Chapter M (2)

Some think to lose him,
Which is too unkind;
And some do suppose him,
Poor Heart to be Blind:
But if ne'er so close you wall him,
Do the best that you may;
Blind Love, if so you call him,
Will find out the way.

Well may the Eagle
Stoop down to the Fist;
Or you may inveagle,
The Phenix of the East:
With Tears the Tyger's moved,
To give over his Prey;
But never stop a Lover,
He will post on his way.

From _Dover_ to _Barwick_,
And Nations thro'out;
Brave _Guy_ of _Warwick_,
That Champion stout:
With his Warlike behaviour,
Thro' the World he did stray;
To win his _Phillis's_ Favour,
Love will find out the way.

In order next enters,
_Bevis_ so brave;
After Adventures,
And Policy grave:
To see whom he desired,
His _Josian_ so gay,
For whom his Heart was fired,
Love found out the way.

_The Second Part, To the same Tune._

The gordian Knot,
Which true Lovers knit;
Undo you cannot,
Nor yet break it:
Make use of your Inventions,
Their Fancies to betray;
To frustrate your intentions,
Love will find out the way.

From Court to Cottage,
In Bower and in Hall;
From the King unto the Beggar,
Love conquers all:
Tho' ne'er so stout and Lordly,
Strive do what you may;
Yet be you ne'er so hardy,
Love will find out the way.

Love hath power over Princes,
Or greatest Emperor;
In any Provinces,
Such is Love's Power:
There is no resisting,
But him to obey;
In spight of all contesting,
Love will find out the way.

If that he were hidden,
And all Men that are;
Were strictly forbidden,
That place to declare:
Winds that have no abiding,
Pitying their delay;
Will come and bring him tydings,
And direct him the way.

If the Earth should part him.
He would gallop it o're:
If the Seas should overthwart him,
He would swim to the Shore:
Should his Love become a Swallow,
Thro' the Air to stray;
Love would lend Wings to follow,
And would find out the way.

There is no striving,
To cross his intent:
There is no contriving,
His Plots to prevent:
But if once the Message greet him,
That his true Love doth stay;
If Death should come and meet him,
Love will find out the way.

_A_ SONG, _in the Play call'd the Tragedy of_ CLEOMENES _the Spartan Heroe: Sung by Mrs._ BUTLER, _Set by Mr._ H. PURCELL.

[Music]

No, no, poor suffering Heart, no change endeavour;
Chuse to sustain the smart rather than leave her:
My ravish'd Eyes behold such Charms about her,
I can Dye with her, but not live without her,
One tender Sigh of her to see me Languish:
Will more than pay the price of my past Anguish,
Beware, oh cruel Fair how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.

Love has in store for me one happy Minute,
And she will end my Pain who did begin it;
Then no Day void of Bliss and Pleasures leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
_Cupid_ shall guard the Door, the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death when they would seaze us;
Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying;
Love has found out a way to Live by Dying.

_The Jolly Trades-men._

[Music]

Sometimes I am a Tapster new,
And skilful in my Trade Sir,
I fill my Pots most duly,
Without deceit or froth Sir:
A Spicket of two Handfuls long,
I use to Occupy Sir:
And when I set a Butt abroach,
Then shall no Beer run by Sir.

Sometimes I am a Butcher,
And then I feel fat Ware Sir;
And if the Flank be fleshed well,
I take no farther care Sir:
But in I thrust my Slaughtering-Knife,
Up to the Haft with speed Sir;
For all that ever I can do,
I cannot make it bleed Sir.

Sometimes I am a Baker,
And Bake both white and brown Sir;
I have as fine a Wrigling-Pole,
As any is in all this Town Sir:
But if my Oven be over-hot,
I dare not thrust in it Sir;
For burning of my Wrigling-Pole,
My Skill's not worth a Pin Sir.

Sometimes I am a Glover,
And can do passing well Sir;
In dressing of a Doe-skin,
I know I do excel Sir:
But if by chance a Flaw I find,
In dressing of the Leather;
I straightway whip my Needle out,
And I tack 'em close together.

Sometimes I am a Cook,
And in _Fleet-Street_ I do dwell Sir:
At the sign of the Sugar-loaf,
As it is known full well Sir:
And if a dainty Lass comes by,
And wants a dainty bit Sir;
I take four Quarters in my Arms,
And put them on my Spit Sir.

In Weavering and in Fulling,
I have such passing Skill Sir;
And underneath my Weavering-Beam,
There stands a Fulling-Mill Sir:
To have good Wives displeasure,
I would be very loath Sir;
The Water runs so near my Hand,
It over-thicks my Cloath Sir.

Sometimes I am a Shoe-maker,
And work with silly Bones Sir:
To make my Leather soft and moist,
I use a pair of Stones Sir:
My Lasts for and my lasting Sticks,
Are fit for every size Sir;
I know the length of Lasses Feet,
By handling of their Thighs Sir.

The Tanner's Trade I practice,
Sometimes amongst the rest Sir;
Yet I could never get a Hair,
Of any Hide I dress'd Sir;
For I have been tanning of a Hide,
This long seven Years and more Sir;
And yet it is as hairy still,
As ever it was before Sir.

Sometimes I am a Taylor,
And work with Thread that's strong Sir;
I have a fine great Needle,
About two handfulls long Sir:
The finest Sempster in this Town,
That works by line or leisure;
May use my Needle at a pinch,
And do themselves great Pleasure.

_The slow Men of_ LONDON: _Or, the Widow_ BROWN. _To the same Tune._

There dwelt a Widow in this Town,
That was both Fair and Lovely;
Her Face was comely neat and brown,
To Pleasure she would move thee:
Her lovely Tresses shin'd like Gold,
Most neat is her Behaviour;
For truth it has of late been told,
There's many strove to have her.
There were three Young Men of this Town;
Slow Men of _London_;
And they'd go Wooe the Widow _Brown_,
Because they would be undone.

