Chapter M (4)

I took her by th' Hand,
She did not withstand,
And I gave her a smirking Kiss;
She gave me another,
Just like the tother,
Quoth I, what a Comfort is this?

This put me in Heart,
To play o'er my part,
That I had intended before;
She bid me to hold,
And not be too bold,
Until she had fastned the Door.

She went to the Hatch,
To see that the Latch,
And Cranies were all cock-sure;
And when she had done,
She bid me come on,
For now we were both secure.

And what we did there,
I dare not declare,
But think that silence is best;
And if you will know,
Why I Kiss'd her, or so,
I'll leave you to guess at the rest.

_The Praise of_ HULL _Ale_.

[Music]

Let's wet the whistle of the Muse,
That sings the praise of every Juice,
This House affords for Mortal use,
_Which no Body can deny_.

Here's Ale of _Hull_, which 'tis well known,
Kept _King_ and _Keyser_ out of Town,
Now in, will never hurt the Crown,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Here's _Lambeth_ Ale to cool the Maw,
And Beer as spruce as e'er you saw,
But Mum as good as Man can draw,
_Which no Body_, &c.

If Reins be loose as some Mens Lives,
Whereat the Purling Female grieves,
Here's stitch-Back that will please your Wives,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Here's Cyder too, ye little wot,
How oft 'twill make ye go to Pot,
'Tis Red-streak all, or it is not,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Here's Scholar that has doft his Gown,
And donn'd his Cloak and come to Town,
'Till all's up drink his College down,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Here's _North_-down, which in many a Case,
Pulls all the Blood into the Face,
Which blushing is a sign of Grace,
_Which no Body_, &c.

If Belly full of Ale doth grow,
And Women runs in Head you know,
Old _Pharoah_ will not let you go,
_Which no Body can deny._

Here's that by some bold Brandy hight,
Which _Dutch-men_ use in Case of fright,
Will make a Coward for to Fight,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Here's _China_ Ale surpasseth far,
What _Munden_ vents at _Temple-bar_,
'Tis good for Lords and Ladies Ware,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Here's of _Epsom_ will not Fox
You, more than what's drawn out of Cocks
Of _Middleton_, yet cures the Pox,
_Which no Body_, &c.

For ease of Heart, here's that will do't,
A Liquor you may have to boot,
Invites you or the Devil to't,
_Which no Body_, &c.

For Bottle Ale, though it be windy,
Whereof I cannot chuse but mind ye,
I would not have it left behind ye,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Take Scurvy-Grass, or Radish Ale,
'Twill make you like a Horse to Stale,
And cures whatsoever you Ail,
_Which no Body_, &c.

For Country Ales, as that of _Chess_,
Or of _Darby_ you'll confess,
The more you Drink, you'll need the less,
_Which no Body_, &c.

But one thing must be thought upon,
for Morning-Draught when all is done,
A Pot of Purl for _Harrison_,
_Which no Body can deny_.

_The_ NEWS _Monger. To the same Tune._

Let's Sing as one may say the Fate
Of those that meddle with this and that,
And more than comes to their shares do Prate,
_Which no Body can deny._

Such, who their Wine and Coffee Sip,
And let fall Words 'twixt Cup and Lip,
To scandal of good Fellowship,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Those Clubbers who when met and sate,
Where every Seat is Chair of State,
As if they only knew what's what,
_Which no Body_, &c.

D---- me says one, were I so and so,
Or as the King, I know what I know,
The Devil to wood with the _French_ should go,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Would the King Commission grant
To me, were _Lewis_, _John_ of _Gaunt_,
I'd beat him, or know why I shant,
_Which no Body_, &c.

I'd undertake bring Scores to Ten,
Of mine at Hours-warning-Men,
To make _France_ tremble once again,
_Which no Body_, &c.

The Claret takes, yet e'er he Drinks,
Cries Pox o'th' _French-men_, but methinks
It must go round to my Brother,
_Which no Body_, &c.

He's the only Citizen of Sence,
And Liberty is his Pretence,
And has enough of Conscience,
_Which no Body_, &c.

The Bully that next to him sat,
With a Green Livery in his Hat,
Cry'd what a Plague would the _French_ be at,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Z---- had the King without Offence,
Been rul'd by me, you'd seen long since,
Chastisement for their Insolence,
_Which no Body_, &c.

They take our Ships, do what they please,
Were ever play'd such Pranks as these,
As if we were not Lord o'th' Seas,
_Which no Body_, &c.

I told the King on't th' other Day,
And how th' Intrigues o'th' matter lay,
But Princes will have their own way,
_Which no Body_, &c.

The next Man that did widen Throat,
Was wight in half pil'd Velvet Coat,
But he, and that not worth a Groat,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Who being planted next the Door,
(Pox on him for a Son of Whore)
Inveighs against the Embassador,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Had the King (quoth he) put me upon't,
You should have found how I had don't,
But now you see what has come on't,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Quoth he if such an Act had stood,
That was designed for Publick good,
'Thad pass'd more than is understood,
_Which no Body_, &c.

But now forsooth our strictest Laws,
Are 'gainst the Friends o'th' good old Cause,
And if one Hangs, the other Draws,
_Which no Body_, &c.

But had I but so Worthy been,
To sit in Place that some are in,
I better had advis'd therein,
_Which no Body_, &c.

I am one that firm doth stand,
For Manufactures of the Land,
Then Cyder takes in, out of hand,
_Which no Body_, &c.

This _English_ Wine (quoth he) and Ale,
Our Fathers drank before the Sale
Of Sack on Pothecarys Stall
_Which no Body_, &c.

These Outlandish drinks, quoth he,
The _French_, and _Spanish_ Foppery,
They tast too much of Popery,
_Which no Body_, &c.

And having thus their Verdicts spent,
Concerning King and Parliament,
They Scandalize a Government,
_Which no Body_, &c.

An Hierarchy by such a Prince,
As may be said without Offence,
None e'er could boast more Excellence,
_Which no Body_, &c.

God bless the King, the Queen and Peers,
Our Parliament and Overseers,
And rid us of such Mutineers,
_Which no Body can deny_.

_A_ SATYR _on the Times. To the foregoing Tune._

A World that's full of Fools and Mad-men,
Of over-glad, and over-sad Men,
With a few good, but many bad Men,
_Which no Body can deny_.

So many Cheats and close Disguises,
So many Down for one that Rises,
So many Fops for one that Wise is,
_Which no Body_, &c.

So many Women ugly Fine,
Their inside Foul, their outside shine,
So many Preachers few Divines,
_Which no Body_, &c.

