Chapter M (5)

Says his Honour, and then he put on a Frown,
And since you have left it to my Thoughts alone,
I'll soon have them all whipp'd out of the Town,
O _rare doings at_ Bath, _Raffling, and Fidling_, &c.

_The Distress'd_ SHEPHERD, _A_ SONG.

[Music]

I am a poor Shepherd undone,
And cannot be Cur'd by Art;
For a Nymph as bright as the Sun,
Has stole away my Heart:
And how to get it again,
There's none but she can tell;
To cure me of my Pain,
By saying she loves me well:
And alass poor Shepherd,
Alack and a welladay;
Before I was in Love,
Oh every Month was _May_.

If to Love she cou'd not incline,
I told her I'd die in an Hour;
To die says she 'tis in thine,
But to Love 'tis not in my Power.
I askt her the Reason why,
She could not of me approve;
She said 'twas a Task too hard,
To give any Reason for Love:
_And alass poor Shepherd_, &c.

She ask'd me of my Estate,
I told her a Flock of Sheep;
The Grass whereon they Graze,
Where she and I might Sleep:
Besides a good Ten Pound,
In old King _Harry's_ Groats;
With Hooks and Crooks abound,
And Birds of sundry Notes:
_And alass poor Shepherd_, &c.

_A_ SONG.

I Love to Madness, rave t'enjoy,
But heaps of Wealth my Progress bar;
Curse on the Load that stops my way,
My Love's more Rich and Brighter far:
Were I prest under Hills of Gold,
My furious Sighs should make my escape;
I'd sigh and blow up all the Mould,
And throw the Oar in _CÊlia's_ Lap.

Were thou some Peasant mean and small,
And all the spacious Globe were mine;
I'd give the World, the Sun and all,
For one kind brighter Glance of thine:
This Hour let _CÊlia_ with me live,
And Gods cou'd I but of you borrow,
I'd give what only you can give,
For that dear Hour, I'd give to morrow.

_The loving Couple: Or the Merry_ WEDDING.

[Music]

A Jolly young _Grocer_ of _London Town_,
Fell deeply in Love with his Maid:
And often he courted her to lye down,
But she told him she was afraid:
Sometimes he would struggle,
But still she would Boggle,
And never consent to his wicked Will;
But said he must tarry,
Until he would marry,
And then he should have his fill.

But when that he found he could not obtain,
The Blessing he thus pursu'd;
For tho' he had try'd her again and again,
She vow'd she would not be leud:
At last he submitted,
To be so outwitted,
As to be catch'd in the Nuptial snare;
Altho' the young Hussie,
Before had been busie,
With one that she lov'd more dear.

The Morning after they marry'd were,
The Drums and the Fiddles came;
Then oh what a thumping and scraping was there,
To please the new marry'd Dame:
There was fiddle come fiddle,
With hey diddle diddle,
And all the time that the Musick play'd;
There was Kissing and Loving,
And Heaving and Shoving,
For fear she should rise a Maid.

But e'er three Months they had marry'd been,
A Thumping Boy popp'd out;
Ads---- says he you confounded Queen,
Why what have you been about?
You're a Strumpet cries he,
You're a Cuckold cries she,
And when he found he was thus betray'd;
There was Fighting and Scratching,
And Rogueing and Bitching,
Because she had prov'd a Jade.

_A_ SONG, _Tune of Chickens and Sparrow-grass._

What sayest thou,
If one should thrust thee thro'?
What sayest thou,
If one shou'd Plough?
I say Sir, you may do what you please,
I shall scarce stir,
Tho' you ne'er cease,
Thro', thro', you may thrust me thro'.
Such Death is a Pleasure,
When Life's a Disease.

_The precaution'd_ Nymph, _Set by_ L. Ramondon.

[Music]

Go, go, go, go falsest of thy Sex be gone,
Leave, leave, oh leave, leave me to my self alone;
Why wou'd you strive by fond pretence,
Thus to destroy my Innocence.

Know, _CÊlia_ you too late betray'd,
Then thus you did the Nymph upbraid;
Love like a Dream usher'd by night,
Flyes the approach of Morning light.

Go falsest of your Sex begone,
Oh! Leave me to my self alone;
She that believes Man when he swears,
Or but regards his Oaths or Pray'rs,
May she, fond she, be most accurst,
Nay more, be subject to his Lust.

_The Life and Death of Sir_ HUGH _of the_ GRIME. _To the Tune of_ Chevy-chace.

As it befel upon one time,
About _Mid-summer_ of the Year;
Every Man was taxt of his Crime,
For stealing the good Lord Bishop's Mare.

The good Lord _Screw_ sadled a Horse,
And rid after the same serime;
Before he did get over the Moss,
There was he aware of Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_.

Turn, O turn, thou false Traytor,
Turn and yield thy self unto me;
Thou hast stol'n the Lord Bishop's Mare,
And now thinkest away to flee.

No, soft Lord _Screw_, that may not be,
Here is a broad Sword by my side;
And if that thou canst Conquer me,
The Victory will soon be try'd.

I ne'er was afraid of a Traytor bold,
Altho' thy Name be _Hugh_ in the _Grime_;
I'll make thee repent thy Speeches foul,
If Day and Life but give me time.

Then do thy worst, good Lord _Screw_,
And deal your blows as fast as you can;
It will be try'd between me and you,
Which of us two shall be the best Man.

Thus as they dealt their blows so free,
And both so Bloody at that time;
Over the Moss ten Yeomen they see,
Come for to take Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_.

Sir _Hugh_ set his Back again a Tree,
And then the Men compast him round;
His mickle Sword from his Hand did flee,
And then they brought Sir _Hugh_ to the Ground.

Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_ now taken is,
And brought back to _Garland_ Town;
Then cry'd the good Wives all in _Garland_ Town,
Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_, thou'st ne'er gang down.

The good Lord Bishop is come to Town,
And on the Bench is set so high;
And every Man was tax'd to his crime,
At length he call'd Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_.

Here am I, thou false Bishop,
Thy Humours all to fulfil;
I do not think my Fact so great,
But thou may'st put into thy own Will.

The Quest of Jury-Men was call'd,
The best that was in _Garland_ Town;
Eleven of them spoke all in a-breast,
Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ thou'st ne'er gang down.

Then other Questry-men was call'd,
The best that was in _Rumary_;
Twelve of them spoke all in a-breast,
Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ thou'st now Guilty.