The one a Taylor was by Trade,
An excellent Occupation;
But Widows Love doth waste and fade,
I find by observation:
The second was a Farrier bold,
A Man of excellent Metal;
His Love to her was never cold,
So firm his Thoughts did settle,
There were, _&c._

The third a Weaver was that came,
a Suitor to this Widow;
Her Beauty did his Heart inflame,
Her Thoughts deceit doth shadow,
Widows can dissemble still,
When Young Men come a Wooing;
Yet they were guided by her Will,
That prov'd to their undoing.
There were three, _&c._

This Widow had a dainty Tongue,
And Words as sweet as Honey;
Which made her Suitors to her throng,
Till they had spent their Money:
The Taylor spent an Hundred Pound,
That he took up on Credit;
But now her Knavery he hath found,
Repents that are he did it.
These were three, _&c._

Threescore Pounds the Farrier had,
Left him by his Father;
To spend this Money he was mad,
His Dad so long did gather:
This Widow often did protest,
She lov'd him best of any;
Thus would she swear, when she did least,
To make them spend their Money.
These were three, _&c._

The Weaver spent his daily gains,
That he got by his Labour;
Some thirty Pounds he spent in vain,
He borrow'd of his Neighbour:
She must have Sack and Muscadine,
And Claret brew'd with Sugar:
Each Day they feed her chops with Wine,
For which they all might hug her.
These were three, _&c._

_The Second Part, To the same Tune._

She went Apparell'd neat and fine,
People well might wonder;
To see how she in Gold did shine,
Her fame abroad did thunder:
A water'd Camlet Gown she had,
A Scarlet Coat belaced
With Gold, which made her Suitors glad,
To see how she was graced.
These were, _&c._

The Taylor was the neatest Lad,
His Cloaths were oft Perfum'd;
Kind Entertainment still he had,
Till he his 'state consum'd:
The Farrier likewise spent his 'state,
The Weaver often kiss'd her:
But when that they in 'state were Poor,
They sought but still they miss'd her.
These were, _&c._

The Farrier and the Weaver too,
Were fain to fly the City:
The Widow did them quite undoe,
In faith more was the pity:
She of her Suitors being rid,
A Welchman came unto her:
By Night and Day his suit he ply'd,
Most roughly he did Woo her;
For wooing tricks he quite put down,
The Slow-men of _London_;
He over-reach'd the Widow _Brown_,
That had so many undone.

He swore he was a Gentleman,
Well landed in the Country:
And liv'd in Reputation there,
His Name Sir _Rowland Humphry_.
The Widow did believe him then,
And Love unto him granted;
Thus he her Favour did obtain,
Welchmen will not be daunted.
By cunning tricks he quite put down,
The Slow-men of _London_:
That came to Woo this Widow _Brown_,
Because they would be undone.

The Welchman ply'd her Night and Day,
Till to his Bow he brought her;
And bore away the Widow quite,
From all that ever sought her:
She thought to be a Lady gay,
But she was sore deceiv'd:
Thus the Welchman did put down,
The Slow-men of _London_:
For they would Wooe the Widow _Brown_,
Because they would be undone.

Thus she was fitted in her kind,
For all her former Knavery;
The Welchman did deceive her Mind,
And took down all her Bravery:
It had been better she had ta'en,
The Weaver, Smith, or Taylor;
For when she sought for State and Pomp,
The Welchman quite did fail her:
Then learn you Young Men of this Town,
You Slow-men of _London_:
Which way to take the Widow _Brown_,
For least you all be undone.

_The ROYAL Example. By Mr._ Henry Purcell.

[Music]

May her blest Example chace
Vice, in Troops out of the Land;
Flying from her awful Face,
Like trembling Ghost when Day's at Hand:
May her Hero bring us Peace,
Won with Honour in the Field:
And our Home-bred Factions cease,
He still our Sword, and she our Shield.

_The ROYAL Triumph of_ BRITAIN'S _Monarch_.

[Music]

New Pyramid's raise,
Bring the Poplar and Bayes,
To Crown our Triumphant Commander;
The _French_ too shall run,
As the _Irish_ have done,
Like the _Persians_, the _Persians_;
Like the _Persians_, the _Persians_,
Like the _Persians_ before _Alexander_.

Had the _Rubicon_ been,
Such a Stream as the _Boyn_,
Not _CÊsar_, not _CÊser_ himself had gone on:
King _William_ exceeds, great _CÊsar_ in Deeds,
More than he did, more than he did,
More than he did, great _Pompey_ before.

Tho' born in a State,
Fore-told was his Fate,
That he should be a Monarch ador'd:
One Globe was too small,
To contain such a Soul,
New Worlds must submit to his Sword.

So Great and Benign,
Is our Sov'reign Queen,
Made to share his Empire and Bed;
May she still fill his Arms,
With her lovely soft Charms,
And a Race of King _William's_ succeed.

_The Jolly_ BROOM-MAN: _Or, the unhappy BOY turn'd Thrifty._

[Music]

There was an Old Man, and he liv'd in a Wood,
and his Trade it was making of Broom,
And he had a naughty Boy, _Jack_ to his Son,
and he lay in Bed till 'twas Noon, 'twas Noon,
and he lay in Bed till 'twas Noon.

No Father e'er had, so lazy a Lad,
with sleep he his Time did consume,
In Bed where he lay, still every Day,
and would not go cut his green Broom, green Broom,
and would not go cut his green Broom.

The Father was vext, and sorely perplext,
with Passion he entered the Room;
Come Sirrah, he cry'd, I'll liquor your Hide,
if you will not go gather green Broom, green Broom,
if you will not go gather green Broom.

_Jack_ lay in his Nest, still taking his rest,
and valu'd not what was his Doom,
But now you shall hear, his Mother drew near,
and made him go gather green Broom, green Broom,
and made him go gather green Broom.

_Jack's_ Mother got up, and fell in a Rage,
and swore she would fire the Room,
If _Jack_ did not rise, and go to the Wood,
and fetch home a bundle of Broom, green Broom,
and fetch home a bundle of Broom.

This wakened him straight, before it was late,
as fearing the terrible Doom,
Dear Mother, quoth he, have pity on me,
I'll fetch home a Bundle of Broom, green Broom,
I'll fetch home a bundle of Broom.

Then _Jack_ he arose, and he slipt on his Cloaths,
and away to the Wood very soon;
To please the Old Wife, he took a sharp Knife,
and fell to the cutting of Broom, green Broom,
and fell to the cutting of Broom.

