THE Last and Best Edition OF New Songs: Such as are of the Most General ESTEEM EITHER IN TOWN or COURT.  
Collected with the greatest care, and printed after the most CORRECT COPIES.  

With Allowance,  
Nov. 20. 1676. ROGER L'ESTRANGE.   
LONDON, Printed in the Year 1677.   

New Songs.  

In the Fool turned critic.  

I Found my Celia one night undressed,  
a precious banquet for languishing love;  
The charming object a flamme encrea●'d,  
which never, ah never till then I proved;  
Her delicate skin and starry eye,  
made me a secret bliss pursue:  
But with her soft hand she put it by,  
and cried fie Amintor, ah what would you do.   

Her words and blushes so fired my heart,  
I pulled her to me and clasped her around.  
And tho with cunning she played her part,  
yet fainter and fainter her threats I found.  
But I least thought or least desired  
my love a forbearance should allow:  
A touch of her hand my heart inspired,  
my passion was melted I know not how.   

Which when fair Celia's quick eyes perceived  
and found by my dullness my passion decay;  
Her fate she inwardly seemed to grieve,  
that fooled her & cooled her so basely away.  
She sighed and looked pale to see me dull,  
and in her heart this Oath she swore,  
She never again would slight an address;  
nor the critical minute refuse no more.    

Another.  

ROom, room, room for a man of the Town,  
that takes delight in roaring;  
That daily rambles up and down,  
and spends his nights in whoring:  
That for the noble name of Spark  
does his companions rally:  
Commits an out-rage in the dark,  
then sneaks into an Ally.   

To every female that he meets,  
he swears he bears affection;  
Defies all Laws, arrests, or fears,  
by help of kind protection.  
Then he, intending further wrongs,  
by some resenting Cully,  
Is decently run through the Lungs,  
and there's an end of Bully.    

Song.  

BY heaven! she's hard and melts no more  
Than does the Adamantine Shore;  
She's could as Ice or Northern Air,  
As unconcerned at my despair;  
And stops her unrelenting ears,  
Like storms to shipwrecked Mariners:  
Such is the female I implore,  
By heaven she's hard ad meets no more.   

Poor Amintor's hapless fate,  
doomed to be unfortunate;  
For no other purpose born,  
Than to love and meet with scorn:  
In a sea of passions tost,  
shunned by her I value most:  
Still pursued by her I hate,  
Poor Amintor's hapless fate.   

But pox o'this whining,  
And idle repining,  
That only enjoyment opposes;  
For Women like Fishes,  
We scar from their wishes,  
By holding the bait to their Noses:  
For obliged by ill custom, tho backward they be,  
They are doubtless by Nature as forward as we.    

Song.  
PHylander and Silvia a gentle young pair,  
Whose business was loving, and kissing their care,  
In a sweet smelling grove went smiling along  
Till the youth gave a vent to his heart with his tongue;  
Ah Silvia, said he, and sighed when he spoken,  
Your cruel resolve will you never revoke:  
No never, she said; how? never, he cried;  
'Tis the damned that shall only that, Sentence abide.  
She turned her about to look all around,  
Then blushed, and her pretty eyes cast on the ground.  
She kissed his warm cheeks, and then played with his neck.  
And urged that his reason his passion should check.  
Ah Philander, she said, 'tis a dangerous bliss;  
Ah never ask more, and I'll give thee a kiss.  
How, never! he cried; and then shivered all o'er.  
No, never, she said, and then trip'd to a bower.  
She stopped at the Wicket; he cried let me in;  
She answered I would if it were not a sin:  
heaven sees, and the Gods will chastise the poor head  
Of Philander for this: straight trembling he said  
heaven sees 'tis confessed, but no tell-tales are there;  
She kissed him and cried you're an Atheist my dear.  
And should you prove false, I should never endure;  
How never, he cried, and straight backward he threw her.  
Her delicate body he clasped in his arms,  
He kissed her, he pressed her, heaped charms upon charms.  
He cried, shall I now? no, never, she said,  
Your will you shall never enjoy till I'm dead:  
Then as if she were dead, she slept & lay still,  
Yet even at death she bequeathed him a smile,  
Which emboldened the youth his charms to apply,  
Which he bore still about him to cure those that die.  
But twice, &c.   

Song.  
TEll me, oh tell me, some sergeant's that are kind,  
Where I my dearest Astella may find.  
I wander all day in dark shades of despair,  
All night I complain to the pitiless air:  
Astella, Astella! is all my sad cry:  
Astella, Astella, the echoes reply.  
But alas she's not there,  
But alas she's not there, and her lover must die.   

Rural Happiness. A Song.  

HOw happy's the silly poor innocent Swain,  
That spends all his life in a Grove or a Plain;  
He's free from the passions that other men have,  
And has Cupid his Vassal, and Fortune his Slave.   

Whilst others ambition, entangles and thralls,  
With the cares of vain wealth, with disturbance and brawls  
His humble poor soul no sublimer thoughts keep,  
Then to sport with his Lambs or to play to his Sheep.   

When Phoebus with-draws his refulgent bright light,  
Then home to his Cottage he travels at night;  
Embraces and kisses his Nymph, while she sings;  
And his life's to be envied by the greatest of Kings.   

Then Silvia let's fly to the pleasant green grove,  
Where we may enjoy all the pleasures of Love.  
In a shady cool grott, where sweet Philomel's air,  
Shall heighten our pleasures, and banish despair.    

