Chapter M (6)

With both my Eyes _Auxiliaries_,
I saw desert our Cause;
Old _Zinzendorf_ did buy 'em off,
But never stopp'd their Maws:
Whilst ORMOND he most orderly,
Did march them towards _Ghent_;
The _German_ Dogs, with great _Dutch_ Hogs,
Their towns against him Pent.

Were not we mad to spend our Blood,
And weighty Treasure so;
Do they deserve, that we should serve,
Adad we'll make them know:
They'll be afraid, of Peace and Trade,
And downfal of the WHIGS;
Our glorious ANN, with _France_ and _Spain_,
Will dance then many a Jigg.

If they have a mind, 'fore Peace be Sign'd,
To own Great ANNA'S Power;
Such Terms she'll get, as she thinks fit,
And they shall have no more:
Great _Oxford's_ Earl, that weighty Pearl,
And Minister of State:
With _Bollingbrook_, I swear adzooks,
Old _England_ will be great.

We Farmers then, shall be fine Men,
And Money have good store;
Their WHIGISH Tax they'll have with a Pox,
When Monarchy's no more:
My Son I'm sure, will ne'er endure,
To pay their plaguy Funds;
'Tis with reproach, they ride in Coach,
It makes me mad Ads--

For twenty Years, with Popish fears,
We have been Banter'd much;
With Liberty, and Property,
And our very good Friends the _Dutch_:
But now I hope, our Eyes are ope,
And _France_ is more Sincere;
Then _Emperor_ with all his stir,
_Or Dounders Divil myn Heir._

STRAWBERY.

[Music]

Of all the handsome Ladies,
Of whom the Town do talk;
Who do frequent the _Opera's_,
And in the Park do walk:
The many lovely Beauties,
There are who do excel;
Yet my _Strawbery_, my _Strawbery_,
Does bear away the Bell.

Some cry up Madam _Mar----_
For this thing and for that;
And some her Grace of _Sh----_
Tho' she grows something fat:
And tho' I love her _Ma----_
And all her Ladies well,
Yet my _Strawbery_, &c.

The Kit Cat and the Toasters,
Did never care a Fig;
For any other Beauty,
Besides the little WHIG:
But for all that Sir _Harry_,
That witty Knight can tell,
'Tis my _Strawbery_, &c.

The red Coats think the _Ch----ls_,
The Fairest in the Land;
Because the D. their Father,
The Ar----y does Command:
But the noble D. of _B----_
Who does all Dukes excel,
Says my _Strawbery_, &c.

Tune, _Now the Fight's done_.

Now, now the Night's come,
And the great God of Love
Lyes lurking in Shades,
His bright Arrows to prove:

He laughs at our Rest,
And he Darts at our Hearts;
And a Will that won't still,
To each Lover imparts.

He smiles when he feels
The sharp point of his Dart;
And tho' our Breast's Steel,
Yet he drives to the Heart.

Whilst we court and we play,
He makes a full pass;
And ne'er does delay,
'Till we're link'd on the Grass.

_The_ SCOTCH _Wedding: Or, Lass with the Golden Hair._

[Music]

Now _Jockey_ and _Moggy_ are ready,
To gang to the Kirk to sped;
As fine as a Laird or Lady,
For they are resolv'd to wed:
Come aw let's awa to the Wedding,
For there will be Lilting there;
_Jockey'll_ be Married to _Moggy_,
The Lass with the Golden Hair,