_Jack_ follow'd his Trade and readily made,
his Goods up for Country Grooms:
This done, honest _Jack_ took them at his Back,
and cry'd, will you buy any Brooms, green Brooms,
and cry'd, will you buy any Brooms.

Then _Jack_ he came by a Gentleman's House,
in which was abundance of Rooms;
He stood at the Door, and began for to roar,
crying, Maids will you buy any Brooms, green Brooms,
crying, Maids will you buy any Brooms.

I tell you they're good, just fetch'd from the Wood,
and fitted for sweeping of Rooms;
Come handle my Ware, for Girls I declare,
you never had better green Brooms, green Brooms,
you never had better green Brooms.

The Maiden did call, the Steward of the Hall,
who came in his Silks and Perfumes,
He gave _Jack_ his Price, and thus in a trice,
he sold all his Bundle of Brooms, green Brooms,
he sold all his Bundle of Brooms.

Likewise to conclude, they gave him rich Food,
with Liquor of Spicy Perfumes;
The hot Boyl'd and Roast, did cause _Jack_ to boast,
no Trade was like making of Brooms, green Brooms,
no Trade was like making of Brooms.

For first I am Paid, and then I am made,
right Welcome by Stewards and Grooms,
Here's Money, Meat and Drink, what Trade do you think
compares with the making of Brooms, green Brooms,
compares with the making of Brooms.

I have a good Trade, more Goods must be made,
to furnish young Lasses and Grooms,
Wherefore I shall lack a Prentice, quoth _Jack_,
I'll teach him the making of Brooms, green Brooms,
I'll teach him the making of Brooms.

_A_ SONG, _the Words and Tune by Mr._ Witt Green.

[Music]

Never sigh, but think of kissing,
More, and more, and more of Wishing;
To possess the mighty Blessing,
While they enjoy it they are true,
They'll hug, they'll cling, and heave up too,
But Liberty when once regain'd,
The Favour's to another feign'd.

Why should we then the Sex admire,
For 'twas never their desire,
To maintain a constant Fire;
If oagling, wheedling you'll believe,
They'll hourly study to deceive,
But we will find out better ways,
In Musick, Singing, spend our Days.

_The LOYAL Delights of a Contented Mind. The Words by Mr._ Mumford, _Set by Mr._ H. Purcell.

[Music]

Oh how Happy's he, who from Business free,
Can Enjoy his Mistress, Bottle, and his Friend:
Not confin'd to State, nor the Pride of the Great;
Only on himself, not others doth depend:
Change can never vex him, Faction ne'er perplex him;
If the World goes well, a Bumper crowns his Joys,
If it be not so than he takes of two;
Till succeeding Glasses, Thinking doth destroy.

When his Noddle reels, he to _CÊlia_ steals;
And by Pleasures unconfin'd runs o'er the Night;
In the Morning wakes, a pleasing Farewel takes,
Ready for fresh Tipling, and for new Delight:
When his Table's full, oh, then he hugs his Soul;
And drinking all their Healths, a Welcome doth express:
When the Cloth's removed, then by all approv'd,
Comes the full grace Cup, Queen _Anna's_ good success.

_A_ RIDDLE.

[Music]

There is a Thing which in the light
Is seldom us'd, but in the Night,
It serves the Maiden Female crew,
The Ladies, and the good Wives too:
They us'd to take it in their Hand,
And then it will uprightly stand;
And to a Hole they it apply,
Where by it's good will it could Dye:
It wasts, goes out, and still within,
It leaves it's Moisture thick and thin.

_On a_ LADY _Drinking the Waters, The Words by Sir_ GEORGE ETHERIGE. _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.

[Music]

_Phillis_ lay aside your Thinking,
Youth and Beauty shou'd be Gay,
Laugh and talk, and mind your Drinking:
Whilst we pass the Time away,
Laugh and talk, and mind your Drinking,
Whilst we pass the Time away.

They ought only to be pensive,
Who dare not their Grief declare,
Lest their story be offensive,
But still languish in Despair,
Lest their, _&c._

Yet what more torments your Lovers,
They are Jealous, they obey,
One whose Restless Minds discovers,
She's no less a Slave than they,
One whose, _&c._

_The Lascivious Lover and the coy Lass._

[Music]

Pish fye, you're rude Sir,
I never saw such idle fooling;
You're grown so lewd Sir,
So debauch'd I hate your ways;
Leave, what are you doing?
I see you seek my ruin,
I'll cry out, pray make no delay,
But take your Hand away;
Ah! good Sir, pray Sir, don't you do so,
Never was I thus abus'd so,
By any Man, but you alone,
Therefore Sir, pray begone.

_Advice to a Miser. Set by Mr._ James Graves.

[Music]

Retire old Miser, and learn to be wiser,
In looking o'er Books ne'er spend all thy Time;
But rather be thinking, of roaring and drinking,
For by those to Promotion thou'lt speedily climb.

Then prithee be Jolly, desert this thy Folly,
Make welcome thy Friends, and ne'er repine;
For when thou art hurl'd into the next World,
Thy Heir I'll engage it in Splendor will shine.

When thy Breath is just vanish'd, his care will be banisht,
And scarce will he follow thy Corps to the Grave;
Then be cautious and wary, for nought but Canary,
He's a Fool that for others himself do's enslave.

_A_ SONG _in the Play call'd_, Rule a Wife and have Wife. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL. _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON.

There's not a Swain on the Plain,
Wou'd be blest like me,
Oh! cou'd you but, cou'd you but, cou'd you but, on me smile;
But you appear so severe,
That trembling with fear,
My heart goes pit a pat, pit a pat, pit a pat, all the while.

If I cry must I die, you make no reply,
But look shy, and with a scornful Eye,
Kill me by your cruelty;
Oh! can you be, can you be, can you be, can you be,
can you be, can you be, can you be, can you, can you,
can you be too hard to me.

_A_ SONG _in the Play call'd the_ LANCASHIRE WITCHES. _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON, _and Set by Mr._ JOHN ECCLES.