Song.  
I H●ve languished too long for one who I fin●…  
Has a kindness for me as the rest of mankind  
This sort of false love, I cannot endure,  
Since mine is so fixed and hers so unsure,  
Therefore I have nothing to ease my sad heart  
But the pleasure to think how others may sin ●●t,  
Therefore I have, &c.   

Song in Madam Fickle.  

BAcchus thou mighty power Divine,  
Great God of mirth and sprightly wine;  
Behold us here, that kneeling show  
the duty that we owe;  
We through thy influence rejoice,  
And with free and cheerful voice,  
The famed and Praises sing,  
Of Bacchus our great God and King.   

Chorus.  
'Tis Wine, 'tis Wine, that still controls,  
And flamme, and Love, must still strike sail;  
There lies such Vigour in full Bowls,  
The fate of Princes can't prevail;  
The Wreaths of great Heroes his Altar shall crown  
whilst the Grave and the Prudent bow down.  
When Beauty darts a smiling Beam,  
Our souls are bid by loves extreme;  
But one brisk Glass takes care away,  
And yields us back the prey;  
No fate of love nor piercing dart,  
Can wound when Wine surrounds the heart;  
Still guarding it with care,  
It battles fate, and sleights the fair,  
Chorus. 'Tis Wine, 'tis Wine, &c.    

Another,  
LEt sorrow find those that never could love,  
nor never had worth to aspire,  
we'l harbour no care,  
nor trouble, nor fear,  
but boldly enjoy our desire;  
Ah! how pleasant is love's charming fire!   

Song in the same.  

HAppy's the Man that takes delight  
in banqueting the 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.  
Chorus. With Bottles armed, &c.   

Pleasures thus free and unconfined,  
no drowsy crime reproaches:  
No Heaven to a frolic mind,  
no pleasure like debauches:  
Whilst rambling thus new joys we reap,  
in charms of love and drinking,  
Insipid Fops lie drowned in sleep,  
and the cuckolded lies a thinking.  
Chorus. Whilst rambling thus, &c.    

Another.  

A Way with the Causes of Riches and Cares,  
That eat up our Spirits, and shorten our Years,  
No pleasure can be,  
In state nor degree,  
But it's mingled with trouble and fears,  
Then perish all Fops by Sobriety dulled;  
While he that is merry reigns Prince of the World.   

The Quirks of the zealous, of Beauty and Wit,  
Tho' supported by power at last must submit;  
For he that is sad,  
Grows wretched or mad,  
Whilst mirth like a Monarch does sit,  
It cherishes life in the old and the young,  
And makes ev'ry day to be happy and long.    

A Song.  
WHile Cloe, full of harmless thought,  
beneath the willows lay;  
Kind love a comely shepherd brought  
to pass the time away:  
She blushed to be encountered so,  
and chid the amorous Swain;  
But, as she striven to rise and go,  
He pulled her down again:  
A sudden passion seized her heart,  
in spite of her disdain;  
She found a Pulse in every part,  
and love in every vein:  
Ah! Youth, she cried, what charms are these  
that conquer and surprise?  
Ah! let me— for, unless you please,  
I have no power to rise.  
She faintly spoken, and trembling lay,  
for fear he should comply;  
But Virgins eyes their hearts betray,  
and give their tongues the lye;  
Thus she, who Princes had denied,  
with all their pompous train,  
Was in the lucky Minute tried,  
and yielded to a Swain.   

A farewell to Dorilisa,  

whoever does doubt the power of love,  
See but the pains it makes me prove;  
Think on the pleasures I refuse,  
And on the solitude I choose;  
The charms of good wine and converse I deny,  
And the flames to assuage  
That within me do rage,  
To the North for relief I must fly.   

That rig'rous Climate shall I find,  
More mildred than this I leave behind;  
The Snowy breast from which I part,  
Her never-thawing Icy heart  
Has still so enured me to could and disdain,  
That I never can fear  
The storms that are there,  
The North yields not half so much pain.   

Yet, since her beauty has impressed,  
Her Image firmly in my breast,  
'Tis vain to leave her, unless I  
From my own self knew how to fly:  
And since in the West she her thousands has slain  
Still her Empire shall be  
More enlarged by me  
In the North Dorilissa shall Reign.    

Love not Return'd.  

AH how unkind is the Nymph I adore?  
For my obedience she sleights me the more;  
Still as she shuns me I closer pursue,  
So by her flight she has learnt to subdue,  
How endless are the pains I must endure?  
Since she by flying, wounds, and shuns the cure.   

Yet how unhappy soever I am,  
Still I must follow and cherish my flamme,  
For should I struggle and break off my chain,  
My freedom would be worse then her disdain?  
Therefore the Nobler fate I will prefer,  
It must be happy if it come from her.   

Then cruel fair, if my death you've decreed,  
spite of compassion I beg you proceed,  
And look not down on my wretched estate,  
As neither worthy of your love nor hate:  
For with your frowns I would rather dispense,  
Then languish in Luke-warm indifference.    

Song.  

AS sad Philothea lay melting in grief,  
And kindly complained of the Amorous Thief,  
She a loud to the woods did her passion impart,  
But faintly lamented the loss of her heart:  
Ah cruel, unkind Dorilaus, she cried,  
Bring back the fond stray that has wandered aside.   