And for a whole Month together,
Brisk _Jockey_ a wooing went;
'Till _Moggy's_ Mother and Vather,
At last gave their Consent,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be long Keel and Pottage,
And bannarks of Barly Meal;
And ther'll be good Sawt Herring,
To relish a Cogue of good Ale,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be _Sawney_ the Soater,
And _Will_ with muckle mow;
And there'll be _Tommy_ the Blutter,
And _Andrew_ the Tinker I trow,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be Bow-legg'd _Bobby_,
And thumbless _Kate's_ geud Man;
And there'll be blue cheek'd _Dolly_,
And _Luwry_ the Laird of the Land,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be low lipper _Betty_,
And pluggy fac'd _Wat_ of the Mill;
And there'll be farnicled _Huggy_,
That wins at the Ho of the Hill,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be _Annester Dowgale_,
That splay footed _Betty_ did wooe;
And mincing _Bessey_ and _Tibely_,
And _Chrisly_, the Belly gut Sow,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And _Craney_ that marry'd _Steney_,
That lost him his Brick till his Arse;
And after was hang'd for stealing,
It's well that it happen'd no worse,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be hopper-ars'd _Nancy_,
And _Sarey_ fac'd _Jenny_ by Name;
Glud _Kate_ and fat legg'd _Lissey_,
The Lass with the codling Wem.
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be _Jenny_ go Gibby,
And his glack'd Wife _Jenny Bell_;
And messed skin blosen _Jordy_,
The Lad that went Scipper himsel.
_Come aw let's_, &c.

There'll be all the Lads and Lasses,
Set down in the middle of the Hall;
To Sybouse, and Rastack, and Carlings,
They are both sodden and raw.
_Come aw let's_, &c.

There'll be Tart Perry and Catham,
And Fish of geud Gabback and Skate;
Prosody, and Dramuck and Brandy,
And Collard, Neats-feet in a Plate.
_Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be Meal, Kell and Castocks,
And skink to sup 'till you rive;
And Roaches to roast on the Gridiron,
And Flukes that were tane alive,
_Come aw let's_, &c.

Cropt head Wilks and Pangles,
And a Meal of good sweting to ney;
And when you're all burst with eating,
We'll rise up and Dance 'till we dey:
_Come aw let's awaw to the Wedding,
For there will be Lilting there;_
Jockey'll _be marry'd to_ Moggy,
_The Lass with the Golden Hair._

_The Mistresses: A_ SONG _Set by Mr._ JAMES TOWNSEND, _the Words by Mr._ ROLFE.

[Music]

_Lavia_ would, but dare not venture,
Fear so much o'er-rules her Passion;
_Chloe_ suffers all to enter,
Subjects Fame to Inclination:
Neither's Method I admire,
Either is in Love displeasing;
_Chloe's_ fondness gluts desire
_Lavia's_ Cowardise is Teazing.

_CÊlia_ by a Wiser Measure,
In one faithful Swains embraces;
Pays a private Debt to Pleasure,
Yet for Chast in publick Passes:
Fair ones follow _CÊlia's_ Notion,
Free from fear and censure wholly;
Love, but let it be with Caution,
For Extreams are Shame or Folly.

_A_ SONG. _Set by an Eminent Master._

When embracing my Friends,
And quaffing Champain;
Dull Phlegmatick Spleen,
Thou assault'st me in vain;
Dull Phlegmatick Spleen,
Thou assault'st me in vain:
My Pleasures flow pure,
Without Taint or Allay;
And each Glass that I drink,
Inspires with new Joy.

My Pleasures thus heighten'd,
No Improvement receive;
But what the dear Sight
Of my _Phillis_ can give:
The Charms of her Eyes,
The Force of my Wine,
Do then in Harmonious Confed'racy joyn:
To wrap me with Joys,
To wrap me with Joys,
Seraphick, Seraphick, and Divine.

_A_ TENEMENT _to Let_.

[Music]

I Have a Tenement to Let,
I hope will please you all,
And if you'd know the Name of it,
'Tis called _Cunny Hall_.

It's seated in a Pleasant Vale,
Beneath a rising Hill;
This Tenement is to be Let,
To whosoe'er I will.

For Years, for Months, for Weeks or Days,
I'll let this famous Bow'r;
Nay rather than a Tennant want,
I'd let it for an Hour.

There's round about a pleasant Grove,
To shade it from the Sun;
And underneath is Well water
That pleasantly does run.

Where if you're hot you may be cool'd,
If cold you may find heat;
It is a well contrived Spring,
Not little nor too great.

The place is very Dark by Night,
And so it is by Day;
But when you once are enter'd in,
You cannot lose your way.

