A NEW COLLECTION OF SONGS AND POEMS. By Thomas D'urfey, Gent. LONDON: Printed for josoph Hindmarsh, at the Black Bull in Cornhill: 1683. A Song made to a Tune, by the command of a Lady of Quality. AT the foot of a Willow close under the shade, Young Celion and Silvia one evening were laid, the Youth pleaded strongly for fruits of his Love, but honour had forced her his flame to reprove, she cries, where's the Luster when Clouds shade the Sun? or what is brisk Nectar the taste being gone? in flowers on the stalks sweetest Odours do dwell, but if gathered the Rose is, it loses the smell. II. Thou fairest of Nymphs the bold Shepherd replied, If ere thou wilt argue, begin on Love's side; In matters of State let dull reasons be shown, But Love is a power will be swayed by his own; Nor should a Coy Beauty be counted so rare, For scandal can blast both the chaste and the Fair; Most fierce are the joys Love's Alembick doth fill, And the Roses are sweetest when put to the Still. The Bully, a Song in the Fool turned Critic, set by Mr. Lock. I. ROom, Room, Room for a man o'th' Town That takes delight in roaring, That daily rambles up and down, And spends his Night in Whoring; That for the Modish name of Spark Dares his Companions rally, Commits a Murder in the dark, Then sneaks into an Alley. II. To every Female that he sees He swears he bears affection, Disdains all Law, Arrests, or Fees, By help of a protection; At last intending worse wrongs By some resenting Cully, He's decently whipped through the Lungs, And there's an end of Bully. A Song in Madam Fickle, set by Mr. Turner. 1. BEneath a shady Willow, near A River's Purling streams, Astrea careless of her Sheep With folded Arms lay fast asleep, Possessed with Golden Dreams, Her working faculty's supplied What drowsy sleep denied: For oft she'd smile, and sigh, and grasp the Air, Thinking her much loved Celadon was there. 2. But as this sleeping harmless Maid Lay rapt in silent joy, Possessing all that could be sought In fettered senses happy thought, Her Swain came Fishing by: He eager to enjoy the bliss, Awaked her with a Kiss; She Blushing rose, and cried unhapy Fate, Ah Celadon thou now art come too late. A Song on Dorinda going in a Barge up the Thames. 1. BRight was the Morning, cool was the Air, Serene was all the Sky, When on the Waves I left my dear, The Centre of my Joy; Heaven and Nature smiling were, And nothing fad but I. 2. Each Rosy Field did Odours spread, All Fragrant was the shore; Each River God risen from his Bed, And sighed and owned her power: Curling their Waves they decked their head, As proud of what they bore. 3. So when the fair Egyptian Queen Her Hero went to see, Cydnus swelled o'er his Banks in pride As much in love as he: Cydnus swelled, etc. 4. Glide on ye waters, bear these Lines And tell her how distressed, Bear all my sighs ye gentle winds And waft 'em to her Breast, Tell her if e'er she prove unkind, I never shall have rest. Celia's Victory, a Song made at Epsom, and set by Mr. Farmer. I. BOast no more fond Love thy power, Or thy passion sweet and sour, Bow to Celia, show thy duty, Celia sways the world of Beauty; Venus now does kneel before her, And admiring Crowds adore her. II. Like the Sun that guilds the Morning Celia shines, but more adorning; She like fate can wound a Lover, Angel like too can recover; She can kill or save from dying, When the Ravished soul is flying. III. Sweeter than the blooming Rose is, Whiter than the falling Snow is; Then such eyes the great Creator, Chose as Lamps to kindle Nature; Cursed is he that can refuse her, Ah hard fate that I must lose her. Chloes Complaint, a Song set by Mr. Farmer. I. LOng I've been wounded, but ne'er durst complain, Long, long have been fettered yet still hug the Chain; Long cruel Parents have tortured my Love, And Fate long has striven the dear flame to remove; But still like a Rock against the Tide and the Wind I fix, let the Torrent prove ne'er so unkind; And whilst my Silvander pursues his desire, I still bear the Tinder and he the Fire. II. The wise may dull Reasons and Morals propose, And clog my sick fancy with Precepts like those; But ah how in vain how vainly they preach, Great Love surmounts all that their reason can teach; Love the great Agent that Nature employs, The God of our Passions and source of our Joys; Without whom we soul-less and wretched should prove, For Mortals are Beasts till refined by Love. A Song set to an Excellent Tune of Monsieur Baptist. I. BId the Spring that's now a coming Keep the Virgin Budds from blooming; Bid the Deer forbear the Fountains, Or the Snow the Tops of Mountains; Bid the Stormy Winds leave blowing, Or the Sea its ebb and flowing; All these wonders may be doing Far sooner than to move, To move, To move My constant Love. II. So short is our life's sweetest minute, That we lose it whilst we win it; For if lasting were the Passion, Who! ah! who would heed Salvation? All the Joys that Heaven Created, All our sorrows are abated; The dear bliss makes every Lover rated A Deity and more, And more, Much more By Beauty's power. IMMORTAL LOVERS. IMmortal Lover's smile, and run your happy Races, possess the pleasing toil of languishing Embraces, let Zealots prate of Joys above, they know not how nor where, we know a Paradise in Love and take no further care. A Song Sung to the King and Queen upon Sir John Moor's being Chosen Lord Mayor. I. ALl Hail to great Caesar, Loved Monarch, That Three Mighty Kingoms dost sway, All Hail Gloriana, The Lands Arcana, The Brightest Planet in Love's Milky way. II. Long, long have the story's of Plottings and Treasons Assisted our fears, The Whigs and the Tories in Mutiny join, Like a new Civil War: But now Ignoramus No more shall shame us, Dissolved and quelled by a Loyal Lord Mayor. III. No more shall the furies possess the dull Crowd With Distraction and Care, No more shall the Juries excuse 'em High Treason To show what they dare: No more shall Professors, Affront the Addressors Since London now has a Loyal Lord Mayor. iv Then welcome Great Caesar, and welcome the Praetor That now rules the Chair, Our hearts with a pleasure do Crown the swift Minutes Of this happy year: For 'tis strange in the City, The more is the pity, To see, to see a Loyal Lord Mayor. The Second Song in Sir Barnaby Whigg, to the Tune of the Delights of the Bottle. I. FArewell my loved science my former delight, Moliere is quite riffled, then how should I write; My fancy's grown sleepy, my quibbling is done, And design or Invention alas I have none; But still let the Town never doubt my Condition, Though I fall a dam'd Poet I'll mount a Musician. II. I got fame by filching from Poems and Plays, But my Fiddling and drinking has lost me the Bays; Like a fury I railed, like a satire I writ, Thersites my humour, and Fleckno my wit; But to make some amends for my snarling and lashing, I divert all the Town with my Thrumming and Thrashing. The Serenade, a Song in the Injured Princess or a fatal wager, set by Captain Pack. I. THe Larks awake the drowsy morn, My dearest lovely Chloe rise, And with thy dazzling Rays adorn The Ample World and Azure Skies: Each eye of thine outshines the Sun, Though decked in all his light, As much as he excels the Moon, Or each small twinkling Star