The Youth as from courting Astraea he came,  
Had the pleasure of hearing her sigh out his name;  
And softly he stolen, till so nigh her he drew,  
t'has his arms on a sudden about her he threw;  
Then take back thy heart Philothaea, he cried,  
'Tis pitty the Straggler should ever be tied.   

surprised at the welcome approach of her Swain,  
Yet unwilling to take the fond Truant again;  
No Shepherd, says she, give me thine in Exchange,  
And I'll keep it so safe that it never shall range;  
No, trust me! not I, Dorilaus replied,  
Since your own you have suffered to wander aside.    

A rustic Song.  
MY gaffer and gammer were fast in their Nest,  
And all the young Fry of their Cribs were possessed,  
Spot, White-foot, and Puss, in the ashes were spread,  
And a Blinking Rush-candle stuck over their head.  
Sweet Ursly was washing the Trenchers and Platter,  
Preparing to make her good friend, the Hogg, fatter;  
Greaz'd up to the Elbows, and smutched to the Eyes,  
And her rich broider'd cloath's were as fat as her thighs.  
Like Bag-pipes her Cheeks, and her Udders chin-high,  
Her Nose hawking out, bended both ways awry;  
Her lips were as thick as her squint-eyes were blinking,  
And her Orient locks were most rankishly stinking.  
While Roger the ploughman lay close by a snoring,  
God Cupid was vexed at his Clownish adoring;  
And therefore conveys to his great Logger-head,  
In a whisper, the news that all were a'bed,  
Up Roger starts then, and rubbing his eyes,  
To his dearest sweet Ursly with passion he flies;  
And lolling his Elbows on Ursly's broad back,  
Complains that his heart was e'en ready to crack.  
But Ursly displeased with the weight of her love,  
( O Cupid why dost thou thus treacherous prove?)  
As fast as she could she turned her about,  
And with Dish-clout slopt o'er the wretch'd face of our Lowt.  
Now Cupid thou're fit to be kicked out of doors,  
Since a Pimp thou dost prove to such fulsome amours;  
But Cupid is onely a hope to obtain,  
What is out of our reach seldom causes our pain,  
For Roger at Market had frequently seen,  
Such beauties, good Lawi, each looked like a Queen;  
Yet his heart all the while did continue his own,  
But Ursly, ah! Ursly, but seen and it's gone.   

Song.  

HOw peaceful the days are, how pleasant the nights,  
How voided of all trouble, how full of delights;  
When the eyes of Dorinda, her heart does discover,  
With all the kind looks on her passionate Lover;  
When kisses and vows loves earnest have paid,  
And I am assured my heart's not betrayed;  
I conclude greater blessings the Gods cannot give,  
And I pray, and I wish here for ever to live.   

Chorus.  
No joy to that Love where true hearts do unite,  
'Tis a morning eternal that never sees night.    

Song.  

AH Celia! what powerful charms have you,  
That with a look could so my heart subdue?  
And at first sight impose a law on me,  
Against my fundamental liberty:  
I looked and loved, O fatal was the day!  
I looked until I look my heart away.   

And yet upon your brow you wore a frown,  
What would sereness then and smiles have done?  
In vain, in vain we boast a freeborn soul,  
When beauty can so easily control:  
When every glance does liberty expose,  
And with a look we native freedom lose.   

You bid me now resume my liberty,  
Alas I cannot, if I would, be free:  
should fate the unwish'd power bestow, yet still,  
Having that power I should want the will:  
Where love so absolute a Monarch Reigns,  
They court their fetters and grow proud of chains.    

A Song.  

LOve in fantastic Triumph sat,  
while bleeding heart around him flowed,  
For whom fresh pains he did create,  
and strange tyrannick power he showed;  
From thy bright eyes he took his fires,  
which round about in sport he hurled:  
But 'twas from me he took desires,  
enough t'undoe the amorous world.   

From me he took his sighs and tears,  
from thee his Pride and Cruelty:  
From me his languishments and fears,  
and every killing dart from thee:  
Thus thou and I the god have armed,  
and set him up a Deity:  
But my poor heart alone is harmed,  
while thine a Victor is, and free.    

Song in Tom Essence,  

SInce kindly you have left your heart,  
Although my dear thou absent art,  
To lodge within my breast:  
Not fathers frowns shall e'r remove  
My pleasing guest: thy pledge of love  
for ever there shall rest.   

Yet by your absence I'm inclined,  
To think thou'rt fatally unkind,  
And dost another love:  
If one more charming fair you've met,  
And all your vows to me forget:  
May grief my life remove.   

Then blame me not, my Celadon,  
Since I the want of thee bemoan,  
for your return I grieve:  
Ah quickly then my joys restore,  
hast to perform those Oaths you swore,  
Then, then, I'll wish to live.    

Song.  

HOw cruel dost prove,  
To be always in love,  
and never have any Relief?  
'Tis the wretched'st Estate,  
That's allotted by fate,  
and a torment that's past all belief.   

Then Pox on his hid,  
Who loves Captive doth ' bide,  
and wears silly Cupids short chain:  
Whilst others do rove,  
And regard not vain love,  
he's tortured and wracked by the pain.   

Then women i'll leave  
And to wine I will cleave,  
God Bacchus i'll ever adore:  
Whilst others do whine,  
For a beauty, and pine,  
in a Tavern i'll sing and i'll Roar.    

SONG.  

AS poor amyntas sighing sat,  
beneath the myrtles green:  
His lovely face with tears all wet,  
was by fair Phillis seen.  
He had carved her name on every part,  
round the Bark of the three:  
But not so plain as in his heart,  
for wholly there reigned she.   

