Chapter VI (4)

For he was laid in white Sheeps Wool,
New pull'd from tanned Fells,
And o'er his Head hang'd Spiders Webbs,
As if they had been Bells.

Is this the Country Guise, thought he,
Then here I will not stay;
But hence be gone as soon as breaks
The peeping of the Day.

The cackling Hens and Geese kept roost,
And perched at his side;
Whereat the last the watchful Cock,
Made known the Morning Tide.

Then up got _Alfred_ with his Horn,
And blew so long a Blast,
That made _Gillian_ and her Groom,
In Bed full sore agast.

Arise, quoth she, we are undone,
This Night, we lodged have,
At unawares within our House,
A false dissembling Knave;

Rise Husband, rise, he'll cut our Throats,
He calleth for his Mates,
I'd give old _Will_ our good Cade Lamb,
He would depart our Gates.

But still King _Alfred_ blew his Horn
before them, more and more,
'Till that a hundred Lords and Knights,
All lighted at the Door:

Which cry'd all hail, all hail good King,
Long have we look'd your Grace;
And here you find (my merry Men all)
Your Sovereign in this place.

We shall surely be hang'd up both,
Old _Gillian_ I much fear,
The Shepherd said, for using thus
Our good King _Alfred_ here:

O pardon, my Liege, quoth _Gillian_ then,
For my Husband and for me,
By these ten Bones I never thought
The same that now I see:

And by my Hook, the Shepherd said,
An Oath both good and true,
Before this time, O noble King,
I never your Highness knew:

Then pardon me and my old Wife,
That we may after say,
When first you came into our House,
It was a happy Day.

It shall be done, said _Alfred_ streight,
And _Gillian_ thy old Dame,
For this thy churlish using me,
Deserveth not much Blame.

For this thy Country Guise I see,
To be thus bluntish still,
And where the plainest Meaning is,
Remains the smallest Ill.

And Master, lo I tell thee now,
For thy low Manhood shown,
A Thousand Weathers I'll bestow
Upon thee for thy own.

And pasture Ground, as much as will
Suffice to feed them all,
And this thy Cottage I will change
Into a stately Hall.

As for the same, as Duty binds,
The Shepherd said, good King,
A milk white Lamb once every Year,
I'll to your Highness bring.

And _Gillian_ my Wife likewise,
Of Wool to make you Coats,
Will give you as much at New Year's Tide,
As shall be worth ten Groats:

And in your Praise my Bagpipe shall
Sound sweetly once a Year,
How _Alfred_ our renowned King,
Most kindly hath been here.

Thanks Shepherd, thanks, quoth he again
The next time I come hither,
My Lords with me here in this House,
Will all be merry together.

_A_ SONG. _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.

[Music]

Cease, cease of _Cupid_ to complain, Love, Love's a Joy even while a Pain; Oh! then think! oh! then think; Oh! then think how great his Blisses, Moving Glances, balmy Kisses, Charming Raptures, matchless Sweets, Love, Love alone, Love, Love alone, Love, Love alone, all Joys compleats.

_A_ SONG.

_Sung by Mrs._ BRACEGIRDLE.

[Music]

Come, come ye Nymphs, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, _Galatea_ leaves the Main, To revive us on the Plain, To revive us, to revive us, to revive us on the Plain; Come, come, come, come ye Nymphs, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, _Galatea_ leaves the Main, To revive us on the Plain, To revive us on the Plain, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ John Barret.

[Music]

_Ianthia_ the lovely, the Joy of her Swain, By _Iphis_ was lov'd, and lov'd _Iphis_ again; She liv'd in the Youth, and the Youth in the Fair, Their Pleasure was equal, and equal their Care; No Time, no Enjoyment their Dotage withdrew; But the longer they liv'd, but the longer they liv'd, Still the fonder they grew.

A Passion so happy alarm'd all the Plain, Some envy'd the Nymph, but more envy'd the Swain; Some swore 'twould be pity their Loves to invade, That the Lovers alone for each other was made: But all, all consented, that none ever knew, A Nymph yet so kind, a Nymph yet so kind, Or a Shepherd so true.