at Noon, Or Meteor of the Night. II. Look down and see your Beauty's power, See, see the heart in which you reign; No Conquered slave in Triumph bore Did ever wear so strong a Chain: Feed me with smiles that I may live, I'll ne'er wish to be free; Nor ever hope for kind Reprieve, Or Loves grateful bondage leave For Immortality. A Song to a very Beautiful but very Proud Lady, set by Mr. Farmer in two Movements. I. CHloe, your scorn abate, kind beams discover, Frowns purchase all men's hate, but gain no Lover; Nature and Feature designed you rare. But whilst you are proud you are not fair; Nor can the joys of Passion prove, For Pride is still a foe to Love. II. To Courts where Tyrants sway, who'll venture thither? Or who will put to Sea in Stormy weather? Faces and Graces no lustre own, When shaded by disdainful frown; ne'er to the Sun had the Persian bowed, Had he hid his bright Glories behind a Cloud. Second Movement. But when the Bottles roll about and Glasses, Plague on all Intrigues, and pox on charming faces; But when the Bottles roll about and Glasses, We know no disdain, nor value Charming faces; Let the puney Lover sigh and whine and moan, Like a fluttering drone, make an Insect humming; Beauty here we see, more bright than any she, Never out of humour, kind and always coming. Scotch Song in the Royalist, made to a Pleasant new Tune. I. TWa bonny Lads were Sawney and jockey, Blithe jockey was loved but Sawney unlucky; Yet Sawney was tall, well-favoured and witty, But Ise in my heart thought jockey more pretty; For when he viewed me, sued me, wooed me, Never was Lad so like to undo me; Fie, I cried, yet almost died, Lest jockey should gang, and come no more to me. II. jockey would Love, but he would not Marry, And Ice had a dread lest I should miscarry; For his cunning Tongue with Wit was so guilded, That I was afraid my heart would have yielded; Daily he blessed me, pressed me, kissed me, Lost was the hour methought when he missed me; Crying, denying, and sighing, I'd woe him, But ah! much ado had I to gang from him. III. But cruel Fate robbed me of this Jewel, For Sawney would make him fight in a Duel, And down in a Dale with Cypress surrounded, Ah! there to his death poor jockey was wounded; But when he thrilled him, felled him, killed him, Who can express my grief that beheld him! Raging, I tore my Hair to bind him, And vowed, and swore, I'd ne'er stay behind him. Kingston Church, a Song. I. SWeet use your time, abuse your time No longer, but be wise; Your Lovers now discover you Have Beauty to be prized; But if you're Coy you'll lose the joy, So Cursed will be your Fate, The flower will fade, you'll die a Maid, And mourn your chance too late. II. At Thirteen years and Fourteen years The Virgin's heart may range, 'Twixt Fifteen years and Fifty years You'll find a wondrous chance; Then whilst in Tune in May and june, Let Love and Youth agree; For if you stay till Christmas day The Devil shall woe for me. The Mistress, a Song made to an Excellent Scotch Tune. COme all ye smiling Loves That grace the Throne of Beauty, Adorn the verdant Groves Where Charming Celia lies; To her the Virgins round Pay homage, zeal and duty, With Heaven her face is Crowned, And Fate sits in her eyes. II. A Thousand Shepherds wait upon her, Thousands she refuses still, Though at her feet they lie, And languish pine and die; A too too rigid point of Honour, Which her virtue uses still, Makes wretched all the Plains, And Murders all the Swains. III. See where Love's Monarch goes To watch the Dazzling Creature, For fear her eyes should close, And shroud the World in shades, Possess her with my Woes, Thou mighty God of Nature; Tell her the sweetest Rose The Blast of Time will fade. iv Inspire her to believe my Passion, And receive the truest Love, That ever found a part In any Virgin's heart; Ah! tell her Pride is out of fashion, Beauty should divinely prove, Like Heaven that mercy pays To the meanest wretch that prays. A Song made to a Tune for the L. G. SHining Stars are Celia's eyes, Sweet Roses bloom in either Cheek, Love from those his flame supplies, From these does sweet Odour seek; Every Grace that decks her face Shows her of more than mortal race; Every charm does so control, That she like Heaven forms the soul; Soft as down each outward part, But, ah! no Marble like her heart. To Astrea. I. HOW long my dearest Astrea, how long Must Celadons' Love be delayed? You know that my passion though vigorous and strong, If kept from fruition will fade And perish like flies in the shade; And when Icy Age does our Battlements storm, Our wishes can give us no power to perform. II. The blossoms that now on the stalk looks so gay, Is withered oft by an ill Air, The Beauty that now looks splended as May, Will perish through sickness or care, Such destiny follows the fair: Then use your best Minutes to Love and be kind, For time never leaves any Beauty behind. A Song in the royalist to the King, set by Doctor Blow. THE great Augustus like the Glorious Sun, long on the rabble Weeds with splendour shone; yet all the Fruits of his bright influence was an ill Odour, nauseous to the sense; long slighted they his grace and love, his mercy made 'em Rebels prove; nor would they be kept under, like the rude Ancients that affronted jove, because they never felt his lightning or his thun-der, because they never felt his light-ning or his thun— der. CHORUS. THen let 'em be con-found-ded, confounded, Then let 'em be con-found-ded, confounded, confounded; and so may every confounded; and so may every Round head, then let 'em be confounded, confounded, Round head, then let 'em be confounded, confounded, confounded, and so may every confounded, and so may every Round head, that stands not up for Round head, that stands not up for King and Laws, and so may every King and Laws, and so may every Round head be wretch—ed and confounded, Round head be wretch—ed and confounded, that dares, defend that dares defend the that dares, defend that dares defend the good old Cause. good old Cause. A Panegyric on their Royal Highnesses, and Congratulating his Return from SCOTLAND. WHen the most high Eternal Son of God Through famed judea in Procession Rode; The Loyal Publican with zealous haste Climbed up a Tree to view him as he passed; And with a look that did his joy relate, The Mighty Saviour did Congratulate; So amongst the Crowds that with impatience Strove T'express their fealty and faithful Love, I and my throbbing heart with equal flames Panted and pressed to meet the Godlike JAMES, Welcome then mighty Sir, welcome as peace To Conquered Nations, or to sick men ease; Welcome as what you bring us, Loyalty, A fruit which in our Isle we rarely see; In th'barren North it blooms to storms exposed, But in our Sunny Climate never grows; Here fertile Nature makes the Commons Kings, And from her fatness rank Rebellion springs; Dam'd Lust of English men, that ne'er repent Their Treason, nor with Blessing were contented. Black was the day and blasted was the year When the Cursed factions full of wretched fear; Sought the true Heir of England to exclude Only because he was too Great and Good; Two Epithets that never yet could suit The sordid mind of your true English Brute; Loud Tempests roared as if designed