Then came down my good Lord _Boles_,
Falling down upon his Knee;
Five hundred Pieces of Gold will I give,
To grant Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ to me.

Peace, peace, my good Lord _Boles_,
And of your Speeches set them by;
If there be Eleven _Grimes_ all of a Name,
Then by my own Honour they all should dye.

Then came down my good Lady _Ward_,
Falling low upon her Knee;
Five hundred Measures of Gold I'll give,
And grant Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_ to me.

Peace, peace, my good Lady _Ward_,
None of your proffers shall him buy,
For if there be Twelve _Grimes_ all of a Name,
By my own Honour all should dye.

Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime's_ condemn'd to dye,
And of his Friends he had no lack;
Fourteen Foot he leapt in his Ward,
His Hands bound fast upon his Back.

Then he look'd over his left Shoulder,
To see whom he could see or 'spye;
There was he aware of his Father dear,
Came tearing his Hair most pitifully.

Peace, peace, my Father dear,
And of your Speeches set them by;
Tho' they have bereav'd me of my Life,
They cannot bereave me of Heaven so high.

He look'd over his right Shoulder,
To see whom he could see or 'spye;
There was he aware of his Mother dear,
Came tearing her Hair most pitifully.

Pray have me remember'd to _Peggy_ my Wife,
As she and I walk'd over the Moor;
She was the cause of the loss of my Life,
And with the old Bishop she play'd the Whore.

Here _Johnny Armstrong_, take thou my Sword;
That is made of the metal so fine;
And when thou com'st to the Border side,
Remember the Death of Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_.

_The disappointed_ TAYLOR: _Or good Work done for Nothing._

[Music]

A Taylor good Lord, in the Time of Vacation,
When Cabbage was scarce and when Pocket was low,
For the Sale of good Liquor pretended a Passion,
To one that sold Ale in a Cuckoldy Row:
Now a Louse made him Itch,
Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.

One Day she came up, when at Work in his Garret,
To tell what he Ow'd, that his Store he might know;
Says he it is all very right I declare it,
Says she then I hope you will pay e'er I go?
Now a Louse, _&c._

Says Prick-Louse my Jewel, I love you most dearly,
My Breast every Minute still hotter does grow,
I'll only says she for the Juice of my Barly,
And other good Drink in my Cellar below:
Now a Louse made him Itch,
Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.

Says he you mistake, 'tis for something that's better,
Which I dare not Name, and you care not to show;
Says she I'm afraid you are given to flatter,
What is it you Mean, and pray where does it grow:
Now a Louse, _&c._

Says he 'tis a Thing that has never a handle,
'Tis hid in the Dark, and it lies pretty low;
Says she then I fear that you must have a Candle,
Or else the wrong way you may happen to go:
Now a Louse, _&c._

Says he was it darker than ever was Charcole,
Tho' I never was there, yet the way do I know;
Says she if it be such a terrible dark Hole,
Don't offer to Grope out your way to it so:
Now a Louse, _&c._

Says he you shall see I will quickly be at it,
For this is, oh this is the way that I'll go;
Says she do not tousle me so for I hate it,
I vow by and by you will make me cry oh:
So they both went to work,
Now a Kiss, then a Jirk,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.

The Taylor arose when the business was over,
Says he you will rub out the Score e'er you go;
Says she I shall not pay so dear for a Lover,
I'm not such a Fool I would have you to know:
Now a Louse made him Itch,
Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,
And sing Cucumber, Cucumber ho.

_The Penurious_ QUAKER: _Or, the High priz'd_ HARLOT.

[Music]

_Quaker._ My Friend thy Beauty seemeth good,
We Righteous have our failings;
I'm Flesh and Blood, methinks I cou'd,
Wert thou but free from Ailings.

_Harlot._ Believe me Sir I'm newly broach'd,
And never have been in yet;
I vow and swear I ne'er was touch'd,
By Man 'till this day sennight.

_Quaker._ Then prithee Friend, now prithee do,
Nay, let us not defer it;
And I'll be kind to thee when thou
Hast laid the Evil Spirit.

_Harlot._ I vow I won't, indeed I shan't,
Unless I've Money first, Sir;
For if I ever trust a Saint,
I wish I may be curst, Sir.

_Quaker._ I cannot like the Wicked say,
I Love thee and Adore thee,
And therefore thou wilt make me pay,
So here is Six pence for thee.

_Harlot._ Confound you for a stingy WHIG,
Do ye think I live by Stealing;
Farewel you Puritannick Prig,
I scorn to take your Shilling.

_A_ SONG. _Tune of the_ Old Rigadoon:

_Lais_ when you
Lye wrapp'd in Charms,
In your Spouses Arms,
How can you deny,
The Youth to try,
What is his due.

Sure you ne'er have
Been touch'd by Man,
That you ne'er can,
Admit the Slave.

Come let him in,
And if he does
Not pay what he owes,
Ne'er trust the Fool again.

Let another Spark supply his Place,
For a Woman should not want;
And Nature sure ne'er made a Man so base,
But with asking he would grant:
But if all Mankind were agreed to spoil your Race,
By _Jove_ my Dear they shan't.

_The travelling_ TINKER, _and the Country_ ALE-WIFE: _Or, the lucky Mending of the leaky_ COPPER.

[Music]

A Comely Dame of _Islington_,
Had got a leaky Copper;
The Hole that let the Liquor run,
Was wanting of a Stopper:
A Jolly _Tinker_ undertook,
And promised her most fairly;
With a thump thump thump, and knick knack knock,
To do her Business rarely.

He turn'd the Vessel to the Ground,
Says he a good old Copper;
But well may't Leak, for I have found
A Hole in't that's a whopper:
But never doubt a _Tinkers_ stroke,
Altho' he's black and surly,
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
He'll do your Business purely.

The Man of Mettle open'd wide,
His Budget's mouth to please her,
Says he this Tool we oft employ'd,
About such Jobbs as these are:
With that the Jolly _Tinker_ took,
A Stroke or two most kindly;
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
He did her Business finely.

As soon as Crock had done the Feat,
He cry'd 'tis very hot ho;
This thrifty Labour makes me Sweat,
Here, gi's a cooling Pot ho:
Says she bestow the other Stroke,
Before you take your Farewel;
With a thump thump thump, _&c._
And you may drink a Barrel.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ABELL.

I'll press, I'll bless thee Charming fair,
Thou Darling of my Heart;
I'll press, I'll bless thee Charming fair,
Thou darling of my Heart:
I'll clasp, I'll grasp thee close my Dear,
And Doat on every Part.

