_ scent;
For Weather Mutton good and sweet,
_By this_, &c.

I _Will_ Ale Wives punish their Guests,
With hungry Cakes and little Canns;
And Barm their Drink with new found _Yeest_,
Such as is made of _Pispot_ Grounds:
And she that meaneth for to Gain,
And in her House have Money spent,
I _Will_ she keep a pretty Punck,
_By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

To jealous Husbands I do grant,
Lack of Pleasure, want of Sleep;
That Lanthorn Horns they never want,
Tho' ne'er so close their Wives they keep:
And for their Wives, I _Will_ that they,
The closer up that they are pent;
The closer still they seek to Play,
_By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

For Swearing _Swaggerers_ nought is left,
To give them for a parting Blow;
But leaving off of damned Oaths,
And that of them I will bestow:
_Item._ I give them for their Pain,
That when all Hope and Livelihood's spent,
A Wallet or a Hempen Chain,
_By this_ &c.

Time and longest Livers do I make,
The Supervisor of my _Will_:
My Gold and Silver let them take,
That will dig for't in _Malvein_ Hill.

_A New_ SONG, _Sung at the Playhouse. By Mr._ DOGGET.

[Music]

In the Devil's Country there lately did dwell,
A crew of such Whores as was ne'er bred in Hell,
The Devil himself he knows it full well,
_Which no Body can deny, deny;_
_Which no Body can deny._

There were Six of the Gang, and all of a Bud, Which open'd as soon as got into the Blood, There are five to be hang'd, when the other proves good, _Which no Body_, &c.

But it seems they have hitherto sav'd all their Lives, Since they cou'd not live honest, there's four made Wives, The other two they are not Marry'd but Sw----s, _Which no Body_, &c.

The Eldest the Matron of t'other Five Imps, Though as Chast as _Diana_, or any o'th' Nymphs, Yet rather than Daughter shall want it, she Pimps, _Which no Body_, &c.

Damn'd Proud and Ambitious both Old and the Young, And not fit for honest Men to come among, A damn'd Itch in their Tail, and a sting in their Tongue, _Sing tantara rara Whores all, Whores all,_ _Sing tantara rara Whores all._

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Marriage it seems is for Better for Worse, Some count it a Blessing and others a Curse; The Cuckolds are Blest if the Proverb prove true, And then there's no doubt but in Heav'n there's enough: Of honest rich Rogues who ne'er had got there, If their Wives had not sent them thro' trembling and fear.

Some Women are Honest, tho' rare in a Wife, Yet with Scolding and Brawling they'll shorten your Life, You ne'er can enjoy your Bottle and Friend; But your Wife like an Imp, is at your Elbow's end: Crying fie, fie you Sot, come, come, come, come, So these are Unhappy abroad and at home.

We find the Batchelor liveth best, Tho' Drunk or Sober he takes his rest; He never is troubl'd with Scolding or Strife, 'Tis the best can be said of a very good Wife: But merrily Day and Night does spend, Enjoying his Mistress, Bottle, and Friend.

A Woman out-wits us, do what we can, She'll make a Fool of ev'ry Wise Man; Old Mother _Eve_ did the _Serpent_ obey, And has taught all her Sex that damnable way: Of Cheating and Couzening all Mankind, 'Twere better if _Adam_ had still been Blind.

The poor Man that Marries he thinks he does well, I pity's Condition, for sure he's in Hell; The Fool is a Sotting and spends all he gets, The Child is a Bawling, the Wife daily Frets: That Marriage is pleasant we all must agree, Consider it well, there's none happier can be.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

The _Caffalier_ was gone, and the _Roundhead_ he was come, Was the greatest Blessing under the Sun; Before the Devil in Hell sally'd out, and ript the Placket of Letter, Ay, and take her Money too, _Cot bless hur Master_ Roundhead, _and send hur well to do._

Now hur can go to _Shrewsperry_ her Flannel for to sell, Hur can carry a creat sharge of Money about hur, Thirty or Forty Groats lap'd in a _Welsh_ Carter, Ay, and think hur self rich too, _Cot bless_, &c.

Now hur can coe to Shurch, or hur can stay at home, Hur can say hur _Lord's Prayer_, or hur can let it alone: Hur can make a Prayer of hur own Head, lye with hur Holy Sister, Ay, and say a long Crace too, _Cot bless_, &c.