Love saw 'em with Pleasure, and vow'd to take care Of the faithful, the tender, the innocent Pair; What either did want, he bid either to move, But they wanted nothing, but ever to love: Said, 'twas all that to bless him his God-head cou'd do, That they still might be kind, that they still might be kind, And they still might be true.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Bring out your Coney-Skins Bring out your Coney-Skins Maids to me, And hold them fair that I may see, Grey, Black and Blue, for the smaller Skins I'll give you Bracelets, Laces, Pins, And for your whole Coney Here's ready Money, Come gentle _Joan_, do thou begin With thy black Coney, thy black Coney-Skin, And _Mary_ and _Joan_ will follow, With their Silver-hair'd Skins and yellow; The White Coney-Skin I will not lay by, For tho' it be faint, it is fair to the Eye: The Grey it is worn, but yet for my Money, Give me the bonny, bonny black Coney; Come away fair Maids, your Skins will decay, Come and take Money Maids, put your Wares away: Ha'ye any Coney-Skins, ha'ye any Coney-Skins, Ha'ye any Coney-Skins here to sell?

_A_ SONG.

_The Words by Mr._ Clossold, _Set by Mr._ John WILFORD.

[Music]

Nay pish, nay pish, nay pish Sir, what ails you; Lord! What is't you do? I ne'er met with one so uncivil as you; You may think as you please, but if Evil it be, I wou'd have you to know, you're mistaken in me. You Men now so rude, and so boistrous are grown, A Woman can't trust her self with you alone: I cannot but wonder what 'tis that shou'd move ye; If you do so again, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear I won't love ye.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Motley.

[Music]

Draw _Cupid_ draw, and make fair _Sylvia_ know; The mighty Pain her suff'ring Swain does for her undergo; Convey this Dart into her Heart, and when she's set on Fire, Do thou return and let her burn, like me in chast desire; That by Experience she, may learn to pity me, Whene'er her Eyes do tyrannize o'er my Captivity: But when in Love we jointly move, and tenderly imbrace, Like Angels shine, and sweetly join to one another's Face.

_A_ SONG; _The Words by a Person of a Quality. Set to Musick by Mr._ Robert Cary.

[Music]

Some brag of their _Chloris_, and some of their _Phillis_, Some cry up their _Caelia_, and bright _Amaryllis_: Thus Poets and Lovers their Mistresses dub, And Goddesses fram'd from the Wash-bowl and Tub; But away with these Fictions, and Counterfeit Folly: There's a thousand more Charms in the Name of my _Dolly_.

I cannot describe you her Beauty and Wit, Like Manna to each she's a relishing Bit; She alone by Enjoyment, the more does prevail, And still with fresh Pleasures does hoist up your Sail: Nay, had you a Surfeit, but took of all others, One Look from my _Dolly_ your Stomach recovers.

_The Mountebank_ SONG. _Sung by Dr._ LEVERIGO, _and his merry Andrew_ Pinkanello, _in_ Farewel to Folly. _Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.

[Music:

Here are People and Sports of all sizes and sorts, Coach'd Damsel with Squire, and Mob in the Mire, Tarpaulins, Trugmallions, Lords, Ladys, Sows, Babies, and Loobys in Scores. Some howling, some Bawling, some Leering, some Fleering, some Loving, some Shoving, with Legions of Furbelow'd Whores.

To the Tavern, some go, and some to a Show, see Poppets for Moppets, Jack-puddings, for Cuddens, Rope Dancing, Mares Prancing, Boats flying, Quacks lying, Pick-pockets, pick Plackets, Beasts, Butchers, and Beaus.

Fops prat'ling, Dies rat'ling, Rooks shaming, Puts Daming, Whores Painted, Mask's tainted, in Tallymans Furbelow'd Cloaths.

The Mobs Joys would you know to yon Musick-house go, see Tailors, and Saylors, Whores Oily in Doily, hear Musick, makes you sick: Cows Skipping, Clowns tripping, some Joaking, some Smoaking, like Spiggit and Tap; short Measure, strange Pleasure thus Billing, and Swilling, some yearly, get fairly, for Fairings Pig, Pork, and a Clap.]