And when you're in, go boldly on,
As far as e'er you can;
And if you reach to the House top,
You'll be where ne'er was Man.

Tune, _Draw_ Cupid _Draw_.

Here, _Chloe_ hear,
And do not turn away,
From my Desire, but quench my Fire.
And my Love's flames allay:
And let my Song go along,
Unto Compassion move;
And make you kind,
And bend your mind,
And melt you into Love.

If _Chloe_ Loves, and Constant proves,
Oh! happy, happy then am I;
But if that she unconstant be,
And do's delight to rove:
As sure as Gun,
I am undone,
And shan't have power to move.

_Fashionable_ Shepherdess, _Set by Mr._ Ramondon.

[Music]

At the break of morning light,
When the marbled Sky look gay;
Nature self all perfect bright,
Smil'd to see the God of Day:
Charming prospect, verdant Trees,
Azure Hill, enamell'd Sky;
Birds with warbling Throats to please,
Striving each which shall outvey.

_Lisbea_ then with wond'rous hast,
O'er a green sword Plain she flew;
Thus my Angel as she past,
The Eyes of ev'ry Shepherd drew:
When they had the Nymph espyed,
All amazed cry'd there she goes;
Thus by blooming Beauty tryed,
Thought a second Sun arose.

Ev'ry Swain the Sun mistook.
Dazled by refulgent Charms;
And with Joy their Flocks forsook,
For to follow Love's Alarms:
All 'till now were perfect Friends,
Bound by Innocence and Truth;
'Till sly Love to gain his ends,
Made a difference 'twixt each Youth.

Each expected which should be,
Made the happy Man by Love;
While for want of Liberty,
None could truly happy prove:
But at length they all arriv'd,
To a charming easie Grove;
Where the Nymph had well contriv'd,
To be happy with her Love.

There in amorous folding twin'd,
_Strephon_ with his _Lisbea_ lay;
Both to mutual Joys enclin'd,
Let their Inclinations stray:
As the curling Vines embracing,
Fondly of the Oak around;
So the blooming Nymphs caressing,
Of her Swain with pleasure crown'd.

How surpriz'd were ev'ry Swain,
When they found the Nymph engaged;
Disappointment heighten'd Pain,
'Till it made them more enraged:
Arm your self with Resolution,
Cry'd the most revengeful he;
We'll contrive her Swains Confusion,
Let him fall as much as we.

Several Punishments they Invented,
For to Torture helpless he;
All revengeful, ne'er contented,
Cruel to a vast Degree:
One more envious in the rear,
Thus his Sentiments let slip;
Make him like the Cavalier,
And for the _Opera_ him Equip.

_A_ Scotch SONG _in the Play call'd_ Love at first Sight: _Set by the late Mr._ JER. CLARK.

[Music]

The Rosey Morn lukes blith and Gay,
The Lads and Lasses on the Plain;
Her bonny, bonny sports pass o'er the Day,
And leave poor _Jenny_ tol complain:
My _Sawndy's_ grown a faithless Loon,
And given, given _Moggy_ that wild Heart;
Which eance he swore was aw my own,
But now weese me I've scarce a part.

Gang thy gate then perjur'd _Sawndy_,
Ise nea mere will Mon believe;
Wou'd Ise nere had trusted any,
They faw Thieves will aw deceive:
But gin ere Ise get mere Lovers,
Ise Dissemble as they do;
For since Lads are grown like Rovers,
Pray why may na Lasses too.

_The_ Restauration: _Or the_ Coventry SONG.

1710.

[Music]

The Restauration now's the Word,
A blessed Revolution;
That has secur'd the Church, the Crown,
And _England's_ Constitution:
May ev'ry Loyal Soul rejoice,
May WHIGS and Canters mourn, Sir;
Who ever thought that _Coventry_,
Shou'd make a due Return, Sir.

We Rally'd the Church-Militant,
And fell to work ding-dong, Sir;
_Craven_ and _Gery_ are the Names,
That do adorn our Song, Sir:
_Beaufort_, _Ormond_, _Rochester_,
And more than we can tell, Sir;
Are Themes that well deserve the Pen,
Of brave _Sacheverell_, Sir.