She blushed to see the cruel fate,  
the unjust Swain did bear,  
occasioned by her unjust hate,  
and sighing dropped a tear.  
I yield, great God, she cried, and lay  
close to Amintas's side:  
And gently wiped his tears away,  
as they from's eyes did glide.   

The shepherd Ravishing a kiss,  
from her white Snowy hand,  
Esteemed that a greater bliss,  
than all the worlds command.  
Ah! nymph, he cried, is't true, you love,  
and pitty wretched me?  
Or if it but a ficton prove,  
may't last eternally.   

Her Vows convinced the amr'ous Swain,  
that he●'s was Real Love:  
That she did wear God Cupid's Chain,  
would constant always prove:  
Then all the joys that love can name  
amyntas soul inspire,  
Till Phaenix-like each in the flamme  
of Constancy expire.    

Song.  

THe man that I love must not know of my pain,  
I must Rest in Disguise, and conceal it,  
Tho' I find that at length it may make me complain,  
It is Dangerous yet,  
It is Dangerous yet to Reveal it;  
Tho' I find that at length, &c.   

Honour says do not give way to thy love,  
and Love says I prithee persevere,  
And let not thy sancy distractedly move,  
But since thou dost love,  
But since thou dost love, love for ever,  
And let not thy fancy, &c.    

Song.  
SEe, see, how pleasantly she lies,  
With crossed Arms and closed Eyes,  
Smiling with a charming Grace,  
Such innocence lies in her Face,  
That every time she draws her breath,  
It wounds so deep 'twill be my death.  
Prithee dear Angel dream of me;  
By Heaven's I love none more than thee:  
I bleed, I bleed, and soon shall die,  
Phillis, ah Phillis! hear my cry:  
Death for a minute pray be gone,  
My Phillis sure will hear my moan;  
But if she will not, then come you  
And take me hence, and Phillis too.   

Song.  

HOw mighty are the Charms of Womankind  
And yet how soon decayed;  
Scarce has a Beauty in full glory shined,  
Ere 'tis in utter ruin laid.  
While the blessed minutes last before its fall,  
'Tis made a Deity and adored by all;  
But when the glorious Lustre's gone,  
Th' unhappy slighted Nymph is left alone,  
The sad privation to bemoan.   

See, see poor Phillis yonder, once the fair,  
Bright as the Morning Sun,  
Blasted and faded all her Beauties are.  
Alas! her killing days are done.  
How unregarded now she treads the plain,  
pursued by no admiring sighing Swain;  
Not one charm left, not one alluring grace,  
Horror & wrinkles have assumed their place.  
Age, age, is wrote upon her Face.   

Who then would be in love? and sendly prise  
At so unjust a rate,  
A pair of flattering, false, deluding eyes,  
That are too morrow out of date?  
If their first Vigour lasted to the Grave;  
'Twere richly worth the while to be a slave:  
But since the fairest in their course must end,  
I will no more on the gay toy depend;  
But make my pleasure in my friend.    

Mr. H. S. his farewell.  

LOve's soft deluding charms  
Must now give place to Arms.  
Hark! hark, I hear the Trumpets fresh alarms.  
Mars chides me for my stay,  
And frowning seems to say  
Thy honour youth will suffer by delay.  
Adieu ye Sex divine,  
Whose all-commanding Shrine  
So oft has bowed these stubborn knees of mine.  
Kind Females now no more  
Must I those charms adore;  
Nor court the pleasures of the british Shore   

My Friend and I in Wars,  
' Midst Armies, Wounds, and Scars,  
Will bid defiance to unlucky stars.  
No charming female darts  
With all their amorous arts  
Shall ere disjoin our undivided hearts.  
Friendship, that noble name,  
That kindles generous flamme,  
Prompts us to court no Mistris now but famed.  
Her we may jointly love,  
And happy Rivals prove  
In Emulation like to those above.   

Thus hand in hand we'll go,  
And equal danger know.  
Love begs in vain, when honour answers no.  
The battle done at last,  
We'll lye so close embraced,  
And think with pleasure on the danger past.  
Should one of us be slain  
Fate's envy's spent in vain,  
In spite of death our friendship we'll maintain.  
For he that's left behind,  
Shall teach the World to find,  
Tho two in person, we're but one in mind.    

Song.  

HOw happy and free is the resolute swain,  
That denies to submit to the yoke of the fair;  
Free from excesses of pleasure and pain  
Neither daz'led with hope nor depressed with despair.  
He's safe from disturbance, and calmly enjoys  
All the pleasures of love without clamour or noise.   

Poor shepherds in vain their affection reveal  
To the Nymph that is peevish, proud, sullen, or coy;  
Vainly do Virgins their passion conceal,  
For they boil in their grief till themselves they destroy.  
And thus the poor darling lies under the curse  
To be checked in the Womb or ore-laid by the Nurse.    

Song.  

LAurinda, who did love disdain,  
For whom had languished many a swain,  
Leading her bleating flocks to drink,  
She spied upon the Rivers brink  
A Youth, whose eyes did well declare  
How much he loved, but loved not her.   

At first she laughed and gazed a while,  
But soon it lessened to a smile;  
Thence to surprise and wonder came,  
Her breast to heave, her heart to flamme.  
Then cried she out, Ah now I prove  
Thou art a god almighty Love.   

She would have spoken, but shane denied,  
And bad her first consult her pride;  
But soon she found that aid was gone,  
For Jove alas, had left her none;  
Ah how she burns! but 'tis too late,  
For in his eyes she reads her fate.    

Song.  

WHen first to Dorinda my heart I resigned,  
My vows were all real, and passion unfeigned,  
But she scorned my devoirs, and refused to be kind,  
Tho she loved, tho she loved, when she rashly disdained.   

But alas 'twas in vain, for my cowardly zeal  
No sooner resisted begun to decay,  
And all the soft flames a fond lover doth feel,  
Like a Ghost that is struck at, did vanish away.   

Then how cruel, how cruel and harsh was the smart,  
When her Eyes gave me wounds, but would not discover  
The plot of that passion that played with my heart,  
And seemed to contemn to secure a poor lover.   

Ah too too unjust to her self and to me!  
Thus neither obtained, tho we both did adore,  
My heart she had kept, had her passion been free,  
But now 'tis return'd, I can offer't no more.   

Yet forced by her virtues, I ne'er can repent  
My devotion, nor court her repulse; for the fate  
That proved so ungentle and fierce to prevent  
Our amours, shall grow nulled, and protect me from hate.   

Then far from her sight, to some grove I'll retire,  
Where the grief for my loss I will never remove,  
But sighing repeat what I once did admire,  
And languish for pity, tho I cannot for love.    

A Plea for Inconstancy.  

HE's a phlegmatic Lover,  
In whom we d●scover,  
A temper that never does change.  
A breast that's like mine, with jealousy burns,  
Now love and now anger possess it by turns;  
With fears I grow mildred, and with hopes I grow tame;  
That passion is weak that is always the same.   

But the sanguine brisk Lover  
Can never discover  
How the soul of a Woman's inclined;  
He knows that her charms have conquered yet more,  
That many there are who do sigh and adore,  
He trusts not to merit to give him success,  
For Women love only by fancy and guess;  
Or if to desert by great chance they prove kind,  
The fair still are fickle, and oft change their mind,   

O the starts of a lover  
Do plainly discover  
The passion he feels is extreme;  
For he that loves well and does not possess,  
Must either be jealous, or else love you less;  
Then say not my fears or my doubts do you wrong,  
He cannot be quiet whose passion is strong;  
Small fires do but glow, and are always the same,  
But the greater will rage and scatter their flamme.    

Song.  

WHile I anatomize my heart,  
you Celia must look on;  
Turn not aside your face nor start,  
at what your Eyes have done.   

See how the gaping wound doth bleed  
afresh, now you are by;  
See by the poisoned arrows head,  
in torture how I lye.   

This wound you made, now take my heart  
and view it all around;  
See, if in any other part  
there can one flaw be found.   

There's faith and troth, and constancy,  
a great and noble love,  
Heal t'other side by sympathy,  
and leave the rest to Jove.    

A Song.  

AS Amoret with Phillis sat,  
one evening on the Plain,  
And saw the charming Strephon wait,  
to tell the Nymph his pain;  
The threatening dangers to remove,  
he whispered in her Ear,  
Ah Phillis! If you will not love,  
this shepherd do not hear.  
This Shepherd, &c.   

None ever had so strange an art,  
his passion to convey  
Into a listening Virgins heart,  
and steal her soul away;  
Fly, fly betimes, for fear you give  
occasion for your fate;  
In vain, said she, in vain I strive,  
alas! 'tis now too late.  
Alas! 'tis now, &c.    

Song.  
I liked, but never loved before  
I saw thy charming face;  
Now every feature I adore,  
and dote on every grace;  
She ne'er shall know the kind desire,  
which her could look denies,  
Unless my heart that's all on fire,  
should sparkle through mine eyes.  
Then if no gentle glance return,  
a sil●nt leave to speak;  
My heart, which would for ever burn,  
must sigh alas! and break.   

Mock-Song.  

WAs it a Queen, or else a Cowlady,  
so lovely, brisk, and gay? ha!  
Or a dandling sun-beam that we see,  
in the milk-white eye of the Month of May.   

No, 'twas no Queen, nor yet no Cow-lady,  
all in the month of May, stay;  
But a sorrowful Nymph upon the green,  
whose eyes had thrown her heart away.   

Was it a Prince or yet a Butter-flye,  
she gave her heart unto you!  
Or a sparkling ship-jack of the Sky,  
that tumbles down like a lump of glue.   

No 'twas no Prince, nor yet no Butter-fly,  
that took her heart away: stay.  
But a pretty little Cherubin so high,  
whose eyes do shine like the due of May.    

A Pastoral Song By Dorinda, lamenting her amyntas.  

ADieu to the pleasures and follies of love,  
For a passion more noble my fancy does move,  
My shepherd is dead, yet I live to proclaim  
In sorrowful notes my amyntas his name.  
The Wood-nymphs reply when they hear me complain,  
Thou never shalt see thy amyntas again.  
For death hath befriended him,  
Fate hath defended him,  
None, none alive, is so happy a swain.   

You Shepherds and Nymphs that have danced to his lays,  
Come help me to sing my amyntas his praise,  
No swain for the Garland durst with him dispute,  
So sweet were his notes while he sung to his lute.  
Then come to his grave, and your kindness pursue,  
To wove him a Garland of cypress and you;  
For life hath forsaken him,  
Death hath o'r-taken him,  
No swain again will be ever so true.   

Then leave me alone to my wretched estate,  
I lost him too soon, and I loved him too late,  
You echoes and fountains, my witnesses prove  
How deeply I sigh for the loss of my love;  
And now of God Pan whom we chiefly adore,  
This favour I never will cease to implore;  
That I may go above,  
And there enjoy my love,  
Then, then, I never will part with him more.    

Song.  

TEll me no more you love,  
Unless you will grant my desire,  
ev'ry thing else will prove,  
but fuel to my fire.  
'Tis not for Kisses alone,  
so long I have made my address,  
There's something else to be done,  
which you cannot choose but guess.   

'Tis not a charming smile,  
that brings me the perfect Joys,  
Nor can you me beguile,  
with sighs and with languishing eyes:  
There is an Essence within,  
Kind nature hath cleared the doubt,  
Such bliss can never be sin,  
and therefore I'll find it out.    

The way to Rule a Wife.  
THe two noblest creatures that live on the land,  
a woman I mean and a horse,  
By fair means admit,  
Of the Rider and bit,  
But disdain to be managed by force.  
He s a slave that marries,  
and great Owls are they  
Who think any Woman  
can be brought to obey.  
Slaves in fetters must lye still,  
Or they'l feel,  
The could steel,  
Cornode the flesh and bone,  
Be quiet and make no moan,  
And then you shall suffer no ill.  
The haughty Leviathan, king of the main,  
when he sports in his native soil,  
And throws water so high,  
He makes Seas in the Sky,  
is caught by address, not by toil.  
When the spear has got hold, then let him alone,  
Tho' he thinks he is gone, he is surely thy own,  
he is not free that drags a chain.  
Give him Rope,  
And there's hope,  
If you shorten your Clue,  
To the bottom go you,  
or your dart returns empty again.  
Long have I lived, and have had many Wives,  
Since I first put my hand to the Plough;  
while I tampered by force,  
to rule, they grew worse,  
and there rose a hard knob in my brow:  
We bit, and we scratched, and we lead hellish lives,  
Till I found out the way to make excellent wives.  
This is the result of my Skill:  
Give 'em line,  
and they are thine,  
and you rule them with ease,  
Let them do what they please,  
And then they shall do what you will.   

Song.  
PEace Cupid, take thy Bow in hand,  
I'th' gloomy shade in ambush stand  
To watch a cruel Nymph frequents this bower;  
could as the streams, but sweeter than each hour:  
There, there she is, direct thy dart,  
Into that stony Marble heart,  
Draw, Quickly, Draw, and show thy art:  
Woe's me, thou'rt blind indeed, thou hast shot me,  
While she scapes in the grove, and laughs at thee.   

The Dream.  

THe wearied Sun had done its work and light,  
Fled to the bosom of the night,  
When to my kindest friend my bed,  
I yielded up my thoughtful head.  
Midnight so soft came stealing by,  
As time had been asleep as well as I.   

In pity then my fancy to me brought,  
A kind and beauteous thought;  
lo a fair garden did appear,  
I know not how, I know not where.  
A murmuring stream such music kept,  
That in my very dream again I slept.   

The dimpled waters smiled, Phillis I spied.  
A gentle blast did turn aside,  
Her careless silken clouds, and lo  
Methoughts her breasts were paved with snow.  
Ah fair and pitiless, said I,  
That snow when flames invade it soon will die.   

A wild blushy stains her face and idly seeks,  
' Testablish virtue surer in her cheeks,  
I reached that story with mine eye,  
And straight a vocal tear let fly,  
Of mercy then I found a sign,  
For straight in tears her eyes did echo mine.   

Ah! then I ran and clasping her I loved,  
Through the complying air we moved,  
Some one methought did fiercely call,  
I ran to see and down I fall,  
While she flew up and I fell down,  
I wake and find myself in tears alone.    

Aurelia.  

BEneath Aurelia's feet I sate,  
Expecting at her hands a kinder fate;  
Making new vows, repeating old,  
Yet still Aurelia still was could,  
and laughed while I my mournful story  told.  
With folded arms, and pensive head.  
In doubled sighs I spoken what e'r I said.   

Ah scornful Shepherdess, said I,  
What pleasure is't to see your servants die?  
should all your Votaries be slain,  
What honour would your tyrant-beauty gain?  
The cruel Nymph in scorns replied,  
Go swain be thou the first that ever tried.  
I then may pity what I now deride.    

Against Constancy.  

TEll me no more of constancy,  
that frivolous pretence,  
Of old age, narrow jealousy,  
disease and want of sense.  
Let duller fools, or whom kind chance  
some easy heart has thrown,  
Despairing higher to advance,  
ben ●od●● one alone.   

Old men and weak, whose idle flamme,  
their own defects discovers,  
Since changing can but spread their shane,  
ought to be constant lovers;  
But we, whose hearts do justly swell  
with no vain-glorious pride,  
Who know how we in love excel,  
long to be often tried.   

Then bring my Bath, and strew my bed,  
as each kind night returns,  
Ile change a Mistress till i'm dead,  
and fate change me for worms,  
Then bring my Bath, &c.    

Constancy after Death.  

THe Nymph to whom my heart I gave,  
Is gone, she's gone into the Grave:  
Ye Gods! why were you so unkind,  
To leave me languishing behind?  
What had she done? or what have I,  
You life or death to both deny?  
If this be kindness, O my fate!  
Such pitty wounds me more than hate.   

Ye angry sisters show your power,  
d hast the happy fatal hour;  
●he hour when we shall meet again,  
And laugh away each others pain;  
Then arm in arm shall we partake,  
Of joys that keep us still awake;  
Thrice welcome death! when thus it proves  
The kind ●niter of our loves.    

To Celia.  
OF all the dear joys that the world has in store,  
If Celia prove ●onstant i'll ask for no more,  
If she prove but as kind as her vows do declare,  
Ile laugh at the Jealous and triumph o'er care:  
To clasp my soft dear all the night in my arms,  
To kiss and to press, and dissolve with her charms;  
And to think that the joys everlasting shall be,  
Makes reveling Princes less happy than we.   

Song  

WHile on those lovely looks I gaze,  
you see a wretch pursuing,  
In raptures of a sweet amaze  
a pleasing happy ruin:  
'Tis not for pitty that I move,  
his fate is too aspiring,  
Whose heart broken with a load of love,  
dyes wishing and admiri   

But if this murder you'd f  
your slave from death removing,  
Let me your art of charming know,  
or learn you mine of loving:  
Thus, whether life, or death betid,  
in love 'tis equal measure,  
The victors live in empty pride,  
the vanquished die with pleasure.   

At last you'l force me to confess,  
you need no arts to vanquish;  
Such charms by nature you possess,  
'twere dullness not to languish;  
But spare a heart you may surprise  
and give my tongue the glory,  
To scorn, while my unfaithful eyes,  
betray a kinder story.    

The Threat.  
PRoceed if you dare,  
To foment my despair,  
So much beauty was never designed to ensnare;  
Kind nature who gave  
You the features you have,  
Does improw'r you to conquer not torture your slave  
He deservedly dyes,  
Who subjection denies,  
To the glances, And launces,  
You dart from your Eyes.  
But so proudly you reign,  
That when e're we complain,  
How we languish, In anguish,  
You laugh at our pain.  
This folly give o'er,  
And be cruel no more,  
To the wretched that wait for relief at your door,  
For without your remorse,  
At the last you'l enforce,  
The despised and oppressed to turn Rebels of course.  
By experience we find,  
The obliging and kind,  
Their Abetters in fetters,  
Eternally bind.  
While the proud and the coy,  
Who refuse to enjoy,  
By denying, And flying,  
Their Empire destroy.   

Song.  

AH how sweet are loves soft charms!  
that Virgins freely tender;  
Whence the sense of charming bliss,  
has forced em to surrender;  
For the joys whic passion brings,  
the soul does so endeavour,  
They no longer count them lost,  
but wish they'd last for ever.   

Sighs and smiles are Lovers food,  
and eyes the scenes to languish,  
Tears the precious, chiefest good,  
though  shed with pain and anguish;  
Yet the trilling recompense,  
elysium so discovers,  
None ever felt the joys of sense,  
but kind immortal Lovers.    

Against jealousy.  

SUch perfect bliss, fair Cloris, we,  
in our enjoyments prove;  
'Tis pitty restless jealousy,  
should mingle with our love.   

Let us, since wit has taught us how,  
raise pleasure to the top:  
You rival bottle must allow,  
I suffer Rival fop.   

Think not in this that I design,  
treason against Love's Charms,  
When following the God of Wine,  
I leave my Cloris arms.   

Since you have that, for all your hast,  
( at which I'll ne'er repined)  
Will take its liquour off as fast,  
as I do take off mine.   

There's not a brisk insipid spark,  
that flatters in the Town,  
But, with your wanton eyes you mark  
him out to be your own.   

Nor do you think it worth your care,  
how empty and how dull,  
The heads of your admirers are,  
so that their bags be full.   

All this you freely may confess,  
yet weed ne'er disagree;  
For, did you love your pleasure less,  
you were no mate for me, &c.    

Ungrateful after Enjoyment.  

NO moro, silly Cupid,  
will I pine and complain;  
What Slave is so stupid,  
To suffer the plague  
Of an amorous league,  
to be laughed at in vain?  
No more, silly Cupid,  
I'll court a coy Mistris no more;  
he's a sot, and more blind,  
who to one is confined,  
when there's hope for a score.   

When I meet with a Beauty  
that's loving and kind,  
I'll pay her my duty,  
but when I've enjoyed her,  
O then I'll recruit me,  
with love and brisk wine;  
No more I'll adore her,  
when once I have got my desire,  
then let her refuse me,  
she cannot abase me,  
for then I defy her.    

Secret Love.  

NO, no, 'tis in vain,  
Though I sigh and complain,  
Yet the secret I'll never reveal,  
The wrack shall not tear it,  
From my breast, but I'll bear it  
To the Grave, where it ever shall dwell.  
Oh! would that the gods had created her low,  
and placed the poor Hylas above;  
Then, then, I a present might freely bestow,  
of a heart that is all over love.   

Like the damned in the fire,  
I may gaze and admire,  
But I never can hope to be blessed,  
O the pangs of a lover,  
That dares not discover,  
The poison that's lodged in his breast;  
Like a dear that is wounded, I bleeding run on,  
and fain I my torture would hid;  
But, oh 'tis in vain, for where ever I run,  
still the bloody dart sticks in my side.    

Song.  

LIve and love you peevish Harlot,  
While your lips and cheeks are scarlot,  
While your skin is soft and tender,  
Wisely think of a surrender,  
Lest when age or sickness grieve ye,  
Those deride that should relieve ye;  
When your face grows pale and meager,  
Lovers whose assaults were eager,  
Faintly will the Fort beleaguer.   

Think upon it, and prevent it,  
Else in time you may repent it;  
When your Lovers once desert you,  
You'll grow weary of your virtue:  
Which for want of an Employment,  
Will be lost without enjoyment;  
Traders thus when over-wary,  
While for greater gains they tarry,  
With the loss of all, miscarry.    

Long Vacation.  

HOw quiet's the Town?  
now the Tumult is gone,  
Now the Bullies and Punks  
to retirement are flown:  
The nights are all peace,  
and the Mornings serene,  
Our Windows are safe,  
and our bodies are clean.   

The Nights are all peace, &c.   

The Woman of Honour,  
the Bulker and Ranger  
Disturb not ourselves  
nor inveigle the stranger:  
Our joys are our own,  
spite of Empty Gallants  
Who cuckolded the Town  
to supply their own wants.   

Our joys are our own, &c.   

Since the Town than's our own,  
and the sweets it affords,  
Tho' indeed we are Rogues,  
We'll be drunk as the Lords;  
Opportunity short is,  
for Term-time will come,  
When our Wives will be Rambling,  
and we must keep home.    

Song.  

SInce Celia's my Foe,  
To a desert I'll go,  
Where some River,  
for ever,  
Shall echo my woe.  
The Trees will appear  
More relenting than her,  
In the morning,  
adorning,  
Each leaf with a tear,  
When I make my sad moan,  
To the Rocks all alone,  
From each hollow,  
will follow,  
A pitiful groan.  
Yet with silent disdain,  
She requites all my pain,  
To my mourning,  
returning,  
No answer again.   

O Celia adieu  
When I cease to pursue,  
you'll discover,  
no lover,  
Was ever so true.  
Your sad shepherd flies,  
From those, dear, cruel eyes,  
Which not seeing  
his being,  
Decays and he dies.  
Yet 'tis better to run  
To the fate we can't shun,  
then for ever  
t'endeavour  
What cannot be won.  
What, ye gods! have I done?  
That Amintor alone,  
is thus treated,  
and hated,  
For loving but one.    

The Penitent.  
Forgive me Jove,  
Or if there be a kinder God above,  
Forgive a Rebel to the power of love:  
Here me kind Cupid and accept my Vow,  
Mine who devoutly at thine Altar bow,  
O hear me now,  
Dorinda hear, and what I've done amiss,  
Pardon and seal that pardon with a Kiss.  
Stay methinks the melting saint,  
Kindly echoes my complaint,  
Look, I fancy, I descry,  
Pitty dropping from her eye,  
Hark! she says, Philander live,  
All thy errors I forg●ve.  
And now, ah me! to repent I begin,  
That against so much goodness I ever shoul'd sin,  
But never again, oh never will I  
Offend my Dorinda; far sooner i'll die.   

Merry after Death.  

WHen I shall leave this clod of day,  
When I shall see that happy day,  
That a could bed, a winding sheet  
shall end my cares,  
my grief, and tears,  
And lay me silent at my Conqu'rors feet.   

When a dear friend shall say he's gone,  
Alas! h'has left us all alone:  
I saw him gasping, and I saw  
Him striving, in vain,  
amid his pain,  
His eye-strings breaking and his falling jaw.   

Then shall no tears bedew my hearse,  
No sad uncomfortable Verse,  
My unlamented death shall have;  
He who alive,  
did never grieve,  
How can he be less merry in the grave.   

Then friends for a while be merry without me,  
And fast as you die come flocking about me;  
In gardens and groves our day-revels we'l keep,  
And at night my Theorbo shall rock you asleep;  
So happy we'l prove, that Mortals above,  
Shall envy our music, shall envy our Love.    

A Rant.  
MAke a Noise,  
Pull it out,  
and drink about,  
Brave boys  
T'other cup,  
Fill the glass,  
You sober ass  
turn up,  
Why so sad?  
we'l have more,  
upon the score,  
My Lad,  
Let the Rabble  
prate and babble,  
Foutre Diable  
We will all be mad.  
Sing a Catch,  
Serenade,  
In Masquerade,  
The Watch.  
Prittle Prattle,  
Tittle Tattle,  
Give'em battle,  
They shall find their match.  
See they come,  
stave and Pikes,  
Whoever strikes,  
Strike home.  
Come boys draw,  
Fairly meet  
'Em in the street,  
Saw, Saw!  
Bravely done,  
Cut and slash,  
The weapons clash,  
They run.  
How they wollow,  
Let us follow,  
Hoop and hollow,  
for the day is won.  
All's our own,  
Every crack,  
Must on her back,  
lie down,  
Let us muster  
In a cluster,  
Huff and bluster,  
For we rule the Town.  
Play along.  
sing and chant,  
A merry Rant  
Among.  
Lay about,  
look the Whores,  
shut all the doors,  
And flout,  
All prepare.  
See the Sluts,  
draw up the shuts:  
Beware.  
bats and Cinders,  
Break the windows,  
nothing hinders,  
Let 'em have a care.  
'Tother clash.  
in they go,  
at every throw,  
Dash, dash.  
Hark they tumble,  
How they jumble,  
Rumble, rumble,  
Now the Whores are quash.  
Boys dispatch,  
'tis enough,  
that we can huff  
The Watch.  
Back again,  
To the Sun,  
Come let us run  
Amain.  
There we'l stay,  
roar and drink,  
and never think  
Of day.  
Time with lasses,  
Pots and Glasses,  
Sweetly passes,  
how it slides away.  
Let the fool  
He that thinks,  
and sleeps and drinks,  
By rule.  
by a measure,  
at his leisure,  
take his pleasure,  
And grow wisely dull.   
FINIS.