MOCK SONGS AND Joking Poems, All Novel; Consisting of Mocks to several late Songs about the Town.  
With other NEW SONGS, AND INGENIOUS POEMS Much in use at Court, and both theatres.  
Never before Printed.  
By the Author of Westminster Drollery.  
LONDON, Printed for William Birtch, at the Peacock in the Poultry, near Old Iury. 1675.   

MOCK SONGS, AND joking Poems.  

SONG. 1. The Resolute Gallant.  
Tune is, Farewell unkind one, since you so design, etc.  

IF e'er I love again, Boys,  
Nanny shall be she:  
But twenty 'tis to ten, boys,  
She ne'er will fancy me;  
For I have been a mad Rogue,  
From Twelve to Thirtyone.  
To Drink, and Kiss,  
And court a Miss,  
Was Second unto none:  
Yet now 'tis time to Wed, boys,  
When Coin and Credit's gone.   

Once I had a pretty Miss,  
〈◊〉 Voued Sing, and Dance and Play,  
And sit and Court, and Clip, and Kiss,  
A livelong Summer's day.  
And so we did contrive,  
Until her Purse did fail:  
Then I began,  
To play the Man,  
And hoist up my Sail;  
And like an Arrant Haggard,  
To her turned the Tail.   

Now must I to Nanny go,  
And let her know my mind;  
Sh'as Wit, and Chink, and beauty too,  
And still to me was kind:  
But if she does refuse me,  
Pox take her, let her go:  
I'll Hunt about,  
The Town throughout,  
In chase of many moe;  
And confident I am, boys,  
There's few can say me no.    

SONG. 2. A Mock to a Lover I am, and a Lover I'll be.  
And to that Tune.  

A drunkard I am, and a drunkard I'll die,  
And the sight of a brimmer does cherish my eye,  
Though my guts are so full, there's no room for a drop  
Yet methinks 'tis a pleasure to bob at the Cup,  
Which bobing and smelling, so settles my brain,  
That without any sleeping, I fall too't again.   

With Cup after Cup, I still keep in motion,  
Till my brains dance Laral●●s like ships on the Ocean:  
When my Senses are pal●●, and you think I'm slain,  
The scent of a Cellar revives me again:  
Then hay for God Bacchus, the Prince of us all,  
'tis he I adore, and for evermore shall.    

SONG 3. A Mock, to I pass all my hours in a shady old Grove.  
And to that Tune.  

I Pass all my hours with a dingy old Punk,  
And she lives not a day, but she's sure to be drunk:  
I survey all the parts of this overworn Jade,  
And fin●●h● for thirty years has been decayed.  
O then 'twas, and now 'tis, that there's no such hell  
Then with an old Beldame to dwell.   

She needs must be conscious she's old: but the Trot,  
Though she looks in her Glass, yet believes she is not  
When I see but the print of her shape where she's lain  
I scarcely from weeping mine eyes can restrain:  
O then 'twas, and now 'tis, that there's no such hell  
Than with an Old beldame to dwell.   

When alone by ourselves we both are in bed,  
Then I wish I'd been hanged, before I'd been wed,  
She nearer will creep to my side.  
And do all that I can she there will abide:  
O then 'twas, and now 'tis, that there's no such hell  
Than with an Old beldame to dwell.   

But when I consider the wealth she bid bring,  
And the love still to me showed in every thing,  
I fear I have wronged her; yet wish with her chrams,  
She still may be locked in another man's arms.  
O than boys, O then, there's no joy above  
Like her absence; her obsence in love.    

A Mock to, on the Bank of a Brook.  
And to that Tune.  

ON the side of a Hill, as I was Pissing,  
(Within a Thicket, close by a Wood-side)  
I overheard a Lad and a Lass Kissing,  
Which through the Wood was quickly espied▪  
I then left of pissing, to see and to hear  
What that Kissing Couple did there.   

O says the Shepherd, pish, why this denying;  
Come, come, your Mother did once do the same:  
Those are good Natured Girls, that are complying:  
Fie, fie, my Molly: indeed ye are to blame,  
'Tis kindness that makes me love you so well,  
And then we afford ye, what Robin gave Nell.   

Come says she, then let's leave this place behind us,  
(For Hedges have Ears, and Bushes have Eyes)  
●nto a private nook, where none may find us,  
There we some pretty sport, both will devise:  
So then from all spies we both shall be free,  
But, O what a World of pleasure 'twill be.    

SONG. 5. A Mock to, I will go to my Love where he lies in the Deep. And to that Tune.  

I Will go to my Love, where she lies in the Park,  
(At the Lodge called St. Whetstone's) before it be dark  
Where we'll sleep; when awake, the kind Fiddlers shall play  
And the Coaches to Marrowbone draw us away.   

My Love she has Money, of which she is free,  
And of all the Deer in the Park, still kindest to me;  
Though the rest of the Crew there, do envy our bliss,  
Yet there's none of e●m a●l, that can teach us to kiss.   

My Love she does lie as well it is known,  
(Which is strange in that place) in a bed of her own  
I will kiss her dear Lips, while her Money does last,  
But when it is gone, to another I'll hast.    

SONG. 4. A Drunken Mock, to come away my Daphne.  

COme my bully-rock away,  
We do waste this drinking day,  
'tis Roger calls, what News you Sot,  
Come see you Rogue what I have got,  
For Bacchus still provides,  
Brisk Wine, to stuff our hides;  
Were I shut up, in Cellar deep,  
I'd first be Drunk, before I'd Sleep.   

You Lazy Dog make haste,  
The Wine will spoil and waste:  
With good Sack, and Claret I  
Will for ever live and die:  
And from bung hole never stray,  
Till thee and I, have ●uckt it quite away.   

Chorus.  
we'll Drink and Sleep, and then we'll snore,  
That Bacchus he,  
May daily see,  
The bubbing Glee,  
'Twixt thee and me,  
And never will give o'er,  
Whilst we good White or Claret see.    

SONG. 5. On a Young Gentleman Killed in the last Engagement at Sea.  
Tune of, Farewell my Armida, my joy.  

POor Arinda in an Arbour lay sleeping,  
Drowned in her tears, and surrounded with grief  
She'd sometimes be starting and then fall a weeping,  
Blaming her Fate that denied her Relief:  
And then she began to unfold her sad Tale,  
And often with sigh her Fate did bewail,  
And at every sigh, she'd still cry, ay me;  
My dearest doth lie Entombed in the Sea.   

I loved him with passion, yet ne'er let him know it,  
always returning his Love with disdain,  
So great was my folly, I never would show it,  
Which woe is me, is the cause of my pain,  
He grieved at his fate, and my cruelty too,  
And vowed he would bid me for ever adieu:  
'Tis I am the cause of my hopeless estate,  
And fain would repent, but alas 'tis too late.   

Then dearest Palaemon, my tears do entreat thee,  
Pardon my folly, 'twas I was in fault,  
And though not in life, yet in death I will meet thee,  
Knowing my fate has the dearest been bought,  
For thou in the bed of Honour didst die,  
But I in the flames of Affliction must lie;  
Repenting my foolish and dismal disdain,  
Till death puts an end to my torturing pain.    

SONG. 6. Sir Grigory Cow T— on his Mistress, Madam Dowzabell.  
Tune of, To drive the Cold Winter away.  

I Now will not fail,  
To tell you a Tale,  
Of a Mistress I had of late,  
Which when you do hear,  
I know you will swear,  
She never yet had her mate;  
Her beauty was such,  
Of which but a touch  
At present; the rest by and by:  
by which you will find,  
both before and behind,  
How her excellent parts did lie.   

And first for her hair,  
'twas lovely and fair,  
And deeper die then a Carrot:  
So finely 'twas clung,  
Like Daglocks it hung;  
'tis pity that any should mar it,  
So sweetly it stuck  
Together, his luck  
Was better than mine could undo it:  
For she ne'er used a Comb,  
For this ten years at home,  
For fear some hurt should come to it.   

So smooth was her brow,  
As if that the Plough,  
Of late some Furrows had made:  
So deep and so fine,  
And straight as a Line,  
As if't had been done with a Spade:  
So finely it hung  
O'er her eyes, along  
To Shield 'em from danger and pain;  
And served her instead,  
Of a Penthouse indeed,  
To keep 'em from Sun and Rain.   

Her eyes looked a skew  
One black, tother blue,  
And one stood higher than tother:  
One small, tother great,  
'Twas pleasant to see't.  
They were so like one another,  
Sure something was in't,  
That when she did squint,  
You'd think she looked quite from you:  
But there lies the Jest,  
When you thought upon least,  
She looked directly upon you.   

Her Nose large and strong,  
And stood out so long,  
Just like to a Promontory:  
From whence she would drop,  
Some Pearls from the top,  
When ever she came before ye:  
So far did her Snout,  
Always stand out,  
Like the Gnomon on the Dial;  
That when Teeth appear,  
And the day be clear,  
The hours of the day we may spy all.   

Yet some heretofore,  
Said her Nose was not sore,  
And often did put a slur on't:  
But tho●e that do know her,  
Will Swear't can't be su●e,  
Because it is always Currant.  
But one seeing her Nose  
And Chin, did suppose,  
When first he looked on her face,  
That she certainly drew,  
Her pedigree true,  
From Old Mother Shipton's Race.   

Her Lips were as white,  
As Silver outright,  
And still their Colour did hold,  
And thatched they were so,  
Both above and below,  
With Hair to keep out the cold:  
Her mouth was so wide,  
From side unto side,  
That a large penny-loaf would go  
With much ease into't;  
Being buttered to boot,  
With the Cream that hangs thereto.   

Nay, some do suppose  
She descended was,  
From the Sparrows by her Mother:  
Because that her Mouth  
To tell you the Truth,  
Did reach from one Ear to tother:  
Her Teeth had the hue  
Of a delicate blue,  
And each from other did stand,  
A pretty way out,  
To look well about,  
For fear she should be Trappaned.   

Yet some man that knew,  
She had but a few,  
Did say, poor heart she was glad,  
To let 'em stand out,  
Like Sentinels stout,  
To secure the rest that she had:  
Her Chin was so small,  
And hooked withal,  
That up it came to her Nose;  
Which when they did meet,  
Did Neighbourly treat,  
A difference to compose.   

And the reason was,  
If you'd know the cause,  
Because that her Teeth were then,  
but newly fallen out,  
And it was no doubt  
For to reconcile 'em again:  
Plump Cheeks she did hate,  
C●use here's fell of late,  
And flat as a Pancake say:  
Some dimples there were,  
Which made her to swear,  
But now they are worn away.   

And then for the Rose,  
Which Nature bestows,  
On many Cheeks in the Town,  
She'll say 'tis a Paint,  
And cry, O fie on't,  
'Cause here's is a deep died brown:  
So sweet was her Tongue,  
When ever she sung,  
No Tongue could ever come near it:  
Her Singing though soft,  
Yet if't be too oft,  
'Twill make them deaf that do hear it.   

But her Singing aloud,  
Of which she is proud,  
You then will hear such a voice,  
That the Hills though two Mile,  
From thence will recoil,  
And Echo still to the Noise:  
Her Tongue was so neat,  
And very complete,  
That if you had seen together,  
The Tongue of a Cow  
And here's: you woven vow,  
That she had the lovli'st of either.   

And when she did speak,  
Her mind for to break,  
She had such a lisping way;  
Do all that we could  
We scarce understood,  
One word of ten she did say:  
One seeing her Neck,  
With Furrows bedecked,  
Did ask what Corn there did lie,  
He was told not a bit,  
Of Barley or Wheat,  
'Twas certainly all awry.   