_The Mountebank_ SONG. _Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE, _in a New Play call'd_, Farewel to Folly.

[Music:

See, Sirs, see here! a Doctor rare, who travels much at home! Here take my Bills, take my Bills, I cure all Ills, past, present, and to come; the Cramp, the Stitch, the Squirt, the Itch, the Gout, the Stone, the Pox, the Mulligrubs, the Bonny Scrubs, and all, all, all, all, all, _Pandora's_ Box; Thousands I've Dissected, Thousands new erected, and such Cures effected, as none e'er can tell.

Let the Palsie shake ye, let the Chollick rack ye, let the Crinkums break ye, let the Murrain take ye; Take this, take this and you are well. Thousands, &c.

Come Wits so keen, devour'd with Spleen; come Beaus who sprain'd your Backs, Great-belly'd Maids, old founder'd Jades, and Pepper'd Vizard Cracks.

I soon remove the pains of Love, and cure the Love-sick Maid; the Hot, the Cold, the Young, the Old, the Living and the Dead.

I clear the Lass with Wainscot Face, and from Pim-ginets free, Plump Ladies Red, like _Saracen's_-head, with toaping Rattafe.

This with a Jirk, will do your work, and scour you o're and o're, Read, Judge and Try, and if you die, never believe me more, never, never, never, never, never believe me more.]

_A_ SONG _in the_ Mock Marriage. _Sung by Mrs._ KNIGHT. _Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell.

[Music]

Oh! how you protest and solemnly swear, Look humble, and fawn like an Ass; I'm pleas'd, I must own, when ever I see A Lover that's brought to this pass. Keep, keep further off, you're naughty I fear, I vow I will never, will never, will never yield to't; You ask me in vain; for never I swear, I never, no never, I never, no never, I never, no never will do't.

For when the Deed's done, how quickly you go,
No more of the Lover remains,
In hast you depart, whate'er we can do,
And stubbornly throw off your Chains:
Desist then in time, let's hear on't no more,
I vow I will never yield to't;
You promise in vain, in vain you adore,
For I will never, no never will do't.

JOCKEY'S _Lamentation._

[Music]

_Jockey_ met with _Jenny_ fair Betwixt the dawning and the Day, And _Jockey_ now is full of Care, For _Jenny_ stole his Heart away: Altho' she promis'd to be true, Yet she, alas, has prov'd unkind, That which do make poor _Jenny_ rue, For _Jenny's_ fickle as the Wind: And, _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _The Wind has blown my Plad away._

_Jockey_ was a bonny Lad, As e'er was born in _Scotland_ fair; But now poor _Jockey_ is run mad, For _Jenny_ causes his Despair; _Jockey_ was a Piper's Son, And fell in Love while he was young: But all the Tunes that he could play, Was, _o'er the Hills, and far away,_ And, _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _'Tis o'er the Hills and far away,_ _'Tis o'er the Hills and far away,_ _The Wind has blown my Plad away._

When first I saw my _Jenny's_ Face, She did appear with sike a Grace, With muckle Joy my Heart was fill'd; But now alas with Sorrow kill'd.

Oh! was she but as true as fair, 'Twou'd put an end to my Despair; But ah, alass! this is unkind, Which sore does terrify my Mind; _'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _That_ Jenny _stole my Heart away._

Did she but feel the dismal Woe That for her Sake I undergo, She surely then would grant Relief, And put an end to all my Grief: But oh, she is as false as fair, Which causes all my sad Despair; She triumphs in a proud Disdain, And takes Delight to see my Pain; _'Tis o'er the Hills_, &c.

Hard was my Hap to fall in Love, With one that does so faithless prove; Hard was my fate to court the Maid, That has my constant Heart betray'd: A thousand times to me she swore, She would be true for evermore: But oh! alas, with Grief I say, She's stole my Heart, and ran away; _'Twas o'er the Hills_, &c.

Good gentle _Cupid_ take my part, And pierce this false one to the Heart, That she may once but feel the Woe, As I for her do undergo; Oh! make her feel this raging Pain, That for her Love I do sustain; She sure would then more gentle be, And soon repent her Cruelty; _'Tis o'er the Hills_, &c.