But yet for all the great Cood that you for hur have done, Would you wou'd made Peace with our King, and let hur come home, Put off the Military Charge, Impost, and Excise, Ay, and free Quarter too. _Then Cot shall bless you Master_ Roundhead, _and send hur well to do._

_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ CROSS. _Set by Mr._ JEREMIAH CLARK.

[Music]

Divine _Astrea_ hither flew,
To _Cynthia's_ brighter Throne;
She left the Iron World below,
To bless the Silver Moon:
_She left the Iron World below,_
_To bless the Silver Moon._

Tho' _Phoebus_ with his hotter Beams,
Do's Gold in Earth Create;
That leads those wretches to Extreams,
Of Av'rice, Lust, and Hate.

_A_ SONG _in the_ Surpriz'd Lovers. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by Mr._ BOWMAN.

[Music]

When first I saw her charming Face, Her taking Shape and moving Grace; My Rosie Cheeks, my Rosie Cheeks did glow with heat, My Heart and my Pulse did beat, beat, beat, My Heart and my Pulse did beat; I wish'd for a, I wish'd for a, do you, do you guess what, Do you guess what makes Soldiers fight, Soldiers Fight, and States-men Plot.

Subdues us all in every thing, And makes, makes a Subject of a King; Still she deny'd, and I reply'd, Away she flew, I did pursue, At last I catch'd her fast; But oh! had you seen, but oh! had you seen, Had you seen what had past between; Oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear, I fear, I fear, I have spoil'd her Wast.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYD.

[Music]

The _Devil_ he pull'd of his Jacket of Flame,
The _Fryer_ he pull'd off his Cowle;
The _Devil_ took him for a Dunce of the Game,
And the _Fryer_ took him for a Fool:
He piqu'd, and repiqu'd so oft, that at last,
He swore by the Jolly fat _Nuns_;
If Cards came no better than those that are past,
Oh! oh! I shall lose all my _Buns_.

_A New_ SONG. _Translated from the_ FRENCH.

[Music]

Pretty Parret say, when I was away,
And in dull absence pass'd the Day;
What at home was doing;
With Chat and Play,
We are Gay,
Night and Day,
Good Chear and Mirth Renewing;
_Singing, Laughing all, Singing Laughing all, like pretty pretty_ Poll.

Was no Fop so rude, boldly to Intrude,
And like a sawcy Lover wou'd,
Court, and Teaze my Lady:
A Thing you know,
Made for Show,
Call'd a Beau,
Near her was always ready,
_Ever at her call, like pretty, pretty_ Poll.

Tell me with what Air, he approach'd the Fair,
And how she could with Patience bear,
All he did and utter'd;
He still address'd,
Still caress'd,
Kiss'd and press'd,
Sung, Prattl'd, Laugh'd, and Flutter'd:
_Well receiv'd in all, like pretty, pretty_ Poll.

Did he go away, at the close of the Day,
Or did he ever use to stay
In a Corner dodging;
The want of Light,
When 'twas Night,
Spoil'd my sight,
But I believe his Lodging,
_Was within her call, like pretty, pretty_ Poll.

_A_ SONG _by a Person of Honour. Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.

[Music]

At Noon in a sultry Summer's Day, The brightest Lady of the _May_, Young _Chloris_ Innocent and Gay, Sat Knotting in a shade: Each slender Finger play'd its part, With such activity and Art; As wou'd inflame a Youthful Heart, And warm the most decay'd.

Her Fav'rite Swain by chance came by; She had him quickly in her Eye, Yet when the bashful Boy drew nigh, She wou'd have seem'd afraid, She let her Iv'ry Needle fall, And hurl'd away the twisted Ball; Then gave her _Strephon_ such a call, As wou'd have wak'd the Dead.

Dear gentle Youth is't none but thee? With Innocence I dare be free; By so much Trust and Modesty, No Nymph was e'er betray'd, Come lean thy Head upon my Lap, While thy soft Cheeks I stroak and clap; Thou may'st securely take a Nap, Which he poor Fool, obey'd.

She saw him Yawn, and heard him Snore, And found him fast a sleep all o're; She sigh'd ---- and cou'd no more, But starting up she said, Such Vertue shou'd rewarded be, For this thy dull Fidelity; I'll trust thee with my Flocks, not me, Pursue thy Grazing Trade.

Go milk thy Goats, and Sheer thy Sheep, And watch all Night thy Flocks, to keep; Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep, By me mistaken Maid.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Jeremy Clark.