to cross The Royal Mandate and not let him pass, Whilst weeping Floods seemed to mourn our loss; And as each Element than bore a part In grief, even so did every Honest Heart; But now the happy hours are fully blest, The Land with the full store of Heaven Possessed; The Season smiles and each propitious ray For his return their secret joy display; The Flowers that did in private Closets keep, And during the Winter of his Absence sleep Bloom out, and a gay fragrant Robe put on To bless and welcome in the Rising Sun; Laetamur, * The Motto of the medal. is the word, a word which late As mighty hopes did mighty joy create; When the famed Motto with applause was put To th' Effigy of the Grand Patriot; Nearest their hearts, where late their George's hung, The Palefaced Medal with a silver Tongue Was placed, whilst every wearer still expressed His joy to Harbour there so famed a guest; The wretch that stamped it got immortal fame, 'Twas coined by stealth like Groats at Brumicham: Whilst each Professor with exalted voice, Cries England's saved, and now let us Rejoice. But though seditious Tenets they pursue, We have a cause of joy solid and true, And therefore let us cry Laetamur too. For Mighty YORK's returned, returned to Reign O'er hearts, and move in his Great Sphere again; 'Tis in his face you see the Rising Sun, tother's a Comet blazing o'er the Town; Portending mischiefs, seeming to explain, The former Tragic Scene designed again; Fly then ye Loyal Natives, fly with zeal, Embrace his knees and your true joy reveal; Prove your Affection to your Injured Prince, Give him your hearts, for you had his long since, Aid his true cause, oppose the Rebel power, And never part with your loved Hero more. And hail bright Princess best of thy fair kind, An Angel's body with an Angel's mind, Beauteous as are the Virgin Saints above, That sit and smile on the Right hand of jove: And good as the first state heaven formed 'em in, ere that Angelic Sex knew how to sin; How when she comes, shall we our Crimes atone? How shall we meet the Justice of her frown? That doing no offence was forced away With her dear Lord a cruel fate t' obey, And sacrifice her Joy, her Peace and Fame To a cursed branded thing without a Name, Down her fair face the liquid Treasures rolled, Then taking on her Royal Partner hold, England farewell, she cried, thou hated shore, And may I never see thy baseness more: But she comes back and nobly may despise The Pigmy malice of her Enemies; Disdain and Anger in her forehead sit, Yet both so calmed and tempered by her wit, That with a modest smile she strives t' oppose Revenge, and only pities all her Foes. Return then and forgive, and may your Name Charm the wide Globe as does your Heroe's Fame: Long may ye love, and still may ye appear Teeming, as to our joy you prove this year, Your Pregnant veins are framing wondrous things, Oh Glorious Passion that creates young Kings! The illustrious Infant struggles in the Womb, As if he knew his Royal Fate 〈◊〉 come; And silently mourns that so long a space IT will be e'er he gins his Glorious Race: But when as the divinest gift of Heaven, The Princely Babe is for our comfort given; May every heart conspire with every Tongue T' implore his years may be renowned and long, That he may merit his brave Father's name, And rival Virtue with his Mother's fame. Methinks I see our great Augustus stand, With the fair Princess smiling in his hand; High Grandeur mixed with joy adorns his face, Whilst blushing duty hers does sweetly grace: Their Eyes are fixed and mingling glories seem Like the Sun's Rays reflecting on a Gem, His awful light then on his Brother shines, Who with a silent modesty inclines To hear his welcome, and with humble grace, Fixing his Eyes upon his Monarch's face, His willing knees with Loyal duty bend To his dear King, his Brother and his Friend, Who in his arms does the loved Favourite hold, And speaks a Gracious welcome from his Soul. Thrice happy Scotland, well didst thou begin To make atonement for thy former sin; When thou with joy a Virtue didst embrace By brooding Factions driven from this place, Well was the much wronged Prince received by thee, And well ha●● thou reformed thy Loyalty; Yet to his goodness thou thy fame dost owe, For thou hadst faithless been had he been so; But as the Thracian Bard with Charming strains, Drew the wild Savages from Woods and Plains, Controlled their Brutish rage where e'er he came, And made the fiercest Wolves and Tigers tame; So mighty Prince thy virtue did oppose The close designs and malice of thy Foes, And made a Nation famed for Treachery Bow to thy Loyal Principles and thee; Whilst England's left with its King-killing race, A nest of Rebels as it ever was. A Song in the Fond Husband in the praise of Marriage, set by Mr. Turner. I. UNder the Branches of a spreading Tree, Silvander sat from care and danger free; And his inconstant roving humour shows To his dear Nymph, that sung of Marriage vows; But she with flowing graces Charming Air, Cries fie, fie, my dear give o'er, Ah, tempt the powers no more, But thy offence with penitence repair; For though vice in a Beauty seem sweet in thy Arms, An Innocent Beauty has always more Charms. II. Ah, Philida! the angry Swain replied, Is not a Mistress better than a Bride? What Man that universal yoke retains, But meets an hour to sigh and curse his chains? She smiling cries, change, change that impious mind, Without it we could prove, Not half the joys of Love, 'Tis Marriage makes the feeling bliss divine: Then all our life long we from scandal remove, And at last fall the Trophies of honour and Love. An Epitaph on Dorinda. IN this cold Monument lies one, That I know who has lain upon; (The happier he) whose sight would charm, And touch would frozen Hermits warm: Lovely as the Dawning East, Was this Marbles frozen guest, As Glorious and as bright as day, As Odoriferous as May; Whom I admired as soon as knew, And now her memory pursue With such a superstitious lust, That I would ravish even her dust; She all perfection had in store, Beauty, as if designed a Whore; Or, as if Nature in her face Designed dull virtue to disgrace; Civil she was and young, and wise, And in her calling so precise, That industry had made her prove The kissing School-mistress of Love: But Death Ambitious to become Her Pupil leaves his Ghastly home, And seeing how we used her here, The rawboned Rascal Ravished her; Who pretty soul resigned her Breath, To practise Lechery with Death. The Third Song in the Royalist, Sung by Mr. Bowman. I. NOW now the Tories all must droop Religion and the Laws, And Whigs of Commonwealth get up, To top the good Old Cause: Tantivy Boys must all go down With haughty Monarchy; The Leather Cap. must brave the Crown, And hay Boys up go we. II. When once the Antichristian crew, Are crushed and overthrown, we'll teach the Nobles how to sue; And keep the Gentry down; Good manners has an ill report, And tends to Pride we see, we'll therefore cry all breeding down, And hay then up go we. III. The Name of Lord shall be abhorred, For every man's a Brother, What reason then in Church or state One man should rule another? When we have Peeled and Plundered all, And levelled each degree, we'll make their Plump young Daughters