The glorious Sons of _Warwickshire_,
May justly be commended;
There's ne'er a Member now Elect,
That ever has offended:
_Denbigh_ and _Craven_ we esteem,
A Loyal Noble pair, Sir;
And hope to see our worthy Friend,
Great _Bromly_ in the Chair, Sir.

_A_ SONG.

Such an happy, happy Life,
Ne'er had any other Wife;
As the loose _Corinna_ knows,
Between her Spark,
Her Spark and Spouse:
The Husband lies and winks his Eyes,
The valiant makes Addresses,
The wanton Lady soon complies,
With tenderest Caresses.

The Wife is pleas'd,
The Husband eas'd,
The Lover made a drudge,
His Body's drain'd, his Pocket's squeez'd;
And who'll his Pleasure grudge,
_Such an happy_, &c.

_Corinna's_ gay,
As Flow'rs in _May_,
And struts with slanting Ayre;
The Lovers for her Pride doth pay,
The Cuckold's free from Care,
_Such an happy_, &c.

COLLIN's _Complaint_.

[Music]

Despairing besides a clear stream,
A Shepherd forsaken was laid;
And whilst a false Nymph was his Theme,
A Willow supported his Head:
The Winds that blew over the Plain,
To his Sighs with a Sigh did reply;
And the Brook in return of his Pain,
Ran mournfully murmuring by.

Alas silly Swain that I was,
Thus sadly complaining he cry'd;
When first I beheld that fair Face,
'Twere better by far I had dy'd:
She talk'd, and I blest the dear Tongue,
When she smil'd 'twas a Pleasure too great;
I listned, and cry'd when she Sung,
Was Nightingale ever so sweet.

How foolish was I to believe,
She cou'd doat on so lowly a Clown;
Or that a fond Heart wou'd not grieve,
To forsake the fine Folk of the Town:
To think that a Beauty so gay,
So kind and so constant wou'd prove;
Or go clad like our Maidens in Gray,
Or live in a Cottage on Love.

What tho' I have skill to complain,
Tho' the Muses my Temples have crown'd;
What tho' when they hear my soft Strains,
The Virgins sit weeping around:
Ah _Collin_ thy Hopes are in vain,
Thy Pipe and thy Lawrel resign;
Thy false one inclines to a Swain,
Whose Musick is sweeter than thine.

And you my Companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betray'd;
Whatever I suffer forbear,
Forbear to accuse my false Maid,
Tho' thro' the wide World we shou'd range,
'Tis in vain from our Fortunes to fly;
'Twas hers to be false and to change,
'Tis mine to be Constant and die.

If whilst my hard Fate I sustain,
In her Breast any Pity is found;
Let her come with the Nymphs of the Plain,
And see me laid low in the Ground;
The last humble Boon that I crave,
Is to shade me with _Cypress_ and _Yew_;
And when she looks down on my Grave,
Let her own that her Shepherd was true.

Then to her new Love let her go,
And deck her in Golden Array;
Be finest at every fine Show,
And Frolick it all the long Day:
Whilst _Collin_ forgotten and gone,
No more shall be talk'd of or seen;
Unless that beneath the Pale Moon,
His Ghost shall glide over the Green.

_The Constant_ Warrior: _Set by Mr._ Ramondon.

Farewel _Chloe_, O farewel,
I'll repair to Wars alarms;
And in foreign Nations tell,
Of your Cruelty and Charms:
Come ye briny Billows rowl,
And convey me from my Soul,
Come ye briny Billows rowl,
And convey me from my Soul:
Since the cruel Fair,
The cause of my Despair,
Has forc'd me hence to go,
Where stormy Winds do blow;
Where raging Seas do toss and mount,
With dangers that I can't recount,
Forgive me showing thus my Woe;
_Where raging Seas do toss_, &c.