I now must wander for her sake, Since that she will no Pity take, Into the Woods and shady Grove, And bid adieu to my false Love: Since she is false whom I adore, I ne'er will trust a Woman more, From all their Charms I'll fly away, And on my Pipe will sweetly play; _'Tis o'er the Hills_, &c.

There by my self I'll sing and say, _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away_, That my poor Heart is gone astray, Which makes me grieve both Night and Day; Farewel, farewel, thou cruel she, I fear that I shall die for thee: But if I live, this Vow I'll make, To love no other for your sake. _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away,_ _The Wind has blown my Plad away._

The Recruiting Officer: _Or_, The Merry Volunteers: _Being an Excellent New Copy of Verses upon raising Recruits._

_To the foregoing Tune._

Hark! now the Drums beat up again, For all true Soldiers Gentlemen, Then let us list, and march I say, Over the Hills and far away; Over the Hills and o'er the Main, To _Flanders_, _Portugal_ and _Spain_, Queen _Ann_ commands, and we'll obey, _Over the Hills and far away_.

All Gentlemen that have a Mind, To serve the Queen that's good and kind; Come list and enter into Pay, Then o'er the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

Here's Forty Shillings on the Drum, For those that Volunteers do come, With Shirts, and Cloaths, and present Pay, When o'er the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

Hear that brave Boys, and let us go, Or else we shall be prest you know; Then list and enter into Pay, And o'er the Hills and far away, _Over the Hills_, &c.

The Constables they search about, To find such brisk young Fellows out; Then let's be Volunteers I say, Over the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

Since now the _French_ so low are brought, And Wealth and Honour's to be got, Who then behind wou'd sneaking stay? When o'er the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

No more from sound of Drum retreat, While _Marlborough_, and _Gallaway_ beat, The _French_ and _Spaniards_ every Day, When over the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

He that is forc'd to go and fight, Will never get true Honour by't, While Volunteers shall win the Day, When o'er the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

What tho' our Friends our Absence mourn, We all with Honour shall return; And then we'll sing both Night and Day, Over the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

The Prentice _Tom_ he may refuse, To wipe his angry Master's Shoes; For then he's free to sing and play, Over the Hills and far away; _Over the Hills_, &c.

Over Rivers, Bogs, and Springs, We all shall live as great as Kings, And Plunder get both Night and Day, When over the Hills and far away, _Over the Hills_, &c.

We then shall lead more happy Lives, By getting rid of Brats and Wives, That Scold on both Night and Day, When o'er the Hills and far away: _Over the Hills_, &c.

Come on then Boys and you shall see, We every one shall Captains be, To Whore and rant as well as they, When o'er the Hills and far away: _Over the Hills_, &c.

For if we go 'tis one to Ten, But we return all Gentlemen, All Gentlemen as well as they, When o'er the Hills and far away: _Over the Hills_, &c.

_A_ Scotch SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN BARRETT.

[Music]

Ah! foolish Lass, what mun I do? My Modesty I well may rue, Which of my Joy bereft me; For full of Love he came, But out of silly shame, With pish and phoo I play'd, To muckle the coy Maid, And the raw young Loon has left me.

Wou'd _Jockey_ knew how muckle I lue, Did I less Art, or did he shew, More Nature, how bleast I'd be; I'd not have reason to complain, That I lue'd now in vain, Gen he more a Man was, I'd be less a coy Lass, Had the raw young Loon weel try'd me.

_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ Justice Buisy, _or the_ Gentleman Quack: _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.

[Music]

No, no ev'ry Morning my Beauties renew, Where-ever I go, I have Lovers enough; I Dress and I Dance, and I Laugh and I Sing, Am lovely and lively, and gay as the Spring: I Visit, I Game, and I cast away Care, Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air, Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ WILLIS.