fall, And hay then up go we. iv we'll down with all the Versities Where Learning is professed, Because they practice and maintain The Language of the Beast; we'll exercise within the Groves, And teach beneath a Tree, we'll make a Pulpit of a Cask, And hay then up go we. V What though the King and Parliament Do not accord together, We have most cause to be content, This is our Sunshine weather; For if good reason should take place, And they should once agree, Zounds who would be in a Roundheads case, For hay Boys up go we. VI we'll break the Windows which the Whore Of Babylon has Painted▪ And when the Bishops are run down, Our Elders shall be sainted; Thus having quite enslaved the Town; Pretending it to free: At last the Gallows claims its own, And hay Boys up go we. A Seranade, Sung at Tunbridge. LOok down fair Nymph and see, The tenders of a Lover's duty, Whose heart till now was free; From snares of sweet enchanting Beauty: Like Bedlam Tom, I range and sue, Around the streets all night I rove, For pity then look down and view The victim of Almighty Love. Second Movement. Like Spirits we wander in dead time of night, Huzza, Huzza, we roar and we fight; With Bagpipe and Drum, We rant our way home: But see the Watch comes to oppose our delight. CHORUS. Charge, charge, hay we scour, Through the Billmen in Flannel, And down drops a Constable into the kennel. A Song in Madam Fickle. I. HAppy is the Man that takes delight In Banqueting his senses, That drinks all Day, and then at Night The height of joy commences: With Bottles armed we stand our ground, Full Bumpers crown our Blisses, Then Roar and Sing the streets around In serenading Misses. II. By blessings free and unconfined, We prove without reproaches; There's no bliss like a frolic mind, Or pleasures like Deboaches: Whilst rambling thus new joys we reap, In charms of Love and Drinking; Insipid Fops lie drowned in sleep, And the Cuckold he lies thinking. The Rapture, a Song set by Mr. Farmer. I. AS on Serena's panting Bre The happy Strephon lay, With Love and Beauty doubly blest He passed the hours away: Fierce Raptures of transporting Love, And pleasure struck him dumb, He envied not the powers above, Nor all the joys to come. II. As painful Bees far off do rove, To bring their Treasure home, So Strephon ranged the Field of Love, To make his honey Comb: Her Ruby lips he sucked and pressed, From whence all sweets derive, Then buzzing round her snowy Breast; Soon crept into the hive. A Song in the Night Adventures, or Squire Oldsap, set by Mr. Graboe. I. CLose in a hollow silent Cave, Young Damon sleeping lay, Himself one hour from grief to save; And from the scorching day, He Celia loved, whose Face and Wit Did every Shepherd's sense control; Whose flowing hair was Loves soft net, Whose every glance a heart did get: And every smile a Soul. II. But see what Balm Love's Monarch keeps, To ease a Lover's pain, As he in this dark Mansion sleeps, It fiercely 'gan to rain: Fair Celia roving through the Farm, A straying Lamb from hurt to save, Which found, she folds with her white Arm; And then to save her from the storm, Straight slipped into the Cave. III. The drowsy Swain began to smile, To see his Heaven so nigh, She blushed and feared, and all the while The Lamb stood bleating by: No breath is left her to complain, She's now a Captive by surprise, And fears approaching joys and pain; Thus at the mercy of the Swain, The Charming Virgin lies. A Scotch Song, Sung in the Virtuous Wife. I. SAwney was Tall and of Noble Race, And loved me better than any eane; But no he liggs by another Lass, And Sawney will ne'er be my Love again: I gave him fine Scotch Sarke and Band, I put 'em on with mine own hand; I gave him House, and I gave him Land, Yet Sawney will ne'er be my Love again. II. I robbed the Groves of all their store, And Nosegays made to give Sawney one; He kissed my Breast and feign would do mere, Gud faith me thought he was a bonny one: He squeezed my fingers, grasped my knee, And Carved my name on each green Tree, And sighed and languished to lig by me; Yet no he wonot be my Love again. III. My Bongrace and my Sunburnt Face He praized, and also my Russet Gown, But no he dotes on the Copper Lace Of some lewd Quean of London Town: He gangs and gives her Cruds and Cream, Whilst I poor soul sit sighing at heam, And near joy Sawney unless in a dream; For now he near will be my Love again. Another Song written at Epsom on Beauty. BEauty, thou Throne of Graces, Bright Queen of charming Faces; Thou Soul of endless Passion, Thou Tyrant of the Nation: Thou God that dost inflame us, Thou Fury sent to damn us; How happy should we be Proud foe were't not for thee? II. Numerous shining glories, Adorned my Lovely Chloris; Her Face was sweet as Summer, Her Pride did well become her: Her voice from jove was given, Each Angel flew from Heaven, And smiling clapped his wing, For Joy to hear her sing. III. My Soul was still admiring, This falser than a Siren; I strongly did besiege her, But ne'er durst disoblige her: But she like Frosty weather, Nipped all my Buds together; And thinking me untrue, My fond heart did undo. Another made to a pleasant Tune. I. When to Paradise the Soul is brought, The brightd wellers all flock to it; In the eternal rosy Groves 'tis sought; Fair she Saints, and Virgins woe it, Angels, Cherubins still pursue it: Breathing Love with Charming voice, Angels, Cherubins still pursue it; Singing hallelujahs of Celestial joys. II. When fair Celia made my heart her prize, Every sinew felt a pleasure, Each kind look from her obliging Eyes; Swelled my joys beyond all measure: Love, ah! Love is the only Treasure, Joy and blessing of the brave and wise, Give me love and life enough and leisure; I'll never envy what the fool enjoys. A Song to Cloris. NO silly Cloris tell me no such stories, true generous Love can never undo ye, when I desert ye, let affected virtue charm every Fop that now does pursue ye; search all humane Nature, try every Creature, Ransack all Complexions, every face and feature; and when e'er I die you'll too late descry, none ever yet did love so well as I. II. Curse on Ambition, What a blessed Condition Lovers were in, not awed by that Daemon, Then cruel Cloris, Careless of vain Glories, Would reap more Bliss than pride e'er could dream on; We should have no dying, No faint denying, Sigh or repulses when the soul is flying. Mammon's trifling toys She would then despise, And own our Love the centre of her joys. A Song to Astrea. I. YOU say I am false, and I freely confess, Had you been less Charming my flame had been less; But Love, cruel Tyrant, my pain to renew, Though I'm fickle to most, makes me constant to you. II. I play like a fly with the beams of your Eye, And buzzing around it at last there I die; Sometimes brave my fate and break your strong Chain, But one pretty glance takes me Prisoner again. III. Then never believe that Astrea can find Her Celladon faithless if she be but kind, For my heart like a Taper this quality gains, That whilst it has matter gives lustre and flames. An Epithalamium Sung at the Marriage of the Lady W— I. JOY to the Bridegroom! fill the sky With pleasing sounds of welcome joy; Joy to the Bride! may lasting bliss, And every day still prove like this: Joy to the, etc. II. Never were Marriage joys divine, But where two constant hearts combine; He that proves false, himself does cheat, Like sick men tastes but cannot eat: He that, etc. III. What is a Maidenhead? ah what? Of which weak fools so often prate? 