When you hear of Deeds in War,
Acted by your faithful Swain;
Think, oh think, that from afar,
'Twas you conquer'd all were slain:
For by calling on your Name,
I Conquer'd whereso'er I came;
Shou'd my Fate not be,
To keep my Body free,
From Wounds and Bruises too,
Whilst Honour I pursue;
'Twou'd raise my Reputation,
My Pain I'd lose in Passion,
And glory that 'twas done for you.

Shou'd grim Death once assail me,
It cou'd never fright your Slave,
Fortune self cou'd never fail me,
Only you can make my Grave:
My Destiny shou'd grant reprieve,
I cou'd not Die, if you said live:
Were it to be found,
In all the World around,
An instance of such Love,
As you in me may prove:
I'd never ask return,
But patiently wou'd burn,
Nor more your generous pity move.

O my guardian Angel say,
Can such proofs your Passion gain;
If it can I'll bless the Day,
That I venture on the Main:
Then with Joy cry Billows rowl,
And convey me to my Soul:
Return with glory Crown'd,
Upon the lowly Ground,
Kneel at your Feet a while,
And there my Fears beguile:
And think my Toyl repaid,
If you'd vouchsafe dear Maid,
To crown my Labours with a Smile.

_The true Use of the_ BOTTLE.

[Music]

Love, the sweets of Love, are the Joys I most admire,
Kind and active Fire,
Of a fierce Desire,
Indulge my Soul, compleat my Bliss;
But th' affected coldness
Of _CÊlia_ damps my boldness,
I must bow, protest and Vow,
And swear aloud, I wou'd be Proud,
When she with equal Ardour longs to Kiss:
Bring a Bowl, then bring a Jolly Bowl,
I'll quench fond Love within it;
With flowing Cups I'll raise my Soul,
And here's to the happy Minute:
For flush'd with brisk Wine,
When she's panting and warm;
And Nature unguarded lets loose her Mind,
In the Amorous moment the Gipsie I'll find,
Oblige her and take her by Storm.

_A_ SONG _in the_ Farce _call'd the_ Younger _the_ Wiser: _Set by Mr._ DANIEL PURCELL. _Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.

[Music]

How happy's he who weds a Wife,
Well practis'd, well practis'd in the _London_ Life;
Dull Country Brides a Sense may want,
To hide the Favours which they grant.

How happy's he who weds a Wife,
We'll practis'd, well practis'd in the _London_ Life;
But _London_ Wives Coquet by Rule,
Discreetly please the Men they Fool.

How happy's he who weds a Wife,
Well practis'd, well practis'd in the _London_ Life.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ RAMONDON. _Sung at the_ Theatre.

[Music]

How Charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair,
How Charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair,
O that she were as willing,
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing:
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing,
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing,
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing:
I sigh, I sigh, I languish now,
And Love will not let me rest;
I drive about the Park and Bow,
Where'er I meet my Dearest.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ BERENCLOW.

Why will _Clemene_, when I gaze,
My ravish'd Eyes reprove;
And chide 'em from the only Face,
That they were made to Love:
Was not I born to wear your Chain,
I should delight to rove;
From your cold Province of Disdain,
To some warm Land of Love.

But shou'd a gentle Nymph when try'd,
To me prove well inclin'd;
My destin'd Heart must yet reside,
With you the most unkind;
So destin'd Exiles as they roam,
While kindly us'd elsewhere;
Still languish after Native home,
Tho' Death, Death is threatned there.

FINIS.

Transcriber's Note

Publication Date: 1719/1720

Author Lifespan: 1653-1723

[from English Song-Books by Day and Murrie:

The origins of Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy,
the most famous song book of its day, may be traced back to
a single volume of 'witty ballads, jovial songs, and merry
catches' by an earlier generation of lyricists, published
without music in 1661 under the title An Antidote against
Melancholy: made up in Pills. For the third edition, still
without music but livened up by more recent songs, the title
was changed to Wit and Mirth: An Antidote against Melancholy
(1682), and in 1699, still in one volume, it was published
by Henry Playford with music. Over the course of the next
two decades it was expanded and republished again and again,
eventually to become this six-volume 'standard edition'
of contemporary popular comic and bawdy ballads, with an
increasing emphasis on the work of the stammering dramatist
and lyricist Thomas D'Urfey, whose songs were sung by all
the town. Among the composers were Dr. John Blow and Henry
Purcell.]