So many of Religious Sect,
Who quite do mis-expound the Text,
About ye know not what perplext,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Many Diseases that do fill ye,
Many Doctors that do kill ye,
Few Physicians that do heal ye,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Many Lawyers that undo ye,
But few Friends who will stick to ye,
And other Ills that do pursue ye,
_Which no Body_, &c.

So many Tradesmen Lyars,
So many cheated Buyers,
As even Numeration tyers,
_Which no Body_, &c.

So many loose ones and high-flying,
Who live as if there were no dying,
Heaven and Hell, and all defying,
_Which no Body_, &c.

So many under Scanty Fates,
Who yet do live at lofty rates,
And make show of great Estates,
_Which no Body_, &c.

And if they will not take Offence,
Many great Men of little Sense,
Who yet to Politicks make Pretence,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Many meriting lower Fate,
Have Title, Office, and Estate,
Their Betters waiting at their Gate,
_Which no Body_, &c.

The Worthless meet with higher Advances,
As the Wise bestower Fancies,
To the Worthy nothing chances,
_Which no Body_, &c.

The Worthy and the Worthless Train,
Modest, silent, nothing gain,
Impudent begging all obtain,
_Which no Body_, &c.

A World wherein is Plenteous store,
Of Foppish, Rich, Ingenious Poor,
Neglected beg from Door to Door,
_Which no Body_, &c.

A World compos'd, 'tis strange to tell,
Of seeming Paradise, yet real Hell,
Yet all agree to lov't too well,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Where Pious, Lew'd, the Fool, the Wise,
The one like to the other dies,
And leaves a World of Vanities,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Proud and Covetous, Beaus and Bullies,
Like one o'your musing Melanchollies,
I cry for their Ill's, and laugh at their Follies,
_Which no Body can deny_.

LUCINDA _has the Devil and all. By Mr._ H. Hall.

[Music]

_Lucinda_ has the de'el and all, the de'el and all, the de'el and
all,
Of that bright Thing we Beauty call;
But if she won't come to my Arms,
What care I, why, what care I, what, what care I for all her Charms?
Beauty's the Sauce to Love's high Meat,
But who minds Sauce that must not Eat:
It is indeed a mighty Treasure,
But in using lies the Pleasure;
Bullies thus, that only see't,
Damn all the Gold, damn all the Gold, all, all the Gold in
_Lombard-street_.

_Queen_ ELIZABETH'S _Farewel_.

[Music]

I'll tell you all, both great and small,
I tell you all truly;
That we have cause, and very great cause,
For to lament and cry,
Fye, Oh! fye, oh! fye, oh! fye!
Fye on thee cruel Death!
For thou hast ta'en away from us!
Our Queen _Elizabeth_.

Thou mayst have taken other Folks,
That better might be mist;
And have let our Queen alone,
Who lov'd no Popish Priest:
In Peace she rul'd all this Land,
Beholding unto no Man,
And did the Pope of _Rome_ withstand,
And yet was but a Woman.

A Woman said I? nay, that is more,
Than any one can tell;
So Fair she was, so Chast she was,
That no one knew it well!
With that, from _France_ came _Monsieur_ o'er,
A purpose for to Wooe her;
Yet still she liv'd and Dy'd a Maid,
Do what they could unto her.

She never acted any Ill thing,
Which made her Conscience prick her;
Nor never would submit to him,
That call'd is Christ's Vicar:
But rather chose couragiously,
To fight under Christ's Banner;
'Gainst _Pope_ and _Turk_, and King of _Spain_,
And all that durst withstand her.

But if that I had _Argus's_ Eyes,
They were too few to Weep;
For our Queen _Elizabeth_,
That now is fall'n asleep:
Asleep indeed, where she shall rest,
Until the Day of Doom:
And then she shall rise unto the Shame
Of the great Pope of _Rome_.

_The same in_ LATIN.

_Vobis magnis parvis dicam,
Et sum veredicus;
Offerri causam maximam,
Esse in tristibus,
VÊ tibi mors! malum tibi!
Pro mortem tetricam!
Tu enim nobis dempsisti,
Reginam_ Elizam.

_Poteras plures capere,
Citra injuriam;
Reginamq; non rapere,
Anti-sacri-colam:_
_QuietË gentem hÊc Rexit,
Nulliq; devincta,
Papamque_ RomÊ _despexit,
Et tandem FÊmella_.

_Ah, ah, quid dixi FÊmella?
De hoc fama silet;
Adeo fuit casta-Bella,
Ut nemini liquet:
En Dux_ Andinus _adiit,
Illam petiturus;
Virgo vixit & obiit,
HÊc nihilominus_.

_Nec mali quid hÊc effecit,
ConscientiÊ stimulo;
Nec semet ipsam subjecit,
Christi-vicario:
At maluit magnamimis,
Sub Christi vexellis,
Pugnare cum_ Pap‚, Turcis,
_Ac multis aliis_.

_Sin mihi_ Argi _oculi,
Deessent LachrymÊ_;
ElizabethÊ _fletui,
Nuper demortuÊ,
De nata hic obdormiet,
Die novissimo:
Et tunc expergefaciet,
Pap‚ propudio_.

_The Pressing Constable. Set by Mr._ Leveridge.

[Music]

I Am a cunning Constable,
And a Bag of Warrants I have here,
To Press sufficient Men, and able,
At _Horn-castle_ to appear:
But now-a-days they're grown so cunning,
That hearing of this Martial strife;
They all away from hence are running,
_Where I miss the Man, I'll press the Wife._

Ho, who's at Home? Lo, here am I,
Good-morrow Neighbour. Welcome, Sir;
Where is your Husband? Why truly
He's gone abroad, a Journey far:
Do you not know when he comes back?
See how these Cowards fly for Life!
The King for Soldiers must not lack,
_If I miss the Man, I'll take the Wife._

Shew me by what Authority
You do it? Pray Sir, let me know;
It is sufficient for to see,
The Warrant hangs in Bag below:
Then pull it out, if it be strong,
With you I will not stand at strife:
My Warrant is as broad as long,
_If I miss the Man, I'll Press the Wife._

Now you have Prest me and are gone,
Please you but let me know your Name;
That when my Husband he comes home,
I may declare to him the same:
My Name is Captain _Ward_, I say,
I ne'er fear'd Man in all my life:
The King for Soldiers must not stay,
_Missing the Man, I'll Press the Wife._

_The same in_ LATIN.

_Astutus Constabularius,
Mandata gero in tergore:
Cincturos evocaturus_,
Cornu-Castello _affore:
At hodiË adeÚ sapiunt,
Audit‚ lite Bellic‚,
Omnes abhinc profugiunt_,
Virum supplebit F[oe]mina.