'Tis the young Virgin's pride and boast, Yet ne'er was found but when 'twas lost: 'Tis the, etc. iv Fill me a Glass then to the drink, And its confusion here I'll drink; And he that balks the health I named, May he die young and then be damned: And he that, etc. A Catch. NOW Interest sways the State, Gets store of Coin and store of curses, The Clergy too of late, Do crowed their conscience in their Purses: Since than Religion's grown a cheat, And each black Robe with Vice is lined; Let Love and Wine our bliss create, And make us ever young and kind. A Song in the Fond Husband. NO more cruel Nymph my passion despise, Or slight a poor Lover that languishing dies, Though fortune my name with no Titles endued; Yet fierce is my passion and warm is my blood: The Love of an Emperor no greater can be, And Enjoyment's the same in every degree. II. But vigorous and young I'll fly to thy Arms, Infusing my Soul in Elysium of Charms; A Monarch I'll be when I lie by thy side, And thy pretty hand my Sceptre shall guide: Thus charmed with each other, true Rapture we'll prove, Whilst Angels look down and envy our Love. The Clown's Courtship, a Song made and sung to the King at Windsor, to an excellent Scotch Tune. I. QUoth john to joan, wilt thou have me? I prithee now wilt, and Ise Marry with thee: My Cow, my Cow, my House and Rents, Aw my Lands and Tenements: Say my Joan, say my Joaney, will that not do? I cannot, I cannot, come every day to woe. II. I have Corn and Hay in the Barn hard by, And three fat Hogs penned up in the sty; I have a Mare and she's coal black, I ride on her Tail to save her back: Say my Joan, etc. III. I have a Cheese upon the shelf, I cannot eat it all myself; I have three good Marks that lie in a rag, In the nook of the Chimney instead of a bag: Say my Joan, etc. iv To marry I would have thy consent, But faith I never could Compliment; I can say nought but hoy give hoa, Terms that belong to Cart and Plough: Say my Joan, etc. The Storm, a Song in Sir Barnaby Whigg. BLow Boreas blow, and let thy surly winds Make the Billows foam and roar, Thou canst no terror breed in Valiant minds; But in spite of thee I'll live and find the shore: Then cheer my hearts and be not awed, But keep the Gun-room clear; Though Hell's broke lose and the Devils roar abroad, Whilst we have Sea-room, here boys never fear; hay how she tosses up, how far, The mounting Topmast touched a Star; The Meteors blazed as through the Clouds we came, And Salamander-like we live in flame; But ah we sink, now, now we go Down to the deepest shades below: Alas where are we now? who, who, can tell? Sure 'tis the lowest room in Hell, Or where the Sea Gods dwell; With them we'll live, with them we'll live and Reign, With them we'll laugh and sing and drink amain; But see we mount, see, see, we rise again. Second Movement. Though flashes of Lightning and Tempests of Rain, Do fiercely contend which shall conquer the Main; Though the Captain does swear, Instead of a Prayer, And the Sea is all fired by the Demons o'th' Air; we'll drink and defy the mad Spirits that fly, From the deep to the sky; And sing whilst the Thunder does bellow: For Fate still will have, A kind Fate for the brave, And ne'er make his Grave of a Salt-water wave: To drown, drown, never to drown, No never to drown a good fellow. A Song in the Virtuous Wife, set by Mr. Farmer. LET the Traitors Plot on, till at last they're undone, By hurting their Brains to decoy us; We whose hearts are at rest, in our Loyalty's blest, What Daemon or power can annoy us? Ambition like Wine, does the senses confound, And Treason's a damnable thing; Then let him that thinks well see his brimmers go round, And pray for the safety and life of the King. CHORUS. Let Caesar live long, let Caesar live long, For ever be happy and ever be young; And he that doth hope to change King for a Pope, Let him die, let him die, whilst Caesar lives long. Tony: A Ballad made occasionally by reading a late Speech made by a Noble PEER. I. LET Oliver now be forgotten, his Policy's quite of doors, Let Bradshaw and Hewson lie rotting like Sons of Fanatical Whores: For Tony's grown a Patrician, By Voting damned Sedition, For many years famed Politician; The mouth of all Presbyter Peers. II. Tony a Turncoat at Worcester, Yet swore he'd maintain the King's right, But Tony did swagger and bluster, And never drew Sword on his side: For Tony like an Old Stallion, Had still the Pox of Rebellion, And never was sound Like a Chameleon, Still changing both his shape and his ground. III. Old Rowley returned (heaven bless him) From exile and danger set free, Sly Tony made haste to address him, And swore none so Loyal as he: The King that knew him a Traitor, And saw him squint like a satire, Yet through his Grace Pardoned the matter, And gave him since the Purse and the Mace. iv And now little Chancellor Tony, With honour has feathered his Wing, And careful scraped up the Money, But never a Groat for the King: But Tony's luck was confounded, The Duke soon smoked him a Round-head, From head to heel Tony was sounded; And Y— k soon put a spoke in his Wheel. V But Tony that frets in his Passion, Like Boy that has nettled his breech, Did late in the house take occasion To make a most delicate speech: He told the King like a Croney, If e'er he hopeed to have Money He must be Ruled, Oh fine Tony! Was ever Potent Monarch so schooled? VI The King Issues forth Proclamation, By Learned and Loyal Advice, But Tony declares to the Nation, The Council will never be wise: For Tony Rails at the Papist, Yet is himself an Atheist, Though so precise Sneaking and Apish: Like holy Quack or Priest in disguise. VII. But destiny shortly will cross it, For Tony grows Gouty and Sick, In spite of his Spigot and Fawset, The Statesman must go to Old Nick: Yet Tony's madder and madder, And M— blows like a Bladder, And others too, Who grow gladder, That they Great Y— k are like to undo. VIII. But now let this Rump of the Law see A Maxim, and so we will part, Who e'er with his Prince is so saucy, 'Tis feared is a Traitor in's heart: Then Tony cease to be Witty, By buzzing Treason i'th' City, And love the King, So ends my ditty: Or else may'st thou swing like a dog in a string. The Generous Lover, a new Song, set by Mr. Tho. Farmer. THE night her blackest Sables wore, all gloomy were the skies, and glittering Stars there were no more, than those in Stella's Eyes, when at her Father's Gate I knocked, where I had often been, and shrouded only by her smock, this An-gel let me in. II. Fast locked within my close Embrace, She trembling lay aff●am'd, Her swelling Breasts and glowing Face, And every touch inflamed: My eager passion I obeyed, Resolved the Fort to win, And her fond heart was soon betrayed To yield and let me in. III. Ah! then beyond expressing▪ Immortal was the Joy, I know no greater blessing; So much a God was I▪ And she transported with delight, Oft prayed me come again, And kindly vowed that every night She'd rise and let me in. iv But ah! at last she