[from Wikipedia:

Thomas D'Urfey (1653-1723) was an English dramatist and
songwriter. He wrote the plays The Fond Husband in 1676,
Madame Fickle in 1677 and The Virtuous Wife in 1680. He also
wrote the song collection Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge
Melancholy between 1719 and 1720.]

The book is not always gramatically correct, e.g.: "There was three Travellers". Odd spellings, and odd grammatical constructions, if they make sense, have been preserved. There is some dialect, which has also been preserved. (e.g.: "Wo'as me poor Lass! what mun I do?")

Apostrophes of ownership are conspicuous by their absence. Spelling is sometimes quaint...'spight' for 'spite', 'dye' for 'die', 'chuse' for choose', 'seaze' for 'seize', 'quere' for 'queer', etc. Where a spelling makes sense, and is merely discretional and not obviously incorrect, it has been retained.

'Their' instead of 'there' has appeared twice (page 4 and page 201), retained, and 'Pharoah' (page 225), retained: it _is_ a drinking song.

pp. 245-246: 'Monsieur Grabeau' (twice) on page 245 becomes Monsieur Grabeu (four times) on page 246.

[Note (from Wikipedia):

Louis Grabu, Grabut, Grabue, or Grebus (fl. 1665-1690, died
after 1693) was a Catalan-born, French-trained composer and
violinist who was mainly active in England.

While he was probably born in Catalonia--he was later
referred to as 'Lodovicus Grabeu of Shalon in Catalunnia'
--details of his early life are lacking. Sometime in his youth
he moved to Paris, where he was most likely trained by Lully.
At the time of the Restoration he went to England, where
French music, especially opera, was much in vogue.

Charles II of England appointed him as a composer for his own
private music in 1665, and with the death of Nicholas Lanier
in 1666 he became the second person to hold the title Master
of the King's Musick. He adapted Robert Cambert's opera
Ariadne for a London performance in 1674, and wrote music for
John Dryden's Albion and Albanius in 1685.

In 1693 he left England, the only land where he had achieved
any kind of fame, and completely disappeared from historical
record.]

Consonants were not necessarily doubled where we would now expect. Standardised modern spelling is a fairly recent (mid 19th century) imposition, probably coinciding with the various Public Education Acts. Some spellings may be left over from Middle English, e.g. 'sily' from 'sely', dialect 'seely', from OE 'sÊlig' (luck, happiness); thus 'sily' (p. 58) may have meant 'lucky' or 'happy' instead of the modern 'silly'. Or 'sily' may be our modern 'silly', with an undoubled middle consonant.

Damaged or missing punctuation has been repaired and sundry indents have been adjusted for consistency.

Errata

Page 96: 'VVidow' corrected to 'Widow'. (Possibly a printer's error....). ... "Which way to take the Widow Brown,"

Page 103: 'do' corrected to 'to': "They'll hourly study to deceive,"

Page 107: 'VVho' corrected to 'Who': "Who dare not their Grief declare," (... or maybe the printer was short of 'W's).

Sundry other instances of 'VV' have been corrected to 'W'.

Page 131: 'Ny' corrected to 'My': "My Nose takes the burthen...."

Page 161: 'MORTAL's' corrected to 'MORTALs': "Mortals learn your Lives to measure,"

Page 238: 'maguanime' corrected to 'magnanime': "Sat notus pro magnanime"

Page 312: missing 'I' added to last line to complete rhyme: "And Priest and Victim I."

Page 316: 'I'ye' corrected to "I've": "I've lost a Harry Groat,"

[Note: Harry was King Henry; a groat was an old English silver
coin, first coined by Henry III in 1249, and by Edward III in
1351. Originally worth one penny, it later rose to the value
of fourpence. The groat was revived between 1836 and 1856,
and withdrawn from circulation in 1887 (from Collins New Age
Encyclopedia, 1963)].