[Music]

Now my Freedom's regain'd, and by _Bacchus_ I swear, All whining dull whimsys of Love I'll cashire: The Charm's more engaging in Bumpers of Wine, Then let _Chloe_ be Damn'd, but let this be Divine: Whilst Youth warms thy Veins, Boy embrace thy full Glasses, Damn _Cupid_ and all his poor Proselyte Asses; Let this be thy rule _Tom_, to square out thy Life, And when Old in a Friend, thou'lt live free from all Strife, Only envied by him that is plagu'd with a Wife.

_A_ Scotch SONG, _the Words by Mr._ Peter Noble, _Set by Mr._ John Wilford.

[Music]

Bonny _Scottish_ Lads that keens me weel,
Lith ye what, ye what good Luck Ise fun;
_Moggey_ is mine own in spight o'th' De'el,
I alone her Heart has won:
Near St. _Andrew's_ Kirk in _London_ Town,
There Ise, Ise met my Dearest Joy;
Shinening in her Silken Hued and Gown,
But ne'er ack, ne'er ack she prov'd not Coy.

Then after many Compliments,
Streight we gang'd into the Kirk;
There full weel she tuck the documents,
And flang me many pleasing Smirk:
Weel I weat that I have gear enough,
She's have a Yode to ride ont;
She's neither drive the Swine, nor the Plough,
Whatever does betide ont.

_A New_ SONG _in the Play call'd_, a DUKE and no DUKE. _Sung by Mrs._ CIBBER.

[Music]

_Damon_ if you will believe me,
'Tis not sighing o'er the Plain;
Songs nor Sonnets can't relieve ye,
Faint Attempts in Love are vain:
Urge but home the fair Occasion,
And be Master of the Field;
To a powerful kind Invasion,
'Twere a Madness not to yield.

Tho' she vow's she'll ne'er permit ye,
Says you're rude, and much to blame;
And with Tears implores your pity,
Be not merciful for shame:
When the first assault is over,
_Chloris_ time enough will find;
This so fierce and Cruel Lover,
Much more gentle, not so kind.

_A_ SONG. _The Words made to a Tune of the late Mr._ Henry Purcell's.

[Music]

Drunk I was last Night that's poss,
My Wife began to Scold;
Say what I cou'd for my Heart's Blood,
Her Clack she wou'd not hold:
Thus her Chat she did begin,
Is this your time of coming in;
The Clock strikes One, you'll be undone,
If thus you lead your Life:
My Dear said I, I can't deny,
But what you say is true;
I do intend, my Life to mend,
Pray lends the Pot to Spew.

Fye, you Sot, I ne'er can bear,
To rise thus e'ery Night;
Tho' like a Beast you never care,
What consequence comes by't:
The Child and I may starve for you,
We neither can have half our due;
With grief I find, you're so unkind,
In time you'll break my Heart:
At that I smil'd, and said dear Child,
I believe your in the wrong;
But if't shou'd be you're destiny,
I'll sing a merry Song.

_The Gelding the Devil. Set by Mr._ Tho. Wroth.

[Music]

I met with the Devil in the shape of a Ram, Then over and over the Sow-gelder came; I rose and halter'd him fast by the Horns, And pick'd out his Stones, as you would pick out Corns; Maa, quoth the Devil, with that out he slunk, And left us a Carkass of Mutton that stunk.

I chanc'd to ride forth a Mile and a half, Where I heard he did live in disguise of a Calf; I bound him and Gelt him e'er he did any evil, For he was at the best but a young sucking Devil: Maa, yet he cries, and forth he did steal, And this was sold after for excellent Veal.

Some half a Year after in the Form of a Pig, I met with the Rogue, and he look'd very big; I caught at his Leg, laid him down on a Log, E'er a Man could Fart twice, I made him a Hog: Huh, huh quoth the Devil, and gave such a Jerk, That a _Jew_ was Converted and eat of that Pork.

In Woman's attire I met him most fine, At first sight I thought him some Angel divine; But viewing his crab Face I fell to my Trade, I made him forswear ever acting a Maid: Meaw, quoth the Devil, and so ran away, Hid himself in a Fryer's old Weeds as they say.