I'll clasp, I'll grasp thee close my Dear,
And Doat on every Part!
I'll bless thee now thou Darling,
Thou Darling of my Heart;
I'll bless thee now, _&c._

With fond excess of Pleasure,
I'll make the Panting cry, Panting cry;
Then wisely use your Treasure,
Then wisely use your Treasure,
Refusing, still comply.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

What shall I do, I've lost my Heart,
'Tis gone, 'tis gone I know not whither;
Love cut its strings,
Then lent it Wings
And both are flown together:
Fair Ladies tell for Love's sweet sake,
Did any of you find it?
Come, come it lies,
In your Lips or Eyes,
Tho' you'll not please to mind it.

But if't be lost,
Then farewel Frost,
I will enquire no more;
For Ladies they
Steal Hearts away,
But only to restore:
_For Ladies they_, &c.

Tune, _si votr' epousa_.

_Chloris_ can you
Forgive the fault that I have done;
_Chloris_ can you
Forgive me when I sue,
Faith it is true,
That had you let me farther gone,
I had ruin'd you,
And mischiev'd my self too:
Yet I ne'er should
Have ventur'd on a Maid so Chast,
Had not your Eye,
Shot thro' my Soul,
And conjur'd all the Sense away,
That there did lye.

_Lumps of_ PUDDING.

[Music]

When I was in the low Country,
When I was in the low Country;
What slices of Pudding and pieces of Bread,
My Mother gave me when I was in need.

My Mother she killed a good fat Hog,
She made such Puddings would choak a Dog;
And I shall ne'er forget 'till I dee,
What lumps of Pudding my Mother gave me.

She hung them up upon a Pin,
The Fat run out and the Maggots crept in;
If you won't believe me you may go and see,
What lumps, _&c._

And every Day my Mother would cry,
Come stuff your Belly Girl until you die;
'Twou'd make you to laugh if you were to see,
What lumps, _&c._

I no sooner at Night was got into Bed,
But she all in kindness would come with speed;
She gave me such parcels I thought I should dee,
With eating of Pudding, _&c._

At last I Rambled abroad and then,
I met in my Frolick an honest Man;
Quoth he my dear _Philli_ I'll give unto thee,
Such Pudding you never did see.

Said I honest Man, I thank thee most kind,
And as he told me indeed I did find;
He gave me a lump which did so agree,
One bit was worth all my Mother gave me.

_The_ QUAKER's SONG.

[Music]

Walk up to Virtue Strait,
And from all Vice retire;
Turn not on this Hand nor on that,
To compass thy Desire.

Side not with wicked ones,
Nor such as are Prophane;
But side with good and goodly ones,
That come from _Amsterdam_.

Arm not thy self with Pride,
That's not the way to Bliss;
But Arm thy self with holy Zeal,
And take this loving Kiss.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

_Lorenzo_ you amuse the Town,
And with your Charms undo, Sir;
_Laurinda_ can resist a Frown,
But must not be from you, Sir:
You make them all resign their Hearts,
And fix their Eyes a gazing;
The _Porcupine_ has not more Darts,
From every part amazing.

You Bill and Cooe when you are kind,
And happy's the Nymph believes you;
You are true, but you are not Blind,
For never a Nymph deceives you;
Tho' she were naught, you'll ne'er be caught,
But still have your Wits about you;
You're a Hero, and you have Fought,
There's ne'er a Hector can flout you.

You are good, and you are bad,
And you can be what you please, Sir;
You are an honest trusty Lad,
And I'll Wager ne'er had the Disease, Sir:
Then here's to you, a Glass or two,
For farther I dare not venture;
And then my Dear I bid thee adieu,
For I must be now a Dissenter.

_A_ SONG.

_Tune of_ Oh! how happy's he. _Pag._ 104.

Ah! how happy's he,
Lives from drinking free,
Can enjoy his Humour, Paper and his Pen;
Nor ensnar'd with Wine,
Or some Whores design,
But in harmless Sonnets thinking does ever mend;
Prigs shall never vex him,
Pox shall ne'er perplex him,
If his Pocket's full, sits down and counts his Joy;
If it be not so,
Takes a Tune or two,
'Till by wise Content, his trouble does destroy.

When a Monarch reels,
He his Thoughts conceals,
Whether WHIG or _Tory_, never does express;
With a sober Dose
Of _Coffee_ funks his Nose,
And reading all the News does leave the World to guess:
But when his Noddle's full,
O then he hugs his Soul,
And homeward flush'd with Joy does trudge apace,
When on Pillow laid,
Then with Mind display'd
Argues with himself the Queen and Nation's Case.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Had I but Love,
I'd quit all Treasure,
Had I but Love,
I'd Envy none above:
Camp and Court,
Have no such Pleasure;
Camp and Court,
Have both such pretty Sport.

_Wo_. Let me alone, let me alone,
Says the Fool,
Or I'll cry out, Sir;
_Man_. Prithee do, prithee do,
With all my Soul,
But you shan't stir.

Such is Love,
And such is living,
Such is Love,
And such was mighty _Jove_:
Gods and Kings,
Have both been contriving,
Gods and Kings,
To catch these pretty things.

_Wo_. Let me go, what d'ye do, pray forbear,
Alass I cannot bear it;
_Man_. Hold your Tongue, hold your Tongue,
Never fear you peevish Chit.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

Love's Passion never knew 'till this,
A blissful Happiness like mine;
With Joy now _CÊlia_ crowns my wish,
And _Cupid_ both our Hearts does joyn:
With Joy now _CÊlia_ crowns my wish.
And _Cupid_ both our Hearts does joyn.

Whene'er our Hearts dart fiery Beams,
Fierce as the pangs of our Desires;
The meeting Glances kindle flames
More pure than fancyed fires:
Then _CÊlia_ let's no Pleasure want,
To perfect the most happy State;
The bliss you fear too soon to grant,
You'll rather think enjoyed too late.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ABELL.

[Music]

_CÊlia_ be not too complying,
Ease not soon a Lovers pain;
Love increases by denying,
Soon we leave what soon we gain.
CÊlia _be not too complying_, &c.

If in Courtship you're delighting,
And wou'd no Adorer loose;
Let your looks be still inviting,
But your Vertue still refuse.
_Let your looks be still inviting_, &c.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ABELL.