[Music]

While the Lover is thinking,
With my Friend I'll be Drinking
And with Vigour pursue my Delight;
While the Fool is designing,
His fatal confining,
With _Bacchus_ I'll spend the whole Night:
With the God I'll be Jolly,
Without Madness or Folly.
Fickle Woman to Marry Implore,
Leave my Bottle and Friend,
For so Foolish an end,
When I do, may I never Drink more.

_A Health to the_ TACKERS.

[Music]

Here's a Health to the Tackers, my Boys,
But mine A----se for the Tackers about;
May the brave _English_ Spirits come in,
And the Knaves and _Fanaticks_ turn out:
Since the _Magpyes_ of late, are confounding the State,
And wou'd pull our Establishments down;
Let us make 'em a Jest, for they Shit in their Nest,
And be true to the Church and the Crown.

Let us chuse such Parliament Men
As have stuck to their Principles tight;
And wou'd not their Country betray
In the Story of _Ashby_ and _White_:
Who care not a T----d, for a _Whig_, or a Lord,
That won't see our Accounts fairly stated;
For _C----ll_ ne'er fears, the Address of those Peers,
Who the Nation of Millions have Cheated.

The next thing adviseable is,
Since _Schism_ so strangely abounds;
To oppose e'ery Man that's set up
By _Dissenters_, in Corporate Towns:
For _High-Church_, and _Low-Church_, has brought us to no _Church_,
And Conscience so bubbl'd the Nation;
For who is not still for Conformity Bill,
Will be surely a R---- on Occasion.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.

[Music]

Since _Caelia_ only has the Art, And only she can Captivate, And wanton in my Breast; All other Pleasure I despise, Than what are from my _Caelia's_ Eyes, In her alone I'm blest.

Whene'er she Smiles, new Life she gives, And happy, happy who receives, From her Inchanting Breath; Then prithee _Caelia_ smile once more, Since I no longer must adore, For when you frown 'tis Death.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Ah! how lovely sweet and dear, Is the kind relenting Fair, Who Reprieve us in Despair; Oh! that thus my Nymph wou'd say, Come, come my Dear thy Cares repay, Be Blest my Love, be mine to Day: _Come, come my dear, thy Cares repay,_ _Be blest my Love, be mine to Day._

_A_ SONG. _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.

[Music]

Advance, advance, advance gay Tenants of the Plain, Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain, Loud Eccho spread my Voice, Loud Eccho spread my Voice, Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, loud Eccho, Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, spread my Voice, Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain, Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain.

_The_ KING _and the Shepherd, and_ GILLIAN _the Shepherd's Wife, with her churlish Answer to the_ KING.

[Music]

In Elder Time, there was of Yore,
When Guides of churlish Glee;
Were us'd among our Country Earls,
Though no such thing now be.

The which King _Alfred_ liking well,
Forsook his stately Court;
And in Disguise unknown went forth,
To see that jovial Sport.

How _Dick_ and _Tom_, in clouted Shoon,
And Coats of russet Grey,
Esteem'd themselves more brave than them,
That went in Golden ray.

In Garments fit for such a Life,
The good King _Alfred_ went,
All ragg'd and torn, as from his Back
The Beggar his Cloaths had rent.

A Sword and Buckler good and strong,
To give _Jack Sauce_ a rap;
And on his Head, instead of Crown,
He wore a _Monmouth_ Cap.

Thus coasting through _Somersetshire_,
Near _Newton_ Court he met
A Shepherd Swain of lusty Limb,
That up and down did jet.

He wore a Bonnet of good Grey,
Close buttoned to his Chin;
And at his Back a leather Scrip,
With much good Meat therein.

God speed, good Shepherd, quoth the King,
I come to be thy Guest;
To taste of thy good Victuals here,
And drink that's of the best.

Thy Scrip I know, hath Cheer good store,
What then the Shepherd said?
Thou seem'st to be some sturdy Thief,
And mak'st me sore afraid.

Yet if thou wilt thy Dinner win,
The Sword and Buckler take;
And if thou canst into my Scrip,
Therewith an entrance make.

I tell thee, Roister, it hath store
Of Beef, and Bacon fat;
With sheafs of Barly-bread to make
Thy Mouth to water at.

Here stands my Bottle, here my Bag,
If thou canst win them Roister;
Against the Sword and Buckler here,
My Sheep-hook is my Master.