I walked along and it was my good chance, To meet with a Black-coat that was in a Trance; I speedily grip'd him and whip'd off his Cods, 'Twixt his Head and his Breech, I left little odds: O, quoth the Devil, and so away ran, Thou oft will be curst by many a Woman.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

When _Jemmy_ first began to love,
He was the finest Swain;
That ever yet a Flock had drove,
Or Danc'd upon the Plain:
'Twas then that I, woe's me poor heart,
My Freedom threw away;
And finding sweets in every part,
I could not say him nay.

For ever when he spake of Love,
He wou'd his Eyes decline;
Each Sigh he gave a Heart wou'd move,
Good faith, and why not mine:
He'd press my Hand, and Kiss it oft,
His silence spoke his Flame;
And whilst he treated me thus soft,
I wish'd him more to blame.

Sometimes to feed my Flock with his,
_Jemmy_ wou'd me invite;
Where he the finest Songs would Sing,
Me only to Delight:
Then all his Graces he display'd,
Which were enough I trow;
To conquer any Princely Maid,
So did he me I trow.

But now for _Jemmy_ I must Mourn,
He to the Wars must go;
His Sheephook to a Sword must turn,
Alack what shall I do?
His Bagpipes into Warlike sounds,
Must now converted be;
His Garlands into fearful Wounds,
Oh! what becomes of me?

_A_ SONG; _to the Tune of_ Woobourn _Fair._

Vol. 4. Pag. 330.

Jilting is in such a Fashion, And such a Fame, Runs o'er the Nation, There's never a Dame Of highest Rank, or of Fame, Sir, but will stoop to your Caresses, If you do but put home your Addresses: It's for that she Paints, and she Patches, All she hopes to secure is her Name, Sir.

But when you find the Love fit comes upon her,
Never trust much to her Honour;
Tho' she may very high stand on't,
Yet when her love is Ascendant,
Her Vertue's quite out of Doors
High Breeding, rank Feeding,
With lazy Lives leading,
In Ease and soft Pleasures,
And taking loose Measures,
With Play-house Diversions,
And Midnight Excursions,
With Balls Masquerading,
And Nights Serenading,
Debauch the Sex into Whores, Sir.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ PACK.

[Music]

Farewel ungrateful Traytor,
Farewel my Perjur'd Swain:
Let never injur'd Creature,
Believe a Man again:
The pleasure of possessing,
Surpasses all expressing;
But Joys too short a Blessing,
And love too long a Pain:
_But Joys too short a Blessing,_
_And Love too long a Pain._

'Tis easie to deceive us,
In pity of your Pain;
But when we Love, you leave us,
To rail at you in vain:
Before we have descry'd it,
There is no Bliss beside it;
But she that once has try'd it,
Will never Love again.

The Passion you pretended,
Was only to obtain;
But when the Charm is ended,
The Charmer you disdain:
Your Love by ours we measure,
'Till we have lost our Treasure;
But dying is a Pleasure,
When living is a Pain.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

You I Love by all that's true, More than all things here below; with a Passion far more great, Than e'er Creature loved yet: And yet still you cry forbear, Love no more, or Love not here.

Bid the Miser leave his Ore, Bid the Wretched sigh no more; Bid the Old be young again, Bid the _Nun_ not think of Man: _Sylvia_ thus when you can do, Bid me then not think on you.

Love's not a thing of Choice, but Fate, What makes me Love, that makes you Hate: _Sylvia_ you do what you will, Ease or Cure, Torment or Kill: Be Kind or Cruel, False or True, Love I must, and none but you.

_A_ SONG.

Note: _You must Sing 8 lines to the first Strain._

[Music]

Let's be merry blith and jolly, Stupid Dulness is a Folly; 'Tis the Spring that doth invite us, Hark, the chirping Birds delight us: Let us Dance and raise our Voices, Every Creature now rejoyces; Airy Blasts and springing Flowers, Verdant Coverings, pleasant Showers: Each plays his part to compleat this our Joy, And can we be so dull as to deny.

Here's no foolish surly Lover, That his Passions will discover; No conceited fopish Creature, That is proud of Cloaths or Feature: All things here serene and free are, They're not Wise, are not as we are; Who acknowledge Heavens Blessings, In our innocent Caressings: Then let us Sing, let us Dance, let us Play, 'Tis the Time is allow'd, 'tis the Month of _May_.