[Music]

A Little Love may prove a Pleasure,
Too great a Passion is a Pain;
When we our Flame by reason measure,
Blest is our Fate, and light our Chain:
Who then would long a Slave remain?
True Hearts are like a Fairy Treasure,
Talk'd of, but ever sought in vain;
A little Love may prove a Pleasure,
Too great a Passion is a Pain.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

When first I lay'd Siege to my _Chloris_,
When first I lay'd Siege to my _Chloris_:
Cannon Oaths I brought down,
To batter the Town,
And boom'd her with amorous Stories.

Billet deux like small Shot did so ply her,
Billet deux like small Shot did so ply her;
And sometimes a Song,
Went whistling along,
Yet still I was never the nigher.

At length she sent Word by a Trumpet,
At length she sent Word by a Trumpet,
That if I lik'd the Life,
She would be my Wife,
But she would be no Man's Strumpet.

I told her that _Mars_ wou'd ne'er Marry,
I told her that _Mars_ wou'd ne'er Marry;
I swore by my Scars,
Got in Combates and Wars,
That I'd rather dig Stones in a Quarry.

At length she granted the Favour,
At length she granted the Favour;
With the dull Curse,
For better for worse,
And saved the Parson the Labour.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Seignor_ BAPTIST.

[Music]

Why alas do you now leave me,
You who vow'd a Love so true;
Can you hope whilst you deceive me,
Others will be just to you?
Oh you know what you forsake,
You're pursuing,
My undoing,
But you know not what you take.

Is your fit of Passion over,
Will you Kill me dear unkind;
Is your Heart then such a Rover,
As no Vows, no Oaths can bind:
Hear at least my last adieu,
See me lying,
See me dying,
And remember 'tis for you.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.

[Music]

When Beauty such as yours has mov'd desires,
A kind return, a kind return,
Should raise the glowing Fires;
But tho' you hate me, I am still
Devoted wholly to your Will:
Not all your Frowns can quench my Flame,
My Love is something more than Name,
And as it ought, will ever, ever be the same.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

See bleeding at your Feet there lies,
One murder'd by Disdain;
That Heart you wounded with your Eyes,
Is by your Rigour slain:
Expiring now I cannot live,
Death no delay will brook,
Unless some pitying word you give,
Or kind relenting Look,
Or kind relenting Look.

For then from Fate by Rapture born,
And taken from your Arms;
The Heart thus rescued from your Scorn,
I'll offer to your Charms:
Love's eager Rites, I'll then pursue,
And Sacrificing dye;
Altar and Beauteous Goddess you,
And Priest, and Victim I.

_The good Fellow's Resolve_: _Tune_ as _May_ was in her youthful Dress. _Vol._ 3. _P._ 199.

Now I'm resolv'd to Love no more,
But Sleep by Night, and Drink by Day;
Your Coyness _Chloris_ pray give o'er,
And turn your tempting Eyes away:
I'll place no happiness of mine,
On fading Beauty still to court;
And say she's glorious and divine,
When there's in Drinking better sport.

Love has no more Prerogative,
To make me desperate Courses take;
Nor me of _Bacchus_ Joys deprive,
For them I _Venus_ will forsake:
Despise the feeble Nets she lays,
And scorn the Man she can o'ercome;
In Drinking we see happy Days,
But in a fruitless Passion none.

'Tis Wine alone that cheers the Soul,
But Love and Women make us sad;
I'm merry while I court the Bowl,
Whilst he that Courts his Madam's mad.
Then fill it up Boys to the brim,
Since in it we refreshment find;
Come here's a Bumper unto him,
That courts good Wine, not Woman-kind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

When crafty Fowlers would surprize,
The harmonious Lark that soars on high
It is by glancing in his Eyes,
The Sun-shine Rays which draws him nigh:
_It is by_, &c.

Charm'd with Reflections from the Glase,
He flies with eager hasty speed;
Ceasing the Musick of his Lays,
Into the Nets the Fowler spread.

So when _Clemelia_ would obtain,
The Prey her Fancy most desires;
She spreads her Dress like Nets in vain,
And all her Youthful gay attires.

'Till watching Opportunity,
She throws an Amorous charming Glance,
Then to her Net the Youth does flie,
And lies entangled in a Trance.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ BLOW.

[Music]

Boasting Fops who court the Fair,
For the Fame of being lov'd;
You who daily prating are
Of the Hearts your Charms have mov'd,
Still be vain in talk and dress,
But while Shadows you pursue;
Own that some who boast it less,
May be blest as much as you.

Love and Birding are Ally'd,
Baits and Nets alike they have;
The same Arts in both are try'd,
The unwary to inslave;
If in each you'd happy prove,
Without Noise still watch your way;
For in Birding and in Love,
While we talk it flies away.

_A_ SONG.

Must Love, that Tyrant of the Breast,
Have all our Songs, have all our Hours;
Whilst he alone disturbs our Rest,
And with his Cares our Hearts devours,
And with his Cares our Hearts devours:
No more let's blame ignoble Souls,
Who doat on Arbitrary Powers;
Since cruel Love our Wills controuls,
Yet all the World, yet all the World the Toy adores.

For shame let's break the feeble Bonds,
And our old Liberty regain;
Love against Reason seldom stands,
Whenever that sways, its Power is vain:
When Man the prize of Freedom knows,
_Cupid_ is easily out-brav'd;
The Bug-bear only conquers those,
Who fondly seek to be enslav'd.

_The Woman's Complaint to her Neighbour._

[Music]

Good morrow Gossip _Joan_,
Where have you been a Walking?
I have for you at Home,
A Budget full of Talking,
Gossip _Joan_.

My Sparrow's flown away,
And will no more come to me;
I've broke a Glass to Day,
The Price will quite undo me,
Gossip _Joan_.

I've lost a _Harry_ Groat,
Was left me by my Granny;
I cannot find it out,
I've search'd in every Cranny,
Gossip _Joan_.

My Goose has laid away,
I know not what's the Reason;
My Hen has hatch'd to Day,
A Week before the Season,
Gossip _Joan_.

I've lost my Wedding-Ring,
That was made of Silver gilt;
I had Drink would please a King,
And the whorish Cat has spill'd it,
Gossip _Joan_.

My Duck has eat a Snail,
And is not that a Wonder;
The HORNS bud out at Tail,
And have split her Rump asunder,
Gossip _Joan_.

My Pocket is cut off,
That was full of Sugar-candy;
I cannot stop my Cough,
Without a Gill of Brandy,
Gossip _Joan_.