[Music]

Tormenting Beauty leave my Breast,
In spight of _Cloe_ I'll have rest;
In vain is all her Syren Art,
Still longer to hold my troubled Heart:
For I'm resolv'd to break the Chain,
And o'er her Charms the Conquest gain,
And o'er her Charms the Conquest gain.

Insulting Beauty I have born,
Too long your Female Pride and scorn;
Too long have been your Publick Jest,
Your common Theme at ev'ry Feast:
Let others thee, vain Fair, pursue,
Whilst I for ever bid adieu,
Whilst I for ever bid adieu.

_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_, The Wives Excuse: _Or_, Cuckolds make themselves. _Sung by Mr._ Mountford. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

Say cruel _Amoret_, how long, how long,
In Billet-doux, and humble Song;
Shall poor _Alexis_, shall poor _Alexis_, poor _Alexis_ wooe?
If neither Writing, Sighing, Sighing, Dying,
Reduce you to a soft complying,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, when will you come too.

Full Thirteen Moons are now past o'er,
Since first those Stars I did adore,
That set my Heart on fire:
The conscious Play-house, Parks and Court,
Have seen my sufferings made your sport,
Yet I am ne'er the nigher.

A faithful Lover shou'd deserve,
A better Face, than thus to starve:
In sight of such a Feast;
But oh! if you'll not think it fit,
Your hungry Slave shou'd taste on bit;
Gives some kind looks at least.

_The Double Lover's Request._

[Music]

Such command o'er my Fate has your Love or your hate,
That nothing can make me more wretched or great:
Whilst expiring I lie, to live or to die,
Thus doubtful the Sentence of such I rely:
Your Tongue bids me go, tho' your Eyes say not so,
But much kinder Words from their Language do flow.

Then leave me not here, thus between Hope and Fear,
Tho' your Love cannot come, let your pity appear;
But this my request, you must grant me at least,
And more I'll not ask, but to you leave the rest;
If my fate I must meet, let it be at your Feet,
Death there with more joy, than else-where I wou'd greet.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ ROB. KING.

[Music]

Tell me why so long you try me,
Still I follow, still you fly me;
Will the race be never done,
Will it be ever but begun:
Could I quit my Love for you,
I'd ne'er love more what e'er I do;
When I speak truth, you think I lie,
You think me false, but say not why.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ BARINCLOE.

Tis a foolish mistake,
That Riches can speak,
Or e'er for good Rhetoric pass:
To a Fool I confess,
Your Gold may address,
Or else where the Master's an Ass:
To a Woman of Sense,
'Tis a sordid pretence,
That a Golden Effigies can move her;
No Face on the Coin,
Is half so Divine,
As that of a faithful young Lover.

But Men when they Love,
Their Passion to prove,
From the Court to the dull Country Novice;
To the Fair they're so kind,
First to fathom their Mind,
Next search the Prerogative Office:
No _imprimis_ I give,
Then the Fair one they give,
Notwithstanding their strong Protestations;
Till the Lady discover,
No Fortune, no Lover,
Then draws off her fond Inclination,

_The valiant_ SOLDIER'S, _and_ SAILOR'S _Loyal Subjects Health, to the_ QUEEN, PRINCE _and Noble_ COMMANDERS.

[Music]

Now, now the Queen's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Troops on their March shall huzza, huzza, huzza,
Now now the Queen's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play,
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets,
Sound from the Shore, huzza, huzza, huzza.

Now now the Prince's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play,
Whilst the Troops on their March, shall huzza, huzza, huzza:
Now now the Prince's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound from the Shore huzza, huzza, huzza.

Now the brave _Eugene's_ Health,
Who shews the _French_ brave play;
And does March over Rocks, let's huzza, huzza, huzza,
Now the brave _Eugene's_ Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets
Sounds as they March, huzza, huzza, huzza.

Now now the Duke's Health,
Brave _Marlborough_ I say,
Whilst the Cannon do roar, let's huzza, huzza, huzza,
Now now the Duke's Health,
And let the Haut-boys play;
Whilst the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound from the Shore, huzza, huzza, huzza.

Now brave _Ormond's_ Health Boys,
Whilst Colours do display:
And the _Britains_ in Fight, shall huzza, huzza, huzza;
Now brave _Ormond's_ Health Boys,
Whilst Colours do display:
And the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound from the Shore huzza, huzza, huzza.

Now Sir _Cloudsly's_ Health Boys
And Trumpets sound each Day,
Whilst the Tars with their Caps shall huzza, huzza, huzza.
Now Sir _Cloudsly's_ Health Boys,
And Trumpets sound each Day,
Whilst the Thundring Cannon
Loudly do roar huzza, huzza, huzza.

Brave _Peterborough's_ Health Boys,
Who boldly makes his way,
While the _French_ run let's huzza, huzza, huzza;
Brave _Peterborough's_ Health Boys,
And let the Haut-boys play,
While the Drums and the Trumpets
Sound as they March huzza, huzza, huzza.

Now now brave _Leak's_ Health,
Who is sailed away,
For to find the _French_ Fleet let's huzzza, huzza, huzza,
Now now brave _Leak's_ Health,
Who'll shew the _French_ fair play,
While the Drums and the Trumpets,
Sound from on Board, huzza, huzza, huzza.

_The_ BEAU'S _Ballad. Occasioned by the sight of a White Marble_ SIDE-TABLE.

[Music]

A Pox on the Fool,
Who could be so dull,
To contrive such a Table for Glasses:
Which at the first sight,
The Guests must affright,
More by half than their Liquor rejoyces.

'Tis so like a Tomb,
That whoever does come
Can't look on't without thus reflecting;
Heaven knows how soon,
We must lye under one,
And such Thoughts must needs be perplexing.

Then away with that Stone.
Break it, throw it down,
To some Church or other, else fling't in:
'Tis fitter by far,
To have a place there,
Than stand here to spoil Mirth and good Drinking.

There Death let it show,
To those who will go,
And Monuments there gaze and stare at;
We come here to live,
And sad Thoughts away drive,
With good store of immortal Claret.

Tho' the Glasses stand there,
They shan't do so here,
'Tis the only kind Lesson that teaches;
Whilst it seems to say,
Life's short, Drink away,
No time o'er your Liquor to Preach is.