_Ecquisnam domi En ego
Salve. Sis salvus, Domine:
Ubinam Vir est? Haud nego,
Procul abest in itinere:
N‡m es ignara redit˚s?
Ut fugiunt pro tutamine!
Non egeat Rex Militibus_,
Viros supplebunt F[oe]minÊ.

_HÊc quo Guaranto factitas,
AmbÚ dicas, Domine?
Sufficiat ut videas,
Quod pendet abdomine;
Educas, si vim habeat,
Tecum nolam certamina,
Pro ratione, voluntas stat_,
Virum supplebit F[oe]minÊ.

_Compress‚ me, ituro te,
Si placet, reddas nomina.
Sic ut reverso conjuge,
Illi declarem omnia_,
Ward _ducor Capitaneus,
Sat notus pro magnanime
Non egeat Rex milibus_,
Viros supplebunt F[oe]minÊ.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.

[Music]

Love is a Bauble,
No Man is able,
To say, it is this, or 'tis that;
An idle Passion,
Of such a Fashion,
'Tis like I cannot tell what.

Fair in the Cradle,
Foul in the Saddle,
Always too cold, or too hot;
An errant Lyar,
Fed by Desire,
It is, and yet it is not.

Love is a Fellow,
Clad all in Yellow,
The Canker-worm of the Mind;
A privy Mischief,
And such a sly Thief,
No Man knows where him to find.

Love is a Wonder,
'Tis here, and 'tis yonder,
'Tis common to all Men, we know;
A very Cheater,
Ev'ry ones better,
Then hang him, and let him go.

_The same in_ LATIN.

_Amor est Pegma,
Merum ∆nigma,
Quid sit nemo detegat:
Vesana Passio,
Cui nulla ratio,
Parem natura negat_.

_Cunis formosus,
Sell‚ C[oe]nosus,
Calor, aut frigiditas:
Furens Libido,
Dicta cupido,
Est, & non est entitas_.

_Amor amasius,
Totus silaceus,
Est Eruca animi;
Deditus malis,
Ac prÊdo qualis,
Non inventus ullibi_.

_Hic & ubiq;
Compar utriq;
Ad stuporem agitat:
Nullus deterior,
Quovis superior,
In malam rem abeat._

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

[Music]

Young _Strephon_ he has Woo'd me long,
And Courted me with Pipe and Song;
But I a silly, silly peevish Twit,
For want of Sense, for want of Wit,
Have phoo'd, and cry'd,
Have pish'd, and fy'd,
And play'd the fool, and lost my Time,
And almost slipp'd, and almost slipp'd,
And almost slipp'd my Maiden Prime.

But now I thank my gracious Heav'n,
I hope my faults are all forgiven;
I've struck the Bargain, eas'd my pain,
And am resolv'd to take my Swain:
To phoo, and cry,
And pish, and fye,
And make a Virgin's coy Pretence,
Is all, all, all, is all, all, all, is all, all, all,
For want of Sense.

_A_ SONG. Tune, _How happy's the Lover_.

How happy's that Husband who after few Years,
Of railing and brawling, Confusion and Folly,
Shall see his Lantipley drown'd in her Tears,
Then prithee _Alexis_ be Jolly, be Jolly,
Then prithee _Alexis_ be Jolly.

_A_ Song. _Set by Mr._ Leveridge.

[Music:
Fortune is blind
and Beauty unkind,
the Devil take 'em both,
one is a witch,
& tothere's a bitch
in neither's Faith or Troth:
There's hazard in hap,
deceit in a Lap,
But no fraud in a Brimmer;
If truth in the bottom lye,
thence to redeem her we'll drain,
we'll drain, we'll drain,
we'll drain the whole Ocean dry.]

Honour's a Toy,
For Fools a Decoy,
Beset with Care and Fear;
And that (I wuss)
Kills many a Puss,
Before her clymacht Year:
But freedom and mirth,
Create a new Birth,
While Sack's the _Aqua VitÊ_,
That Vigour and Spirit gives,
Liquor Almighty!
Whereby the poor Mortal lives.

Let us be blith,
In spight of Death's Syth,
And with an Heart and half,
Drink to our Friends,
And think of no Ends,
But keep us sound and safe:
While Healths do go round,
No Malady's found,
The Maw-sick in the Morning,
For want of his wonted strain;
Is as a Warning,
To double it over again.

Let us maintain
Our Traffique with _Spain_,
And both the _Indies_ slight;
Give us their Wines,
Let them keep their Mines,
We'll pardon Eighty Eight:
There's more certain Wealth
Secur'd from stealth,
In one Pipe of Canary,
Than in an unfortunate Isle;
Let us be wary,
We do not our selves beguile.

_The_ LATIN _to the foregoing_ SONG.

_Sors sine visu,
Form·q; Risu,
Sint pro DÊmone;
HÊc malefica,
Ita venefica,
Fallax utraque;
Sors mea est fors,
Sin˘sque vecors,
Sed fraus nulla; tu toto
In fundo si veritas sit,
Potu Epoto,
Oceanus situs fit._

_Honor & lusus,
Stultis illusus,
Car‚ catenat‚,
H‚cque (ut fatur)
Catus necatur,
Morte non parat‚:
Dum vero GrÊcamur,
Non Renovamur,
Nam Aqua VitÊ vinum,
Vires spirit˙sque dat,
Idque dicunum,
A morte nos Elevat._

_Fam simus lÊti,
Spret‚ vi lethi,
Cordatissime:
Ut Combibones
(non ut gnathones)
Saxti-rectique:
Dum proculÊ Spument,
Morbi absument:
Ac manË Corpus Onustum,
PrÊ alienatione,
Acuit gustum,
Pro Iteratione_.

_Prestet quotannis,
Merks cum_ Hispanis,
India _sit sola;
Vinum prÊbeant,
Aurum teneant,
Absit spinola:
Sunt opes, pro certo,
Magis ‡ furto,
In Vini potione,
Quam Terra Incognit‚;
Pro cautione,
Ne nobis fit subdola._

_The Raree-show, from Father_ HOPKINS.

[Music]

From Father _Hopkins_, whose Vein did inspire him,
_Bays_ sends this Raree-show publick to view;
Prentices, Fops and their Footmen admire him,
Thanks Patron, Painter, and Monsieur _Grabeau_.

Each Actor on the Stage his luck bewailing,
Finds that his loss is Infallibly true;
_Smith_, _Nokes_, and _Leigh_ in a Feaver with railing,
Curse Poet, Painter, and Monsieur _Grabeau_.