O I am sick at Heart,
Therefore pray give me some Ginger;
I cannot Sneeze or Fart,
Therefore pray put in Finger,
Gossip _Joan_.

O pitty, pitty me,
Or I shall go Distracted;
I have cry'd 'till I can't see,
To think how things are acted,
Gossip _Joan_.

Let's to the Ale-house go,
And wash down all my Sorrow;
My Griefs you there shall know,
And we'll meet again to morrow,
Gossip _Joan_.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ Jer. Clark.

[Music]

I'm vext to think that _Damon_ wooes me,
Who with Sighs and Tears pursues me;
He still whining and repining,
Of my Rigour does complain:
I'd not see him, yet wou'd free him,
And my self, my self from pain:
I'll enjoy him, and so cloy him,
Love cures Love, more, more than Disdain.

_A_ SONG, _by Mr._ Burkhead.

[Music]

Claspt in my dear _Melinda's_ Arms,
Soft engaging, oh how she Charms;
Graces more divine,
In her Person shine,
Then _Venus_ self cou'd ever boast.

In the softest Moments of Love,
Melting, Panting, oh how she moves;
Come, come, come my Dear,
Now we've nought to fear,
Mortal sure was never so blest,
Come, come, come, _&c._

Pray don't trifle, my dearest forbear,
I shall die with Transports I fear;
Clasp me fast my Life,
'Twill more Pleasure give,
Both our stocks of Love let's Joyn,
Clasp me, _&c._

Now our Souls are charm'd in Bliss,
Raptures flow from every Kiss;
Words cannot reveal,
The fierce Joys I feel,
'Tis too much to bear and live,
Words cannot, _&c._

_A_ SONG, _in the_ Play _call'd the Ladies Fine Aires: Sung by Mr._ Pack, _in the Figure of a_ Bawd. _Set by Mr._ Barrett.

[Music]

How happy are we,
Who from thinking are free,
That curbing Disease o'the Mind:
Can indulge every Tast,
Love where we like best,
Not by dull Reputation confin'd.

When we're young fit to toy,
Gay Delights we enjoy,
And have crowds of new Lovers wooing;
When we're old and decay'd,
We procure for the Trade,
Still in ev'ry Age we're doing.

If a Cully we meet,
We spend what we get,
E'ery day for the next never think:
When we dye where we go,
We have no Sense to know,
For a Bawd always dyes in her drink.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FORCER.

[Music]

Farewel my useless Scrip,
And poor unheeded Flocks;
No more you'll round me trip,
Nor cloath me with your Locks:
Feed by yon purling Stream,
Where _Jockey_, where _Jockey_ first I knew:
I only think, I only think, I only think on him,
I cannot, cannot, cannot think on you.

Farewel each Shepherdess,
The bonny Lads adieu;
May each his Wish possess,
And to that Wish be true:
Your Oaten Pipes cou'd please,
But _Jockey_ then was kind;
Your bonny Tunes may cease,
The Lad has chang'd his Mind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

Ere _Phillis_ with her looks did kill,
My Heart resisting,
My Heart resisting them was ill;
Now in its Wounds it finds a Cure,
When most they bleed, I least endure.

For tho' 'tis Death those looks to meet,
There's Life in dying at her feet;
Kill _Phillis_ then, kill with your Eyes,
If you let _Strephon_ live he dyes.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ KING.

[Music]

Not your Eyes _Melania_ move me,
Not your flowring Charms or Wit;
Not your daily Vows to love me,
Make my easy Soul submit.
Shape nor Dress can never sway me,
Nor the softest looks betray me;
_Shape nor Face can never sway me,_
_Nor the softest looks betray me._

But your Mind, my Dear, subdues me,
Where a thousand Graces shine;
Goodness, Love, and Honour moves me,
And my Passion's all Divine.
Goodness as a boundless Treasure,
Yields the purest sweetest pleasure.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Then come kind _Damon_, come away,
To _Cynthia's_ power advance:
The _Sylvians_ they shall pipe and play,
And we'll lead up, and we'll lead up,
And we'll lead up the Dance:
The _Sylvians_ they shall pipe and play,
And we'll lead up, and we'll lead up,
And we'll lead up the Dance;
The _Sylvians_ they, _&c._

Smile then with a Beam Divine,
We'll be blest if you but shine;
Happy then our Pains and Toils,
Wit only lives when Beauty smiles:
Happy then our Pains and Toils,
Wit only lives, Wit only lives,
When Beauty smiles;
Wit only lives, _&c._

_The Soldiers return from the Wars, or the Maids and Widdows Rejoycing._ _Tune Page_ 278.

At the Change as I was walking,
I heard a Discourse of Peace;
The People all were a Talking,
That the tedious Wars will cease:
And if it do prove but true,
The Maids will run out of their Houses,
_To see the Troopers all come Home,_
_And the Grenadiers with their Drum a Drum Drum,_
_Then the Widdows shall all have Spouses._

The Scarlet colour is fine, Sir,
All others it doth excel;
The Trooper has a Carbine, Sir,
That will please the Maidens well:
And when it is Cock'd and Prim'd, Sir,
The Maids will run out of their Houses,
_To see the Troopers come come come_, &c.

There's _Joan_, and _Betty_, and _Nelly_,
And the rest of the Female Crew;
Each has an Itch in her Belly,
To play with the Scarlet hue:
And _Marg'ret_ too must be peeping,
_To see the Troopers_, &c.

The Landladys are preparing,
Her Maids are shifting their Smocks;
Each swears she'll buy her a Fairing,
And opens her _Christmas-box_:
She'll give it all to the Red-coats,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.

_Jenny_ she lov'd a Trooper,
And she shew'd her all her Gear;
_Doll_ has turn'd off the Cooper,
And now for a Grenadier:
His hand Grenadoes they will please her,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.

Old musty Maids that have Money,
Although no Teeth in their Heads;
May have a Bit for their Bunny,
To pleasure them in their Beds:
Their Hearts will turn to the Red-coats,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.

The Widdows now are a Singing,
And have thrown their Peaks aside;
For they have been us'd to stinging,
When their Garters were unty'd:
But the Red-coats they will tye 'em,
_When as the Troopers_, &c.

Wives and Widdows and Maidens,
I'm sure this News will please ye;
If any with Maiden-heads laden,
The Red-coats they will ease ye:
Then all prepare to be happy,
_To see the Troopers all come Home_, &c.

_A_ SONG. _Tune of_ Old Boree.