_A New_ SONG, _the Words by Mr._ J.C. _Set to Musick by Dr._ Prettle.

[Music]

No _Phillis_, tho' you've all the Charms,
Ambitious Woman can desire;
All Beauty, Wit, and Youth that warms,
Or sets our foolish Hearts on fire:
Yet you may practice all your Arts,
In vain to make a Slave of me;
You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart,
Revolted from your Tyranny:
_You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart,_
_Revolted from your Tyranny._

When first I saw those dang'rous Eyes,
They did my Liberty betray;
But when I knew your Cruelties,
I snatch'd my simple Heart away:
Now I defy your Smiles to win,
My resolute Heart, no pow'r th'ave got;
Tho' once I suck'd their Poyson in,
Your Rigour prov'd an Antidote.

_The Epilogue to the_ Island Princes, _Set by Mr._ Clark, _Sung by Mrs._ Lindsey, _and the Boy._

[Music]

Now to you ye dry Wooers, Old Beaus, and no doers, So doughty, so gouty, So useless and toothless, Your blindless, cold kindness, Has nothing of Man; Still doating, or gloating, Still stumbling, or fumbling, Still hawking, still baulking, You flash in the Pan: Unfit like old Brooms, For sweeping our Rooms, You're sunk and you're shrunk, Then repent and look to't; In vain you're so upish, in vain you're so upish. You're down ev'ry foot.

_A_ Scotch SONG, _Set by Mr._ R. BROWN.

[Music]

_Jockey_ loves his _Moggy_ dearly,
He gang'd with her to _Perth_ Fair;
There we Sung and Pip'd together,
And when done, then down I'd lay her:
I so pull'd her, and so lull'd her,
Both o'erwhelm'd with muckle Joy;
_Mog._ kiss'd _Jockey_, _Jockey_ _Moggy_,
From long Night to break of Day.

I told _Mog._ 'twas muckle pleasing,
_Moggey_ cry'd she'd do again such;
I reply'd I'd glad gang with thee,
But 'twould wast my muckle Coyn much:
She lamented, I relented,
Both wish'd Bodies might increase;
Then we'd gang next Year together,
And my Pipe shall never cease.

_A_ SONG, _in the_ Lucky Younger Brother, _or, the_ Beau Defeated; _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _and Sung by Mr._ BOWMAN.

[Music]

_Delia_ tir'd _Strephon_ with her Flame, While languishing, while languishing she view'd him; The well dress'd Youth despis'd the Dame, But still, still; but still the old Fool pursu'd him: Some pity on a Wretch bestow, That lyes at your Devotion; Perhaps near fifty Years ago, Perhaps near fifty Years ago, I might have lik'd the Motion.

If you, proud Youth, my Flame despise, I'll hang me in my Garters; Why then make hast to win the Prize, Among loves foolish Martyrs: Can you see _Delia_ brought so low, And make her no Requitals? _Delia_ may to the Devil go, _Delia_ may to the Devil, Devil go, to the Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil go for _Strephon_; Stop my Vitals, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop my Vitals.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ John Weldon.

[Music]

Swain thy hopeless Passion smother, Perjur'd _Caelia_ loves another; In his Arms I saw her lying, Panting, Kissing, Trembling, Dying: There the Fair deceiver swore, As once she did to you before.

Oh! said you, when She deceives me, When that Constant Creatures leave me; _Isis_ Waters back shall fly, And leave their _Ouzy_ Channels dry: Turn your Waters, leave your Shore, For perjur'd _Caelia_ loves no more.

_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd the_ BITER, _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _and Sung by Mr._ Cook.

[Music]

_Chloe_ blush'd and frown'd and swore, And push'd me rudely from her; I call'd her Faithless, Jilting Whore, To talk to me of Honour: But when I rose and wou'd be gone, She cry'd nay, whither go ye? Young _Damon_ saw, now we're alone, Do, do, do what you will, do what you will with _Chloe_: Do what you will, what you will, what you will with _Chloe_, Do what you will, what you will, what you will with _Chloe_.