proved with Bearn, And sighing sat and dull, And I that was as much concerned Looked then just like a Fool: Her lovely Eyes with Tears ran o'er, Repenting her sweet sin, She sight, and cursed the fatal hour That e'er she let me in. V But who could cruelly deceive, Or from such Beauty part? I loved her so I could not leave The Charmer for my heart; But Wedded and concealed her Crime, Thus all was well again: And now she thanks the blessed time, That e'er she let me in. RESOLUTION. I. LOng did I Love to my Torment, But Phillis grew Proud and Cruel, Slighting all means of preferment, I Languished my life away, Jealousies doubts and despairs Did hourly increase the Fuel; Sighs and a deluge of Tears Wore out the tedious day: But now I know what the worst of Love is, I'll leave it quite o'er, and I'll languish no more, Let the Amorous Cully despair; My Love I will lend, to my Bottle and Friend, And still live as free as Air. II. Charming and bright as a Goddess, Was Phillis when first I Loved her, Now she is Proud and Immodest; Ah pity 'twas her Crime, Though she too dearly did love it, she'd rail when ere I moved her: Scorn of a blessing they Covet, Damns Women before their time; Why should a Man that has sense and honour, dote on a snare that the Devil made fair, As a Plague to the best of Mankind They Love, Fawn and Pray, and yet hate the next day; There's no joy like Wit and Wine. Love's World: A Copy of Verses Translated out of the French of Astrea, Written by my Uncle Durfe. I. GReat Artist, Love, the sure Foundation laid, And out of me another World has made; The Earth is my Fidelity, which stands Immovable by any Mortal hands; And as this World upon the Earth is founded, So this on my fidelity is grounded. II. If any fits of jealousy do make, The Earth of my fidelity to shake, And cause my solid constant heart to tremble, Imprisoned Winds exactly they resemble: Which being in the pregnant Womb enclosed, Makes me and the whole Globe be discomposed. III. My Tears the Ocean are, as soon you may Empty the Sea, as them dry up or stay; My sighs so many storms are, which rebel And make this Sea to bubble and to swell; And my Eyes flowing Rivulets do glide, Paying their constant Tribute to this Tide. iv The Air my Will is, pure Serene and free, And always waits on my fidelity; The Wind is my Desire, and rules my Will, Which by the stronger gust is moved still; And as in Caverns we do see the wind, So my desire is in my heart confined. V The Fire Invisible mixed in the Air, Those secret flames which burn my heart up, are; And as this Element no Eye can see, Even so my flames within me smothered be; But as all fire some nourishment does crave, So must mine die or nourishment must have. VI My Hopes the Moon is, which does still increase Or else diminish always more or less; And as fair Silvia, I do find it true, I have no light until supplied by you; So she no bright perfection ever won▪ Till beautified with glories from the Sun. VII. The Sun is your Incomparable Eye, Which other Planets does so far outvie; That as the Sun life to the World does give, So Lovers die unless you bid 'em live; 'Tis day when you appear, and it is night, Obscurely dark, when you are out of sight. VIII. The Summer is my Joy, when you do please, To shine upon me and my passions ease; The Winter is my Fear, when you withdraw, And my despairing doubts deny to thaw; And then alas, what fruit can Autumn bring, When I can find no flowers in my spring? The Hornpipe. BUT when the Bottles roll a— bout and Glasses, plague of all Intrigues, a Pox on charming Faces: Let the Pu— ny Lo-ver sigh, and whine, and moan like a fluttering drone, make an Insect humming, Beauty here we see, more bright than any she, ne— for out of humour, kind, and always coming. The Caterwauling, a Song made at Epsom alluding to an Intrigue there. TWO Cats were playing by a Well side, And one of these two Cats fell in, The Cat that was left most bitterly wept, Because she was t'other Cat's Cousin Jermain. II. But e'er she could hid her sorrows, and wipe The Tears from her fair sweet Eyes that fell, Malicious Fate brought another fierce Cat, To see her bemoan her dear Love in the Well; Some time this Cat in a Window had sat, And seen her bemoan her dear Love in the Well. III. This Cat of mode did the t'other Cat keep, And had given her many a Rich Tabby Gown, Deserted his Spouse, to feast her with his Mouse, And made her outbrave all the Cats in the Town; Her Champion was, in all Chances befell her, And had often fought for her in Garret and Cellar. iv But now his heart with jealousy burns, His Eyes he inflames, and his Claws does whet; The loving Pur to loud howling he turns, And Lion-like stairs on the other poor Cat: Ah! false one, cries he, what a plague did you want, To howl for this Fool, and desert your Gallant? V Have I so long been your Cully and Fop, And kept my poor Wife so long from Town? Spent all my Estate to keep you at your rate; Every Tooth in your head has cost me a Pound, And am I thus Jilted by a Cat-Whore, Go, go, you're a Puss, and I'll see ye no more! A Song in the Night Adventures, or Esq Oldsap, set by Mounsieur Graboe. I. HOW frail is Old Age to believe Their sinews can ever be strong, Or think, that a heap Of diseases can reap The pleasures of him that is young. Cho. He plunges in care let him do what he can, So wretched a thing is a doting Old Man. II. His life has been spent in Deboach, Till he comes to be sixty or more, And so wenches on Till his vigour be gone, And then the old Lecher gives o'er. Cho. A passion that's sickly can never last long, And an Old doting Fool is far worse than a Young. A Drinking Song. I. COme fill the Glasses until they run o'er, Wine is the Mistress we ought to adore; Women are pretty Fantastical toys, Fit to please foolish and ignorant boys: But Wine, Wine, 'tis Wine alone that affords the true joys; 'Tis Wine, 'tis Wine alone that affords the the true joys. II. Wine keeps out envy and grief from our hearts, Wine keeps us from blind Love and his darts; We ne'er at Fortune's Injustice complain, Nor are we troubled for Celia's disdain: But all, all, all our Cares are drowned in Champaign, All all our Cares are drowned in Champaign. III. Come fill the Glass and I'll drink a new health, Which shall not be to my Wit or my Wealth, Or to my Mistress, to his, or to thine, But to a Creature more rare and divine: Come here, here, here, to the best— I mean the best Wine; Here, here's to the best, I mean the best Wine. A Catch by another hand. THough the Town be destroyed, since ourselves we enjoy, Where e'er we reside we'll make a new Troy; When weary of one place our minds compass all, Thus Man's the great World, and the Globe's but the small. CHORUS. Then drink your Veins full, and whilst waters glide About the dull Earth, let Wine be your Tide. Then drink your Veins full, and whilst waters glide About the dull Earth, let wine be your Tide. Another. I. SOme Thirty or Forty or Fifty at least, Or more, I have loved in vain, in vain, But if you'll vouchsafe to receive a poor guest, For once I will venture again, again. II. How long I shall be in this mind, this mind, Is totally in your own power; All my days I can pass with the kind, the kind, But I'll part with the Proud