Come _CÊlia_ come, let's sit and talk a while,
About the Affairs of Loving:
Let a mutual Kiss our Cares and Fears beguile,
Far distant from this Grove:
Let's pass our Time in Mirth away,
Now we're remov'd from the noisy, noisy Court,
Now we're got out of the stormy Sea,
Into the safer Port.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Damascene.

[Music]

Who can _Dorinda's_ Beauty view,
And not her Captive be;
_Apollo_, _Daphne_ did pursue,
Embraced the Maid, though chang'd to a Tree:
If God's could love at such a rate,
Poor Mortals must adore:
_Dorinda's_ Merit is as great;
'Tis just, 'tis just to love her more.

_A_ HYMN _upon the Execution of two_ CRIMINALS, _by Mr._ RAMONDON.

[Music]

All you that must take a leap in the Dark,
Pity the Fate of _Lawson_ and _Clark_;
Cheated by Hope, by Mercy amus'd,
Betray'd by the sinful ways we us'd:
Cropp'd in our Prime of Strength and Youth,
Who can but weep at so sad a Truth;
_Cropp'd in our Prime_, &c.

Once we thought 'twould never be Night,
But now alass 'twill never be light;
Heavenly mercy shine on our Souls,
Death draws near, hark, _Sepulchres_ Bell Toles:
Nature is stronger in Youth than in Age,
Grant us thy Spirit Lord Grief to assuage:

Courses of Evil brought us to this,
Sinful Pleasure, deceitful Bliss:
We ne'er shou'd have cause so much to repent,
Could we with our Callings have been but Content:
The Snares of Wine and Women fair,
First were the cause that we now Despair.

You that now view our fatal End,
Warn'd by our Case your Carriage mend;
Soon or late grim Death will come,
Who'd not prepare for a certain Doom:
Span long Life with lifeless Joys,
What's in this World but care and noise.

Youth, tho' most blest by being so,
As vast thy Joy, as great thy Woe;
Ev'ry Sin that gives Delight,
Will in the end the Soul affright:
'Tis not thy Youth, thy Wealth nor Strength,
Can add to Life one Moments length.

God is as Merciful as Just,
Cleanse our Hearts, since die we must:
Sweet Temptations of worldly Joys,
Makes for our Grief, and our Peace destroys,
Think then when Man his Race has run,
Death is the Prize which he has won.

Sure there's none so absurd and odd,
To think with the Fool there is no God;
What is't we fear when Death we meet,
Where't not t' account at the Judgment-Seat:
That Providence we find each Hour,
Proves a supernatural Power;
In Mercy open thy bright Abode,
Receive our Souls tremendous God.

_The_ British ACCOUNTANT.

[Music]

You Ladies draw near, I can tell you good News,
If you please to give Ear, or else you may Choose;
Of a _British Accountant_ that's Frolick and free,
Who does wondrous Feats by the Rule of Three.

_Addition_, _Division_, and other such Rules,
I'll leave to be us'd by your Scribling Fools;
This Art is Improv'd unto such a Degree,
That he manages all by the Rule of Three.

You Dames that are Wed who can make it appear,
That you lose an Estate for want of an Heir:
This _Accountant_ will come without e'er a Fee,
And warrants a Boy by his Rule of Three.

Is the Widdow distress'd for the loss of her Spouse,
Tho' to have him again she cares not a Louse;
Her Wants he supplys whatsoever they be,
And all by his Art in the Rule of Three.

Do you Dream in the Night and fret at your Fate,
For want of the Man when you happen to wake;
You may presently send and satisfy'd be,
That he Pacifies all by the Rule of Three.

You Ladies who are with a Husband unblest,
And are minded to make him a delicate Beast;
He'll fix the Brow-antlers just where they should be,
And all by his Art in the Rule of Three.

You Lasses at large of the true Female Race,
Who are glad of the Men who will lye on their Face;
Do but try the bold _Britton_, you all will agree,
That you never did know such a Rule of Three.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

The Night is come that will allow,
No longer any Coyness now,
But every freedom must to Love be given;
What tho' the Shadows of the Night,
Withdraw her Beauty from his sight,
The Youth another way, another way,
Another way will find his Heav'n.

See, see the charming Nymph is lay'd,
Never again to rise a Maid,
The vigorous Bridegroom now impatient grown;
Thrown himself by her side,
With eager Joy, and amourous Pride,
Ready to seize the Prey that's now his own.

And now that all have left the Place,
Transporting Joys crowd on apace,
The Nymph contends like one that would not win;
Entrain'd with Pleasure now she lies,
The Youth has gain'd the noble Prize,
And now her Fears are past, and Joys begin.

_A_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ ESCOURT.

[Music]

You tell me _Dick_ you've lately read
That we are beaten in _Spain_;
But prithee Boy hold up thy Head,
We'll beat 'em twice for it again
_With a Fal la la la la la la la._

Is this the Courage you us'd to boast,
Why thou art quite cast down;
You can reflect on what we've lost,
But ne'er think what we've won,
_With a Fal_, &c.

What tho' _Jack Spaniard_ crack and bounce,
He ne'er shall do so again;
We took last Year as many Towns,
As they have now took Men,
_With a Fal_, &c.

In War and Gaming it is the same,
According to the old Saying;
Who's sure to conquer ev'ry Game,
Quite loses the Pleasure of playing:
_With a Fal_, &c.

I think we have a Man of our own,
A Man if I may call him so;
For after those great Deeds he has done,
I may question if he's so or no,
_With a Fal_, &c.

But now if you wou'd know his Name,
'Tis _Johnny Marlborough_;
The beaten _French_ has felt his Fame,
And so shall the Spaniards too,
_With a Fal_, &c.

And since we cannot Justice do,
To ev'ry Victory;
In a full Glass our Zeal let's show,
To our General's Family,
_With a Fal_, &c.

For he has Eight fair Daughters,
And each of them is a Charmer;
There's Lady _Railton_, _Bridgwater_,
Fine _Sunderland_, Lady _Mount-Hermer_,
_With a Fal_, &c.

The other Four so Charming are,
They will with Raptures fill ye;
There's Lady _Hochstet_, _Schellenburgh_,
Bright _Blenheim_, and Lady _Ramillie_,
_With a Fal_, &c.

The last were got so fair and strong,
As in Story ne'er was told;
The first Four always will be Young,
And the last will never be Old,
_With a Fal_, &c.