_Betterton_, _Betterton_, thy Decorations,
And the Machines were well written we knew;
But all the Words were such stuff we want Patience,
And little better is Monsieur _Grabeu_.

D---- me says _Underhill_, I'm out two hundred,
Hoping that Rain-bows and Peacocks would do;
Who thought infallible _Tom_ could have blunder'd,
A Plague upon him and Monsieur _Grabeu_.

_Lane_ thou hast no Applause for thy Capers,
Tho' all without thee would make a Man spew;
And a Month hence will not pay for the Tapers,
Spite of _Jack Laureat_ and Monsieur _Grabeu_.

_Bays_ thou wouldst have thy Skill thought universal,
Tho' thy dull Ear be to Musick untrue;
Then whilst we strive to confute the _Rehearsal_,
Prithee learn thrashing of Monsieur _Grabeu_.

With thy dull Prefaces still thou wouldst treat us,
Striving to make thy dull Bauble look fair;
So the horn'd Herd of the City do cheat us,
Still most commending the worst of their Ware.

Leave making _Opera's_, and Writing _Lyricks_,
'Till thou hast Ears and canst alter thy strain;
Stick to thy Talent of bold Panegyricks,
And still remember the breathing the Vein.

Yet if thou thinkest the Town will extol 'em,
Print thy dull Notes, but be thrifty and Wise;
Instead of Angels subscrib'd for the Volume,
Take a round Shilling, and thank my Advice.

In imitating thee this may be charming,
Gleaning from Laureats is no shame at all;
And let this Song be sung the next performing,
Else ten to one but the Prices will fall.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Abroad as I was walking, I spy'd two Maids a wrestling,
The one threw the other unto the Ground;
One Maid she let a Fart, struck the other to the Heart,
Was not this a grievous Wound?

This Fart it was heard into Mr. _Bowman's_ Yard,
With a great and a mighty Power;
For ought that I can tell, it blew down _Bridwell_,
And so overcame the _Tower_.

It blew down _Paul's_ Steeple, and knock'd down many People,
Alack was the more the pity;
It blew down _Leaden-hall_, and the Meal-sacks and all,
And the Meal flew about the City.

It blew down the _Exchange_, was not this very strange,
And the Merchants of the City did wound;
This Maid she like a Beast, turn'd her fugo to the _East_,
And it roar'd in the Air like Thunder.

_The Jolly_ PEDLAR's _Pretty Thing_.

[Music]

A Pedlar proud as I heard tell,
He came into a Town:
With certain Wares he had to sell,
Which he cry'd up and down:
At first of all he did begin,
With Ribbonds, or Laces, Points, or Pins,
Gartering, Girdling, Tape, or Filleting,
_Maids any Cunny-skins_.

I have of your fine perfumed Gloves,
And made of the best Doe-skin;
Such as young Men do give their Loves,
When they their Favour Win:
Besides he had many a prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.

I have of your fine Necklaces,
As ever you did behold;
And of your Silk Handkerchiefs,
That are lac'd round with Gold:
Besides he had many a prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.

Good fellow, says one, and smiling sat,
Your Measure does somewhat Pinch;
Beside you Measure at that rate,
It wants above an Inch:
And then he shew'd her a prettier Thing,
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.

The Lady was pleas'd with what she had seen,
And vow'd and did protest;
Unless he'd shew it her once again,
She never shou'd be at rest:
With that he shew'd her his prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.

With that the Pedlar began to huff,
And said his Measure was good,
If that she pleased to try his stuff,
And take it whilst it stood:
And than he gave her a prettier Thing,
_Than Ribbonds_, &c.

Good fellow said she, when you come again,
Pray bring good store of your Ware;
And for new Customers do not sing,
For I'll take all and to spare:
With that she hugg'd his prettier Thing
_Than Ribbonds, or Laces, Points, or Pins,
Gartering, Girdling, Tape, or Filleting,
Maids any Cunny-skins_.

_A_ SONG, _by Mr._ ESCOURT, _To a Tune of Mr._ WELDON'S.

[Music]

The Ordinance a-board,
Such Joys does afford,
As no mortal, no mortal, no mortal, no mortal, no
mortal e'er more can desire;
Each Member repairs,
From the _Tower_ to the stairs,
And by water, by water, by water, they all go to fire.

Of each Piece that's a-shore,
They search from the bore,
And to proving, to proving, to proving, to proving, to
proving, they go in fair Weather;
Their Glasses are large,
And whene'er they discharge,
There's a boo huzza, a boo huzza, a boo huzza, Guns
and Bumpers go off together.

Old _Vulcan_ for _Mars_,
Fitted Tools for his Wars,
To enable him, enable him, enable him, enable him,
enable him to conquer the faster;
But had _Mars_ ever been
Upon our _Wolwich_ Green,
To have heard boo, huzza, boo, huzza, boo, huzza,
he'd have own'd Great _Marlborough_ his Master.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

A Young Man and a Maid, _put in all, put in all_,
Together lately play'd, _put in all_;
The Young Man was in Jest,
O the Maid she did protest:
She bid him do his best, _put in all, put in all_.

With that her rowling Eyes, _put_, &c.
Turn'd upward to the Skies, _put_, &c.
My Skin is White you see,
My Smock above my Knee,
What wou'd you more of me, _put_, &c.

I hope my Neck and Breast, _put_, &c.
Lie open to your chest, _put in all_,
The Young Man was in heat,
The Maid did soundly Sweat,
A little farther get, _put_, &c.

According to her Will, _put_, &c.
This Young Man try'd his Skill, _put in all_;
But the Proverb plain does tell,
That use them ne'er so well,
For an Inch they'd take an Ell, _put_, &c.

When they had ended sport, _put_, &c.
She found him all too short, _put in all_;
For when he'd done his best,
The Maid she did protest,
'Twas nothing but a Jest, _put in all, put in all_.

_A_ SONG. _The Words by_ JO. HAINS, _Set by Mr._ CHURCH.

[Music]

I Courted and Writ,
Shew'd my Love and my Wit,
And still pretty _Flavia_ deny'd;
'Twas her Virtue I thought,
Made me prove such a Sot,
To adore her the more for her Pride:
'Till I happen'd to sit,
By her Mask'd in a Pit,
Whilst a crowd of gay Beaus held her play;
When so wantonly free,
Was her smart Repartee,
I was cur'd and went blushing, went blushing away.

How Lovers Mistake,
The Addresses they make,
When they swear to be Constant and true;
For all the Nymphs hold,
Tho' the Sport be still old,
That their Play-mates must ever be new:
Each pretty new Toy,
How they'll long to enjoy,
And then for a newer will Pine;
But when they perceive,
Others like what they leave,
Then they cry for their Bauble again.