in an hour. III. Then if you'll be good natured, and civil, and civil, You'll find I can be so too, so too; But if not, you may go, you may go to the Devil, Or the Devil may come to you, to you. The Libertine: A Song set to a Tune called Farmer's Maggot. WHilst Love Predominates over our Souls, A Pox on Counsel from tedious Old Fools; Reproofs of the Churchmen but whet us the more, Whilst liberty Teaches, And appetite Preaches, No wealth like a Bottle, no joy like a Wh— Long Tales of Heaven to Fools are given, But we put in pleasure to make the Scale even; Thus Kissing, and Wenching, and Drinking brave Boys, We drive out colicks By nightly Frolicks, And drown short Life in a Deluge of Joys. II. We choose our Misses by goodness of Face, And hate your formal Fops like a long Grace; The Minions of Fortune we slight and reprove, 'Tis she's the Fairy, That proves most Airy, And Courts our acquaintance with passion and love: Let the Zealous Miser think he is wiser, That late kept a Wench, but now is preciser; Whilst we sit and Revel here free from mishaps, With Girls as willing, As we for a Shilling, And fear nought, but Duns, bad Claret and Claps. Another Song Translated out of the French of my Uncle D'urfe. I. THis restless River that does run, Wave after wave as it begun; Is like the sorrows that do flow, Upon my Soul, woe after woe. II. As that compelled by Nature wanders, Murmuring itself into Meanders; So I oppressed by Fortune rove, Murmuring against my Fate and Love. A Scotch Sung, sung at the Artillery Feast. WONS, what no is the mat—ter! good faith 'tis won— d'rous strange; the whigs do keep sike a clatter that nean can pass th' Exchange. They cry bread it is pity, their numbers are no more, the Duke does dine in the City, and muckle they fear his power. They begin the awd trick again, and Cabal like awed Nick again, Feast three hundred pound thick again, sike a height they soar: Ah bonny London, thou'rt undone if e'er thou art in their power. II. The wise Old E— with the Spigot, That never knew rest or ease, Odds bread is grown sike a Bigot; The Nation has his disease. More I think I could name ye, That make this raree show, Bold George, and Politic jemmy; Converted by Doctor TO. Both the Sheriffs there should ha' been, Then how merry they would ha' been, Met for National good again, As they were before, Ah bonny London, thou'rt undone, If long thou art in their power. III. More to show us what Ninnys Are all Rebellious beasts, The Cuckolds sent in their Guinnys, To make up this Godly Feast. Never caring or thinking What Insolence was done, Or that their Plotting and Drinking; Should e'er be opposed so soon. But when they knew they were barred again, They sent out the Black Guard again, All our Bonfires were marred again; Slaves did shout and roar: Ah bonny London, thou'rt undone, If e'er thou art in their power. iv Right and Royalty Governs, Which Rebels would overthrow, They once were fatal to Sovereigns; Ah let 'em no more be so. But to baffle Oppression, Inspired by Fate divine, Defend the Crown and Succession; And keep it in the Right-Line. Every Soldier will fight for it, Each bold Genius will write for it, And the Whigs hang in spite for it, Losing Regal power: And bonny London, They're undone, That thought to usurp once more. The Spinning Wheel, a Pastoral, made at New-Hall, and Sung to the KING at Windsor. I. UPon a sunshine Summers' day, When every Tree was green and gay, The Morning blushed with Phoebus' ray, Just then ascending from the Sea, As Silvio did a Hunting ride, A lovely Cottage he espied; Where lovely Chloe Spinning sat, And still she turned her we'll about. II. Her Face a Thousand Grace's crown, Her Curling hair was lovely brown, Her Rolling Eyes ah hearts did win, And white as down of Swans her skin; So taking her plain dress appears, Her Age not passing sixteen years, The Swain lay sighing at her foot, Yet still she turned her Wheel about. III. Thou sweetest of thy tender kind, Cries he, this ne'er can suit thy mind, Such Grace attracting noble Loves, Was ne'er designed for Woods and Groves▪ Come, come with me to Court my Dear, Partake my Love and Honour there; And leave this Rural sordid rout, And turn no more thy Wheel about. iv At this with some few modest sighs, She turns to him her Charming Eyes; Ah! tempt me Sir no more she cries, Nor seek my weakness to surprise, I know your Arts to be believed, I know how Virgins are deceived; Then let me thus my Life wear out, And turn my harmless Wheel about. V By that dear panting breast cries he, And yet unseen divinity; Nay by my Soul that rests in thee, I swear this cannot, must not be; Ah cause not my eternal woe, Nor kill the Man that loves thee so; But go with me and ease my doubt, And turn no more thy Wheel about. VI His Cunning Tongue so played its part, He gained admission to her heart; And now she thinks it is no sin, To take Loves fatal poison in; But ah too late she found her fault, For he her Charms had soon forgot; And left her ere the year ran out, In tears to turn her Wheel about. Advice to the City: Sung to the King at Windsor, to a Theorbo. I. REmember ye Whiggs what was formerly done, Remember your mischiefs in Forty and One; When friend opposed friend, and Father the Son, Then, than your Old Cause went rarely on: The Cap sat aloft, and low was the Crown, The Rabble got up and the Nobles went down; Lay Elders in Tubs, ruled Bishops in Robes, Who mourned the sad fate And dreadful disaster, of their Royal Master By Rebels betrayed. CHORUS. Then London be wise and baffle their power, And let 'em play the Old Game no more; Hang, hang up the Sh— Those Baboons in power, Those popular Thiefs, Those Rats of the Tower, Whose Canting Tales the Rabble believes; In a hurry And never sorry Merrily they go on: Fie for shame, we're too tame, since they claim The Combat: Tan tarra rarra, Tan tarra rarra, Dub a dub, let the Drum beat, The strong Militia guards the Throne. II. When Faction possesses the Popular Voice, The Cause is supplied still with Nonsense and Noise; And Tony their Speaker the Rabble leads on, For he knows if we prosper that he must run; Carolina must be his Station of ease, And London be rid of her worsest disease: From Plots and from Spies, From Treasons and Lies We shall ever be free, And the Law shall be able, to punish a Rebel As cunning as he. CHORUS. Then London be wise and baffle their power, And let 'em play the Old Game no more; Hang, hang up the Sh— Those Baboons in power, Those popular Thiefs, Those Rats of the Tower, Whose Canting Tales the Rabble believes; In a hurry And never sorry Merrily they go on: Fie for shame, we're too tame, since they claim The Combat: Tan tarra rarra, Tan tarra rarra, Dub a dub, let the Drum beat, The strong Militia guards the Throne. III. Rebellion ne'er wanted a Loyal pretence, These Villains, swear all's for the good of their Prince; Oppose our Elections to show what they dare, And losing their Charter arrest the Mayor; Fool je— was the Captain of the Cuckoldy Crew, With Ell— and jea— and H— the Jew; Famed sparks of the Town For wealth and renown, Give the Devil his due, And such as we fear, had our Sovereign been there, Had arrested him too. CHORUS. Then London be wise and baffle their power, And let them play the