At ev'ry Feast, e'er we are all deceas'd,
And the Service begins to be hard;
'Tis surely your Duty, to Toast a young Beauty,
Call'd Madamosel _Audenard_,
_With a Fal_, &c.

All Joy to his Grace, for the ninth of his Race,
She's as fair as most of the former;
But where is that he, dare so impudent be,
To compare her to Lady _Mount-Hermer_,
_With a Fal_, &c.

And now to make thy Hopes more strong,
And make you look like a Man;
Remember that all these belong,
To the Queen of Great _Britain_,
_With a Fal_, &c.

Then prithee _Dick_ hold up thy Head,
Altho' we were beaten in _Spain_;
As sure as Scarlet Colour is Red,
We'll beat them twice for it again:
_With a Fal_, &c.

_A_ SONG.

Let those Youths who Freedom prize,
Far from the conquering _Sylvia_ run,
Never see her killing Eyes,
Or hear her soft enchanting Tongue:
For such sure Destruction waits,
On those Darts with which she wounds;
No shepherd ever can escape,
But falls if _Sylvia_ does but Frown.

_Damon_ to his cost has prov'd,
All resistance is but vain;
Heaven has form'd her to be lov'd,
And made her Queen of all the Plain:
_Damon_ when he saw her Face,
From her Beauty would have fled;
But the Charmer turn'd her Voice,
And with a Song she struck him dead.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Your Melancholy's all a Folly,
The Peace I'm sure is Sign'd;
The _French_ are for't, so is our Court,
And the _Dutch_ must be inclin'd:
What is't to us who's King of _Spain_,
So we are Masters of the Main,
Our Fleet must always the Trade maintain,
If we are not Banter'd and Bubbl'd.
And Cheated and Banter'd and Bubbl'd.

We very well know when _Marlborough_,
Did take the Towns in _Flanders_;
'Twas _English-men_, did pay for them,
Tho' they put in _Dutch_ Commanders;
So that while we were humbling _France_,
_Hollands_ Power we did advance,
And made 'em Great at our expence,
And so we were Banter'd, _&c._

We must suppose, the WHIGS are Foes,
When Treatys they will Sign a;
To give the _Dutch_ so plaguy much,
And call it the Barrier Line a:
For how can we Great _Europe_ Sway,
Or keep the Ballance every way,
I fear we shall pay for't another Day,
For we have been Banter'd, _&c._

For Liberty, and Property,
'Twas once we us'd to Fight;
'Gainst Popery, and Slavery,
We did it with our Might:
But now the Taxes make us poor,
The Emperor may Swear and roar,
We neither can nor will do more,
For we have been Banter'd, _&c._

FANATICKS then, are now the Men,
Who Kingly Pow'r divide;
Their Villany to Monarchy,
'Tis makes 'em _France_ deride:
If _Hollanders_ wou'd choose a King,
As much as now their Praises Sing,
They wou'd Curse, and Damn, and Fling,
And cry they were Banter'd, _&c._

I swear adsnigs, the Canting WHIGS,
Have run their Knavish Race;
The Church and Queen, are Flourishing,
Now they are in Disgrace:
Great _Harly_ he has set us right,
And _France_ will banish _Perkenite_,
So we're no more the _Holland_ Bite,
Nor will we be Banter'd and Bubbl'd,
And Cheated and Banter'd and Bubbl'd.

_The_ MOHOCKS. _A_ SONG.

[Music]

There's a new set of Rakes,
Entitled Mohocks,
Who infest Her Majesties Subjects;
He who meets 'em at Night,
Must be ready for flight,
Or withstanding he many a Drub gets.

In their nightly Patrole,
They up and down rowle,
To the Bodily fear of the Nation;
Some say they are Gentle-
men, otherwise Simple,
And their Sense like their Reputation.

Others say that the Van's
Led by Noblemen,
Tho' to Forreigners this will but sound ill;
But let 'em take care,
How they manage th' Affair;
For a Lord may be kill'd by a Scoundrel.

Some count it a Plot,
And the Lord knows what,
Contriv'd by the WHIGS out of Season;
But shou'd it be so,
By the _High-Church_ or _Low_,
Rebellion was always high Treason.

Fie, curb the Disgrace,
'Tis imprudent and base,
Pray take the advice of a Stranger;
But if you go on,
Like Fools as ye've done,
When ye're Hang'd ye'll be quite out of Danger.

Tune _of Joy to the Bridegroom_.

My _Theodora_ can those Eyes,
From whence those Glories always shine:
Give light to every Soul that prys,
And only be obscure to mine:
_Give light to every Soul that prys_,
_And only be obscure to mine._

Send out one Beam t' enrich my Soul,
That doth in Clouds of darkness roul;
And chase away this gloomy Shade,
That in my Breast a Hell has made:
_And chase away this gloomy Shade_,
_That in my Breast a Hell has made._

Where fire burns, where Flame is bright,
Yet I the Comfort want of light:
O shine, then shine upon the Man,
That else in Darkness is undone:
_O shine, then shine upon the Man_,
_That else in Darkness is undone._

_A_ SONG _in Praise of_ BEGGING: _Or, the Beggars Rivall'd._

[Music]

Tho' Begging is an honest Trade,
Which wealthy Knaves despise;
Yet Rich Men may be Beggars made,
And we that Beg may rise:
The greatest Kings may be betray'd,
And lose their Sov'raign Power,
But he that stoops to ask his Bread,
But he that stoops to ask his Bread,
Can never fall much lower.

What lazy Foreigns Swarm'd of late,
Has spoil'd our Begging-trade;
Yet still we live and drink good Beer,
Tho' they our Rights invade:
Some say they for Religion fled,
But wiser People tell us,
They were forc'd Abroad to seek their Bread,
For being too Rebellious.

Let heavy Taxes greater grow,
To make our Army fight;
Where 'tis not to be had you know,
The King must lose his Right:
Let one side laugh, the other mourn,
We nothing have to fear;
But that great Lords will Beggars be,
To be as great as we are.

What tho' we make the World believe,
That we are Sick or lame;
'Tis now a Virtue to Deceive,
Our Teachers do the same:
In Trade Dissembling is no crime,
And we may live to see;
That Begging in a little time,
The only Trade will be.

Tune, _Let_ C∆SAR _rejoyce_.

_Alphonzo_, if you Sir,
Your Heart have resign'd;
Take care what you do, Sir,
For a Lover is blind.

Beware of the Snare,
That for Lovers is laid:
Beware of the Fair,
But more treacherous Maid:
For when tir'd with the Joy,
Of a Minutes delight;
You'll repent the next Morn,
What you did over Night.

_A new_ BALLAD, _Sung at_ Messieurs Brook _and_ Hellier's _Club, at the_ Temple-_Tavern in_ Fleet-Street.

[Music]

Since _Tom's_ in the Chair, and e'ery one here
Appears in Gay humour and easie;
Say, why shou'd not I, a new Ballad try,
Bright Brethren o'th' Bottle to please ye.
This Wine is my Theme, this is all on's Esteem,
For _Brook_ and _Hellier_ cannot wrong us;
Let them get Wealth, who keeps us in Health,
By bringing neat Liquors among us,
_Let them get Wealth_, &c.

Each Vintner of late, has got an Estate,
By Brewing and Sophistication:
With Syder and Sloes, they've made a damn'd Dose,
Has Poisoned one half of the Nation:
But _Hellier_ and _Brook_, a Method have took,
To prove them all Scoundrels and Noddys;
And shew'd us a way which (if we don't stray)
Will save both our Pockets and Bodies.

This generous Juice, brisk Blood will produce,
And stupid ones raise to the bonny'st:
Make Poets and Wits, of you that are Cits,
And Lawyers (if possible) honest:
If any are Sick, or find themselves Weak,
With Symptoms of Gout or the Scurvy;
This will alone, the Doctor must own,
_Probatum est_ Healthy preserve ye.

Have any here Wives, that lead 'em sad lives,
For you know what pouting and storming;
Then drink of this Wine, and it will incline,
The weakest to vig'rous performing:
Each Spouse will say then, pray go there agen,
Tho' Money for the reck'ning you borrow;
Nay, for so much Bub, here I'll pay your Club,
So go there agen Dear to morrow.

Tho' one drinks red Port, another's not for't,
But chuses _Vienna_ or White-Wine;
Each takes what suits best, his Stomach or Tast,
Yet e'ery one's sure he drinks right Wine;
Thus pledg'd we all sit, and thus we are knit,
In Friendship together the longer;
As Musick in Parts, enlivens our Hearts,
And renders the Harmony stronger.

Now God bless the Queen, Peers, Parliament Men,
And keep 'em like us in true Concord;
And grant that all those, who dare be her Foes,
At _Tyburn_ may swing in a strong Cord;
We'll Loyalists be, and bravely agree,
With Lives and Estates to defend Her;
So then she'll not care, come Peace or come War,
For _Lewis_, the _Pope_, or _Pretender_.

_The_ LONDON PRENTICE.

[Music]

A Worthy _London_ Prentice,
Came to his Love by Night;
The Candles were lighted,
The Moon did shine so bright:
He knocked at the Door,
To ease him of his Pain;
She rose and let him in Love,
And went to Bed again.

He went into the Chamber,
Where his true Love did lye;
She quickly gave consent,
For to have his Company:
She quickly gave consent,
The Neighbours peeping out;
So take away your Hand,
Love let's blow the Candle out.

I would not for a Crown Love,
My Mistress should it know;
I'll in my Smock step down Love,
And I'll out the Candle blow;
The Streets they are so nigh,
And the People walk about;
Some may peep in and spy Love,
Let's blow the Candle out.

My Master and my Mistress,
Upon the Bed do lye;
Injoying one another,
Why should not you and I:
My Master kiss'd my Mistress,
Without any fear or doubt;
And we'll kiss one another,
Let's blow the Candle out.

I prithee speak more softly,
Of what we have to do;
Least that our noise of Talking,
Should make our Pleasure rue:
For kissing one another,
Will make no evil rout;
Then let us now be silent,
And blow the Candle out.

But yet he must be doing,
He could no longer stay;
She strove to blow the Candle out,
And push'd his Hand away:
The young Man was so hasty,
To lay his Arms about;
But she cryed I pray Love,
Let's blow the Candle out.

As this young Couple sported,
The Maiden she did blow;
But how the Candle went out,
Alas I do not know:
Said she I fear not now, Sir,
My Master nor my Dame;
And what this Couple did, Sir,
Alas I dare not Name.

_A_ SONG _out of the_ GUARDIAN.

[Music]

Oh the Charming Month of _May_,
When the Breezes fan the Trees, is
Full of Blossoms fresh and gay,
Full of Blossoms fresh and gay:
Oh the Charming Month of _May_,
Charming, Charming Month of _May_.

Oh what Joys our Prospect yields,
In a new Livery when we see every,
Bush and Meadow, Tree and Field, _&c._
Oh what Joys, _&c._ Charming Joys, _&c._

Oh how fresh the Morning Air,
When the Zephirs and the Hephirs,
Their Odoriferous Breaths compare,
Oh how fresh, _&c._ Charming fresh, _&c._

Oh how fine our Evenings walk,
When the Nightingale delighting,
With her Songs suspends our Talk,
Oh how fine, _&c._ Charming fine, _&c._

Oh how sweet at Night to Dream,
On mossy Pillows by the trillows,
Of a gentle Purling Stream,
Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._

Oh how kind the Country Lass,
Who her Cows bilking, leaves her Milking,
For a green Gown upon the Grass,
Oh how kind, _&c._ Charming kind, _&c._

Oh how sweet it is to spy,
At the Conclusion, her deep confusion,
Blushing Cheeks and down cast Eye,
Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._

Oh the Charming Curds and Cream,
When all is over she gives her Lover,
Who on her Skimming-dish carves her Name,
Oh the Charming Curds and Cream,
Charming, Charming Curds and Cream.

Tune, _Hopes farewel_.

Fates I defie, I defie your Advances,
Since _CÊlia_ has crown'd
My true Love with a Smile;
I'll laugh at your Darts,
Your Arrows and Lances,
Since her Bosom abounds,
With the Pleasures of Nile.

You shall never,
Me from her sever,
Since that my _CÊlia_ has thrown by her Scorn:
Then forbear,
To come so near,
For I from _CÊlia_ can never be torn.

_The Country_ FARMER'S _Campaign_: _By the Author of_ Banter'd and Bubbl'd, _&c._

[Music]

Oh _Roger_ I've been to see _Eugene_,
By _Villars_ over-reach'd;
And that _Dutch_ Earl, great _Albermarle_,
So foolishly Detach'd:
For _Phil_ of _Spain_, saw _Doway_ tain,
And _Quesnoy_ close beset;
Saw _Frenchmen_ grin, at Count _Rechstrin_,
And _Dutchmen_ in a Sweat.