Now some men may ask,  
Why her Neck so tacks  
About: and the reason is this,  
Although they mistook,  
When they said she did look  
As if she expected a kiss:  
But I for her sake,  
Will prove't a mistake,  
What need she for that to sue te'ye,  
For when they did gaze,  
But one once on her face,  
They thought her the Queen of beauty.   

Her Skin it was Tawny,  
Her Arms thick and brawny;  
And I'll warrant you for a Button,  
Her hands are so fair,  
You'd think 'em a pair  
Of good large Shoulders of Mutton:  
Though her fingers be short,  
Yet she has a sort  
Of Nails, like the Claws o● a Bittern:  
And fittest they are,  
For the use they are for,  
To warble it on her Cittern.   

Her breasts they were flat,  
because they should not,  
Destroy her delicate frame:  
For some of her Kin,  
With Child oft have been,  
Which much did impair the same:  
Plump-brests she does hate,  
Her's hang down in state;  
And each against other swags:  
That some men have said,  
They did look indeed,  
Like two empty Leather-bags.   

Her back 'bove her Rump,  
Is lovely and plump,  
That some have her Credit defiled:  
by being too free,  
In saying that she,  
Was always behind with Child;  
but truly I don't  
believe it: nor won't;  
Perhaps they may come to woo her,  
but it ne'er can sink,  
In any mind to think,  
That any would offer it to her.   

I can't say she's graced,  
At all with a Wast,  
Yet scarce one among fifty,  
But straighter is laced,  
So having no Wast,  
You'll say she must needs be thrifty:  
Of her Thighs she boasts,  
Being like to the posts,  
Of a Windmill ●arge and stout;  
And the wind that does come,  
From her delicate bum,  
Will whisk you the Sails about.   

And then for the scent,  
When she gives it vent,  
Her Bunghole will loudly puff,  
Out a Hogo so strong,  
That no Pen, nor Tongue,  
Is able to praise it enough,  
Indeed 'twas so sweet,  
That I think it meet,  
To tell you when in we were come,  
Do all that we could,  
Twoved adone on's heart good,  
Then to be out of the Room.   

You'll think it was strong  
When it lasted so long,  
That if you in two hours' space,  
Had come in the Room,  
You'd find the Perfume,  
Almost as strong as it was:  
Nay, she had such an Art,  
In Letting a F—,  
I mean for the Noise and Smell;  
Which if you did hear,  
In that you would swear,  
She all her Sex did excel.   

Her Legs are as straight  
As a Rams-horn: but yet  
Some Men can not refrain  
To say, She was born  
By'r Legs, at the Horn  
In the middle of Crooked-lane.  
When she goes in the Town,  
She will popp up and down  
Her pretty head, in the Streets;  
That some did not stick  
To say, she had a trick▪  
To bow to all that she meets.   

That slanders took off,  
'Cause some Men may scoff  
At her, and say, she's proud;  
But if it were so,  
Being handsome, you know  
A little pride is aloud:  
For pride in a woman,  
You know is as common▪  
As Milk to a Suckling Bab●e:  
Then pray give it o'er,  
And slander no more  
My Miss, that's as meek as may be.   

And then for her Feet,  
'Cause her Heels do meet,  
Perhaps some Men may her stout:  
But hark you, my Friend,  
Those that Dancing intent,  
Their Toes must always keep out.  
Come stop not your Nose.  
Now I'm come to her Toes;  
To say they stink 'tis unmeet;  
For I do protest,  
I speak't not in Jest  
They stink no more than her Feet.   

Her Small was so big.  
A Man burnt his Wigg  
To try which was biggest about;  
Her Calf and her Small;  
And h'had done all,  
'Twas even from the Knee toth' Foot:  
One bid her on Veal,  
To Feed every Meal;  
Which made her Worship to laugh:  
Your reason quoth she,  
Why, truly says he,  
'Twill make you increase in the Cal●e.   

Her Instep was low,  
And thick, you must know;  
And so was her lovely Shin:  
Her Ankles were gone,  
That the Devil a one,  
Were on her Legs to be seen.  
She never gave warning  
When she rose i'th' morning,  
We knew't byth' smell presently;  
For the Hogoes so great,  
But more if she sweat,  
'Tis smelled some four Stories high.   

A Neighbour did say,  
She'd an excellent way  
To Enrich bad Land that is Spent;  
So much would she sweat,  
As she walked with heat,  
To Lard the Lean Earth as she went:  
This I never knew;  
But since it is true,  
we'll Take a Farm that is Barren.  
And instead of a Cart,  
we'll Muck it by the art  
Of my dear sweet Maid Marrion.   

Some think I her flout,  
When I say she's about  
More than a large Cow in the waist:  
But hark you, d'ye hear,  
You'd say if you see her,  
My words are not much misplaced,  
For my eyes are dim,  
To compare with him  
Who says (which made me to laugh)  
She was so big throughout,  
One could not go about  
Her, at least in an hour and half.   

Nay, besides all this,  
(Which a happiness is)  
She is in chastity zealous,  
Because there's no man,  
That possibly can  
Of her, at all be jealous.  
And last, for her Age,  
I now will Engage,  
she'll bring ye Youth to content ye:  
For her Neighbours say,  
That at this very day,  
She wants two years of twenty.   

Now the question is,  
Since she's such a Miss,  
Where I should woo her again;  
For if I should do't,  
I fear I may rue it,  
She may be Debauched by some Men:  
But let come what will,  
I will love her still,  
In spite of Father and Mother:  
Nor will I spare cost,  
For if she be lost,  
I never shall get such another.   

Thus the parts ye'ave heard tell,  
Of my Dowzabell,  
Which I have faithfully shown.  
I hope in my Love,  
No Rivals you'll prove,  
But let me enjoy my own:  
For if I should seek,  
From week unto week,  
In City or Country round,  
For one of such parts,  
And excellent deserts,  
I know there's no such to be found.    

SONG. 7. Her● follows Madam Dowzabells' Retor● to her Gallant, Sir Gregory Cowtu—.  
Tune of, And 'tis the Knave of Clubs bears all the sway  

YOung Ladies all, come listen a while,  
I'll tell ye that will make you smile;  
Ha● you but such a Man, you'd Vaunt,  
As I have now, to my Gallant,  
For person, and great deserts,  
As you will find by's excellent parts.   

And since I must describe him well.  
This for his body I can tell,  
It looks just bike a Barrel set  
Quit up an end upon two feet;  
Or like a Cloakbagg with a Hat,  
With two stump feet, just under that.   

And then for stature he is low,  
'Cause tall-men are not wise you know;  
For th'upper●●oomes of houses tall,  
Are furnished sti●l the worst of all;  
So that you see by consequence,  
He must have store of wit and sense.   

His Head it is o'th' the largest size,  
By which you must conclude he's ●i●e,  
For a great-head has little wit,  
And a little-head has ne'er a whit;  
Which mystery plainly doth us tell  
That he in wit doth most excel.   

His Hair is of so deep a red.  
It strikes the purest Scarlet dead,  
And hangs as if his head were Crowned  
With Elfclocks, sweetly dangling round,  
And looks as if it twisted were  
By nature: for no Comb comes there.   

His forehead is so very low,  
You scarce can see his wrincled brow:  
Some say he ●s beetle browed likewise,  
Because it hangs so o'er his eyes,  
For to defend him day by day,  
From any harm may come that way.   

His Eyes wou●d make on's own to dazzle,  
'Cause one is grey; & tother Hazle;  
So fine, so small, so deep, so hollow.  
You'd think his head his eyes did swallow;  
From which profoundity doth come  
A daily ●●eame, that sticks like gum●●;   

His eyes are circled with a red,  
So pure it strikes Vermilion dead;  
By which▪ and smallness they aves● it,  
That he had eyes just like a Ferret:  
So that 〈◊〉 ●irst they did devi●e  
To call him ●●ly ferret eyes.   

His face is round and Oval to.  
Yet like a Cross in outward show▪  
For's brow and chin are picked both,  
But's Cheeks are of a lusty growth  
So high, so Plump, so round, so fair,  
Just like a natural Trumpeter.   

Some have Noses that are high  
And some have Noses quit awry,  
And some broad noses have, that are  
Bucklers to the face, in time of ware.  
He thinks all noses a disgrace,  
Because that his lye● flat to's face.   

If any ●his is the snuffling nose,  
'Cause when he tells his tale, he'll lose,  
No snuffling art, to help him out;  
That those which heard him were in doubt,  
What Language he that time did speak,  
Nay some have called it Heathen Greek.   

And likewise by his breath he may,  
A Trumpeter▪ be called they say,  
Because it is so wondrous strong:  
And holds it out so very long.  
And those which sound a Trumpet well  
Must have strong breath we all can tell.   

His Lips they both are black and blue,  
And never ●air on other grew,  
One asked how chance the hair was missing,  
He said for feared should spoil his kissing.  
His Teeth when they appeared in view,  
Were of a comely watchet hue.   

His Neck so short you can't perceive it  
Which makes me w●ll●ng now to leave't,  
And come unto his Arms which are,  
So finely short, you'd think they were  
Like two Bag-puddings: at which was  
Hands that were like, a Bears two paws,   

And though his hands and fingers were,  
So v●ry short: yet he had there  
Such lovely Na●ls; for length: in lieu  
Of h●● shortness of the oath two,  
Some two Inches were: yet I confess,  
That some were more, and some were less.   

His Back w●s round and wondrous high,  
Much like a Globe to study by:  
One which came out two splinter-bones,  
Joined at top, as't were for the nonce,  
So that a pair (we might 'em call)  
Of Compasses, to work withal:   

Nay some when first they saw his back,  
Did say it was fit to bear a pack,  
And that he'd excellent porter make,  
By's natural Roul upon his back;  
And others said which was much worss,  
That sure a Camel was his Nurss.   

Sure he was not so very a Beast,  
To such another: yet i'th' East,  
Your Camels milk is good they say,  
And drink't they do both night and day:  
But howsoever one that met him▪  
Did think a Camel did beget him.   

His Belly was so round about,  
That half a yard 'tis standing out,  
That when he has a mind to dine  
There is no place, for bread and wine;  
And meat beside (it is no fable)  
And serves him for an excellent table.   

And when he is pleased to eat,  
He will have every day fresh meat;  
A Joint or two, and that's the least:  
Some times to three, it is increased.  
And this must be the very chief,  
And lovely'st part of all the beef;   

That is about the neck you know,  
Whether it be, of Ox, or Cow;  
And sometimes for a second Course,  
A large beasts liver: but never the worse;  
Unless this is not to be had,  
Then with worss meat he will be glad.   

All which he whips up in a trice,  
For he in's diet is nothing nice;  
And yet these costly dishes must,  
Be thrice a day provided just:  
And at the close of every meal,  
He eats a peck of Appls still.   

Besides three pound of Suffolk Cheese,  
Not all at once, but by degrees;  
And drinks but three times at a meal,  
twelve quarts in all, that's no great deal,  
If more, he could not in have troled it,  
For how cou'ds little belly hold it.   

He Sings so sweet we all do know,  
That if a piece of Ordinance go  
Off at that time, under your ear  
Yet if you did his Singing hear,  
You'd find his loud enchanting voice,  
Woven drown that great, and thundering noise.   

No Lion sings so sweet as he,  
Nor braying Ass more pleasantly;  
Nor Bellowing Bull, or Lowing Cow  
Does sing so well as he we know;  
Nor howling Dog, or grunting Sow,  
Sings half so sweet as he does now.   

His Thighs are wondrous big about,  
And so'r his Legs from knee to foot,  
No difference is twixt legs and thighs,  
'Cause both are of an even size;  
From the top of's thigh unto his foot,  
The least part's half a yard about.   

His Feet they are so very short,  
We may compar'em in any sort,  
Unto a horse foot; as they say  
Because his toes are worn away.  
That when he's Pleased to walk about,  
He stumps it quit the streets throughout.   