PERKIN _in a_ Cole-Sack: _Or, the_ Collier's _Buxome Wife of St._ James's.

[Music]

Come all that are disposed a while,
And listen to my Story;
I shall not you of ought beguile,
But plainly lay before ye:
How Buxome _Ruth_ had often strove,
With no small Pains and Labour;
Her own Sufficiency to prove,
By many a Brawny Neighbour.

She oft was heard for to Complain,
But still with little Profit;
That Nature made her Charms in vain,
Unless some good come of it:
Her Booby seldom was at home,
And therefore could not please her;
Which made more welcome Guest to come,
In Charity to ease her.

Her wishes all were for an Heir,
Tho' _Venus_ still refus'd her;
Which made the pensive Sinner Swear
The Goddess had abus'd her:
And since her Suit she did deny,
To shew her good Intention;
She was resolv'd her self to try
An Old, but rare Invention.

Abroad by known Example taught,
To one with Child she hasts her;
Whereby five Guineas which she brought,
The Bargain is made fast, Sir:
The Infant soon as brought to light,
(For so they had agreed it)
Must fall to Buxome _Ruth_ by right,
To save her sinking Credit.

Her petticoats with Cushions rear'd,
Her Belly struts before her;
Her _Ben's_ Abilitys are prais'd,
And he poor Fool adores her.
Her Stomach sick, and squeamish grown,
She pewkes like Breeding Woman,
While he is proud to make it known,
That he has prov'd a true Man.

Nine Months compleat, the trusty Dame,
Her Pain she finds increases;
While _Ruth_ affected with the same,
Makes ugly and wry Faces:
And now a Coach must needs be had,
The Brat to shake about, Sir;
But e'er return'd _Ben_ was a Dad,
For _Perkin_ had crept out, Sir.

The good Ale Firkin strait is tapp'd,
And Women all are Jolly;
While no one in her round is 'scap'd,
For fear of Melancholy:
And _Ruth_ in Bed could in her turn,
Tho' modest of Behaviour;
With all her Heart a Bob have born,
Had she not fear'd a Feaver.

Thus Jovially the time they spend,
In Merriment and Quaffing;
Whilst each one does the Brat commend,
As _Ben_ did still keep Laughing:
And now to tell is my Intent,
How Fortune to Distaste her;
_Ruth's_ future Boasting did prevent,
By one most sad Disaster.

A Search was made at t'other Home,
By Overseers quick sighted;
The Mother to Confession comes,
By Threats being much Affrighted;
Thus all their Mirth at once was Cool,
Fate all their hopes did hamper;
So _Ben_ lives on the self same Fool,
Tho' _Ruth_ was forc'd to scamper.

_And if the Truth of this you doubt,
The Overseers can make it out._

_The Man of_ Honour: _Or, the Unconstant World turn'd upside down: To the foregoing_ Tune.

How is the World transform'd of late,
In Country, Court, and City;
As if we were decreed by Fate,
To sing a mournful Ditty:
About the dismal change of Things,
There was no sooth in Fauner;
In the blest Reigns of former Kings,
_When I was a Man of Honour_.

I kept a Castle of my own,
With Land five Thousand Acres;
When old King _Harry_ grac'd the Throne,
Before the Time of Quakers:
My Doors and Gates stood open Wide,
I lackt no Ring nor Runner;
An Ox each Day I did provide,
_When I was_, &c.

My Guess all Day went in and out,
To Feast and cheer their Senses;
Could I but bring the Year about,
I grudg'd not my Expences:
My Talent was to feast the Poor,
I valu'd no Court Fauner;
Of Cooks I kept full half a Score,
_When I was_, &c.

When _Christmas_ Day was drawing near,
To Cheer and make them Merry;
I Broach'd my humming Stout _March_ Beer,
As brown as the Hawthorn Berry:
Of which there was not any lack,
I was my self the Donor;
'Twas fetch'd up in a Leathern _Jack_,
_When I was_, &c.

I never lay in Trades-mens Books,
For Gaudy Silks or Sattins;
Nor did I pay with Frowning looks,
Or broken Scraps of _Latin_:
They had my Gold and Silver free,
I fear'd not any Dunner;
All Men was glad to deal with me,
_When I was a Man of Honour_.

I never kept my _Hawkes_ and _Hounds_,
Or Lew'd and Wanton Misses;
I'd never sell or Mortgage Towns,
To purchase Charming Kisses:
Of those that seek their Prey by Night,
Each cunning Female Fauner;
My Lady was my Hearts Delight,
_When I was_, &c.

I never hid my Noble Head,
For any Debt contracted;
Nor from the Nation have I fled,
For Treasons basely Acted:
Nor did I in the least Rebel,
To make my self a Runner:
My Loyalty was known full well,
_When I was_, &c.

I never did betray my trust,
For Bribes more sweet than Honey;
Nor was I false, or so unjust,
To sink the Nations Money:
My _Lands_ and _Livings_ to enlarge,
By wronging each good Donor:
I Built not at the Nation's Charge,
_When I was_, &c.

We find now in these latter Days,
Some Men hath delegated;
From Truth, and found out greedy ways,
This should be regulated:
And act henceforth with Heart and Hand,
Oppose the Sons of _Bonner_;
I lov'd my King and serv'd my Land,
_When I was_, &c.

For Bounty, Love and large Relief,
For Noble Conversation;
For easing the poor Widows Grief,
In Times of Lamentation:
For House of Hospitality,
I'll challenge any Donor;
There's few or none that can outvey,
_King_ Henry's _Man of Honour_.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

Fickle Bliss, fantastick Treasure,
Love how soon, how soon,
How soon thy Joys, are past?
Since we soon must lose the Pleasure,
Oh! 'twere better ne'er to tast:
Gods! How sweet would be possessing,
Did not Time its Charms destroy;
Or could Lovers with the Blessing,
Lose the Thoughts of _Cupid's_ Joy:
Lose the Thoughts, the Thoughts,
The Thoughts of _Cupid's_ Joy.

Cruel Thoughts, that pain yet please me,
Ah! no more my rest destroy;
Shew me still if you would ease me,
Love's Deceits, but not it's Joy:
Gods what kind, yet cruel Powers,
Force my Will to rack my Mind!
Ah! too long we wait for Flowers,
Too, too soon, to fade design'd.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ Akeroyde.

[Music]

That scornful _Sylvia's_ Chains I wear,
The Groves and Streams can tell;
Those blasted with my Sighs appear,
These with my Tears my Tears, o're swell.
But Sighs and Tears bring no redress,
And Love that sees, that sees me grieve;
Conspires with _Sylvia_ to oppress,
The Heart he should relieve.