Old Game no more; Hang, hang up the Sh— Those Baboons in power, Those popular Thiefs, Those Rats of the Tower, Whose Canting Tales the Rabble believes; In a hurry And never sorry Merrily they go on: Fie for shame, we're too tame, since they claim The Combat: Tan tarra rarra, Tan tarra rarra, Dub a dub, let the Drum beat, The strong Militia guards the Throne. A Song, Sung to the King at his Entertainment at my Lord Conways at Windsor. I. WHen Godlike Caesar from his Throne, Decends to taste of Mortal Joy, And from his awful hand lays down The dazzling Rains of Monarchy: The Queen of Love and Beauty flies, To calm his frowns and cares release; Brim full of liquid Love her Eyes, And Breast like the white land of Peace. II. Then, than an equal power they show, In Union all true bliss relies, He carries Thunder in his brow; She killing Lightning in her Eyes: Yet only hurtful to her foes, Whose brutal Malice she would tame, O'er others it divinely grows, A Glory in a Lambent flame. III. In Love is our Eternal rest, Salvation there does chief lie, In Caesar's pleasure we are blest; In his content depends our joy: So jove and Pregnant nature prove, The blessings they for us designed; Since from their everlasting Love Springs all the joys of human kind. The Court Star: A Poem, on the Duchess of—. I. WE all to Conquering Beauty bow, Its Influence I admire, But never saw a Star till now That like you could inspire: Now I may say I met with one, Amazes all Mankind, And like Men gazing on the Sun; With too much light am blind. II. Like the bright Genius of your Race, You spread your Influence, Your one Sex borrows from your Face; And ours from your sense: Pardon me, since my thoughts I raise, With this blessed Theme delighted, For since all loudly speak your praise, Then when should I not write it. III. The glittering Temple of our God, Is decked with forms divine, But amongst all the heavenly Crowd, Is ne'er a Face like thine; The strictest zeal Apostate stands, When so much Grace they view, To heaven they trembling lift their hands; But Eyes and hearts to you. iv Calm as the tender moving sighs, When longing Lovers meet; Like the divining Prophets wise, And like blown Roses sweet: Modest yet Gay, reserved yet free, Each happy night a Bride, A Mein like awful Majesty, And yet no spark of Pride. V The Patriarch to gain a Wife, chaste, Beautiful and Young, Served Fourteen years of painful life, Yet never thought 'em long; Ah! were you to reward such cares, And Life so long could stay, Not Fourteen, but Four Hundred years; Would seem but as one day. VI Thus when eternal kindness flowed, ere wretched Adam sinned, Heavens bounteous hand on him bestowed; A lovely Female friend. I know not how he prized that life, But this I'm sure is true, If a true blessing be a Wife, She then must be like you. FINIS. Books Printed for, and sold by Joseph Hindmarsh, at the Black Bull in Cornhill, over against the Royal Exchange. THe History of the Civil Wars of France, Written in Italian by H. C. D' Avila, Translated out of the Original. The Second Impression, whereunto is added a Table. Reliquiae Raleighanae; being Discourses and Sermons on several subjects. By the Reverend Dr. Walter Raleigh, Dean of Wells, and Chaplain in Ordinary to his late Majesty King Charles the First. Sermons upon Faith and Providence, and other Subjects. By the late Reverend William Outram, D. D. Prebend of Westminster, and Chaplain in Ordinary to his Majesty. Loyalty and Peace; or, two seasonable Discourses from 1 Sam. 24. 5. viz. David's Heart smote him, because he cut off Saul's Skirts; the first of Conscience and its Smiting. The second of the prodigious impiety of Murdering King Charles the First: Intended to promote sincere Devotion and Humiliation upon each Anniversary Fast for the late King's Death. The good Old Way, or a Discourse offered to all true hearted Protestants concerning the Ancient Way of the Church, and the Conformity of the Church of England thereunto, as to its Government, Manner of Worship, Rites, and Customs: By Edward Pelling, Rector of St. Martin Ludgate, and Chaplain to his Grace the Duke of Somerset. An impartial account of the Arraignment, Trial, and Condemnation of Thomas late Earl of Strafford, and Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, before the Parliament at Westminster, Anno Dom. 1641. The Loyal Citizen revived: A Speech made by Alderman Garraway, at a Common Hall on Thursday, the 17th of january, 1642. upon occasion of a Speech delivered there the Friday before, by Mr. Pym, at the reading of his Majesty's answer to the late Petition. The unfortunate Heroes; or, the Adventures of ten Famous men, viz. Ovid, Lentulus, Hortensius, Herennius, Cepion, Horace, Virgil, Cornelius, Galus, Cerssus, Agrippa; Banished from the Court of Augustus Caesar: In ten Novels. Composed by that great Wit of France, Monsieur de Villa Dieu. Englished by a Gentleman for his diversion. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or King James' Instructions to his Dearest Son Henry the Prince, now reprinted by his Majesty's Command. The Ingratitude of a Commonwealth, or the fall of Caius Martius' Coriolanus, as it is Acted at the Theatre Royal: By N. Tate. The London Cuckolds, a Comedy as it is Acted at the Duke's Theatre: By E. Rrvenscrot Gent. Sir Barnaby Whig, or no Wit like a Woman's, a Comedy, as it is Acted by their Majesty's Servants at the Theatre Royal: By T. D'urfey, Gent. A short account or state of Mr. Sheridan's Case before the late House of Commons, in a letter to T. I. The Progress of honesty, or a view of a Court and City, a Pindaric Poem: By T. D'urfey, Gent. Mercurius Menippeus, the Loyal Satirist; or Hudibras in prose, written by an unknown Hand, in the time of the late Rebellion, but never till now Published. Satyrs upon the jesuits. Some new pieces never before Printed, by the Author of the Satyrs against jesuits. The Poet's complaint of his Muse, or a satire against Libels, a Poem: By Thomas Otway. An exact Journal of the siege of Tangier, from the first setting down of the Moors before it, on March the 25th. 1681. to the late Truce May the 26th following, in three Letters, written by three Eye witnesses of the whole transaction. A discourse touching Tangier, on these Heads: 1. The service Tangier has already rendered the Crown. 2. What service it may render if improved. 3. The mischief it may do us if possessed by any other powerful Prince. 4. Some general observations touching Trade. A-la-mode Plebotomy no good fashion: or the copy of a Letter to Dr. Hungerford, by Richard Griffith of Richmond in Surrey. M. D. The Apostate Protestant, a Letter to a Friend, occasioned by the late Reprinting of a jesuits Book, about Succession to the Crown of England, pretended to have been written by R. Doleman. Scandalum Magnatum, or, Potapski's Case: A satire against Polish Oppression. Butler's Ghost; or, Hudibras: The Fourth Part, with Reflections upon these Times. The English Remedy; or, Talbor's wonderful Secret, for Curing of Agues and Fevers: Sold by the Author Sir Robert Talbor, to the most Christian King, and since his Death, ordered by his Majesty to be Published in French, for the Benefit of his Subjects. And now Translated into English for public good. FINIS.