Then fill up the Glass,
About let it pass,
Tho' the Marble of death doth remind us;
The Wine shall ne'er die,
Tho' you must and I,
We'll not leave a drop of't behind us.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Underneath the Castle Wall, the Queen of
Love sat mourning,
Tearing of her golden Locks, her red Rose,
Cheeks adorning;
With her Lilly white Hand she smote her Breasts,
And said she was forsaken,
With that the Mountains they did skip,
And the Hills fell all a quaking.

Underneath the rotten Hedge, the Tinkers
Wife sat shiting,
Tearing of a Cabbage Leaf, her shitten A--
A wiping;
With her cole black Hands she scratch'd her A--
And swore she was beshitten,
With that the Pedlars all did skip,
And the Fidlers fell a spitting.

_The unfortunate Lover. Set by Mr._ WILLIS.

[Music]

What shall I do, I am undone,
Where shall I fly my self to shun;
Ah! me my self, my self must kill,
And yet I die against my Will.

In starry Letters I behold,
My death is in the Heavens inroll'd,
There find I writ in Skies above,
That I, poor I, must die for Love.

'Twas not my Love deserv'd to die,
Oh no, it was unworthy I;
I for her Love should not have dy'd,
But that I had no worth beside.

Ah me! that Love such Woe procures,
For without her no Life endures;
I for her Virtues did her serve,
Doth such a Love a Death deserve.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

My Dear and only Love take heed,
How thou thy self expose;
And let not longing Lovers feed,
Upon such looks as those
I'll Marble Wall thee round about,
And Build without a Door;
But if my Love doth once break out,
I'll never Love thee more.

If thou hast love that thou refine,
And tho' thou seest me not;
Yet paralell'd that Heart of thine
Shall never be forgot:
But if Unconstancy admit,
A Stranger to bear sway;
My Treasure that proves counterfeit,
And he may gain the Day.

I'll lock my self within a Cell,
And wander under Ground;
For there is no such Faith in her,
As there is to be found:
I'll curse the Day that e'er thy Face,
My Soul did so betray;
And so for ever, evermore,
I'll sing Oh well-a-day!

Like _Alexander_ I will prove,
For I will reign alone;
I'll have no Partners in my Love,
Nor Rivals in my Throne:
I'll do by thee as _Nero_ did,
When _Rome_ was set on fire;
Not only all relief forbid,
But to the Hills retire.

I'll fold my Arms like Ensigns up,
Thy falshood to deplore;
And after such a bitter Cup,
I'll never love thee more.

Yet for the Love I bore thee once,
And lest that Love should die;
A Marble Tomb of Stone I'll write,
The Truth to testifie:
That all the Pilgrims passing by,
May see and so implore;
And stay and read the reason why,
I'll never love thee more.

_The Second Part of the Trader's Medly: Or, The Cries of_ LONDON.

[Music]

Come buy my Greens and Flowers fine,
Your Houses to adorn;
I'll grind your Knives, to please your Wives,
And bravely cut your Corns:
Ripe Straw-berries here I have to sell,
With Taffity-Tarts and Pies;
I've Brooms to sell will please you well,
If you'll believe your Eyes.

Here's Salop brought from Foreign parts,
With dainty Pudding-Pyes;
And Shrewsbury-Cakes, with Wardens bak'd,
I scorn to tell you Lies:
With Laces long and Ribbons broad,
The best that e'er you see;
If you do lack an Almanack,
Come buy it now of me.

The Tinker's come to stop your holes,
And Sauder all your Cracks;
What e'er you think here's dainty Ink,
And choice of Sealing-Wax:
Come Maids bring out your Kitchin-stuff,
Old Rags, or Women's Hair;
I'll sell you Pins for Coney-skins,
Come buy my Earthen-ware.

Here's Limmons of the biggest size,
With Eggs and Butter too;
Brave News they say is come to Day,
If _Jones's_ News be true:
Here's Spiggot and fine Wooden-wares,
With Fossets to put in;
I'll bottom all your broken Chairs,
Then pray let me begin.

A Rabbit fat and plump I have,
Young Maidens love the same;
Come buy a Bird, I'm at a word,
Or Pullet of the Game:
I sell the best spice Ginger-Bread,
You ever did eat before;
While Madam _King_ her Dumplings,
She crys from Door to Door.

Come buy a Comb, or Buckle fine,
For Girdle of your Lass;
My Oysters too are very new,
With Trumpet sounding glass:
Your Lanthorn-horns I'll make them shine,
And mend them very well;
There's no Jack-line so good as mine,
As I have here to sell.

Come buy my Honey and my Book,
For Cuckolds to peruse;
Your Turnip-man is come again,
To tell his Dames some News:
I've Plumbs and Damsons very fine,
With very good mellow Pears;
Come buy a charming Dish of Fish,
And give it to your Heirs.

Come buy my Figs, before they're gone,
Here's Custards of the best;
And Mustard too, that's very new,
Tho' you may think I Jest:
My Holland-socks are very strong,
Here's Eels to skip and play;
My hot grey-pease buy if you please,
For I come no more to Day.

Old Suits or Cloaks, or Campaign Wigs,
With Rusty Guns or Swords:
When Whores or Pimps do buy my Shrimps,
I never take their words:
Your Chimney clean my Boy shall sweep,
While I do him command;
Card Matches cheap by lump or heap,
The best in all the Land.

Come taste and buy my Brandy-Wine,
'Tis newly come from _France_:
This Powder now is good I vow,
Which I have got by chance;
New Mackerel the best I have,
Of any in the Town;
Here's Cloath to sell will please you well,
As soft as any Down.

Work for the Cooper, Maids give Ear,
I'll hoop your Tubs and Pails:
And if your sight it is not right,
Here's that that never fails:
Milk that is new come from the Cow,
With Flounders fresh and fair;
Here's Elder-buds to purge your Bloods,
And Onions keen and rare.

Small-coal young Maids I've brought you here,
The best that e'er you us'd;
Here's Cherries round and very sound,
If they are not abus'd;
Here's Pippings lately come from _Kent_,
Pray taste and then you'll buy;
But mind my Song, and then e'er long,
You'll sing it as well as I.

_The Lover's_ CHARM.

[Music]

Tell me, tell me, charming Fair,
Why so cruel and severe;
Is't not you, ah! you alone,
Is't not you, ah! you alone,
Secures my wandering Heart your own:
Change, which once the most did please,
Now wants the power to give me ease;
You've fixt me as the Centure sure,
And you who kill alone can cure,
And you who kill alone can cure.

If refusing what was granted,
Be to raise my Passion higher;
Nymph believe me, I ne'er wanted,
Art for to inflame desire:
Calm my Thoughts, serene my Mind,
Still increasing was my Joy,
Till _Lavinia_ prov'd unkind,
Nothing could my Peace destroy.

_A_ SONG _in the_ Royal Mischief. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles. _Sung by Mr._ Leveridge.

[Music]

Unguarded lies the wishing Maid,
Distrusting not to be betray'd;
Ready to fall with all her Charms,
A shining Treasure to your Arms:
Who hears this Story must believe,
No Heart can truer Joy receive;
Since to take Love and give it too,
Is all that Love for hearts can do.

_A Ligg of good Noses set forth in a Jest.
Most fitly compared to whom you think best._

[Music: _First Nose._]

[Music: _CHO. of all._]

[Music: _1 N._, _2d._ _3d._ _4th._]

[Music: _All shake Hands._]

_The LARGEST._

My Nose is the largest of all in this place,
Mark how it becometh the midst of my Face;
By measure I take it from the end to the Brow,
Four Inches by compass, the same doth allow.

Likewise it is forged of passing good Metal,
All of right Copper, the best in the Kettle;
For redness and Goodness the virtue is such,
That all other Metal it serveth to touch.

Old smug, nor the Tinker that made us so merry,
With their brave Noses more red than a Cherry;
None here to my Challenge can make a denial,
When my Nose cometh thus bravely to Tryal.

_All Sing._

Room for good Noses the best in our Town,
Come fill the Pot Hostess, your Ale it is brown;
For his Nose, and thy Nose, and mine shall not quarrel,
So long as one Gallon remains in the Barrel.

_The LONGEST._

My Nose is the Longest no Man can deny,
For 'tis a just handful right, mark from mine Eye;
Most seemly down hanging full low to my Chin,
As into my Belly it fain would look in.

It serves for a Weapon my Mouth to defend,
My Teeth it preserveth still like a good Friend;
Where if so I happen to fall on the Ground,
My Nose takes the burthen and keeps my Face sound.

It likewise delighteth to peep in the Cup,
Searching there deeply 'till all be drank up;
Then let my Nose challenge of Noses the best,
The longest with Ladies are still in request.

_All Sing._

Room for, _&c._

_The THICKEST._

My Nose it is Thickest and Roundest of all,
Inriched with Rubies the great with the small;
No Goldsmith of Jewels can make the like show,
See how they are planted here all on a row.

How like a round Bottle it also doth hang,
Well stuffed with Liquor will make it cry twang;
With all, it is sweating in the midst of the Cold,
More worth to the honour than ransoms of Gold.

You see it is gilded with Claret and Sack,
A Food and fit cloathing for belly and back:
Then let my Nose challenge of all that be here,
To sit at this Table as chiefest in cheer.

_All Sing._

Room for, _&c._

_The Second Part._

_We have the best Noses that be in our Town,
If any bring better come let him sit down._

_The FLATEST._

My Nose is the Flatest of all that be here,
Devoid of all Danger and bodily fear;
When other long Noses let fly at a Post,
My Nose hath the advantage, well known to my Host.

For 'tis of the making of _Dunstable_ way,
Plain without turning as Travellers say,
Though no Nose but approveth to some disgrace,
It bringeth less trouble unto a good Face.

Then let me do homage to them that have best,
For all Nose and no Nose, are both but a Jest;
Yet my Nose shall Challenge although it be flat,
A place with my Neighbours at whiping the Cat.

_All Sing._

Room for good Noses the best in our Town,
Come fill the Pot Hostess, your Ale it is Brown:
For his Nose, and thy Nose, and mine shall not quarrel,
So long as one Gallon remains in the Barrel.

_The SHARPEST._

My Nose is the Sharpest good Neighbours mark well,
The smoak of a Banquet three Mile I can smell;
Forged and shaped so sharp at the End,
Makes known that I pass not what others do spend.

Yet must my Nose spiced most orderly be,
With Nutmegs and Ginger, or else 'tis not for me;
And so to the bottom the same I commit,
Of every Man's cup whereas I do sit.

My Nose is the foremost you see at each Feast,
Of all other Noses the principal Guest:
Then let my Nose challenge as sharp as it shows,
The chiefest of every good and bad Nose.

_All Sing._

Room for, _&c._

_The BROADEST._

My Nose is the Broadest how like you Sir, that,
It feeds on good Liquor and grows very fat;
For like to a Panack it covers my Face,
To make other Noses the more in disgrace.

And look how it glisters like Copper-smith's Hall,
To which our good Noses are summoned all;
When if that the Colours hold out not good red,
A Fine must be levied and set on their Head.

For having the Broadest and fairest to the Eye,
The Sergeant of Noses appointed am I;
Then let my Nose challenge the chiefest from the rest,
Of all other Noses the Broadest is best.
_All Sing._

Room for good Noses the best in our Town,
Come fill the Pot Hostess, your Ale it is Brown;
For his Nose, and thy Nose, and mine shall not quarrel,
So long as one Gallon remains in the Barrel.

_The_ LUDGATE _Prisoners._

[Music]

Noble King _Lud_,
Full long hast thou stood,
Not framed of Wood, but of Stone
Of Stone sure thou art,
Like our Creditors Heart,
That regards not our sorrowful Moan.

Within the Gate,
They cry at the Grate,
Pray Remember our Fate and shew Pity;
The poor and distress'd,
Who in Bonds are oppress'd,
Entreat the relief of the City

In Threadbare Coats,
We tear our Throats,
With pitiful Notes that would move
All Creatures, but Brutes,
To give ear to our Suits,
And themselves like true Christians approve.

But in vain we cry,
With a Box hanging by,
Good Sirs cast an Eye on our Case;
No Beau nor Town Mistress,
Are touched with our Distress,
But hold up their Nose at the Place.

The Lawyer jogs on,
Without looking upon
Th' afflicted, whose Moans he gives being;
Nor thinks on us Cits,
But Breviates and Writs,
And demurrs on Exorbitant Feeing,

The _Serjeants_ and _Yeomen_,
Who seek to undo Men,
Though Good-men and True-men ne'er mind us;
But rejoyce they get,
By our being in Debt,
And that where they have brought us, they find us.

The Merchant alone,
Makes our sorrows his own,
And allows there is none but may fail;
Since that is free,
By losses at Sea,
May be immurr'd in a Gaol.

His Purse and his Board,
With Plenty are stor'd,
Due Relief to afford to the Needy;
While the Priest in his Coach,
Joggs on to Debauch,
To cloath us or feed us too Greedy.

Others go by,
And hearing our cry,
They cast up their Eye in Disdain;
Affirming that we,
If once get free,
Should quickly be Prisoners again,

But let 'em take heed,
That reproach us indeed,
And thus at our need go by grinning;
Since it is so Man,
That there is no Man,
Knows his End, that may know his Beginning.

_Room for Gentlemen._

[Music]

Room for Gentlemen, here comes a Company,
Room for Gentlemen, here comes my Lord-Mayor;
You Barons, you Knights, and also you 'Squires,
Give Room for Gentlemen, here comes my Lord Mayor.

First comes the Worshipful Company,
Of Gallant _Mercers_ into this Place;
With their worthy Caps of Maintenance,
Upon their Shoulders to their great grace:
Side by side do they go as you see here,
_Room for_, &c.

Next to them here comes the _Grocers_,
A Company of Gallants bold;
Who willingly do give Attendance,
As all the People may behold:
In their Gowns and their Caps with gallant Cheer.
Room for, _&c._

Then the _Drapers_ they come next,
With their Streamers flying so fair;
And their Trumpets sounding most loudly,
Attending still upon my Lord Mayor:
Their Whifflers, their Batchelors, and all they have there,
Give Room, _&c._

Then comes the Company of gallant _Fishmongers_,
Attending his Lordship's coming here;
As duty bindeth they do still wait,
Until his Lordship doth appear:
Then they rise, and go with lusty cheer,
With Loving Hearts before the Lord Mayor.

The _Goldsmiths_ they are next to them,
A braver Company there cannot be;
All in their Liveries going most bravely,
And Colours spread most gallantly:
They do wait, they attend, and then they stay there,
Until the coming of my Lord Mayor.

The _Merchant-Taylors_ now they come in,
A Company both stout and bold;
Most willing to perform their Duties,
Scorning of any to be controul'd:
In their Gowns and their Caps, and ancient Affairs,
All attend, _&c._

The _Haberdashers_ a Company be,
Of Gentlemen both Grave and Wise;
To all good Orders they do agree,
For the City's good they still devise:
They set to their helping as you may hear,
Still to the comfort of City and Mayor.

The _Skinners_ they a Company be,
As gallant Men as be the rest;
Their Duties they perform truly,
As honestly as do the best:
Their Antients, then Drums, then Trumpets be there,
Attending still, _&c._

Truly the _Salters_ a Company Grave,
Of Understanding be good and Wise;
And to perform all godly Orders,
Within the City they devise:
When occasion doth serve they present themselves there,
With all the Company, _&c._

The _Iron-mongers_ a Company be,
Who know their Duties every one;
And willingly they do Obey,
And wait his Lordship still upon:
From the Morning they rise they still do stay there,
Until the departing of, _&c._

The Company of worthy _Vintners_,
His Lordship still do wait upon;
With all their Furniture along most gallantly,
In order they go every one:
Until the Companys do appear,
And then they go before, _&c._

A Company there is of worthy _Cloth-workers_,
Who wait and give Attendance still:
When his Lordship hath any occasion,
They ready are to obey his Will;
For fear any Service should be wanting there,
They will present themselves before the Lord Mayor.

God bless our King and Counsel all,
And all his true Subjects in this Land;
And cut down all those false Hereticks,
That would the Gospel still withstand:
God prosper this City, and all that are here,
And I wish you to say God bless my Lord-Mayor.

_The Batchelor's Choice._

[Music]

I Fain wou'd find a passing good Wife,
That I may live merry all Days of my Life,
But that I do fear much sorrow and strife,
Then I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry a Maid that is Fair,
With her round cherry Cheeks and her flaxen Hair,
Many close Meetings I must forbear,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that is Foul,
The best of my Pleasure will be but a Scoul.
She'll sit in a corner like to an Owl,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry a Maid that's a Slut,
My Diet a dressing abroad I must put,
For fear of Distempers to trouble my Gut,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry a Maid that's a Fool,
To learn her more Wit I must put her to School,
Or else fool-hardy keep in good rule,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that's a Scold,
My Freedom at home is evermore sold,
Her Mouth is too little her Tongue for to hold,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that's a Whore,
I must keep open for her my back Door,
And so a kind Wittal be called therefore,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that is Proud,
She'll look for much more than can be allow'd,
No Wife of that making I'll have I have vow'd,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that is meek,
The rule of my Household I might go seek,
For such a kind Soul I care not a Leek,
And I'll, _&c._

I would have a Wife to come at a Call,
Too fat, nor too lean, too low, nor too tall,
But such a good Wife as may please all,
Else I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
Else I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

_The Second Part._

If I should go seek the whole World about,
To find a kind and loving Wife out,
That labour were lost, I am in great doubt,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I Marry with one that is Young,
With a false Heart and flattering Tongue,
Sorrow and Care may be my Song,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Old,
I never should have the Pleasures I would,
But Arm full of Bones frozen with Cold,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Poor,
By me my best Friends will set little store
And so go a Begging from door to door,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Rich,
She'll ever upbraid me she brought me too much,
And make me her Drudge, but I'll have none such,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Blind,
All for to seek and worse for to find,
I then should have nothing to please my Mind,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Dumb,
How could she welcome my Friends that come,
For her best language is to say Mum,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry with one that is Deaf,
Hard of Belief, and Jealous 'till death,
To the Jawm of a Chimney spend I my Breath,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Fine,
She will spend all in Ale and in Wine,
Spend she her own, she shall not spend mine,
And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Tall,
I having but little she would have it all,
Then will I live single, whate'er it befal,
And I'll, _&c._

For when I am Married I must be glad,
To please my Wife though never so bad,
Then farewel the Joys that lately I had,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet,
And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

_Maids that will not when you may,
When you would, you shall have nay._

_The Power of Verse._

[Music]

Tho' thou'rt ugly and Old,
A damn'd Slut and a Scold,
Yet if you will tip me a Guinea;
By the help of my Rhimes,
To the latest of Times,
Thou shalt have thy Adorers dear _Jenny_.

We Bards have a knack,
To turn White into Black,
And make Vice seem Vertue, which odd is;
True Poetical Cant,
Dubbs a Rebel a Saint,
And refines a Jilt into a Goddess.

These trick Rhiming Sages,
Observ'd in all Ages,
To dress naked Truth in a Fable;
And tho' ev'ry story,
Out-did Purgatory,
They still were believ'd by the Rabble.

Pray what was _Acteon_,
Whom Dogs made a Prey on,
But a Sportsman undone by his Chasing;
Or the fam'd _Diomede_,
Of whom his Nags fled,
But a Jockey quite ruin'd by racing?

_MedÊa_, 'tis sung,
Could make old Women Young.
Tho' she nought but a true waiting-Maid is;
Who with Comb of black Lead,
With Paint white and Red,
With Patch and wash, vamps up grey Ladies.

_Vulcan_ left the Bellows,
And Sooty left good Fellows,
That he might take of _Nectar_ a Cann full;
_Venus_ was a gay Trull,
To the Cuckoldly Fool,
_Mars_ a Bully that beat on her Anvil.

_Neptune_ was a Tarpawling,
And _Ph[oe]bus_ by calling,
A Mountebank, Wizard, and Harper;
Jolly _Bacchus_ a Lad,
Of the Wine-drawing Trade,
And _Mercury_ a Pimp and a Sharper.

_Pallas_ was a stale Maid,
With a grim _Gorgon's_ head,
Whose ugliness made her the Chaster,
A Scold great was _Juno_,
As I know, or you know,
And _Jove_ was as great a Whore-master.

Then prithee dear Creature,
Now show thy good nature,
This once be my Female _Mac[oe]nas_;
And Times yet unknown,
My _Jenny_ shall own,
Chast as _Pallas_, but fairer than _Venus_.

_The Bonny Lass: Or, the Button'd_ SMOCK.

[Music]

Sit you merry Gallants,
For I can tell you News,
Of a Fashion call'd the Button'd Smock,
The which our Wenches use:
Because that in the City,
In troth it is great pity;
Our Gallants hold it much in scorn.
They should put down the City:
But is not this a bouncing Wench,
And is not this a Bonny;
In troth she wears a _Holland_ Smock,
If that she weareth any.

A bonny Lass in a Country Town,
Unto her Commendation;
She scorns a _Holland_ Smock,
Made after the old Fashion:
But she will have it _Holland_ fine,
As fine as may be wore;
Hem'd and stitch'd with _Naples_ Silk,
And button'd down before:
But is not, _&c._

Our Gallants of the City,
New Fashions do devise;
And wear such new found fangle things,
Which country Folk despise:
As for the Button'd Smock,
None can hold it in scorn;
Nor none can think the Fashion ill,
It is so closely worn:
Although it may be felt,
It's seldom to be seen;
It passeth all the Fashions yet,
That heretofore hath been.
But is not, _&c._

Our Wenches of the City,
That gains the Silver rare;
Sometimes they wear a Canvass Smock,
That's torn or worn Thread-bare:
Perhaps a Smock of Lockrum,
That dirty, foul, or black:
Or else a Smock of Canvass course,
As hard as any Sack.
But is not, _&c._

But she that wears the _Holland_ Smock,
I commend her still that did it;
To wear her under Parts so fine,
The more 'tis for her Credit:
For some will have the out-side fine,
To make the braver show;
But she will have her _Holland_ Smock
That's Button'd down below.
But is not, _&c._

But if that I should take in hand,
Her Person to commend;
I should vouchsafe a long Discourse,
The which I could not end:
For her Vertues they are many,
Her person likewise such;
But only in particular,
Some part of them I'll touch.
But is not, _&c._

Those Fools that still are doing,
With none but costly Dames;
With tediousness of wooing,
Makes cold their hottest flames:
Give me the Country Lass,
That trips it o'er the Field;
And ope's her Forest at the first.
And is not Coy to yield.

Who when she dons her Vesture,
She makes the Spring her Glass;
And with her Comely gesture,
Doth all the Meadows pass:
Who knows no other cunning,
But when she feels it come;
To gripe your Back, if you be slack,
And thrust your Weapon home.

'Tis not their boasting humour,
Their painted looks nor state;
Nor smells of the Perfumer,
The Creature doth create:
Shall make me unto these,
Such slavish service owe;
Give me the Wench that freely takes,
And freely doth bestow.

Who far from all beguiling,
Doth not her Beauty Mask;
But all the while lye smiling,
While you are at your task:
Who in the midst of Pleasure,
Will beyond active strain;
And for your Pranks, will con you thanks,
And cursey for your pain.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ACKEROYD.

Z----ds Madam return me my Heart,
Or by the Lord _Harry_ I'll make ye;
Tho' you sleep when I talk of my smart,
As I hope to be Knighted I'll wake ye;
If you rant, why by _Jove_,
Then I'll rant as well as you;
There's no body cares for your puffing,
You're mistaken in me;
Nay prithee, prithee, prithee pish,
We'll try who's the best at a huffing.

But if you will your Heart surrender,
And confess yourself uncivil;
'Tis probable I may grow tender,
And recal what I purpos'd of evil,
But if you persist in rigour,
'Tis a thousand to one but I teeze you;
For you'll find so much heat and such vigour,
As may trouble you forsooth or please you.