The God that should reward my Pain,
Makes _Sylvia_ more my Foe:
As She encreases in Disdain,
He makes my Passion grow:
And must I, must I still admire,
Those Eyes that cause my Grief?
'Tis just, since I my self conspire
Against my own Relief.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ ROBERT KING.

All own the Young _Sylvia_ is fatally Fair;
All own the Young _Sylvia_ is pretty;
Confess her good Nature, and easie soft Air,
Nay more, that's She's wanton and witty.
Yet all the keen Arrows at _Damon_ still cast,
Cou'd never, cou'd never, his quiet destroy,
'Till the cunning _Coquett_, shot me flying at last;
_By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy_,
_By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy._

So tho' the young _Sylvia_ were not very Fair,
Tho' she were but indifferently pretty;
Much wanting _Aurelia's_, or _CÊlia's_ soft Air,
But not the dull sence of the City:
Yet still the dear Creature wou'd please without doubt,
And give me abundance of Joy;
Since all that is missing is plainly made out,
_By a Jene say, Jene say quoy._

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

A Swain in despair,
Cryed Women ne'er trust,
Alass they are all
Unkind or unjust.
A Nymph who was by,
Soon thus did reply;
The Men we all find
More false and unkind.

Except me he cryed,
And me She replyed,
Then try me said he,
I dare not said she:
The Swain did pursue,
Each alter'd their Mind:
She vow'd He was true,
He swore She was kind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.

[Music]

Wo'as me poor Lass! what mun I do?
Gin I did my bonny _Sawney_ slight,
He now gangs a blither Lass to woo,
And I alene poor Lass ligs ev'ry Night.
Curse on Fickleness and Pride,
By which we silly Women are undone:
What my _Sawney_ begg'd and I deny'd
Alass! I long to grant, but now he's gone.

When he was kind I made a Strife,
Yet I then deny'd with mickle Woe;
For he su'd as gin, he begg'd for Life,
And almost dy'd poor Lad! when I said no:
Well I keen'd, he woo'd to wed,
Yet fear'd to own, I lov'd the canny Loon;
Ah would he have stay'd he might have sped,
Waa's me! why would my _Sawney_ gang so soon.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Richest Gift of lavish Nature,
Matchless darling of my Heart;
Ah! too dear, too charming Creature,
You on Earth a Heav'n impart.
Rapt in Pleasure past expressing,
I with Bliss almost expire;
Cou'd we still be thus possessing,
God's who would your State desire.

Kindling Glances quickning Kisses,
That like Time so soon are past;
Crowding Joys to eager Blisses,
Still renewing may you last:
Nor by a fantastick Fashion,
Being lawful please the less;
But may I indulge my Passion,
Blest in none but her I bless.

TOM _Tinker_.

[Music]

_Tom_ Tinker's my true love, and I am his Dear,
And I will go with him his Budget to bear;
For of all the young Men he has the best luck,
All the Day he will Fuddle, at Night he will ----
This way, that way, which way you will,
I am sure I say nothing that you can take Ill.

With Hammer on Kettle he tabbers all Day,
At Night he will tumble on Strumil or Hay;
He calls me his Jewel, his delicate Duck,
And then he will take up my Smicket to ----
_This way_, &c.

_Tom Tinker_ I say was a Jolly stout Lad,
He tickled young _Nancy_ and made her stark mad;
To have a new Rubbers with him on the Grass,
By reason she knew that he had a good ----
_This way_, &c.

There was an old Woman on Crutches she came,
To lusty _Tom Tinker_, _Tom Tinker_ by Name;
And tho' she was Aged near threescore and five,
She kickt up her Heels and resolved to ----
_This way_, &c.

A beautiful Damsel came out of the West,
And she was as Jolly and brisk as the best;
She'd Dance and she'd caper as wild as a Buck,
And told _Tom_ the _Tinker_, she would have some ----
_This way_, &c.

A Lady she call'd him her Kettle to mend,
And she resolved her self to attend;
Now as he stood stooping and mending the Brass,
His Breeches was torn and down hung his ----
_This way_, &c.

Something she saw that pleased her well,
She call'd in the _Tinker_ and gave him a spell;
With Pig, Goose and Capon, and good store of suck,
That he might be willing to give her some ----
_This way_, &c.

He had such a Trade that he turn'd me away,
Yet as I was going he caus'd me to stay;
So as towards him I was going to pass,
He gave me a slap in the Face with his ----
_This way_, &c.

I thought in my Heart he had struck off my Nose,
I gave him as good as he brought I suppose;
My Words they were ready and wonderful blunt,
Quoth I, I had rather been stobb'd in my ----
_This way_, &c.

I met with a Butcher a killing a Calf,
I then stepp'd to him and cryed out half:
At his first denial I fell very sick,
And he said it was all for a touch of his ----
_This way_, &c.

I met with a Fencer a going to School,
I told him at Fencing he was but a Fool;
He had but three Rapiers and they were all blunt,
And told him he should no more play at my ----
_This way_, &c.

I met with a Barber with Razor and Balls,
He fligger'd and told me for all my brave alls;
He would have a stroke, and his words they were blunt,
I could not deny him the use of my ----
_This way_, &c.

I met with a Fidler a Fidling aloud,
He told me he had lost the Case of his Croud;
I being good natur'd as I was wont,
Told him he should make a Case of my ----
_This way, and that way, and which way you can,
For the Fairest of Women will lye with a Man._

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ KING.

When on her Eyes,
When on her Eyes,
My happy Stars I gaze,
A strange Commotion seizes every part.
Fain would I speak, fain would I speak,
The cause of my Disease;
But fear to tell the Story of my Heart.
Her look severe,
Her look severe,
Yet O endearing awes,
Yet O endearing awes,
The Women's Envy,
The Women's Envy,
But Mankind's applause,
But Mankind's applause.

_Miss_ CUDDY.

[Music]

Poor _Sawney_ had marry'd a Wife,
And he knew not what to do with her;
For she'd eat more Barly-bread,
Then he knew how to give her:
We'll all sup together, we'll all sup, _&c._
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather.
We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather.

We'll put the Sheep's-head in the Pot,
The Wool and the Horns together;
And we will make Broth of that,
And we'll all sup together,
We'll all sup together, we'll all sup together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
We'll all lig together, _&c._

The Wool shall thicken the Broth,
The Horns shall serve for Bread,
By this you may understand,
The Virtue that's in a Sheep's-head:
And we'll all sup together, we'll all sup together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
And we'll all lig together, _&c._

Some shall lig at the Head,
And some shall lig at the Feet,
Miss _Cuddy_ wou'd lig in the middle,
Because she'd have all the Sheet:
We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
And we'll all lig together, _&c._

Miss _Cuddy_ got up in the Loft,
And _Sawney_ wou'd fain have been at her,
Miss _Cuddy_ fell down in her Smock,
And made the glass Windows to clatter:
We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather,
We'll all lig together, _&c._

The Bride she went to Bed,
The Bridegroom followed after,
The Fidler crepp'd in at the Feet,
And they all lig'd together,
We'll all lig together, _&c._

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.

[Music]

Beneath a cool Shade _Amaryllis_ was sate,
Complaining of Love and bemoaning her Fate;
Ah! she cry'd, why must Maids be so formal and Coy,
To deny what they think is their only true Joy?
And Custom impose on us so much ado,
When our Hearts are on fire, and Love bids us fall too;
And Custom impose on us so much ado,
When our hearts are on fire, and Love bids us fall too.

Young _Strephon_ was near her, and heard the Complaint,
He easily guest what the Damsel did want;
He rush'd in upon her, in Kisses reply'd,
Caught her fast in his Arms, she faintly deny'd:
What they did without study, we soon may divine,
'Twas _Strephon's_ Luck then, the next Minute be mine.

CLARINDA'S _Complaint_. _Tune of_ Ianthe _the Lovely_.

With sighing and wishing, and Green-sickness Diet,
With nothing of Pleasure, and little of Quiet;
With a Granum's Inspection, and Doctor's Direction,
But not the Specifick, that suits my Complexion:
The Flower of my Age is full blown in my Face,
Yet no Man considers, yet no Man considers
My comfortless Case.

Young Women were valued, as I have been told,
In the late times of Peace, above Mountains of Gold;
But now there is Fighting, we are nothing but sliting,
Few Gallants in Conjugal Matters delighting:
'Tis a shame that Mankind, should love killing and slaying
And mind not supplying the stock that's decaying.

Unlucky _Clarinda_, to love in a Season,
When _Mars_ has forgotten to do _Venus_ Reason;
Had I any Hand in Rule and Command,
I'd certainly make it a Law of the Land:
That killers of Men, to replenish the Store,
Be bound to the Wedlock, and made to get more.

Enacted moreover for better dispatch,
That where a good Captain meets with an o'ermatch,
His honest Lieutenant with Soldier-like Grace,
Shall relieve him on Duty, and serve in his Place:
Thus killers and slayers of able good Men,
Without beat of Drum may recruit 'em agen.

_A_ BALLAD _by the late Lord_ DORSET, _when at Sea_.

[Music]

To you fair Ladies now at Land,
We Men at Sea indite;
But first wou'd have you understand,
How hard it is to write:
The Muses now, and _Neptune_ too,
We must implore to write to you;
_With a Fa la, la, la, la_,
The Muses now, _&c._

But tho' the Muses should be kind,
And fill our empty Brain;
Yet if rough _Neptune_ cause the Wind,
To rouse the _Azure_ Main:
Our Paper, Pens, and Ink and we,
Rowl up and down our Ships at Sea,
_With a Fa la_, &c.

Then if we write not by each Post,
Think not that we're unkind;
Nor yet conclude that we are lost,
By _Dutch_, by _French_, or Wind,
Our grief will find a speedier way,
The Tide shall bring them twice a day,
_With a Fa la_, &c.

The King with wonder and surprize,
Will think the Seas grown bold;
For that the Tide does higher rise,
Then e'er it did of old:
But let him know that 'tis our Tears,
Sends floods of Grief to _White-Hall_ Stairs,
_With a Fa la_, &c.

Shou'd Count _Thoulouse_ but come to know,
Our sad and dismal Story;
The _French_ wou'd scorn so weak a Foe,
Where they can get no Glory:
For what resistance can they find,
From Men as left their Hearts behind,
_With a Fa la_, &c.

To pass our tedious time away,
We throw the merry Main;
Or else at serious _Ombra_ play,
But why shou'd we in vain,
Each others ruin thus pursue,
We were undone when we left you,
_With a Fa la_, &c.

When any mournful Tune you hear,
That dyes in e'ery Note;
As if it sigh'd for each Man's care,
For being so remote:
Think then how often Love we've made,
To you while all those Tunes were play'd,
_With a Fa la._, &c.

Let Wind and Weather do its worst,
Be you to us but kind;
Let _French-men_ Vapour, _Dutch-men_ Curse,
No Sorrows we shall find:
'Tis then no matter how things go,
Nor who's our Friend, nor who our Foe,
_With a Fa la._, &c.

Thus having told you all our Loves,
And likewise all our Fears;
In hopes this Declaration moves,
Some Pity to our Tears:
Let's hear of no Inconstancy,
We have too much of that at Sea,
_With a Fa, la, la, la, la._

_Bonny_ KATHERN LOGGY. _A_ Scotch SONG.

[Music]

As I came down the hey Land Town,
There was Lasses many,
Sat in a Rank, on either Bank,
And ene more gay than any;
Ise leekt about for ene kind Face,
And Ise spy'd _Willy Scroggy_;
Ise spir'd of him what was her Name,
And he caw'd her _Kathern Loggy_.

A sprightly bonny Gurl sha was,
And made my Heart to rise _Joe_;
Sha was so fair sa blith a Lass,
And Love was in her Eyes so:
Ise walkt about like ene possest,
And quite forgot poor _Moggy_;
For nothing now could give me rest,
But bonny _Kathern Loggy_.

My pratty _Katy_ then quoth I,
And many a Sigh I gave her;
Let not a Leard for _Katy_ die,
But take him to great Favour:
Sha laught aloud, and sa did aw,
And bad me hemward to ge;
And still cry'd out awaw, awaw,
Fro bonny _Kathern Loggy_.

A Fardel farther I would see,
And some began to muse me;
The Lasses they sat wittally,
And the Lads began to Rooze me:
The Blades with Beaus came down she knows,
Like ring Rooks fro _Strecy Boggy_;
And four and twanty _Highland_ Lads,
Were following _Kathern Loggy_.

When I did ken this muckle Trame,
And every ene did know her;
I spir'd of _Willy_ what they mean,
Quo he they aw do Mow her:
There's ne'er a Lass in aw _Scotland_,
From _Dundee_ to _Strecy Boggy_;
That has her Fort so bravely Mann'd,
As bonny _Kathern Loggy_.

At first indeed I needs must tell,
Ise could not well believe it;
But when Ise saw how fow they fell,
Ise could not but conceive it.
There was ne'er a Lad of any note,
Or any deaf young Roguey;
But he did lift the welly Coat,
Of bonny _Kathern Loggy_.

Had I kenn'd on Kittleness,
As I came o'er the Moore _Joe_;
Ise had n'er ban as Ise ha dun,
Nor e'er out-stankt my seln so:
For I was then so stankt with stint,
I spurr'd my aw'd Nagg _Fogey_;
And had I kenn'd sha had been a Whore,
I had ne'er Lov'd _Kathern Loggy_.

(_The_ Catholick _Brother_) _A_ SONG.

[Music]

Dear _Catholick_ brother are you come from the Wars,
So lame of your foots and your Face full of Scars;
To see your poor _Shela_ who with great grief was fill'd,
For you my dear Joy when I think you were kill'd.
_With a Fa la, la._

O my shoul my dear _Shela_, I'm glad you see me,
For if I were dead now, I could not see thee;
The Cuts in my Body, and the Scars in my Face,
I got them in Fighting for Her Majesty's Grace.

But oh my dear _Shela_ dost thou now love me,
So well as you did, e're I went to the Sea;
By _Cri----_ and St. _Pa----_ my dear Joy I do,
And we shall be Married to morrow Just now.

I'll make a Cabin for my dearest to keep off the Cold,
And I have a Guinea of yellow red Gold;
To make Three halfs of it I think will be best,
Give Two to my _Shela_ and the Tird to the _Priest_.

Old _Philemy_ my Father was full Fourscore Years old,
And tho' he be dead he'll be glad to be told;
That we Two are Married, my dear spare no cost,
But send him some Letter, upon the last Post.

_The Triumphs of_ PEACE, _or the_ WIDDOWS _and_ MAIDS _Rejoycing_.

[Music]

Dear Mother I am Transported,
To think of the boon Comrades;
They say we shall all be Courted,
Kind Widows as well as maids,
Oh! this will be joyful News:
_We'll dress up our Houses with Holly,
We'll broach a Tub of humming Bub,
To treat those that come with a rub a dub dub,
For dear Mother they'll make us Jolly._

Dear Mother to see them mounted,
'Twou'd tickle your Heart with Joy;
By me they all shall be counted,
Heroical Sons of _Troy_:

The Bells in the Steeples shall ring,
_We'll stick all our Houses with Holly_,
_We'll broach a Tub of humming Bub_,
_To treat those that comes with a rub a dub dub_,
_For dear Mother they'll make us Jolly_.

I'll dress me as fine as a Lady,
Against they come into the Town;
My Ribbonds are all bought ready,
My Furbelow-Scarf and Gown;
To pleasure the Warlike Boys,
_We'll dress up our Houses_, &c.

They are delicate brisk and Brawny,
Troth neither too lean nor fat;
No matter for being Tawny,
They're never the worse for that;
We'll give them a welcome Home,
_And dress up our Houses_, &c.

They come from the Field of Battle,
To quarter in Ladies Arms;
'Tis pretty to hear them Prattle,
And tell of their loud Alarms:
We'll Crown them with Garlands gay,
_And dress up our Houses_, &c.

Those boys are the Pride of _Britain_,
They love us and so they may;
Dear Mother it is but fitting,
We shou'd be as kind as they:
The Conduits shall run with Wine,
_We'll dress up our Houses_, &c.

Those battling Sons of Thunder,
Now at their returning back;
I know they will be for Plunder,
Virginities go to wrack:
But let them do what they please,
_We'll dress up our Houses_, &c.

_A_ SONG. _Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE _at the_ Theatre.

[Music]

Fill the Glass, fill, fill, fill the Glass,
Let Hautboys sound, whilst bright _Celinda_,
Bright _Celinda's_ Health go round.
Fill the Glass, fill, fill, fill the Glass,
Let Hautboys sound, whilst bright _Celinda_,
Bright _Celinda's_ Health goes round.

With eternal Beauty blest, ever blooming,
Ever blooming still be best;
Drink your Glass, drink your glass,
Drink your Glass and think,
Think, think the rest,
Drink your Glass and think,
Think, think the rest.

_An_ IRISH SONG.

Hub ub, ub, boo;
Hub ub, ub, boo;
Dish can't be true,
De War dees cease,
But der's no Peash,
I know and find,
'Tis Sheal'd and Sign'd,
But won't believe 'tis true,
Hub, ub, ub, boo, Hub ub, ub, boo.

_A hone, a hone_,
Poor _Teague's_ undone,
I dare not be,
A Rapparee,
I ne'er shall see,
_Magraw Macree_,
Nor my more dear Garone,
_A hone, a hone._

Awa, awa,
I must huzza,
'Twill hide my Fears,
And save my Ears,
The Mob appears,
Her'sh to _Nassau_,
Dear Joy 'tis _Usquebaugh_,
Huzza, Huzza, Huzza.

_The_ BATH _Teazers: Or a Comical Description of the Diversions at_ BATH.

[Music]

I'll tell thee _Dick_ where I have lately been,
_There's rare doings at_ Bath,
Amongst Beauties divine, the like was ne'er seen,
_There's rare doings at_ Bath,
And some dismal Wits that were eat up with Spleen,
_There's rare doings at_ Bath.
_There's rare doings at_ Bath.
_Raffling and Fidling, and Piping and Singing,_
_There's rare doings at_ Bath.

Where all drink the Waters to recover Health,
And some sort of Fools there throw off their Wealth,
And now and then Kissing, and that's done by stealth,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

And now for the Crew that pass in the Throng,
That live by the Gut, or the Pipe, or the Song,
And teaze all the Gentry as they pass along,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

First _Corbet_ began my Lord pray your Crown,
You'll hear a new Boy I've Just brought to Town,
I'm sure he will please you, or else knock me down,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

Besides I can boast of my self and two more,
And _Leveridge_ the Bass, that sweetly will roar,
'Till all the whole Audience joins in an ancore,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

Next _H----b L----r_ and _B----r_ too,
With Hautboy, one Fidle, and Tenor so bleu,
And fusty old Musick, not one Note of New,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

Next _Morphew_ the Harper with his Pigg's Face,
Lye tickling a Treble and vamping a Bass,
And all he can do 'tis but Musick's disgrace,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

Then comes the Eunuch to teaze them the more,
Subscribe your two Guineas to make up fourscore,
I never Perform'd at so low rate before,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

Then come the Strolers among the rest,
And little Punch _Powel_ so full of his Jest,
With pray Sir, good Madam, it's my Show is best,
_There's rare doings_, &c.

Thus being Tormented, and teaz'd to their Souls,
They thought the best way to get rid of these Fools,
The Case they referr'd to the Master of the R----ls,
_There's rare doings_, &c.