_A_ SONG _in_ Rinaldo _and_ Armida: _Set by Mr._ John Eccles. _Sung by Mr._ Gouge.

[Music]

The Jolly, Jolly Breeze, That comes whistling through the Trees; From all the blissful Regions brings, Perfumes upon its spicy Wings: With its wanton motion curling, Curling, curling, curling the crystal Rills, Which down, down, down, down the Hills, Run, run, run, run, run o'er Golden gravel purling.

_A_ SONG _on the_ Punch Bowl. _To the foregoing Tune._

The Jolly, Jolly Bowl, That does quench my thirsty Soul; When all the mingling Juice is thrown, Perfum'd with fragrant Goar Stone: With it's wanton Toast too, curling, Curling, curling, curling, curling the Nut-brown Riles, Which down, down, down, down by the Gills, Run through ruby Swallows purling.

_The_ PROLOGUE _in the_ Island-Princess, _Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.

[Music]

You've been with dull Prologues here banter'd so long, They signify nothing, or less than a Song; To sing you a Ballad this Tune we thought fit, For Sound has oft nickt you, when Sence could not hit: Then Ladies be kind, and Gentlemen mind, Wit Capers, play Sharpers, loud Bullies, tame Cullies, Sow grumblers, Wench Fumblers give ear ev'ry Man: Mobb'd Sinners in Pinners, kept Foppers, Bench-hoppers, High-Flyers, Pit-Plyers, be still if you can: You're all in Damnation, you're all in Damnation for Leading the Van.

Ye Side-Box Gallants, whom the vulgar call Beaus, Admirers of Self, and nice Judges of Cloaths; Who now the War's over cross boldly the Main, Yet ne'er were at Seiges, unless at Campaign: Spare all on the Stage, Love in every Age, Young Tattles, Wild Rattles, Fan-Tearers, Mask-Fleerers, Old Coasters, Love boasters, who set up for Truth: Young Graces, Black Faces, some Faded, some Jaded, Old Mothers, and others, who've yet a Colt's Tooth: See us Act that in Winter, you'd all Act in Youth.

You Gallery Haunters, who love to lye snug, And maunch Apples or Cakes, while some Neighbour you hugg; Ye lofties, Genteels, who above us all sit, And look down with Contempt, on the Mob in the Pit, Here's what you like best, Jigg, Song and the rest, Free Laughers, close Graffers, dry Jokers, old Soakers, Kind Cousins, by Dozens, your Customs don't break: Sly Spouses with Blouses, grave Horners, in Corners, Kind No-wits, save Poets, clap 'till your Hands ake, And tho' the Wits Damn us, we'll say the Whims take.

_A_ SONG _Set by Mr._ JOHN BARRETT, _and Sung by Mrs._ LINDSEY.

[Music]

_Caelia_ hence with Affectation,
Hence with all this careless Air;
Hypocrisy is out of Fashion,
With the Witty and the Fair:
Nature all thy Arts discloses,
While the Pleasures she supplies;
Paint thy glowing Cheeks with Roses,
And inflame thy sparkling Eyes.

Foolish _Caelia_ not to know,
Love thy Int'rest and thy Duty;
Thou to love alone dost owe,
All thy Joy, and all thy Beauty:
Mark the tuneful Feather'd kind,
At the coming of the Spring;
All in happy Pairs are joyn'd,
And because they love they Sing.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ CLARK.

[Music]

How often have I curs'd that sable Deceit,
For making me wish and admire;
And rifle poor _Ovid_ to learn to intreat,
When Reason might check my desire:
For sagely of late it has been disclos'd,
There's nothing, nothing conceal'd uncommon;
No Miracles under a Mask repos'd,
When knowing _Cynthia's_ a Woman.

Tho' Beauty's great Charms our Sences delude,
'Tis the Centre attracts our Needle;
And Love's a Jest when thought to intrude,
The design of it to unriddle:
A Virgin may show strange coyness in Love,
And tell you Chimera's of Honour;
But give her her Wish, the Man she approves,
No Labour he'll have to win her.

FINIS.