_Benedicit_ now, quoth our good King,
It never shall be said;
That _Alfred_ of the Shepherd's Hook,
Will stand a whit afraid.

So soundly thus they both fell to't,
And giving Bang for Bang;
At every Blow the Shepherd gave,
King _Alfred's_ Sword cry'd twang.

His Buckler prov'd his chiefest Fence,
For still the Shepherd's Hook;
Was that the which King _Alfred_ could,
In no good manner brook.

At last when they had fought four Hours,
And it grew just Mid-day;
And wearied both, with right good Will,
Desir'd each others stay.

King, Truce I cry, quoth _Alfred_ then,
Good Shepherd hold thy Hand:
A sturdier Fellow than thy self,
Lives not within this Land.

Nor a lustier Roister than thou art,
The churlish Shepherd said,
To tell thee plain, thy Thievish looks,
Now makes my Heart afraid.

Else sure thou art some Prodigal,
Which hast consum'd thy store;
And now com'st wand'ring in this place,
To rob and steal for more.

Deem not of me, then quoth our King,
Good Shepherd in this sort;
A Gentleman well known I am,
In good King _Alfred's_ Court.

The Devil thou art, the Shepherd said,
Thou goest in Rags all torn;
Thou rather seem'st, I think to be,
Some Beggar basely born.

But if thou wilt mend thy Estate,
And here a Shepherd be;
At Night to _Gillian_ my sweet Wife,
Thou shalt go home with me.

For she's as good a Toothless Dame,
As mumbleth on Brown Bread;
Where thou shalt lie on hurden Sheets,
Upon a fresh Straw Bed.

Of Whig and Whey, we have good store,
And keep good Pease-straw Fires;
And now and then good Barly Cakes,
As better Days requires.

But for my Master which is Chief,
And Lord of _Newton_ Court;
He keeps I say, his Shepherds Swains,
In far more braver sort.

We there have Curds, and clouted Cream,
Of Red Cows morning Milk;
And now and then fine Buttered Cakes,
As soft as any Silk.

Of Beef and reised Bacon store,
That is most Fat and Greasy;
We have likewise to feast our Chaps,
And make them glib and easie.

Thus if thou wilt my Man become,
This usage thou shalt have;
If not, adieu, go hang thy self,
And so farewel Sir Knave.

King _Alfred_ hearing of this Glee,
The churlish Shepherd said;
Was well content to be his Man,
So they a Bargain made.

A Penny round, the Shepherd gave,
In earnest of this Match;
To keep his Sheep in Field and fold,
As Shepherds use to watch.

His Wages shall be full Ten Groats,
For Service of a Year;
Yet was it not his use, old Lad,
To hire a Man so dear.

For did the King himself (quoth he)
Unto my Cottage come;
He should not for a Twelvemonths Pay,
Receive a greater Sum.

Hereat the bonny King grew blith,
To hear the clownish Jest;
How silly sots, as custom is,
Do discant at the best.

But not to spoil the Foolish sport,
He was content good King;
To fit the Shepherd's humour right,
In every kind of thing.

A Sheep-hook then, with _Patch_ his Dog,
And Tar-box by his side;
He with his Master, jig by jowl,
Unto old _Gillian_ hy'd.

Into whose sight no sooner came,
Whom have you here (quoth she)
A Fellow I doubt, will cut our Throats,
So like a Knave looks he.

Not so old Dame, quoth _Alfred_ strait,
Of me you need not fear;
My Master hir'd me for Ten Groats,
To serve you one whole Year.

So good Dame _Gillian_ grant me leave,
Within your House to stay;
For by St. _Ann_, do what you can,
I will not yet away.

Her churlish usage pleas'd him still,
Put him to such a Proof,
That he at Night was almost choak'd,
Within that smoaky Roof.

But as he sat with smiling cheer,
The event of all to see;
His Dame brought forth a piece of Dow,
Which in the Fire throws she.

Where lying on the Hearth to bake,
By chance the Cake did burn;
What can'st thou not, thou Lout (quoth she)
Take Pains the same to turn:

Thou art more quick to take it out,
And eat it up half Dow,
Than thus to stay till't be enough,
And so thy Manners show.

But serve me such another Trick,
I'll thwack thee on the Snout;
Which made the patient King, good Man,
Of her to stand in Doubt:

But to be brief, to bed they went,
The good old Man and's Wife;
But never such a Lodging had
King _Alfred_ in his Life: