Chapter M (3)

_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ The Maid's last Prayer: _Or_, Any thing rather than fail.

[Music]

Tho' you make no return to my Passion,
Still, still I presume to adore;
'Tis in Love but an odd Reputation,
When faintly repuls'd to give o'er:
When you talk of your duty,
I gaze at your Beauty;
Nor mind the dull Maxim at all,
Let it reign in _Cheapside_,
With the Citizens Bride:
It will ne'er be receiv'd, it will ne'er, ne'er, it will
ne'er be receiv'd at _White-hall_.

What Apochryphal Tales are you told,
By one who wou'd make you believe;
That because of _to have_ and _to hold_,
You still must be pinn'd to his Sleeve:
'Twere apparent high-Treason,
'Gainst Love and 'gainst Reason,
Shou'd one such a Treasure engross;
He who knows not the Joys,
That attend such a choice,
Shou'd resign to another that does.

_The Cruel Fair requited, Written by_ J. R. _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.

[Music]

When Wit and Beauty meet in one,
That acts an Amorous part;
What Nymph its mighty Power can shun,
Or 'scape a wounded Heart:
Those Potent, wondrous Potent charms,
Where-e'er they bless a Swain;
He needs not sleep with empty Arms,
He needs not sleep with empty Arms,
Nor dread severe disdain.

_Astrea_ saw the Shepherds bleed,
Regardless of their Pain;
Unmov'd she hear'd their Oaten Reed,
They Dance and Sung in vain;
At length _Amintor_ did appear,
That Miracle of Man;
He pleas'd her Eyes and charm'd her Ear,
He pleas'd her Eyes and charm'd her Ear,
She Lov'd and call'd him PAN.

But he as tho' design'd by Fate,
Revenger of the harms,
Which others suffer'd from her hate,
Rifl'd and left her Charms;
Then Nymphs no longer keep in pain,
A plain well-meaning Heart;
Lest you shou'd joyn for such disdain,
Lest you shou'd joyn for such disdain,
In poor _Astrea's_ smart.

_A_ SONG, _Sung at the_ THEATRE-ROYAL, _in the Play call'd_ ALPHONSO _King of_ NAPLES. _Set by Mr._ EAGLES.

[Music]

When _Sylvia_ was kind, and Love play'd in her Eyes,
We thought it no Morning till _Sylvia_ did rise;
Of _Sylvia_ the Hills and the Vallies all Rang,
For she was the Subject of every Song.

But now, oh how little her Glories do move,
That us'd to inflame us, with Raptures of Love;
Thy Rigour, oh _Sylvia_, will shorten thy Reign,
And make our bright Goddess a Mortal again.

Love heightens our Joys, he's the ease of our Care,
A spur to the Valiant, a Crown to the Fair;
Oh seize his soft Wings then before 'tis too late,
Or Cruelty quickly will hasten thy Fate.

'Tis kindness, my _Sylvia_, 'tis kindness alone,
Will add to thy Lovers, and strengthen thy Throne;
In Love, as in Empire, Tyrannical sway,
Will make Loyal Subjects forget to Obey.

_The_ SHEPHERD'S _Complaint. Set by Mr._ Williams.

[Music]

What, Love a crime, Inhumane Fair?
Repeal that rash Decree,
As well may pious Anthems bear;
The Name of Blasphemy:
'Tis Bleeding Hearts and Weeping Eyes,
Uphold your Sexes Pride;
Nor could you longer Tyrannize,
My Fetters laid aside.

Then from your haughty Vision wake,
And listen to my Moan;
Tho' you refuse me for my sake,
Yet pity for your own;
For know proud Shepherdess you owe,
The Victim you despise,
More to the strictness of my Vow,
Than glories of your Eyes.

_A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd_ The Fairy Queen. _Sung by Mrs._ BUTLER. _Set by Mr._ H. Purcell.

[Music]

When I have often heard young Maids complaining,
That when Men promise most they most deceive;
Then I thought none of them worthy my gaining.
And what they swore I would never believe:
But when so humbly one made his Addresses,
With Looks so soft, and with Language so kind,
I thought it a Sin to refuse his Caresses,
Nature o'ercame, and I soon chang'd my Mind.

Should he employ all his Arts in deceiving,
Stretch his Invention, and quite crack his Brain,
I find such Charms, such true Joys in believing,
I'll have the pleasure, let him have the pain:
If he proves perjur'd, I shall not be cheated,
He may deceive himself, but never me;
'Tis what I look for, and shan't be defeated,
For I'm as false, and inconstant as he.

_A_ SONG. _The Words and Tune by Mr._ Edward Keen. _Sung by Mrs._ Willis, _in the Play call'd_ The Heiress: _Or_, The Salamanca Doctor.

[Music]

_C∆LIA'S_ bright Beauty all others transcend,
Like Lovers Sprightly Goddess she's flippant and gay;
Her rival Admirers in crouds do attend,
To her their devoirs and Addresses to pay:
Pert gaudy Coxcombs the Fair one adore,
Grave Dons of the Law and quere Prigs of the Gown;
Close Misers who brood o'er their Treasure in store,
And Heroes for plundring of modern renown,
But Men of plunder can ne'er get her under,
And Misers all Women despise,
She baulks the pert Fops in the midst of their hopes,
And laughs at the Grave and Precise.

Next she's caress'd by a musical crew,
Shrill Singing and Fidling, Beaus warbles o'th' Flute,
And Poets whom Poverty still will pursue,
That's a just cause for rejecting their suit:
Impudent Fluters the Nymph does abhor,
And Lovers with Fiddle at neck she disdains;
For these thought to have her for whistling for,
They courting with guts shew'd defect in their brains.
And to the pretender to make her surrender,
By singing no favour she'll show;
For she'll not make choice of a shrill Capons voice,
For a politick reason you know.

_A_ SONG.

[Music: The King is gone to _Oxon_ Town,
with all his might and main a;
the Nobles they attending on,
with all their gallant train a:
The May'r of the Town in his Furr Gown,
gave the King such a thing, the like was never seen;
_A pair of Gloves, I say a pair of Gloves_,
made of the Stags good Leather:
_A pair of gloves I say, a pair of Gloves_,
to keep his hands from the Weather;
Nay, some do say they gave him Gold,
_That's a lye, then said I_,
as soon as I heard it told;
for why shou'd they go give their Gold away,
to him that has so much of his own a?]

_A_ SONG _in_ Love's a Jest. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ECCLES. _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON.

[Music]

Mortal's learn your Lives to measure,
Not by length of Time, but Pleasure;
Now the Hours invite comply,
Whilst you idly pass they flye:
Blest whilst a nimble pace they keep,
But in torment, in torment when they creep.
Mortals learn your Lives to measure,
Not by length of Time, but Pleasure;
Soon your Spring must have a fall,
Losing Youth is losing all;
Then you'll ask, but none will give,
And may linger, but not live.

_A_ SONG, _in the Play call'd_ Self-Conceit: _Or_, The Mother made a Property. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles. _Sung by Mrs._ Bowman.

[Music]

Oh! the mighty pow'r of Love,
What Art against such Force can move;
The harmless Swain is ever blest,
Beneath some silent, shady Grove;
Until some Nymph invade his Breast,
And disapprove his eager Love.

Oh! the mighty power of Love,
What Art against such Force can move;
The Greatest Hero who in Arms,
Has gain'd a thousand Victories:
Submits to _CÊlia's_ brighter Charms,
And dreads a killing from her Eyes.

_A_ SONG, _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON, _in the Play call'd_ Love Triumphant: _Or_, Nature will prevail. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ECCLES.

What state of Life can be so blest,
As Love that warms a Lover's Breast;
Two Souls in one the same desire,
To grant the Bliss and to require:
But if in Heaven a Hell we find,
'Tis all from thee, oh Jealousy!
Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! Jealousy, thou Tyrant, tyrant
Jealousy, thou tyrant, Jealousy, oh! oh! oh! oh! oh!
Jealousy, oh! oh! oh! Jealousy, thou tyrant of the mind.

All other ills tho' sharp they prove,
Serve to refine and sweeten Love;
In absence or unkind disdain,
Sweet hope relieves the Lovers pain:
But oh! no cure but death we find,
To set us free from Jealousy,
Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! _&c._

False in thy Glass all objects are,
Some set too near, and some too far;
Thou art the fire of endless Night,
The fire that burns and gives no light,
All torments of the damn'd we find,
In only thee, oh Jealousy!
Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! _&c._

_A_ Scotch SONG. _Set by Mr._ ROBERT COX.

[Music]

When _Jockey_ first I saw, my Soul was charm'd,
To see the bonny Lad so blith, so blith and gay;
My Heart did beat it being alarm'd,
That I to _Jockey_ nought, nought could say:
At last I courage took and Passion quite forsook,
And told the bonny Lad his Charms I felt;
He then did smile with a pleasing look,
And told me _Jenny_ in his Arms, his Arms should melt.

_A Song. Sung by Mrs._ Temple. _Set by Mr._ J. Clark.

[Music]

I Seek no more to shady coverts,
_Jockey's_ Eyn are all my Joy;
Beauty's there I Ken, that cannot,
Must not, shall not, steal away:
What wou'd _Jockey_ now do to me,
Surely you're to me unkind;
Ise ne'er see you, nay you fly me,
Yet are ne'er from out my Mind.

Tell me why 'tis thus you use me,
Take me quickly to your Arms;
Where in blisses blithly basking,
Each may rival others Charms:
Oh but fye, my _Jockey_ pray now,
What d'ye, do not, let me go;
O I vow you will undoe me,
What to do I do not know.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ PHILL. HART.

[Music]

Tho' I love and she knows it, she cares not,
She regards not my Passion at all;
But to tell me she hates me she spares not,
As often as on her I call:
'Tis her Pleasure to see me in pain,
'Tis her pain to grant my desire;
Then if ever I Love her again,
May I never, never, never, never, may I never, be
free from Love's fire.

MIRTILLO. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Tho. Clark.

[Music]

_Mirtillo_, whilst you patch your Face,
By Nature form'd so fair,
We know each Spot conceals a Grace,
And wish, and wish to see it bare:
But since our Wish you've gratifi'd,
We find, we find, 'twas rashly made,
And that those Spots were but to hide, to hide
Excess of Lustre laid:
And that those Spots were but to hide, to hide
Excess of Lustre laid.

_The Rambling_ RAKE.

[Music]

Having spent all my Coin,
Upon Women and Wine,
I went to the C----h out of spite;
But what the Priest said,
Is quite out of my Head,
I resolv'd not to Edify by't.

While he open'd his Text,
I was plaguily vext,
To see such a sly Canting Crew,
Of _Satan's_ Disciples,
With P----r Books and B----s,
Enough to have made a Man Spew.

All the Women I view'd,
Both Religious and Lewd,
From the Sable Top-knots to the Scarlets;
But a Wager I'll lay,
That at a full Play,
The House does not swarm so with Harlots.

Lady _F----_ there sits,
Almost out of her Wits,
'Twixt Lust and Devotion debating;
She's as Vicious as Fair,
And has more Business there,
Than to hear Mr. _Tickle-text's_ prating.

Madam _L----l_ saw,
With her Daughters-in-law,
Whom she offers to Sale ev'ry Sunday;
In the midst of her Prayers,
She'll negociate Affairs,
And make Assignations for Monday.

Next a Lady much Fam'd,
Therefore must not be nam'd,
'Cause she'll give you no trouble in Teaching;
She has a very fine Book,
But does ne'er in it look,
Nor regard neither Praying nor Preaching.

There's a _Baronet's_ Daughter,
Her own Mother taught her,
By Precept and Practical Notion;
That to wear Gaudy Cloaths,
And to Ogle the Beaus,
Was at Church two sure Signs of Devotion.

From the Corner o' th' Square,
Comes a hopeful young Pair,
Religious as they see occasion;
But if Patches and Paint,
Be true signs of a Saint,
We've no Reason to doubt their Damnation.

When the Sermon was done,
He blest ev'ry one,
And they like good Christians retir'd;
Tho' they view'd ev'ry Face,
Each Head and each Dress,
Yet each one her self most admir'd.

I had view'd all the rest,
But the Parson had blest,
With his Benediction the People;
So I ran to the Crown,
Least the Church should fall down,
And beat out my Brains with the Steeple.

_The_ AIRY _old Woman_.

[Music]

You guess by my wither'd Face,
And Eyes no longer Shining;
That I can't Dance with a Grace,
Nor keep my Pipes from whining:
Yet I am still Gay and Bold,
To be otherwise were a Folly;
Methinks my Blood is grown Cold,
I'll warm it then thus and be jolly,
Jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, _&c._
Methinks my Blood is grown cold,
Grown cold, grown cold, grown cold, _&c._
I'll warm it then thus and be jolly.

I find by the slighting Beau's,
That Nature is declining;
Yet will I not knit my Brows,
Nor end my Days in pining:
Let other Dames Fret and Scold,
As they pass to the Stygian Ferry;
You see, though I am grown Old,
My Temper is youthful and merry,
Merry, merry, merry, merry, _&c._
You see though I am grown old,
Grown old, grown old, grown old, _&c._
My Temper is youthful and merry.

_A_ SONG _Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.

[Music]

I Try'd in Parks and Plays to find,
An Object to appease my Mind;
But still in vain it does appear,
Since Fair _Hyrtuilia_ is not there:
In vain alass I hope for Ease,
Since none but She alone can please.

_A_ SONG; _the Words by Captain_ DANVERS, _Set by Mr._ T. WILLIS.

[Music]

Forgive me _Cloe_ if I dare
Your Conduct disapprove;
The Gods have made you wond'rous Fair,
Not to Disdain, but Love;
Those nice pernicious Forms despise,
That cheat you of your Bliss;
Let Love instruct you to be wise,
Whilst Youth and Beauty is.

Too late you will repent the Time,
You lose by your Disdain;
The Slaves you scorn now in your Prime,
You'll ne'er retrieve again:
But when those Charms shall once decay,
And Lovers disappear;
Despair and Envy shall repay,
Your being now severe.

_A_ SONG _in the_ Rival Sisters, _Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell, _Sung by Miss_ CROSS.

[Music]

How happy, how happy is she,
How happy, how happy is she,
That early, that early her Passion begins,
And willing, and willing with Love to agree,
Does not stay till she comes to her Teens:
Then, then she's all pure and Chast,
Then, then she's all pure and Chast,
Like Angels her Smiles to be priz'd;
Pleasure is seen Cherub Fac'd,
And Nature appears, and Nature appears undisguis'd.

From Twenty to Thirty, and then
Set up for a Lover in vain;
By that time we study how Men,
May be wrack'd with Neglect and Disdain:
Love dwells where we meet with desire,
Desire which Nature has given:
She's a Fool then that feeling the Fire,
Begins not to warm at Eleven.

_The Three Merry Travellers, who paid their shot wherever they came, without ever a Stiver of Money._

[Music]

There was three Travellers, Travellers three,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
And they would go Travel the _North_ Country,
_Without ever a stiver of Money_.

They Travelled _East_, and they Travelled _West_,
_With a hey down_, &c.
Wherever they came still they drank of the best,
_Without ever_, &c.

At length by good Fortune they came to an Inn,
_With a hey down_, &c.
And they were as merry as e'er they had been,
_Without ever_, &c.

A Jolly young Widdow did smiling appear,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
Who drest them a Banquet of delicate cheer,
_Without ever a penny of Money_.

Both Chicken and Sparrow-grass she did provide,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
You're Welcome kind Gentlemen, welcome she cry'd,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.

They called for liquor, both Beer, Ale, and Wine,
_With a hey down_, &c.
And every thing that was curious and fine,
_Without ever_, &c.

They drank to their Hostess a merry full Bowl,
_With a hey down_, &c.
She pledg'd them in Love, like a generous Soul,
_Without ever_, &c.

The Hostess, her Maid, and Cousin all three,
_With a hey down_, &c.
They Kist and was merry, as merry cou'd be,
_Without ever_, &c.

Full Bottles and Glasses replenish'd the Board,
_With a hey down_, &c.
No liquors was wanting the house could afford,
_Without ever_, &c.

When they had been Merry good part of the Day,
_With a hey down_, &c.
They called their Hostess to know what's to pay,
_Without ever_, &c.

There's Thirty good shillings, and Six pence, she cry'd,
_With a hey down_, &c.
They told her that she should be soon satisfy'd,
_Without ever_, &c.

The Handsomest Man of the three up he got;
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
He laid her on her Back, and paid her the shot,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.

The middlemost Man to her Cousin he went,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down derry_,
She being handsome, he gave her Content,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.

The last Man of all he took up with the Maid,
_With a hey down_, &c.
And thus the whole Shot it was lovingly paid,
_Without ever_, &c.

The Hostess, the Cousin, and Servant, we find,
_With a hey down_, &c.
Made Courtesies, and thank'd them for being so kind,
_Without ever_, &c.

The Hostess said, welcome kind Gentleman all,
_With a hey down_, &c.
If you chance to come this way be pleased to call,
_Without ever_, &c.

Then taking their Leaves they went merrily out,
_With a hey down, ho down, Lanktre down, derry_,
And they're gone for to Travel the Nation about,
_Without ever a Stiver of Money_.

_The Maids_ CONJURING _Book_.

[Music]

A Young Man lately in our Town,
He went to Bed one Night;
He had no sooner lay'd him down,
But was troubled with a Sprite:
So vigorously the Spirit stood,
Let him do what he can,
Sure then he said it must be lay'd,
By Woman, not by Man.

A Handsome Maid did undertake,
And into Bed she leap'd;
And to allay the Spirits Power,
Full close to him she crep'd:
She having such a Guardian care,
Her Office to discharge;
She open'd wide her Conjuring Book,
And lay'd the Leaves at large.

Her Office she did well perform,
Within a little space;
Then up she rose, and down he lay,
And durst not shew his Face;
She took her leave, and away she went,
When she had done the Deed;
Saying, if't chance to come again,
Then send for me with speed.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth,
Eternal _Io's_ sing;
The Gods of Love descend to Earth,
Their Darts have lost their Sting.

The Youth shall now complain no more,
On _Sylvia's_ needless Scorn;
But she shall Love if he adore,
And melt when he shall burn.

The Nymph no longer shall be shy,
But leave the Jilting Road;
And _Daphne_ now no more shall Fly,
The wounded Painted God.

But all shall be Serene and Fair,
No sad complaints of Love,
Shall fill the gentle whispering Air,
No Ecchoing sighs, the Grove.

Beneath the shades young _Strephon_ lies,
Of all his wish possess'd;
Gazing on _Sylvia's_ charming Eyes,
Whose Soul is there confess'd.

All soft and sweet the Maid appears,
With looks that know no Art;
And though she yields with Trembling Fears,
She yields with all her Heart.

_The_ PRESBYTERS _Gill_.

[Music]

Hang the Presbyters Gill,
Bring a Pint of Sack, _Will_,
More Orthodox of the two;
Though a slender Dispute,
Will strike the Elf Mute,
He's one of the honester Crew.

In a Pint there's small heart,
Sirrah, bring us a Quart,
There's substance and vigour met;
'Twill hold us in play,
Some Part of the Day,
But we'll sink him before Sun-set.

The daring old Pottle,
Does now bid us Battle,
Let's try what his strength can do;
Keep your Ranks, and your Files,
And for all his Wiles,
We'll tumble him down stairs too.

The Stout Brested _Lombard_,
His Brains ne'er incumbred,
With drinking of Gallons three;
_Trycongius_ was named,
And by _CÊsar_ Famed,
Who dubbed him Knight Cap-a-pee.

If then Honour be in't,
Why a Pox should be stint,
Our selves of the fulness it bears?
H'has less Wit than an Ape
In the Blood of a Grape,
Will not plunge himself o'er Head and Ears.

Then Summon the Gallon,
A stout Foe, and a Tall one,
And likely to hold us to't;
Keep but Coyn in your Purse,
The Word is Disburse,
I'll warrant he'll sleep at your Foot.

See the bold Foe appears,
May he fall that him Fears,
Keep you but close Order, and then,
We will give him the Rout,
Be he never so stout,
And prepare for his Rallying agen.

Let's drain the whole Cellar,
Pipes, Buts, and the Dweller,
If the Wine floats not the faster;
_Will_, when thou do'st slack us,
By Warrant from _Bacchus_,
We will Cane thy Tun-belly'd Master.

_The Good_ FELLOW.

[Music]

A Pox on the Times,
Let 'em go as they will,
Tho' the Taxes are grown so heavy;
Our Hearts are our own,
And shall be so still,
Drink about, my Boys, and be merry:
Let no Man despair,
But drive away Care,
And drown all our Sorrow in Claret;
We'll never repine,
So they give us good Wine,
Let 'em take all our Dross, we can spare it.

We value not Chink,
Unless to buy drink,
Or purchase us Innocent Pleasure;
When 'tis gone we ne'er fret,
So we Liquor can get,
For Mirth of it self is a Treasure:
No Miser can be,
So happy as we,
Tho' compass'd with Riches he wallow;
Day and Night he's in Fear,
And ne'er without Care,
While nothing disturbs the Good Fellow.

Come fill up the Glass,
And about let it pass,
For Nature doth vacuums decline!
Down the spruce formal Ass,
That's afraid of his Face,
We'll drink 'till our Noses do _Ph[oe]bus_ out-shine:
While we've plenty of this,
We can ne'er do amiss,
'Tis an Antidote 'gainst our ruin;
And the Lad that drinks most,
With Honour may boast,
He fears neither Death, nor undoing.

_The Jovial_ PRISONER, _by_ S. P.

[Music]

A Pox on such Fools! let the Scoundrels rail,
Let 'em boast of their Liberty;
They're no freer than we, for the World's a Jayl,
And all Men Prisoners be.

The Drunkard's confin'd to his Claret,
The Miser to his Store;
The Wit to his Muse and a Garret,
And the Cully-Cit to his Whore.

The Parson's confin'd to his Piggs,
The Lawyer to Hatred and Strife;
The Fidler to's Borees and Jiggs,
And the Quack to his Glister-pipe.

The Church-man's confin'd to be civil,
The Quaker's a Prisoner too light;
The Papist is bound by the Devil,
And the Puritan's fetter'd with spite.

Since old _Adam's_ race are all Prisoners like us,
Let us merrily quaff and Sing;
Z----s why shou'd we pine for Liberty thus,
When we're each of's as free as a King.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

[Music]

_Phillis_, I can ne'er forgive it,
Nor I think, shall e're out-live it;
Thus to treat me so severely,
Who have always lov'd sincerely.

_Damon_, you so fondly cherish,
Whilst poor I, alass! may perish;
I that love, which he did never,
Me you slight, and him you Favour.

Love given over: _Being a young Lady's Reply to her Parents, who would have forc'd her to Marry one she had an Aversion against._

[Music]

As Cupid many Ages past,
Went out to take the Air;
And on the Rosy Morning Feast,
He met _Ophelia_ there.

A while he gaz'd, a while survey'd
Her Shape and every part;
But as his Eyes run o'er the Maid,
Hers reach'd his little Heart.

His Quiver straight and Bow he took,
And bent it for a flight;
And then by chance she cast a look,
Which spoil'd his purpose quite.

Disarm'd he knew not what to do,
Nor how to Crown his Love;
At last resolv'd, away he flew,
Another shape to prove.

A lustful Satyr straight return'd,
In hopes his Form wou'd take:
For many Nymphs for them have burn'd,
Burn'd 'cause they could not speak.

_Ophelia_ had no sooner spy'd,
His Godship, Goat and Man;
But loudly for assistance cry'd,
And fleetly homeward ran.

Perplex'd at her affright, but more
At's own defeat, he shook
The Monster off; then fled before,
And straight Man's Aspect took.

He smil'd, intreated, ly'd, and vow'd,
Nay, offer'd her a Sum;
And grew importunate and rude,
As she drew nearer home.

At last when Tears, nor ought cou'd move,
He thus bespoke the Fair;
Know Cruel Maid, I'm God of Love,
And can command Despair.

Yet Dame to sue, oh! bless me then,
As you regard your Ease;
For I am King of Gods and Men,
I give and banish Peace.

Or be thou Love, or be thou Hate,
Enrag'd _Ophelia_ swore;
I'll never change my Virgin state,
Nor ever see thee more.

Exploded Love resisted so,
In pity to Mankind;
His Arrows broke, and burnt his Bow,
And left his Name behind.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Lay by your Pleading,
The Law lies a Bleeding,
Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your Reading;
Small Power the World has,
And doth afford us,
Not half so many Privileges as the Sword does;
It fosters our Masters,
It plaisters Disasters,
And makes the Servants quickly greater than their Masters;
It ventures, it enters,
It circles, it Centres,
And sets a Prentice free despite of his Indenters.

This takes up all things,
And sets up small things,
This masters Money, tho' Money masters all things.
It's not in Season,
To talk of Reason,
Or count it Loyalty, when the Sword will have it Treason:
This conquers a Crown too,
The Cloak and the Gown too,
This sets up a Presbyter, and this doth pull him down too;
This subtile deceiver,
Turn'd Bonnet into Beaver,
Down drops a Bishop, and up steps a Weaver.

It's this makes a Lay-man,
To Preach and to Pray Man,
And this made a Lord of him, which was before a Drayman;
For from this dull-pit,
Of _Saxbey's_ Pulpit,
This brought a holy Iron-monger to the Pulpit:
No Gospel can guide it,
No Law can decide it,
No Church or State can debate it,
'Till the Sword hath Sanctify'd it;
Such pitiful things be,
Happier than Kings be,
This brought in the Heraldry of _Thimblesby_ and _Slingsby_.

Down goes the Law-trix,
For from this Matrix,
Sprang holy _Hewson's_ power, and tumbl'd down St. _Patrick's_.
It batter'd the Gun-kirk,
So did it the Dum-kirk,
That he is fled and gone to the Devil in _Dunkirk_;
In _Scotland_ this waster,
Did work such disaster,
This brought the Money back for which they sold their Master:
This frighted the _Flemming_,
And made him so beseeming,
That he doth never think of his lost Lands redeeming.

But he that can tower,
Over him that is lower,
Would be counted but a Fool to give away his Power:
Take Books and rent them,
Who would invent them,
When as the Sword replys _Negatur Argumentur_:
The grand College Butlers,
Must vail to the Sutlers,
There's not a Library like to the Cutlers;
The Blood that is spilt, Sir,
Hath gain'd all the Guilt, Sir,
Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the Hilt, Sir.

_Queen_ DIDO.

[Music]

When _Dido_ was a _Carthage_ Queen,
She lov'd a _Trojan_ Knight;
Who sail'd about from Coast to Coast,
Of Metal brave in Fight:

As they Hunting rid, a Shower,
Did on their Heads with fury pour,
Drove 'em to a lonely Cave,
Where _∆neas_ with his Charms,
Caught fair _Dido_ in his Arms,
And got what he would have.

Then _Dido Hymen's_ Rites forgot,
Her Love was won in hast;
Her Honour she consider'd not,
But in her Breast him plac'd;
Now when their Loves were just began,
Great _Jove_ sent down his winged Son,
To fright _∆neas'_ sleep:
Make him by the break of Day,
From Queen _Dido_ steal away,
Which caus'd her wail and weep.

Poor _Dido_ wept, but what of that?
The Gods would have it so;
_∆neas_ nothing did amiss,
When he was forc'd to go:
Cease Lovers, cease your Vows to keep,
With your true Loves, but let 'em weep,
'Tis folly to be true;
Let this comfort serve your turn,
That tho' wretched _Dido's_ mourn,
You'll daily Court anew.

_False_ PHILLIS, _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.

[Music]

Since _Phillis_ swears Inconstancy,
Then I'll e'en do so too;
I careless am as well as she,
She values not her Vow.

To sigh, to languish, and protest,
Let feeble Fops approve;
The Women's way I like the best,
Enjoyment is their Love.

When I my _Phillis_ do embrace,
There's none can happier be;
But when she's gone, the next fair Face,
Is _Phillis_ then to me.

I find her Absence cools Desire,
As well as her Disdain;
When Hope denys to feed my Fire,
Despair shall ease my Pain.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Blush not redder than the Morning,
Though the Virgins give you Warning;
Sigh not at the chance befel you,
Though they smile, and dare not tell you;
_Sigh not at_, &c.

Maids like Turtles, love the Cooing,
Bill and Murmur in their Wooing;
Thus like you they start and tremble,
And their troubled Joys dissemble:
_Thus like you_, &c.

Grasp the Pleasure while 'tis coming,
Though your Beauty's now a blooming;
Lest old time our Joys should sever,
Ah! ah! they part, they part for ever:
_Lest old time_, &c.

_The Power of_ BEAUTY.

[Music]

In a Flowry Myrtle _Grove_,
The solitary Scene of Love,
On Beds of Vi'lets, all the Day,
The Charming _Floriana_ lay;
The little _Cupids_ hover'd in the Air,
They peep'd and smil'd, and thought their Mother there.

_Ph[oe]bus_ delay'd his Course a while,
Charm'd with the spell of such a Smile,
Whilst weary _Plough-men_ curs'd the stay,
Of the too _Uxorious_ Day:
The little _Cupids_ hover'd in the Air,
They peep'd and smil'd, and thought their Mother there.

But thus the _Nymph_ began to chide,
"That Eye, you owe the World beside,
You fix on me", then with a Frown
She sent her drooping Lover down;
With modest Blushes from the _Grove_ she fled,
Painting the Evening with unusual Red.

_The_ HUNT.

[Music]

Some in the Town go betimes to the _Downs_,
To pursue the fearful Hare;
Some in the Dark love to hunt in a _Park_,
For to chace all the Deer that are there:
Some love to see the Faulcon to flee,
With a joyful rise against the Air;
But all my delight is a Cunny in the Night,
When she turns up her silver Hair.

When she is beset, with a Bow, Gun, or Net,
And finding no shelter for to cover her;
She falls down flat, or in a Tuft does squat,
'Till she lets the Hunter get over her:
With her breast she does butt, and she bubs up her Scut,
When the Bullets fly close by her Ear;
She strives not to escape, but she mumps like an Ape,
And she turns up, _&c._

The Ferret he goes in, through flaggs thick and thin,
Whilst Mettle pursueth his Chace;
The Cunny she shows play, and in the best of her way,
Like a Cat she does spit in his Face:
Tho' she lies in the Dust, she fears not his Nest,
With her full bound up Sir, career;
With the strength that she shows, she gapes at the Nose,
And she turns up, _&c._

The sport is so good, that in Town or in Wood,
In a Hedge, or a Ditch you may do it;
In Kitchen or in Hall, in a Barn or in a Stall,
Or wherever you please you may go to it:
So pleasing it is that you can hardly miss,
Of so rich Game in all our Shire;
For they love so to play, that by Night or by Day,
They will turn up their Silver Hair.

BRIDAL _Night. To the foregoing Tune._

Come from the Temple, away to the Bed,
As the Merchant transports home his Treasure;
Be not so coy Lady, since we are wed,
'Tis no Sin to taste of the Pleasure:
Then come let us be blith, merry and free,
Upon my life all the waiters are gone;
And 'tis so, that they know where you go, say not so,
For I mean to make bold with my own.

What is it to me, if our Hands joyned be,
If our Bodies are still kept asunder:
It shall not be said, there goes a married Maid,
Indeed we will have no such wonder:
Therefore let's Embrace, there's none sees thy Face,
The Bride-Maids that waited are gone;
None can spy how you lye, ne'er deny, but say Ay,
For I mean to make bold with my own.

Sweet Love do not frown, but pull off thy Gown,
'Tis a Garment unfit for the Night;
Some say that Black, hath a relishing smack,
I had rather be dealing with White:
Then be not afraid, for you are not betray'd,
Since we two are together alone;
I invite you this Night, to do me right in my delight,
For I mean to make bold with my own.

Then come let us Kiss, and tast of our Bliss,
Which brave Lords and Ladies enjoy'd;
If all Maids should be of the humour of thee,
Generations would soon be destroy'd:
Then where were the Joys, the Girls and the Boys,
Would'st live in the World all alone;
Don't destroy, but enjoy, seem not Coy for a Toy,
For indeed I'll make bold with my own.

Prithee begin, don't delay but unpin,
For my Humour I cannot prevent it;
You are so streight lac'd, and your Top-knot so fast,
Undo it, or I straitway will rent it:
Or to end all the strife, I'll cut it with a Knife,
'Tis too long to stay 'till it's undone;
Let thy Wast be unlac'd, and in hast be embrac'd,
For I long to make bold with my own.

As thou art fair, and sweeter than the Air,
That dallies on _July's_ brave Roses;
Now let me be to thy Garden a Key,
That the Flowers of Virgins incloses:
And I will not be too rough unto thee,
For my Nature to mildness is prone;
Do no less than undress, and unlace all apace,
For this Night I'll make bold with my own.

_A TOPING_ SONG.

[Music]

I Am a Jolly Toper, I am a raged Soph,
Known by the Pimples in my Face, with taking Bumpers off,

And a Toping we will go, we'll go, we'll go,
And a Toping we will go.

Come let's sit down together, and take our fill of Beer,
Away with all disputes, for we'll have no Wrangling here,
And a Toping, _&c._

With clouds of Tobacco we'll make our Noddles clear,
We'll be as great as Princes, when our Heads are full of Beer,
And a Toping, _&c._

With Juggs, Muggs, and Pitchers, and Bellarmines of Stale,
Dash'd lightly with a little, a very little Ale,
And a Toping, _&c._

A Fig for the _Spaniard_, and for the King of _France_,
And Heaven preserve our Juggs, and Muggs, and Q----n from all mischance,
And a Toping, _&c._

Against the Presbyterians, pray give me leave to rail,
Who ne'er had thirsted for Kings Blood, had they been Drunk with stale,
And a Toping, _&c._

And against the Low-church Saints, who slily play their part,
Who rail at the Dissenters, yet love them in their Heart,
And a toping, _&c._

Here's a Health to the Queen, let's Bumpers take in hand,
And may Prince _G----'s_ Roger grow stiff again and stand,
And a Toping, _&c._

Oh how we toss about the never-failing Cann,
We drink and piss, and piss and drink, and drink to piss again
And a Toping, _&c._

Oh that my Belly it were a Tun of stall,
My Cock were turn'd into a Tap, to run when I did call,
And a Toping, _&c._

Of all sorts of Topers, a Soph is far the best,
For 'till he can neither go nor stand, by _Jove_ he's ne'er at rest,
And a Toping, _&c._

We fear no Wind or Weather, when good Liquor dwells within,
And since a Soph does live so well, then who would be a King,
And a Toping, _&c._

Then dead Drunk We'll march Boys, and reel into our Tombs,
That Jollier Sophs (if such their be) may come and take our rooms, Sir
And a Toping may they go, _&c._

_Sir_ JOHN JOHNSON'S _Farewell, by_ JO. HAINS.

[Music]

All Christians that have Ears to hear,
And Hearts inclin'd to pity;
Some of you all bestow one Tear,
Upon my mournful Ditty:
In _Queen-street_ did an Heiress live,
Whose downfall when I sing;
'Twill make the very Stones to grieve,
God prosper long our King.

For her a _Scotish_ Knight did die,
Was ever the like seen;
I shame to tell place, how, or why,
And so God bless the Queen:
Some say indeed she swore a Rape,
But God knows who was wrong'd;
For he that did it did escape,
And he did not was Hang'd.

Some say another thing beside,
If true? it was a Vice;
That _Campbell_ when she was his Bride,
Did trouble her but thrice:
'Twas this the young Girls Choler mov'd,
And in a Rage she swore;
E'er she'd be a Wife but three times lov'd,
She'd sooner be a Whore.

But don't you pity now her Case,
Was forc'd to send for Surgeon,
To show the Man that very place,
Where once she was a Virgin.
Parents take warning by her fall,
When Girls are in their Teens;
To marry them soon, or they will all,
Know what the Business means.

For Girls like Nuts (Excuse my Rhimes)
At bottom growing brown;
If you don't gather them betimes,
Will of themselves fall down:
God bless King _William_, and Queen _Mary_,
And Plenty and Peace advance;
And hang up those wish the contrary,
And then a Fig for _France_.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ KING.

Banish my _Lydia_ these sad Thoughts,
Why sets thou musing so;
To hear the Ugly rail at faults,
They wou'd, they wou'd, but cannot do:
For let the Guilt be what it will.
So small, so small Account they bear;
That none yet thought it worth their while,
On such, on such to be severe,
On such, on such to be severe.

With far more reason thou may'st pine,
Thy self for being Fair;
For hadst thou but less Glorious been,
Thou of no Faults wou'dst hear:
So the great light that shines from far,
Has had its Spots set down;
While many a little useless Star,
Has not been tax'd with one.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

[Music]

Love's Pow'r in my Heart shall find no Compliance,
I'll stand to my Guard, and bid open Defiance:
To Arms I will muster my Reason and Senses,
_Ta ra ra ra, Ta ra ra ra_, a War now commences.

Keep, keep a strict Watch, and observe ev'ry Motion,
Your Care to his Cunning exactly proportion;
Fall on, he gives ground, let him never recover,
_Victoria! Victoria!_ the Battle is over.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.

[Music]

Honest Shepher'd, since you're poor,
Think of loving me no more,
Take Advice in time,
Give o're your Solicitations:
Nature does in vain dispense,
To your Vertue, Courage, Sense,
Wealth can only influence,
A Woman's Inclinations.

What fond Nymph can e'er be kind,
To a Swain, but rich in Mind,
If as well she does not find
Gold within his Coffers?
Gold alone does Scorn remove,
Gold alone incites to Love,
Gold can most perswasive prove,
And make the fairest offers.

_The_ SHEPHERD'S _Wooing of Fair_ DULCINA.

[Music]

As at Noon _Dulcina_ rested,
In her sweet and shady Bow'r,
Came a Shepherd and requested,
In her Lap to sleep an Hour;
But from her look a Wound he took,
So deep that for a further Boon,
The Swain he prays, whereto she says,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

But in vain she did conjure him,
For to leave her Presence so;
Having a thousand means to allure him,
And but one to let him go:
Where Lips invite, and Eyes delight,
And Cheeks as fresh as Rose in _June_,
Perswades to stay, what boot to say,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

Words whose Hoops have now injoyned,
Him to let _Dulcina_ sleep;
Could a Man's Love be confined,
Or a Maid her promise keep?
No, for her Wast he held her fast,
As she was constant to her Tune;
And she speaks, for _Cupid's_ sake
Forgo me, _&c._

He demands what time and leisure,
Can there be more fit than now;
She says Men may say their Pleasure,
Yet I of it do not allow:
The Sun's clear light shineth more bright,
Quoth he, more fairer than the Moon:
For her to praise, she loves, she says,
Forgo me, _&c._

But no Promise, nor Profession,
From his Hands could Purchase scope;
Who would sell the sweet Possession,
Of such Beauty for a hope;
Or for the sight of lingring Night,
Forgo the pleasant Joys of Noon,
Tho' none so fair, her Speeches were,
Forgo me, _&c._

Now at last agreed these Lovers,
She was Fair, and he was Young,
If you'll believe me I will tell you,
True love fixed lasteth long:
He said my dear and only Phear,
Bright Ph[oe]bus Beams out-shin'd the Moon;
_Dulcina_ prays, and to him says,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

_The Second Part._

Day was spent and Night approached,
_Venus_ fair was Lovers Friend,
She intreated bright _Apollo_,
That his Steeds their Race should end:
He could not say the Goddess nay,
But granted Love's fair Queen her boon;
The Shepherd came to his fair Dame,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

Sweet (he said) as I did promise,
I am now return'd again;
Long delay you know breeds danger,
And to Lovers breadeth pain:
The Nymph said then, above all Men,
Still welcome Shepherd Morn and Noon,
The Shepherd prays, _Dulcina_ says,
Shepherd I doubt thou'rt come too soon.

When that bright _Aurora_ blushed,
Came the Shepherd to his dear;
Pretty Birds most sweetly warbled,
And the Noon approached near:
Yet still away the Nymph did say,
The Shepherd he fell in a Swoon;
At length she said, be not afraid,
Forgo me, _&c._

With grief of Heart the Shepherd hasted
Up the Mountains to his Flocks;
Then he took a Reed and piped,
Eccho sounded thro' the Rocks:
Thus did he play, and wish'd the Day,
Were spent, and Night were come e'er Noon;
The silent Night, Love's delight,
I'll go to Fair _Dulcina_ soon.

Beauties darling, fair _Dulcina_,
Like to _Venus_ for her Love,
Spent away the Day in Passion,
Mourning like the Turtle-Dove:
Melodiously, Notes low and high,
She warbled forth this doleful Tune;
Oh come again sweet Shepherd Swain,
Thou can'st not be with us too soon.

When as _Thetis_ in her place,
Had receiv'd the Prince of light;
Came in _Coridon_ the Shepherd,
To his Love and Heart's delight:
Then _Pan_ did play, the Wood-Nymphs they
Did skip and dance to hear the Tune;
_Hymen_ did say 'tis Holy-day,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

_The Scolding Wife._

[Music]

Suppose a Man does all he can,
To unslave himself from a scolding Wife;
He can't get out, but hops about,
Like a Marry'd bird in the Cage of Life:
She on Mischief bent is ne'er content,
Which makes the poor Man cry out,
Rigid fate, Marriage State,
No reprieve but the Grave, oh 'tis hard Condition.

Come I'll tell you how this Wife to bow,
And quickly bring her to her last;
Your Senses please, indulge your ease,
But resist no joy and each humour taste,
Then let her squal, and tear and bawl,
And with whining cry her Eyes out,
Take a Flask, double Flask,
Whip it up, sip it up, that's your Physician.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

We merry Wives of _Windsor_,
Whereof you make your Play,
And act us on your Stages,
In _London_ Day by Day:
Alass it doth not hurt us,
We care not what you do;
For all you scoff, we'll sing and laugh,
And yet be Honest too.

Alass we are good Fellows,
We hate Dishonesty;
We are not like your City Dames,
In sport of Venery:
We scorn to Punk, or to be drunk,
But this we dare to do;
To sit and chat, laugh and be fat,
But yet be Honest too.

But should you know we _Windsor_ Dames,
Are free from haughty Pride:
And hate the tricks you Wenches have,
In _London_ and _Bankside_:
But we can spend, and Money lend,
And more than that we'll do,
We'll sit and chat, laugh and be fat,
And yet be Honest too.

It grieves us much to see your wants,
Of things that we have store,
In Forests wide and Parks beside,
And other places more:
Pray do not scorn the _Windsor_ Horn,
That is both fair and new;
Altho' you scold, we'll sing and laugh,
And yet be honest too.

And now farewel unto you all,
We have no more to say;
Be sure you imitate us right,
In acting of your Play:
If that you miss, we'll at you hiss,
As others us'd to do;
And at you scoff, and sing and laugh,
And yet be Honest too.

_The_ BATTLE-ROYAL.

[Music]

A Dean and Prebendary,
Had once a new vagary,
And were at doubtful strife Sir,
Who led the better life Sir,
And was the better Man:
The Dean he said that truly,
Since Bluff was so unruly,
He'd prove it to his Face, Sir,
That he had the more Grace, Sir,
And so the Fight began.

When Preb. reply'd like Thunder,
And roar'd out, 'twas no wonder,
For Gods the Dean had three, Sir,
And more by two than he, Sir,
Since he had got but one;
Now while these two were raging,
And in Disputes engaging,
The Master of the Charter,
Said both had got a Tartar,
For Gods that there were none.

For all the Books of _Moses_,
Were nothing but supposes,
And he deserv'd rebuke, Sir,
Who wrote the Pentateuch, Sir,
'Twas nothing but a Sham;
And as for Father _Adam_,
With Mrs. _Eve_ his Madam,
And what the Serpent spoke, Sir,
Was nothing but a Joke, Sir,
And well invented flam.

Thus in this Battle Royal,
As none would take denial,
The Dame for which they strove, Sir,
Could neither of them love, Sir,
For all had giv'n Offence;
She therefore slily waiting,
Left all three Fools a Prating,
And being in a Fright, Sir,
Religion took her flight, Sir,
And ne'er was heard on since.

_The Saint turn'd Sinner, Or the Dissenting Parson's Text under the_ QUAKER'S _Petticoats. To the foregoing Tune._

You Friends to Reformation,
Give Ear to my Relation,
For I shall now declare, Sir,
Before you are aware, Sir,
The matter very plain,
The matter very plain;
A Gospel Cushion Thumper,
Who dearly lov'd a Bumper,
And something else beside, Sir,
If he is not bely'd, Sir,
This was a Holy Guide, Sir,
For the Dissenting Train.

And for to tell you truly,
His Flesh was so unruly,
He could not for his Life, Sir,
Pass by the Draper's Wife, Sir,
The Spirit was so faint, _&c._
This Jolly handsome Quaker,
As he did overtake her,
She made his Mouth to water,
And thought long to be at her,
Such Sin is no great matter,
Accounted by a Saint.

Says he _my pretty Creature_,
_Your Charming Handsome Feature_,
_Has set me all on Fire_,
_You know what I desire_,
_There is no harm to Love_;
Quoth she if that's your Notion,
To Preach up such Devotion,
Such hopeful Guides as you, Sir,
Will half the World undo, Sir,
A Halter is your due, Sir,
If you such Tricks approve.

The Parson still more eager,
Than lustful _Turk_ or _Neger_,
Took up her Lower Garment,
And said there was no harm in't,
According to the Text;
For _Solomon_ more wiser,
Than any dull adviser,
Had many Hundred Misses,
To Crown his Royal Wishes,
And why shou'd such as this is,
Make you so sadly vext.

The frighted female Quaker,
Perceiv'd what he would make her,
Was forc'd to call the Watch in,
And stop what he was hatching,
To spoil the Light within, _&c._
They came to her Assistance,
And she did make resistance,
Against the Priest and Devil,
The Actors of all Evil,
Who were so Grand uncivil,
To tempt a Saint to Sin.

The Parson then confounded,
To see himself surrounded,
With Mob and sturdy Watch-men,
Whose Business 'tis to catch Men,
In Lewdness with a Punk, _&c._
He made some faint Excuses,
And all to hide Abuses,
In taking up the Linnen,
Against the Saints Opinion,
Within her soft Dominion,
Alledging he was Drunk.

But tho' he feigned Reeling,
They made him Pay for feeling,
And Lugg'd him to a Prison,
To bring him to his Reason,
Which he had lost before;
And thus we see how Preachers,
That should be Gospel-Teachers,
How they are strangely blinded,
And are so Fleshly minded,
Like Carnal Men inclined,
To lye with any Whore.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ DAMASCENE.

Beauty, like Kingdoms not for one,
Was made to be possest alone;
By bounteous Nature 'twas design'd,
To be the Joy of Human-kind.

So the bright Planet of the Day,
Doth unconfin'd his Beams display;
And generous heat to all dispence,
Which else would dye without that Influence.

Nor is your mighty Empire less,
On you depends Man's Happiness;
If you but frown, we cease to be,
And only live by your Decree.

But sure a Tyrant cannot rest,
Nor harbour in so fair a Breast;
In Monsters Cruelty we find,
An Angel's Face, must have an Angel's Mind.

_The_ BALLAD _of the True_ TROJAN.

[Music:
_Troy_ had a breed of brave stout Men,
yet _Greece_ made shift to rout her;
cause each Man Drank as much as Ten,
and thence grew ten times stouter:
Tho' _Hector_ was a _Trojan_
true as ever pist 'gain wall Sir,
_Achilles_ bang'd him black and blue, for he Drank more than all Sir,
for he Drank more, for he drank more, for he drank more than all Sir,
for he drank more, for he drank more, for he drank more than all Sir.]

Let _Bacchus_ be our God of War,
We shall fear nothing then Boys;
We'll Drink all dead, and lay 'em to Bed,
And if they wake not Conquered,
We'll Drink 'em dead again Boys:
Nor were the _Grecians_ only fam'd,
For Drinking and for fighting;
For he that Drank and wan't asham'd,
Was ne'er asham'd on's Writing.

He that will be a Souldier then,
Or Wit, must drink good Liquor;
It makes base Cowards Fight like Men,
And roving Thoughts fly quicker:
Let _Bacchus_ be both God of War,
And God of Wit, and then Boys,
We'll Drink and fight, and Drink and write,
And if the Sun set with his Light,
We'll Drink him up again Boys.

_Young_ STREPHON _and_ PHILLIS.

[Music]

Young _Strephon_ and _Phillis_,
They sat on a Hill;
But the Shepherd was wanton,
And wou'd not sit still:
His Head on her Bosom,
And Arms round her Wast;
He hugg'd her, and kiss'd her,
And clasp'd her so fast:
'Till playing and jumbling,
At last they fell tumbling;
And down they got 'em,
But oh! they fell soft on the Grass at the Bottom.

As the Shepherdess tumbled,
The rude Wind got in,
And blew up her Cloaths,
And her Smock to her Chin:
The Shepherd he saw
The bright _Venus_, he swore,
For he knew her own Dove,
By the Feathers she wore:
'Till furious Love sallying,
At last he fell dallying,
And down, down he got him,
But oh! oh how sweet, and how soft at the Bottom.

The Shepherdess blushing,
To think what she'd done;
Away from the Shepherd,
She fain wou'd have run:
Which _Strephon_ perceiving,
The wand'rer did seize;
And cry'd do be angry,
Fair Nymph if you please:
'Tis too late to be cruel,
Thy Frowns my dear Jewel,
Now no more Stings have got 'em,
For oh! Thou'rt all kind, and all soft at the Bottom.

_The Yielding_ LASS.

[Music]

There's none so Pretty,
As my sweet _Betty_,
She bears away the Bell;
For sweetness and neatness,
And all Compleatness,
All other Girls doth excell.

Whenever we meet,
She'll lovingly greet,
Me still, with a how d'ye do;
Well I thank you, quoth I,
Then she will reply,
So am I Sir, the better for you.

Then I ask'd her how,
She told me, not now,
For Walls, and Ears, and Eyes;
Nay, she bid me take heed,
What ever I did,
'Tis good to be merry and Wise.