But when that you do see him dance,  
You never saw the like in France,  
For running bory, or corrant  
You●l see the worth of my gallant.  
He'd stump it out so rarely well,  
That Banks his horss, he doth excel.   

But when you see him dance a Jegg,  
Never was such a nimble grigg;  
More fast than Snail he trips about,  
Yet ne'er in time or figure out;  
He that dances the best in town can't,  
Foot it so smooth as my Gallant.   

Some say that he's an arrent Sot,  
And so by that his credit spot;  
Which may be a means to spile his match:  
But I that still do by him watch;  
Can excuse him, and safely say,  
He's never drunk above twice a day.   

Last I must Sound his Valour out,  
For never man was half so stout,  
No Clineas ever fought so well,  
When he on great Dametas sell;  
Yet they two were, I dare engage,  
The greatest Champions, of that age;   

Thus have you heard the story true,  
Of my Gallant and's virtue's too;  
How every virtue did him grace,  
And every one, in there due place;  
With all's parts, inward, and outward,  
And's name called Sir Grigory Cow●t—.    

SONG. 8. The Shepherd, and the Milkmaid;  
The Tune, the 4. figure Dance a● Mr young's Ball.  

I'll tell you a tale of my Love and I,  
How we did often a milking go;  
And when I looked merrily then she would cry,  
And still i● her fits she used me so:  
At last I plainly did tell her my mind,  
And then she began to love me,  
I asked her the cause of her being unkind,  
She said it was only to prove me.   

I than did give her a kiss or two,  
Which she returned with interest still  
I thought I had now no more to do,  
But that with her I might have my will.  
But she being taught by her crafty Dad,  
Began be to cautious, and wary.  
And told me when I my will had had,  
The devil a bit I would marry:   

So married we were, and when it was o'er  
I told her plain in the Parsonage Hall,  
That if she had gi'en me my will before,  
The Devil a bit I'd a married at all.  
She smiled and presently told me her mind,  
She had vowed she'd never do more so,  
Because she was cozened in being to kind)  
By three or four men before so.    

SONG. 9, A Shepherd to his Skepperdiss, and her answer.  

MY Lovely Philles▪  
Since it thy will is.  
To Crown thy Damon's head with Daffadi●ies.  
See yonder Hill is,  
mine, my dear Phillis,  
Which shall be all thine own, not Amarillis.  
Chorus. For this foolish Love, has b●ought me so ●ow  
That I fear I shall die if my Phillis say no.   

Then be But kind to me,  
And e'er I'm joined to thee,  
All my flocks and my Lands shall be asign'd to thee.  
My faith I'll vow to thee,  
And promise now to thee,  
All that thou shalt desire, I will allow to thee.  
Chorus. For this foolish etc.   

I know that wealth may prove,  
Oft times a bane to love,  
But ho●e it never will, thy heart from me remove.  
My fleecy flocks thou knowest,  
Are not the least nor most,  
True love I'd rather have, then in all riches boast.  
Chorus For this foolish love has brought me so low.  
That I fear I shall die if my Phillis say no.    

SONG. 10. Her answer.  

MY dearest Damon now,  
I to thy will must bow,  
And for performance on't, I here do make a vow;  
I know that Hill is thine,  
Which thou sayest shall be mine;  
Yet 'tis not that which makes me now my heart resign▪  
Chorus For this paltry love has so changed my mind.  
I am certain to die, if my Damon's unkind.   

And before I am joined to thee,  
I will be kind to thee,  
Nor shall thy flocks and Lands, now be asignd to me.  
●now thy word will take '  
And here a vow I make.  
For to leave all men else, for my dear Damon's sake.  
Chorus. For this paltry Love, etc.   

No wealth shall make me prove,  
False to my Damon's love;  
And for Testators on't, I call the powers above.  
In sign of Amity,  
Our flocks shall joined be,  
ere that Conjugal knot is tied 'twixt thee and me.  
Chorus. For this paltry love has so changed my mind,  
I am certain to die, if my Damon's unkind.    

SONG. 11. The discontented Milk maid.  

Near to a Grove I chanced to spy.  
A pretty buxom Country lass;  
I hid myself i'th' Grove there by;  
Whilst she sat milking on the grass.  
O me (says she) with grief I swell,  
Thus to be delayed so long:  
And to live a maid so long,  
Vowing she'd ne'er lead Apes in hell.   

My mother was at fifteen wed  
And did o'th' Marriage pleasure taste:  
Ere sixteen she was brought to bed;  
And I am seventeen now, and past:  
Then did she begin to sigh and groan,  
That her fortune was so bad,  
And no comfort to be had,  
Seeing she still must lie alone.   

My Mother yet did ne'er repent,  
That she married was so soon:  
Then have not I my time misspent,  
That thus have lain so long alone?  
Then on her Mother railed, and said,  
Out upon these Virgin Beds,  
There's no loss in Maidenheads,  
Nor a greater curse than die a Maid.    

SONG. 12. On a House-warming Feast.  

THere is a place called Cannons-row,  
(Which most in Westminster do know)  
And in a Court within the same,  
At S●gar House, so called by name;  
And 'twas upon the day thirteen  
Of cold December, and between  
The hours, I think of two and three,  
A handsome Feast I chanced to see;  
Which was, it seems, to entertain  
Some pretty Ladies with their train:  
There also was to attend'em then,  
Some young, but sober Gentlemen;  
How young and sober, that's strange you'll say,  
This Age affords no such every day:  
But 'tis true, I do protest, or  
My Dames had ne'er came out a door,  
And having then so brave a crew,  
For Prettynes and humour too;  
'Twas pity but the Feast should be  
Answerable to the Company;  
And so it was: But yet before  
I do describe the Dishes o'er,  
I must acquaint you with the cause,  
Why that same Feast at that time was;  
Some called a Goodding, but I don't,  
That word (by any means) approve on't:  
But I must give't another name,  
That's House-warming; because they came  
To honest You●●rick (who was indeed)  
Their Master, that they all agreed;  
O●t o'th' respect to him they bore,  
For teaching them so well before,  
To warm his House, as I remember  
So't had need, 'twas in D●cember;  
And warmed it was exceeding well:  
And I the Dishes now will te●l,  
With Wine and other thing, were there  
In Riddling Terms, if you will hear.  
The first Dish t●at up was brought,  
Was three fat Hen● (better said then taught)  
With lovely Bacon red as rose,  
And store of Sprouts to attend those,  
Which fortified'em so about,  
Till that's destroyed, we got none out.  
Next Dish was three Duke's, with Lark's store,  
That in good Sauce was covered o'er;  
All which was put into a Trey,  
Herre sent'em in that very day.   

The next Dish than God's Benison.  
Light on him for't, it was a Venison  
Pastry, large, fat, and eke good crust,  
Not with a Hogo, as some must  
Have, to set it of, but very sweet▪  
Which was the cause, it went so fleet  
Of, that we all can boldly say,  
That Pie went not a begging that day:  
And when it came, 'twas piping hot;  
But how 'twas sent it, I've forgot,  
Since I don't know, I need not pen it;  
But now I think upon't, I ken it:  
He's handsome, witty, and good humour too,  
Faith for the rest, give'em their due.   

Next was a large and goodly Pie,  
Filled with a Goose was plump, and high;  
With two Rabbits to keep him warm,  
Like Gixzards stuck under each arm,  
With Butter filled up to the brim,  
That we believed the Goose did swim,  
Now as well as when he was alive;  
And 'cause the Rabbits could not dive,  
And fearing that they then might drown,  
Took 'em under's arms up and down:  
For she did swim when alive I'm sure,  
But to swim dead, I think that's more:  
The largeness of it the Table grace't,  
And crust as good as e'er was taste:  
This came not from a High Land we know  
But from a More, that's always low  
For Geese do gaggle, swim and graze,  
Still in Moors, both Nights and Days.   

The next Dish large was I confess,  
With Tarts of all sorts numberless,  
That this time of the Year did afford;  
And 'twas indeed a Dish for a Lord:  
They stood so fine in rank and file,  
Which made a Soldier there to smile,  
To see'em marshalled in that manner:  
Said, there wanted nothing but a Banner,  
To make'em a complete Company,  
The number being full to the eye:  
This Dish thought did the Table grace▪  
Yet it came from a ●enny place,  
The Sugar so was crusted on'em,  
Just like Fe●s when the Frost's upon'em.   

The last Dish, of which I now do treat,  
Came not tothth' Table with the Meat,  
(But 'twas with Dish or Tarts set up,  
Until that they'd a mind to Sup,)  
Was a Cake with Plums almost to the top,  
Which made him blow that brought it up:  
'Twas crusted so with Sugar round,  
It looked like Snow upon the ground,  
That w●en we in our Knives did put,  
We did that time an inch deep cut  
In Sugar, ere we could come at  
The Plums: that all which at Table sat,  
At first did think't all S●gar throughout;  
But when they tried the second bout,  
They found the Plums; which Cu●r●●t were  
Well washed, and cleanly done I●le swear;  
Besides with sweet Meats was set round,  
That scarce a vacant place was found:  
This Cake in a Smith's shop was fo●g'd,  
Which was so very big, it gorged  
The Ovens mouth; they forced were take't  
Back again, or't had not been baked:  
For it was of so great a Size,  
They were forced to make it Pastry wise;  
And of the bigness of this Cake,  
It may be some may think I speak  
Hyperboles now; far be't from me,  
To speak untruths, 'tis v●rity:  
And my good Dame gave me piece on it▪  
That I three days did feed upon it.  
And after they had danced their fill,  
For Supper than they had a will;  
Where that great Cake, and Dish of Tarts  
(Which equally was cut in parts)  
Did feast some twenty Souls that day,  
Besides what each one cared away.   

And then there was such Cider too,  
That I do now protest to you,  
All the Company that were there,  
Said, they scarce drank better any where;  
'Twas not of Pippins, or Pearmaine,  
But that which came from Maidenlane,  
But red streak right; and 'twas so good  
Appetite to get, and stir the blood,  
An't came they say, as I do hear,  
From's own Country Hereforashire;  
But for his name I do protest,  
I cannot tell which way's the best,  
To describe it te'e: but now I hated,  
His Surname now I think was that,  
That was the conquerors Christian name,  
If S be added to t●e same.   

As well as Cider, I now must treat,  
Of excellent Wine, to this good meat:  
There was a Gardener to this crew,  
Though none o'th' grapes in's Garden grew;  
Yet he at that time with his spade,  
A Vintner's Cellar did invade,  
Where he digged out such excellent Wine,  
Which he with's pruning hooks did refine;  
Of which he then sent in good store  
Of Bottles, more than half a score;  
Who paid for it a lusty rate,  
'Cause he'd not have't Sophisticate.   

The Postscript.  

Thus have you heard the Story now,  
Of this House-warming Feast and how  
'Twas then brought unto the Table,  
(As well as I poor heart am able)  
And when the Feast, and all was done,  
The Gentlemen did every one,  
When the departing hour was come,  
Attend the pretty Ladies home.   

And for the Music that was there,  
I can no price set on't, I'll swear  
It was so good; who did that night,  
(Because the Moon did shine so bright)  
Go out a Syranading then,  
With all those former Gentlemen.  
And when they'd done, than back they came,  
Where every Lady's health by name  
Was drank, with great sobriety;  
And each bid other then God buy.   
FINIS.    

SONG 13. The decayed Lady.  
The Tune: When Aurelia first I courted: Or, To the Gavot.  

When first I saw my pretty Molly,  
She had Youth and Beauty store:  
She was Witty, Lively, Brisk, and Jolly,  
None could Mistress be of more,  
But old Time has made a slaughter,  
Of those glories did her grace;  
And in Liev there of has brought her  
Wrinkles, to supply their place.   

She i'th' Spring time of her glory,  
Wore such Charms within her Eyes,  
That but let her stand before ye,  
She would every heart surprise:  
But when voice and Lute united  
Were, they'd answered so in parts.  
You'd think the Spheres were all Invited  
Then, to Captivate our hearts.   

Had you then at Court but seen her  
Walk Corrant, or Pory run,  
You'd think she'd so much life within her,  
As if she had not danced but flown:  
But Old creeping Age alas! has  
On her Face been too to bold,  
Which she believed not, till her Glass has  
Now confirmed she's grown to Old.   

Then my Molly I advise you,  
Never think of Loving more;  
For those Cullyes now despise ye,  
That admired you heretofore:  
That which erst did so ellur'em,  
Now's extinct, and fled away;  
Nought but Treats can now procur'em,  
For to make a Minute's stay.    

SONG 14. A Friends advice to the despairing Lover.  

Prithee Damon, why so pale,  
Is't Love has brought thee to't?  
If looking well will not prevail,  
Sure, looking ill will never do't.   

Then cheer up Boy, take my advice,  
And drink a Glass or two  
Of bonny Sack; 'twill in a trice  
To admirarion mend thy hue.   

Well how is't now? come th'other Cup,  
It begins to work a pace,  
By that time half a score are up,  
A Scarlet dye will clothe thy face.   

Thy Countenance being thus refined,  
Then to thy cruel Miss,  
That Ruddy hue will change her mind,  
And doubtless will return a kiss.   

For fainting Looks all Women hate,  
'Tis courage they admire;  
And him they'll choose to be their mate,  
That's not composed of Earth, but fire.   

For Sack is so Divine a thing,  
Than which there's nothing better;  
If 'twill from her no comfort bring,  
'Twill make thee quite forget her.    

SONG 15. The Battle of the Verbs.  
IVbeo commanded all the Verbs that they  
Should meet together on a certain day:  
Colligo gathers them; then Duco being made  
Their Captain, them toth' fight doth lead:  
Incipio doth begin the Battle; and  
Valiant Pugno fights him hand to hand;  
Clango commands the Trumpet then sound out:  
But Clamo he cries all the Field about:  
Poor Timeo is afraid: and Fugio shuns  
The Battle: ●equor follows: Curro runs:  
Cedo gives ground, which made bold juro swear,  
And often called for Voci●● to hast the Rear:  
juvo though long at last doth bring him aid,  
Yet Amo's being in Love made him afraid:  
He then bid Decco teach him how to wield  
His Sword: Says Lego, 'twas read to him i'th' Field:  
And I says Auaio then did hear the same:  
Troth says Accuso, then he's much too blame:  
Induo was bid to put his Armour on;  
And Incito to stir him up was wrought upon:  
Immediately poor jugulos throat was cut;  
Says Instigo, he egged me on to do't.  
Lateo lay hid behind a quick set hedge,  
Which Video seeing, set his teeth an edge,  
To make complaint: Sesse Haurio, you will draw  
An Oaium on you self; which when Cerno saw,  
He bid Lacesso not provoke too much:  
'Twou'd put, says Pono, courage in a Dutch-  
Man in the next Line: Liveo then was beat  
Quite black and blue, by Retro's back retreat:  
And Salio then over the Ditch would leap,  
But Ajo said it was too broad and deep:  
Dimico in skirmish got two wounds that bled,  
And at his 〈◊〉 poo● M●rio● soon lay dead:  
Sepelio buried him, Fodio digged his Grave,  
And honest Scribo writ his Epitaph;  
Which stirred up Excito to fight again;  
That Voco called him valiantist of Men:  
Bless me, says Beo▪ how gallantly he fought;  
And jubilo for very Joy did shout:  
Caedo who e'er he meet did beat'em all;  
And at the last he made poor Cado fall:  
Candeo then began to look white with fear;  
But Horreo dreaded nothing, as I hear:  
Amplector say, I do embrace the fight;  
And Aperio did open to the left and right:  
Al●ereor began to wrangle with them all,  
Which made Arcesso presently go to call  
Augeo; who did rather increase, then stop  
This Jarring: that it stirred honest Cieo up,  
To speak to Vulgo, that he should publish round  
The Field, how that the Enemy than gave ground:  
This made Fremo roar; and Furo to be mad  
To follow'em: But Horror did exhort, that they  
Should not do't; yet Propero did hast away:  
Increpo begins to blame him much indeed;  
And jurgo likewise did him sound chide:  
Then Blatero began to babble like an Ass;  
That Calco kicked him, as by him he did pass▪  
Then Cogo swore he'd force'em for to fight;  
And Cito summon'd'em all that very night:  
Lugeo did mourn, and prayed there might be Peace;  
And Cudo coined a lie to make 'em cease  
Fight: which made hairbrained Execroy curse:  
Then Ejulo, and Ploro too, did wail, & said 'twould be worse:  
Duro said, that he'd endure unto the end;  
But Damno did condemn him for it, like a Friend:  
Fingo did feign a lie, that he might be gone;  
But Cens●o did censure him for't, and every one  
Besides: Hio began to gape for breath, they say;  
And Halo wanted breath that very day:  
Macto begins to kill without remorse;  
And Paro did prepare to meet his force:  
Then Paveo dreaded, that this might mischief bring;  
And P●n●o, and Pendeo did weigh every thing  
In the Balance of Justice: Says Oleo, I smell  
There's Traitors amongst us; Says Tu●eo, I swell  
With gr●ef to think on't; and so did Thrgeo too:  
Sesse ●uspicio I suspect it as well as you;  
And blamed ●itupero much, that was the cause on't;  
That ●ol● he was forced likewise to fly upon't:  
N●go denied that he had any hand in it:  
Says Sc●u●or, I'll searched out within this Minute:  
Trunco then did mangle all came near him:  
And Trudo thrust so strong, that all did fear him:  
Temno did despise all danger that might come;  
And Vibro brandished out his Sword, and looked grum  
Upon'em all: Vito to avoid this storm,  
Hid himself in a hollow Tree (poor Worm,)  
And 〈◊〉 likewise went to visit him there:  
At last Vulgo published abroad where they were:  
R●go and Pito, asked Pardon ●o● their fault,  
Because they feared they might be brought  
To punishment: And Quatio began to shake:  
Vlciscor sworn, that he revenge would take;  
Which made Vlulo howl for very grief,  
Until that Venio did come to his relief:  
Vindico did challenge any there to sight,  
Which Renno did refuse at the first sight;  
Propago did shrink the fight for to prolong,  
And Probo being then among the throng,  
Did approve of what he said: and Pateo he,  
Lay open to these slanders, which made him flee:  
Repo did creep from thence into a Wood,  
Which Veto forbid, saying, 'twould do no good:  
Dormio then told'em he must sleep a while;  
Yes, yes, says Vmbo, lie down on that pile  
Of Bavins: Sesse Exuo then put of too  
Your Arms: 'tis best says Facio so to do:  
Sesse Cupio then, Faith now I covet drink;  
I believe't says Creao, but where's the chink  
To purchase it? Says Do, I give it him:  
Come then, says Pleo, fill it to the brim:  
Bold Scindo then was cut into the brain;  
And Fluo swore the Blood flowed out amain:  
Sesse Frico, rub his Temples well be sure:  
And I, says Precor, will pray for his cure:  
Which made poor Horr●● then to dread the fight;  
And Gaudio did rejoice, when out of ●ight,  
Gemo began to groan▪ being wounded sore;  
Says Bibo, let him drink a little m●●e  
Oth' Cordial: but Mutio muttering by,  
Frango did break his head immediately:  
Foveo did cherish all this bleeding crew,  
And Nutrio he nourished some of'em too:  
Faetio did stink for fear, when he did see,  
Ferio strike down another: And Fugo he  
As well as his Brother Fugio flies: and Flo  
With fight long began to puff and blow:  
Fleo did weep extremely, for to see,  
Flagito to beg for's life so earnestly.  
I must confess that Fatior got renown,  
And Fatigo was weary too, with looking on:  
Fido did trust to much unto his broken blade,  
Which made Festino hasten to his aid:  
Fallo did deceive'em all, for when he found  
The Bullets hiss, he fell upon the ground:  
That honest Cogito did think him dead;  
Experior too did try to rub his head:  
Doleo grieved that Death should thus o'ertake him:  
Yet Expergiscor did at last awake him:  
Exerceo then did exercise his crew;  
But he like Desero did forsake him too:  
Festo stood too't: Advenio then comes to him,  
Which when Obsecro saw, he then did woe him,  
To invade bold Ingruo; that Scandeo he  
Did climb for safety up on Oaken Tree:  
Then Simulo did counterfeit a wound or two:  
Singultio likewise sobs to see him so.  
Arto being dry, did wish his inside wetter;  
No matter, says Ardeo, you'll burn the better.  
I was betrayed, says Dr●do, to this dismal day;  
Yet Prurio's fingers itch to fight they say:  
Pungo was pricked tothth' heart, when upon him  
Premo did press; yet Vinco overcame him.  
Meo unto the Battle haste doth make;  
But Desino doth the Field forsake:  
Spiro to breath doth forbear to smite:  
But crafty Evito doth escape the Fight:  
Miror in wonder standing much amazed;  
And faint Aspicio on the Batt●e gazed:  
Supero did overcome who e'er he meet,  
An● Gratulor did the valiant Hero greet:  
Sp●ro did hope, Sperno to put to flight;  
And Redeo returned wounded from the fight:  
Stringo did strain himself to overcome  
Bold Puso, who quickly st●uck him down:  
Then Tuno thundered in with might, and main,  
To help Succurro, which was almost slain:  
Ferreo waxed hot, by all these great Alarms;  
And Fido trusts more to his feet then Arms:  
Luo discharged a Bullet then so right,  
The Powder scorched poor Vstulo that night:  
Luxo then did put his Arm quite out of Joint,  
That Vngo was forced at last it to anoint:  
Erro mistake the place, and wandered up and down;  
And Equito after him, rod from Town to Town:  
Coru●co● Arms glisterens in the Fight that day;  
And Micoes shined likewise, as some do say:  
Metuo did fear to meet too, as I hear,  
Yet at last with Misceo mingled in the Rear:  
And Occulo did hide himself behind a Tree,  
Which Monstro showed to all the Company:  
Sad Verto turned from one side to the other;  
And Muto changed too, as if he were his Brother:  
Nuo did nod his head at some was there,  
That Neco had almost killed him, when he came near:  
But Mulceo did assuage his fury then;  
And Parco brought forth Peace to all these Men:  
And though Congruo did advise'em all agree,  
And alured Lacio of his party to be:  
Yet Cingo girds his Sword about him then;  
And jungo joins with other Martial Men:  
Ausculto hearkens what they meant to do;  
Emo buys Armour to defend ●im too:  
Titubo did stumble by his too much haste;  
Vacillo staggered too, they struck so fast:  
Laedo was hurt, and's Brother Nocco too,  
And Tucor defends himself with much ado:  
Tego was covered with a gallant Shield,  
Yet Verbero beat him so, he was forced to yield:  
Plango did much lament his grievous chance,  
'Cause Ico smote him with his direful Lance:  
Ruo did rush into that furious Fight;  
Which did, they say, poor Terreo much affright:  
Sarc●o did patch his Armour, 'twas so old,  
Which D●mo took away, he was so bold:  
Languco did languish 'cause his wounds were deep;  
And Serpo from the Battle soon did creep:  
Bold Voveo vowed, that he'd have Armour none;  
And Obliviscor too forgot to put his on:  
Palleo looked very pale, and would a fled, but  
Undaunted Teneo sound held him to't:  
Findo did cleave his Enemy's scull that day;  
Yet Medior made a shift to healed, they say:  
Formido did dread to come into the Fight;  
And Culpo b●am'd him for't, they say, that Night:  
Voco did call on Vado to go on:  
Poor Labo feigns; and jaceo cast him down:  
But Recupero did recover incontinent;  
For Spero gave him hope, being almost spent:  
As I live, says Vivo, Statuo did appoint  
Me Ensign, 'cause at first I did win't:  
Noseo said, he knew't: Mentior sworn he lied:  
Then Acuo whets his Sword, that hung by's side:  
Peace, Peace, says Taceo: Sudo sweat for fear,  
And Surgo rose, and fled into the Rear:  
Singultio then began to sob, they say,  
Because Provoco challenged him that day:  
Cubo fell down; and Capio did him take  
Up again, when he could scarcely speak:  
Frenaeo then did gnash with's teeth so hard,  
He drove away poor Pello from the Guard:  
Come says, Invenio, I do clearly find,  
Maneo did well to tarry still behind:  
For Incen●o here has let us all on fire;  
And I'll begin, says Inchoo, to retire:  
Oro preys heartily, that it may succeed;  
I'll show you a way, says Indigo with speed:  
Consulo's Council they did not despise:  
Condono said, he'd pardon his Enemies:  
Fascino thought he was bewitched he swore:  
But Sino said, that he had suffered more  
Than all Impertio did Impart it to'em all:  
And I command▪ says Impero, great and small:  
Obedio vowed that he'd the first obey;  
And Moneo did admonish the same way:  
Nay, says Narro, I'll report it round the Field,  
Nolo, though unwilling, yet at last doth yield:  
And Velo was as willing, I do protest;  
Yet Malo was more willing than all the rest:  
I have a mind, says Habeo, for to join  
With all this crew: and Rego says, he will resign  
His rule: Sto was at a stand, and gazed about;  
And Certo strived to draw this Rabble rout,  
To some agreement: at last Loquor's speech,  
Did by degrees quite solder up the breach:  
(Though Predico did preach before in vain,  
And Suadco did persuade with might and main:)  
And Fungor did discharge his duty right;  
And he with Vnio caus'd'em all unite:  
And Dico said 'twas best from War to cease:  
Last Sancio he establish did a Peace:  
Though Solvo paid'em for their service done:  
Then jurgo chid those from the Fight did run:  
Finio the Battle ends: yet most do say,  
Though jacto bragged, yet Vinco won the day:  
Numero numbers all who that were slain;  
And Opto wished it might ne'er be so again:  
Parco was very glad that he was spared,  
And Partio did divide the spoil was shared:  
Irascor was angry, and began to fret,  
'Cause Adsum was not present when they met:  
But Salto danced; and Ludo then did play  
On's Instrument for Joy of that happy day:  
'Tis best, says Lavo, wash our throats then cut'em;  
And Tundo knocked for Liquor, which was brought'em:  
Yet Turgeo, and Tumeo began to swell,  
'Cause Placeo at the Peace was not pleased well:  
Says Veto, jove forbid that we again  
Should fight: to which they all did cry, Amen.   

SONG 16. A Mock, to the Song called Lay by your pleading. And to that Tune.  

LAy by your fight,  
Misses are inviting,  
All the Military Boys,  
To that they most delight in:  
Small power the Sword has,  
And on my word has  
Not so great a Privelledge  
As Misses now afford us;  
They'll kiss us, and clip us,  
And st●ll in pleasure keep us;  
And in little while, of all  
We have, will strip us;  
They still will be kind too,  
and are inclined too,  
Pay what they borrow of you,  
When the Devil's blind too.   

All you City Blades too,  
Leave of your Trades too,  
Misses have a better way to Trade,  
Which never fades too:  
Trading is decaying,  
Is your constant saying,  
And that your Customers are  
Backwards still in paying:  
Then cleave to your Misses,  
That the greatest bliss is;  
And what you want in Purse,  
You'll have it in Diseases,  
They ne'er will forsake ye,  
Until they break ye:  
Then hay for a Voyage too,  
Virginea, or jamaica.   

Off goes the Gown too,  
Law now must down too;  
And every Lawyer must stoop  
To's Mistress Frown too:  
Nay, when they're pleading,  
And Law a reading,  
If his Miss a Caveat put, that  
Stops all proceeding;  
If her credit fail Boys,  
You must put in Bail Boys,  
And from Fee simple, you shall  
Tenant be in Tail Boys;  
Then by her weary tricks,  
Which you'll think airy tricks,  
Till at last you'll christian her by the  
name of Meritrix.    

SONG 17. The praises of a Cobbler.  
The Tune: And 'tis the Knave of Clubs bears all the sway.  

A Cobbler is an excellent Surgeon,  
Because his Neighbours will be urging  
Him, to cure their Shoes again,  
When they come into old Shoe-lane:  
Which he can do with Awl his might,  
And with his Last set'em upright.   

Then he, no Man is Scholar greater,  
Because he is a great Translator,  
And Stiches also for a Friend;  
But must (alas!) be by his end;  
So that themselves will under ley,  
Rather than Friends should tread awry.   

He in no Fish does deal at all,  
But only Soles (both great and small,)  
Yet loves Please, else how could he sit;  
Yet I ne'er saw him eat a bit  
On't: and cures Soles that are decayed,  
That they (till next time) shall not fade.   

When he has a mind some Fish to take,  
He of his thread a Net will make,  
And Pitch it still▪ so excellently,  
That no Fish can e'er pass by;  
So that you'll say, the draught must wax  
The greater, when he up it takes.   

Me thinks Death should not a Cobbler kill,  
Because he makes him Soles at will:  
For Death has power on Bodies alone,  
But the Cobbler when the Sole is flown,  
And sundered from the Upper-leather,  
'Tis he (not Death) must stitched together.   

He is a Man, will never be  
Worse than now you do him see;  
For he is fit to be employed,  
When places happen to be void:  
Nay, the fittest ●n all the Land,  
Because he's still o'th' mending hand.   

Thus you may see, the Cobbler now  
A Surgeon is, an Scholar too;  
And though he seldom deals in Fish,  
Yet when he please can have a Dish:  
For every Day he Soles doth make,  
And Please his breech doth daily take.   

And that he's mending still, and can  
Make Nets as well as any Man,  
And pitch'em too, better than many,  
That they shall wax the best of any:  
And more than Death can do, you know,  
He mends the Sole, which Death can't do.    

SONG. 18. Upon the taking down of the King's Arms in the Rumps time in the Year 1649. When instead of plucking down them, on the Gate of the Physick-garden in Oxford: they were such excellent Heralds, that they plucked down the Earl of Danby's Arms, who was the Founder there.  

IN sixteen hundred forty nine,  
When Cavaliers were forced to dine  
At Duke Humphreys Table still,  
(But 'twas poor hearts against their will:)  
A dismal time, when Rump did fart ye,  
A thousand cracks against Royal party;  
And when Kings Arms were plucking down,  
In every City, and in Town:  
In Oxford City there's a place,  
Called Physic garden, and little space  
From College Magdalen doth stand,  
(Well known to many in this Land;)  
From Mandlin bridge, it stands Northwest,  
So that must be from it Southeast;  
This is so plain you can not miss it,  
Then when you're there you'll say this is it:  
The Walls that do surround this place,  
And Noble Gate, which do it grace,  
And all the Land within the same,  
For evermore will bear the name,  
As being the particular BountTy,  
of that Noble Northern Count,  
Who to's Prince tothth' last did stand by,  
Called Henricus Comes Danby:  
This Gift, I say, was only his,  
(For which no doubt he is in bliss)  
Unto the poor University,  
Made so byth' Rump, the more's the pity:  
And first of all this Rumpish crew,  
That then did there appear in view,  
With others that he thither brought,  
For to destroy, as than they thought,  
Their Prince's Arms; was a Colonel,  
Who indeed was a Preacher, as well  
As Soldier; and so he began  
Then to preach to every Man,  
His Rumpish Doctrine; and so bid  
Them be v●liant, and what they did  
He would secure both great and small,  
By an Ordinance from his Masters all;  
An Ordinance it might be called  
(Which oft the Cavaliers have mauled)  
By thundering of us out of Town,  
From Post to Pillar up and down;  
But name of Act, it cannot bear,  
Yet 'twas the Cor'nels' Act I'll swear:  
And with the Cor'nel there did go,  
His Lieutenant Colonel also;  
And Major too, and Captains store,  
And Ensigns, and Lieutenants more.  
And of the County Committee,  
There were about the Number three,  
With others at the Cor'nels call;  
I think there was the Devil and all.   

But now comes out a pleasant Tale,  
(If my Memory doth not fail)  
Which in Oxford is very rife,  
For every Mouth, and true on my life:  
On the right hand of that brave Gate,  
Were Kings Arms placed in handsome state,  
And likewise Crown, and Garter too,  
As 'bout the Arms they use to do;  
O'th' left hand was the Founder's Arms:  
Bold Danvers, who with loud Alarms,  
The Irish Rebels conquered so  
In little time, he had no so  
To wreak his valour on; whose same  
Was spread abroad: that's very name  
Would scatter all that Kerning crew:  
But Danvers cry, away they s●ew:  
And before he came from thence,  
Forc'd'em to own their Natural Prince.  
For which important Service done,  
By way of Retaliation:  
King james with tittle than did greet him,  
of Baron Danvers; which did meet him,  
For he came to kiss his Hand, and's Son  
Charles the First; for other Service done,  
Did Earl of Danby him create,  
And Knight of the Garter; (Honours great)  
Yet none for him too great was thought,  
Who for his Prince so bravely fought:  
So that by this, I'd have you note,  
He had the Garter round his Coat,  
And Coronet also; which did make,  
Among our Heroes the great mistake:  
Which made for what I do intend,  
(And then I'll draw unto an end:)  
These gallant New made Gentlemen,  
With the County Committee then,  
And others of that new Dubd-crew:  
When both these Coats they chanced to view,  
Like wise Men did with one accord,  
Command the Arms of this brave Lord  
To be pulled down, Instead o'th' Kings:  
And so they flew, as 'twere with wings,  
For to pull down as then they thought,  
His Majesty's most Royal Coat;  
Sure they were of Senses bereavest,  
Not to know the right from the left.  
That they were Scholars you can't deny,  
'Cause in the University:  
And wonder 'twas what Heraldry then,  
Was 'mong our Rumpish Gentlemen.   

Or were they at that time afraid,  
To touch that Princely Coat; they laid  
Not violent hands upon it then,  
But I remember the time when  
They durst attack, as well as Crown,  
His sacred Person too, 'tis known:  
Sure Providence did cast a mist  
Fore the Cor'nels eyes, and all the rest,  
They could not see that very day,  
'Cause their Chief light is within they say:  
If so then 'twas Prophetic, sure  
That they should only then obscure  
(And for a time to cloud) the Crown,  
But for their lives not pull it down.   

Though the Officers so little knew,  
And Gentlemen of that great crew,  
What did belong to Arms; 'tis strange  
The Soldiers that did use to range  
Themselves each day in rank and file,  
(And many times their Arms recoil)  
And then the chief word of Command,  
Was stand to your Arms, to every band,  
Which they being often used to do,  
Made them let the King's Arms stand too.   

Then after this, in merriment  
They all unto the Tavern went,  
To congratulate each others Act,  
And all to own that prudent fact:  
There were some twenty Officers,  
With Comittee-Men, Friends of theirs;  
So that there were about thirty two,  
Of this most Solemon like crew,  
Who had at least four Pints of Sack  
Amongst'em all to strengthen the back:  
And though they would not wench, nor swear,  
Yet you see drink hard when they came there:  
Nay, that they might seem more profuse,  
(Which was indeed their common use)  
In half Pint pots 'twas still brought up;  
But yet before they'd touch the Cup,  
With Hat in hand would blessing crave,  
Lest poisoned by a Cavalier Knave.  
And as they thus sat carousing,  
In comes a bold Fellow, using  
Great reverence to that learned gang,  
Saying, they were better to hang  
Then keep; and having a Pint of Sack  
In his hand, he like a mad Hack,  
Drank the King's health, and then threw  
The Pot among that spendthrift Crew:  
Saying, Pox take you all; and then flew  
Down stai●s, without bidding'em Adieu.   

Though they command Kings Arms pull down,  
Yet still hung up some of their own;  
Which did Prognosticate, I say,  
Their Arms should first hang up, than they,  
We were so far from putting down  
Their Arms, we set'em up in Town:  
Nay, they were so highly graced,  
That o'er the King's Arms they were placed,  
On every Gate, about the City:  
Not sooner done, the more's the pity:   

The Rump their Juggle so did handle,  
They all went out like snuff of Candle:  
And those who bought King, or Bishop's Lands,  
At the happy Change, had their hands  
Eased of all that mighty trouble,  
After they had brought the Rents to double:  
So may they all be served, that persists  
Not in heart, and voice, true Royalists:  
And also those that do repine  
At this our Change: who by Divine  
Hand, was then so brought about,  
To scatter all that cursed rout;  
Who had deserved it long before,  
For Cruelty, but Treason more.   
FINIS.   

SONG 19 A Mock to Joan, to the Maypole away let us run. And to that Tune.  

TOm to the Tavern away let us run,  
The Wine will waste, and soon be gone:  
Thus goes the Bubbing Boys of the Town;  
Nay the Trades, as well as the Gown:  
Then Tom,  
Prithee come,  
Good Wine has no need of a Bush Boy;  
I but Nick,  
What says Dick!  
Bad Wine is not worth a rush Boy.   

Did you but see the Man of the House,  
How he does with every crew Carouse;  
Which he'd ne'er do, if'twere not good,  
To cherish the heart, and stir the Blood;  
Prithee haste,  
Time does waste,  
So will the Wine, by our long delaying;  
And there  
You need not fear  
To be asked, till the Quarter day for paying.   

Lately I was at a House in Paris,  
Near to the Church of great St. mary's,  
Where by the means of a Friend of mine,  
We there did get most excellent Wine:  
But Tom,  
This at home  
Is far richer Wine than that Boy,  
Come then Dick,  
Let's be quick,  
For I shall sadly long till I have't Boy.   

Their Stomaches then being whet with desire,  
Away they march, being both on a ●ire,  
To taste that blessed Bub, as they call't,  
Which suddenly did their brains assault:  
Then Tom  
He came home  
Reeling ripe, making Indentures;  
And Dick  
Was very sick,  
Yet to his Lodging reelingly ventures.    

SONG 20. The praise of the Glasiers Trade.  
The Tune is: My Dame Jaon has pawned her Kettle.  

A Glazier is more excellent Surgeon,  
Then any Trade about the Town,  
Because he daily cures by purging,  
All the Windows up and down:  
Some from their cracks,  
And some from their hacks,  
And some from the holes that causes wind;  
And some from below,  
And about you must know;  
And some from before, and some behind.   

His Neighbours say, both Friends and Foes,  
He's fit to be a Constable,  
Because He Quarrels doth compose,  
And from that he does seldom cease:  
And when they're done,  
Then every one  
Unless a Football does'em meet,  
(They're perfect and sound,  
And without a wound)  
Or from a Quarrel in the Street.   

Besides he is an Enemy  
To Idleness, we all do know:  
No Trades man takes more Panes than he,  
Within Doors, and without, 'tis so.  
But by those he takes  
Abroad, he makes  
His Purse the fuller every day:  
Yet some that have had  
Great pains, have been glad●  
To empty their Purse, to get'em away.   

He has a Servant heavy as lead,  
Goes round the Quarrels every day,  
He's lumpish, dull, and is ill-breed,  
But very stout the Neighbours say,  
He has need be stout,  
Or he could not do't;  
Which is to every one a wonder,  
That he alone,  
Without any one,  
Shout keep so many Quarrels asunder.   

A Neighbour also said, he was  
Not fit to make a Constable:  
'Twas asked him why? he said, because  
That he is making Quarrels still.  
Yes; Why should he not?  
Though some have got  
Death, by Quarrels day and night;  
Yet 'tis not so  
By him, we know,  
For he does get his living by't.   

You see that he's a Surgeon now,  
And he all Quarrels does compose:  
And by those Quarrels he does too  
His living get, every one knows;  
And takes more panes,  
For honest gains,  
Then any Tradesman whatsoever;  
And's Servant Lead,  
Although illbred,  
●s accounted stout, both far and near.    

SONG 21. On the Squibs and Crackets, thrown on the Lord Major's day.  

IT was upon the twenty ten  
Of dull October, being then  
The Lord Major's show, or else his Day,  
So called byth' Vulgar, as they say:  
I speak not of that glorious crew,  
That past us by in open view.  
As first the Companies several,  
Belonging to each others Hall,  
All clad in black, with half red tip it,  
Who on their Pettitoes did Tripit;  
Nor of those Velvet Coats so black,  
With Chains of gold hung on their back;  
Nor of that Teem of Scarlet Riders,  
Who of the City Wards are Guiders;  
Nor of the Troops, and Horse's fairness,  
Whose Masters all were clad in Harness,  
Whose Officers Coats bedecked were,  
With gold embroidered every where;  
Nor the Foot, with Bagpipe, Fife, and Drum,  
Who thither with the rest did come:  
Who came to attend Our Sovereign,  
Whom God to bless, with all His Train:  
Nor of those gallant Princely Coaches,  
To all I gave a Bonos nocies:  
But of those Gallants treat I do,  
That were Spectators of that Show:  
Who there were placed in Balconies,  
'Mong which were many Ancient Cronies,  
And Ladies young; who all there stood,  
I can't say sit, they wished they could:  
For in the twinkling of an eye,  
Such Squills and Crackets then did fly,  
In such a horrid fiery fashion,  
It forced them all, to change their station;  
Lest it should burn their Garments gay:  
Which borrowed was perhaps that day:  
They chiefly flew like whirligigs,  
On curled Hair, and Periwigs;  
Nothing escapt'em, they were so set▪  
That all was Fish, that came to Net   

But two prettyer than the rest,  
That lodged were in a Traherns' Nest;  
On the Eldest flew with such a force,  
It burned her Hood without remorse;  
And had not then a Fen been near  
With water to quench it, I fear  
Her lovely Hair to wrack had gone;  
Do all that e'er he could have done;  
Some at this, would a looked pale, but she  
Fixed Roses in her cheeks Immediately;  
'Tis thought he might have saved her Hood,  
Had he not b'in a kissing Mood,  
With another that stood by him;  
But let that pass, I'll not belly him:  
To save it he some mischief got,  
For's Peruke had like to a gone toth' pot,  
And half Skirt too, or ●●me told a lie;  
(Take heed of kissing Friend, when Squibs do fly:)  
Nay, they did fly that time so hot,  
It burned the Youngers Petticoat,  
And one spark did from th'other skip,  
Which burned our pretty Red-coats lip,  
Also a Lord; but the Lord knows who  
It was, for it burned his Breeches too,  
His Coat, and Periwig, and Hat,  
And eke his richly laced Cravat.  
Nay, they from Windows scarce could peep,  
But suddenly they forced were creep  
Back again; or those Lady's fair,  
W●re sure to burn their Hoods and Hair;  
No Gowns nor Whisks did then escape,  
For on Petticoats they made a rape;  
Not on those that were a top alone,  
But below, they were so saucy grown:  
Pretty S::: too did get her share,  
For't burnt her Cuffs, and Hood, and Hair:  
And modest Sh::: too, do what we could,  
It burned her Petticoat, and Hood:  
Had ye been ugly, it ne'er had meet ye:  
You see what 'tis now to be pretty.  
And honest Youncrick, to secure  
A pretty Lady, did endure  
A hot contest, but by his leave  
It quickly burnt his half shirt Sleeve:  
The Author catcht on in's hand a top,  
And flunged in's face, that threw it up,  
To keep't from them that were above,  
But by his favour, it burned his Glove.   

Last, I advise if any go  
Next Year, to see the Lord Major's show,  
You must not in Balconies stand,  
Or Window, that's low at any hand;  
But i'th' Garret, or Leads at top,  
For that's too high, to fling'em up.   

So taking leave in Wood-street three Tun Cloisters,  
At the sign o'th' Barrel, wherein we boiled our Oysters.    

SONG 22. On a Lady, and her Chambermaid.  

A Chamber Maid was got with Child,  
For which her Lady did call her Whore,  
And said, that she had her House defiled,  
And vowed she would turn her out a Door:  
Who got the Child, says she, you Jade?  
Your Husband, and please you Madam:  
Why, where you Whore, forsooth she said,  
In the Truckle-bed at Hadham?   

Why, where was I, I'll know the truth?  
Come tell me, or else I'll make ye.  
In the High-bed fast asleep forsooth,  
And I was afraid to wake ye.  
Why did you not cry out, you Drab,  
When first you saw he begun it?  
Truly forsooth I was never a Blab  
Of my Tongue: would you a done it?   

And besides forsooth you know,  
That I your humour know too well,  
That when y'are suddenly waked, you'll throw  
And tear, like to a Fiend of Hell;  
Nay, you'll cry out with loud Alarms,  
And fling what your fingers touches,  
That I had rather be in my Master's arms,  
Then ever to come in your clutches.   

Why did you not then sooner go  
You arrant Quean? before 'twas known,  
Truly Madam, 'tis even so,  
Because that you had none a'your own:  
And Indeed, Madam, the truth to tell,  
I did think I well did plot it,  
Imagining you would use it well,  
For his dear sake that got it.    

SONG 23. A Dialogue between a Gentleman and his Mistress.  Man. 
Lie still Aminta, for the Light  
Comes from thy Starlike Eyes so bright:  
'Tis not the day that breaks you see,  
But my poor heart to part with thee.  Woman. 
Alexis I must needs be gone;  
Aurora's put her Mantle on;  
And Night likewise has given way,  
To that which ushers in the day.  Man. 
Aminta, Know it cannot be  
The Dawning yet as you may see:  
The Sun do n●ver rise so soon:  
Those Glimmering beams come from the Moon.  Wom. 
Come, come, Alexis, let me go,  
There's danger in delay you know:  
Then let us part, my dearest Mate,  
Lest we repent when 'tis too late.  Man. 
Aminta, what have I now done,  
That you from me so soon must run:  
It is indeed a sad return  
To me, who in your flames do ●u●●.  Wom. 
Leave, leave, Alexis, prithee leave,  
You do yourself, and me deceive:  
Come follow now what I advise;  
'Tis good to be, both merry and wise.  Man. 
Suppose 'tis day, what if it be,  
Must you therefore arise from me?  
Did we lie down, because 'twas Night,  
And shall we rise for fear of light?  Wom. 
Well, well Alexis now I find,  
My kindness te'e has changed your mind:  
I thought you'd loved me heretofore,  
But now you'll have me called your Whore.  Man. 
Why then Aminta let me die,  
If e'er within my breast did lie  
So base a thought to blast thy name,  
But studded to Increase thy fame.  Wom. 
Then dear Alexis, let me rise,  
For Phoebus' beams will bring in Spies;  
Which may descry what we have done,  
Seeing there's no Cure, when Credit's gone.  Man. 
Come give me then a parting kiss;  
And this my Dear, and this, and this,  
A fifth, and so we will give o'er.  
Come take't says she: but now no more.  The Chorus to it. 
Of this young Couple now, you see  
The Girl had greater wit than he:  
For had they been detected then,  
She knew they ne'er should meet again:  
Which to prevent then, lost an hour,  
That he might many Nights come to her.  
So time well lost you see, though small,  
Brings Interest great to Women all.   

SONG 24. The Diseases about the Town.  
The Tune: The Gun.  

I Sing of great Diseases all,  
That happen not at Spring, or Fall,  
But what happens round the Year,  
In every City, Town, and Shire:  
They're sicknesses of such a kind,  
That few Physicians have a mind,  
For to take the cure in hand;  
Which you shall quickly understand,  
If you'll promise me to Cure'em.   

First here's one that doth complain,  
Of Chimeras in the Brain;  
And being one of Nature's Minions,  
He's possessed with strange Opinions:  
He will Dream at Night that he  
A New World in the Moon does see;  
And his wits have laid the ground  
Of the Earth still turning round:  
Will your Purge or Vomit cure him?   

Here's another doth devise,  
A way to measure Earth and Skies,  
And by that does grow so bold,  
To talk of Mountains full of Gold;  
Nay, the Enchanted Island he,  
(Where Men lives to Eternity)  
Swares can tell us, if he would,  
Where it is, both Ebb and Flood:  
Will your Purge, or Vomit cure him?   

There's another Sick a bed,  
With a Megrim in his Head,  
With great whimsies in his Brain,  
His Assertions to maintain:  
He tell you lies, and swear they're true,  
That he has lately seen Peru,  
From thence to China sailed away,  
And Ginny too▪ all in a Day:  
Will your Purge, or Vomit cure him?   

Here's a Man his Chamber keeps,  
That often talks, and seldom sleeps,  
And all forsooth because his Miss,  
Did deny to giv'm a Kiss;  
I'd not be in God Cupid's Coat,  
Because he swears he'll cut his throat,  
Unless he quickly pierce her heart,  
As he did his, with his Dart:  
Will your Purge, or Vomit cure him.   

There's another that has run  
From a great Estate: and one  
As his Estate did run amain,  
He has still a running brain;  
He talks of running Horses yet,  
And running Dogs that ne'er were beat:  
Nay, although it comes by fits,  
'Thas made him run out of his wits:  
Will your Purge, or Vomit cure him?   

Here is one that much Invighs  
Against the State: another says,  
The Clergy they are grown to high:  
And he that in that Couch doth lie,  
Does say, the Law is very much  
Corrupt: and th'other does not grudge  
To give the Clergy all their due;  
And likewise says, the Law is true:  
Will your Purge, or Vomit cure him?   

There's another says, the Age  
Is much debauched; and in rage  
Rails against Wine, and Misses too:  
But t'other give him his due,  
All the premises denied,  
And told him to his face he lied;  
So some of these, you see, must lie  
As well as they, or you or I:  
Will your Purge, or Vomit cure us?   

I could bring Diseases many,  
Could I see the Cure of any;  
It is a sickly time you know,  
There will more Diseases grow:  
Some of yours, and some of mine,  
Some of his, and some of thine:  
But I've said too much I fear,  
I'll bring the rest another Year;  
So you'll promise me, to cur'em.    

SONG 25. A persuasive against Doting Love.  
The Tune is: As Alexander I must Reign, and I must Reign alone.  

THose dull, and Sottish Fools I hate,  
That pine, and die for Love,  
And still repent when 'tis too late,  
And then their folly prove;  
Then why should I my fancy fix,  
On Women that are so?  
I hate those proud, and slighting tricks,  
Pox take'em let'em go.   

I've lived till thirty Years round,  
And never doted yet,  
Nor in these charms was e'er misled,  
Or caught in Cupid's Net:  
And e'er that I would wedded be,  
To her that has betrayed  
Her Faith, to any other,  
I'd live, and die a Maid.   

I love a Girl that's brisk, and smart  
In Repartees, and true;  
And likewise for her outward part,  
I'd have her handsome too:  
For he that weds a Fool, will find,  
There's not so great a curse,  
And daily will torment his mind,  
Than which there's nothing worse.   
FINIS.   

SONG 26. A Mock to Farewell my Armid●. And to that Tune.  

Farewell my dear Puggy, my Pullet, my ●ow bell,  
Thy Ferret eyes are as the cause of my grief:  
Thy voice is far louder than ever was Bow-bell,  
And from the Clapper on't grant me relief:  
Thy Brow lies in Pleats, like a Loose-bodyed gown,  
That some Men have thought, my dear Pigney did  
Because'tis in wrinkles, & hangs o'er her eyes, (frown,  
Much like to a Bon-grace, to keep of the Flies.   

Thy Nose stands so far out, on which a great dent is  
Just in the middle, much like to a hook,  
Which turns up so finely, and then so much bend is,  
As if 't were to hang on a pot for a Cook:  
And 'tis of two kinds, for one keeps all in,  
But th'other hangs dangling still down to her chin,  
Which her pretty Mouth, o'erjoyed with the taste,  
Sometimes laps it in, that nothing should waste.   

And then thy sweet Pie-ba●●'d teeth much do delight me,  
Standing like Tusks, on a long-snowted Pig,  
So lose they are set, that they never could bite me;  
Nay, some have come out, with but eating a Fig:  
They never could bite me, 'tis certain you know,  
Because they stand in and out, none in a row:  
Thy Lips are so sweet, and p●easant I vow,  
And then are for thickniss, like our brinded Cow.   

They white are like tallow, that never yet Man did  
Buss sweeter things, than those Lips of thine;  
Nay, some Men have thought they were sugar Candy,  
Thy sparkling whiteness so finely did shine:  
Thy Breath is so sweet, and strong, that if Men  
Were at the last gasp, 'twould fetch'em again:  
Nay, had I my will, for ever I'd dwell  
At thy pretty Mouth, for love of the smell.   

The rest of her parts I dare not discover,  
Thinking already too much I have spoke,  
And being myself so zealous a Lover,  
Should she be stolen, m'heart will be broke:  
But when we are Married, I vow and protest,  
I will not be jealous at all, in the least:  
I think in my Conscience I need not to do't,  
For those that do know her, will ne'er put her to't.    

SONG. 27. The ●ver despairing Lover.  
The Tune is: Bory Versaille.  

WHen first I saw my Phyllis face,  
Her Starlike Eyes, so bright did shine,  
I deemed of no humane race,  
But did believe her all Divine,  
But when she sung,  
I thought her Tongue  
Was kept by all the Heavenly Spears,  
Who met with her,  
And fixed there,  
And every one that her hear,  
Did wish themselves all Ears.   

But when I saw her Ivory hand,  
To touch the Lute, I did admire,  
She had upon't such command,  
As if 'twere touched byth' Heavenly Choir;  
She played so well,  
She bore the Bell  
Away from all the Ladies there;  
Who began to blaze  
Abroad her praise,  
That every one was in a maze,  
Such Harmony to hear.   

She than began to dance a round,  
That every one, as well as I,  
Did see, she scarce did touch the ground.  
We thought she did not dance, but fly.  
She tripped about  
Still in and out,  
But yet kept time, and figure too;  
That all did say,  
That very day,  
She carried the Credit clear away,  
For dancing smooth, and true.   

There's not a Man, of all the Crew,  
But was in Love, as much as I,  
Who loved her parts, and Person too;  
If great Men love, my suit must die,  
Nought but despair,  
Must be my share,  
And Death will be to me a gain:  
For since that I,  
Must not come nigh  
My Phillis, I'll lie down and die,  
To ease me of my pain.    

SONG 28. A Caveat to young Ladies.  
The Tune: Miss Mundays Cellabrane, made by Mr. Smith.  

I ne'er will Love again,  
What e'er betid me;  
And from inconstant Men,  
Good Angels guide me;  
Then Ladies must not be  
Swift in consenting,  
Lest they sing Lachrymae,  
By late repenting.   

He promised wondrous fair,  
When first came to me;  
Nor Oaths, nor Vows did spare,  
When he did woe me:  
His sug'red words, and smiles  
So wrought upon me,  
I ne'er foresaw his wiles,  
Till they'd undone me.   

Then Ladies, now alas!  
Thus you may mind them,  
As for to tr●st them as  
Far, as you find them:  
For if yourselves you do  
Keep at that distance,  
You may, with credit too,  
Make them resistance.    

SONG 29. On a late Ball at Inn-holders' Hall.  

I Chanced of late, to see a Ball  
Near Dow-gate▪ at Inn-holders-Hall,  
Where I saw many that danced well;  
But one did all the rest excel,  
In French dance, and in Cellabrane,  
She'd foot it true, to every strain  
O'th' Music; if fast, then she's so;  
If not, than she can dance as slow:  
But when she came to dance a Jig,  
I ne'er saw such a nimble Grig,  
So lively, free, brisk, and airy,  
I thought she was Ubiquitary:  
She tripped so briskly up and down,  
You'd think she had not danced, but flown:  
For lofting dancing, I protest,  
I think she did out do the best:  
Being up, she cut ye twice or thrice,  
ere she came down; then in a trice  
Mount up again, and cut many more,  
That I saw ne'er the like before:  
She at that time did do so well,  
From all she bore away the Bell.  
Go on, brave Girl, prithee go on,  
For if thou hold'st, as thou'st begun,  
And in Childhood hast done so well,  
In after times thou'lt all excel.   

Besides I saw two little things,  
That looked, me thoughts, like Cherubs wings;  
I mean for Stature, and for growth,  
That if you had but seen'em both,  
You'd think that they but lately fell,  
From the Womb, and then came out o'th' shell:  
And some to Palliate that, did say,  
They thought they sucked but th'other day:  
Yet these Sucklings did that Night,  
New Mottar, and Minoways so right,  
To the admiration of us all,  
That were Spectators at that Ball.  
Why, how now Friend, is't possible,  
That Norfolk Men can do so well!  
Henceforth for Kings-line I shall have  
A great respect, because it gave  
Birth to my Friend I. Rich::: son,  
Who in this Ball so well hast done.    

SONG 29. A Mock to a Lover I am, and a Lover I'll be, in the praise of Tobacco: And to that Tune.  

TObacco I love, and Tobacco I'll take,  
And I hope good Tobacco I ne'er shall forsake;  
'Tis drinking, & wenching destroys still the Creature;  
But this noble Fume, does dry up ill nature:  
Then those that despise it, shall never be strong;  
But those that admire it, will ever look young.   

With Pipe after Pipe, we still keep in motion,  
In Puffing: and Smoking, like Guns on the Ocean,  
And when they are out, we charge'em, and then  
We stop'em, and ram'em, and recharge again,  
Since we with Tobacco can keep ourselves sound,  
Let Bacchus, and Venus in Leth be drown.    

SONG 31. The Sudden Wedding.  
The Tune is: The Gun-fleet.  

I'm in Love says Noll.  
Indeed says Doll,  
But prithee say with who?  
I fear, says he.  
Come speak, says she.  
Why then, it is with you.  
You jest, says Doll.  
Good Faith, says Noll,  
You do me wrong my Dolly.  
But Men; says she,  
To flattery be  
To much addicted Nolly.   

I vow, says Noll,  
I Love thee Doll.  
But pray, Sir, tell me where?  
At my heart▪ says he.  
At your heart, says she,  
And do you Love me there?  
'Tis true, says Noll.  
But you, says Doll,  
Do Love another better.  
Who is't, says he?  
Why ●an, says she,  
You th'other day did treat her.   

Fie, fie, says Noll.  
Why, why, says Doll?  
Why Nan did come to me,  
And prayed me write,  
That very Night,  
To her Sweetheart Humphrey.  
What then? says Doll.  
Why? then, says Noll,  
I gave her a Pint of Wine Doll.  
What else? says she.  
W●y Cakes▪ says he,  
And yet no Miss of mine Doll.   

But yet, says Doll,  
My ●ather, Noll,  
Does say you are poor of late.  
How poor? says he,  
Yes, poor, says she,  
And must not be my mate.  
I have, says Noll.  
What hast? says Doll.  
Why I have House and Land Doll.  
Where is't? says she.  
Why, 'tis, says he.  
At the lower end o'th' Strand Doll.   

What goods? says Doll.  
All sorts, says Noll,  
That in a House is common.  
Indeed, says she.  
And fit, says he,  
For any honest Woman.  
How, how, says Doll.  
Good Faith, says Noll,  
'Tis true, and all are my own,  
And a Featherbed,  
With Curtains red  
For thee, and I to lie on.   

Then 'tis, says Doll,  
A Match my Noll,  
Let Father and Mother chide.  
Is't done, says he.  
'Tis done, says she,  
And I will be thy Bride.  
Let's kiss, says Noll.  
Content, says Doll;  
And there's another for ye.  
When wed we? says he  
To Morrow, says she;  
We will no longer tarry.   

Come then, says Noll,  
we'll go my Doll,  
And see the House before;  
And then, says he▪  
What then? says she.  
Thou't find I am not Poor.  
Agreed, says Doll.  
And when? says Noll.  
To Morrow we are wedded,  
Thy Parents shall,  
(And kindred all)  
Then come and see us bedded.    

SONG. 32. The disdained Lover.  

WHen first these eyes of mine saw my Undoer,  
O how my Soul was inflamed with desire:  
But now I curse the time, that e'er I knew her,  
Seeing her cruelty adds to my fire.  
The more I love, the more she disdains,  
And daily does add new Links to my Chains;  
Which makes me Day, and Night to cry,  
Woe is me, woe is me, for Love I die.   

I still addressed myself in humble manner,  
Thinking by that, to gain some respect:  
But she, most Tiger like, took more upon her,  
And still returned it with scorn and neglect;  
Which plunged my Soul in such deep despair,  
(Too great alas! for Mortals to bear)  
I'd rather soon to yield my breath,  
Then to continue still, this living death.   

Then farewell cruel she, this curse I'll leave thee:  
Mayst thou love one, but no man love thee,  
And when thou doat●st on him may he deceive thee,  
And be as cruel, as thou wast to me.  
This O you powers, is all that I crave,  
When my poor Body is laid in the grave;  
Which, if you grant my injured dust  
Must declare, that you are righteous, and just.    

SONG 33. An Answer to a Song called, Fairest Creature tell me true, shall my sighs never move thee? And to that Tune.  

DEar Phyllis seem a little coy,  
Dissemblingly denying,  
Lest I should burst with too much joy,  
By thy too soon complying:  
Thy cruelty  
So great was to me,  
It almost had wrought my Ruin;  
Then if thou shouldst be,  
In yielding too free,  
I fear it may prove my undoing.  
Extremes, thou know'st, of Joy or grief,  
Are still destractive to nature,  
Then if thou yield'st too sudden relief,  
Thou't prove to thy Friend a Traitor;  
Then prithee Phill,  
Be moderate still,  
And yield by degrees unto me;  
For if't come to fast,  
I surfeit with haste,  
And then I am sure 'twill undo me.    

SONG 34. On two Women furiously fight at a Town in Kent● the one being named Bear, and the other Wolf.  

IT was i'th' time of holy Lent,  
That I was at a Town in Kent,  
Where I then in passing by,  
A furious Combat did espy:  
A lusty Sea Wolf began to fight,  
On a Bear's Cub, to wreak her spite,  
And on the Cub did roar and claw,  
Pretending for to keep't in awe:  
Which when the Dam o'th' Cub did see,  
Out of her Den came presently,  
Tothth' rescue of her little Cub:  
So to't they went, where many a Drub  
Was begin by both, with teeth and nail,  
That none could say, which did prevail:  
Their Eyes, and Hair were then so torn,  
They looked like two She-beasts forlorn:  
Until a Man, which then lay near,  
Unto the Place, came quickly there,  
To disengage these furious Foes,  
Who painted with those many Blows,  
And Scratches, each to other given,  
'Cause they so long together striven,  
They both were bloody o'er, and o'er,  
And both lay wettring in their gore;  
But the discreet Officer parted both,  
(Though they to part were very loath)  
And when that they could fight no more,  
Then both their Tongues began to roar  
So loud, it dampt the noise o'th' Crew,  
That then were the Fight to view:  
And when their Tongues were likewise spent,  
(They both, to give their fury vent,  
Did with their Eyes the Fight renew,  
And foamed and sputtered; and then threw  
Dust in one another's face,  
That they were, both in little space  
So covered o'er: they looked, they say,  
Like two Sea-Devils, as they lay:  
Nay, they to sight were then so hearty:  
Says one, fight on, and the Devil part ye.  
Yet at the last they forced were, then  
To creep unto each others Den.  
Some thought it strange, not so good Brother,  
For Beasts will fight with one another.    

SONG 35. A Song on the Dance called the Morris, danced at Mr. young's B●ll, at Brewer's Hall in London, April the 13. 1674 And to the Morris Tune.  

SOme pretty Country Girls there were,  
Within an Arbour sitting:  
Who when they did the Piper hear,  
They then left off their knitting:  
One bid him play,  
The Irish Hay;  
And th'other little Norris:  
At last they all,  
Both great and small,  
Did bid'em play the Morris.   

Their dress was tied, with Wascoats white,  
And well died Petticoats too;  
And had you seen 'em on that Night,  
You think 'em pretty Coats too:  
Their Coiffes were new,  
And crost-cloaths too:  
I'll tell you more than that too,  
To keep'em from  
The burning Sun,  
Each had a new straw Hat too.   

First lively S●●::: began the Dance,  
And humoured it completely:  
Then pretty 〈◊〉:: D: did advance,  
Who danced all things neatly:  
Brisk ●o:::: then,  
Did follow in,  
And kept her measures duly;  
And pretty Cl:::  
That airy spark,  
Did likewise dance it truly.   

Then th'other lively Cl::: went on,  
And danced with strength and vigour:  
And pretty little Tr:: h:: then,  
Did keep both time and figure:  
Sweet Dal::: then  
Did credit win,  
To see her 'twas a pleasure:  
Young So::: too,  
She well did do,  
Who danced good time and measure.   

Thus have you heard the Morris, and  
The Lass that did b●gin it;  
And how they marched up hand in hand,  
And sixth within a Minute:  
Then every one,  
When ●une was done,  
Did make their Curchye-gravely;  
Although so young,  
Yet all the throng  
Did say, they did it bravely.    

SONG 36. The little children's figure-Dance, at the same Ball: And to that Tune.  

SOme pretty young Ladies,  
Got leave of their Daddyes:  
In a figure dance of late,  
To dance in a Ball,  
At the Brewers-Hall:  
Where every one had her mate,  
Yet some were so small,  
Most thought in the Hall,  
They'd come from sucking but lately;  
Yet the less kept figure,  
As well as the bigger,  
And all performed it completely.   

And first came my Dam●,  
Sweet Admetus::: by Name,  
Whose dancing is airy and true:  
Pretty Vn::: d:: likewise,  
She after her hies,  
In time and good figure too:  
Modest Wil:: c:, then,  
Those two follow in,  
Who never in Dancing did wander,  
And her pretty Partner,  
Sweet Ch:: d:: to hearten her,  
There is none for her Age go beyond her.   

Well countenanced P:::  
Though she learned but of late,  
Kept time and figure that day;  
Then her Partner came,  
Little Io:: s:: by name,  
Who followed her every way:  
Pretry Ch:: l:: too,  
Did follow this Crew,  
And footed it well and truly:  
Brisk Pea:: c:: did  
Trip after her in,  
And kept her measure most duly.   

Thus have you heard all,  
This Dance at the Ball,  
And who was Partners with other;  
And how they did tripit,  
And handsomely skip it,  
Until they meet one another:  
When the Tune was done,  
But yet not too soon,  
They made their Honours so neatly,  
That all the great Crew,  
That there took a view,  
Did say, it was done completely.    

SONG 37 A Dialogue between two Sisters.  

Fie Phillis, fie, what love a Man?  
I thought ye'd had more wit.  
Why Sister, You the Trade began,  
I did but follow it.   

No Phillis no, 'twas but in Jest,  
It was not real love;  
But Sister you did take no rest,  
This I can truly prove.   

Well Phillis, well, suppose it so,  
It was not long I'm sure.  
Yes Sister, you do sadly know,  
It nine Months did endure.   

Come, Phyllis come, I did but make,  
You to believe 'twas so.  
But Sister, 'tis not a mistake,  
Because 'tis true I know.   

So Phillis, so, I see you are  
Still contradicting me.  
Yes, Sister, when I find you far  
From truth, it still shall be.   

Leave Phillis, leave, let's now a done;  
I feign would give it o'er.  
No, Sister, since you have begun,  
Good Faith, you shall have more.   

I must be taxed for loving one,  
When you have loved a score;  
And when you find they're from you gone,  
I must be chide therefore.   

This only is the difference true,  
Betwixt our Loves, I see:  
You sue to them, not they to you,  
Mine first did sue to me.   

The Chorus to it.  
The Proverb is made good of old,  
Which Poets, and grave Sages told:  
That Vice o'er Virtue still controlled,  
But Virtue still to Truth did hold;  
Which is most true, and ever shall,  
The veriest Whore, first Whore will call;  
And that same spoke, which is the worst  
In a Cartwheel, will crack the first.    

SONG 38. The West Countryman's song.  
The Tune is: I'll no more to Malton go. nor I'll no more to Rippon.  

ICh a no more to Bristol Town,  
Nor Ich a no more to London,  
Where many gay Voke gea up and down,  
And many poor Vokes are undone;  
Bu● Ich a gea heam to my Country Varme,  
And there che chall bush my Maudlin.  
And when i come there, chil gi' me a Pear,  
And Ich a give her a Codlin.   

I'll a brew me still good nappy Ale,  
The best in all the Shear a,  
And every Fortnight never fail,  
To brew me good humming Beer a:  
And when Ich a urom Blow do come,  
I'll ready have Ale, and a Tost too;  
And then chill a bid me welcome home,  
And gi' me both Boiled and Roast too.   

When Ich have a mind to Bacon and sauce,  
Cheele kill the Hog on a sudden,  
And then chall ay have still in the House.  
Good Bacon, and Souse, and Pudding:  
Then Ich a send up to London Town,  
Where Ich have a loving Cousin,  
Some Bacon and sauce, to keep the House,  
And Puddings send by the dozen.   

Ich a zend up to Sisly too,  
Mine Hostess Maid at the Anchor,  
Who was so kind, I'll give her her due,  
And Ich a for ever thank her,  
Cheed gi' me a Pot of Ale, ere while,  
And many a Loving Buss too;  
When Ich a from Maudlin was many a mile,  
Ichad no other Friend to trust too.   

I'm sorry to part from Sisly now,  
For Ich a chall never forget her,  
Che's constant, kind, loving, and true,  
Nor Ich a chall ne'er have a better;  
And when Ich a go to take my leave,  
I'll give her a Pint of Canary;  
And when Ich come home, I'll send for her down.  
And Sisly shall look to my dairy.   

My Maudlin twice a week does go  
To Market, to Taunton Dean a.  
Then we must look to the House I tro,  
And then you know what I mean a:  
But when Ich a hear my Maudlin come,  
Then Ich a must look demurely▪  
And Sisly she, as cunning must be,  
That so we may live securely,    

SONG 39 The Platonique Lover.  

I Smaena I do not admire  
Thy Starlike eyes, that are so bright;  
Though others may,  
Nor do I from their Beams take fire,  
I'm guided by another Light,  
More bright than they;  
No, 'tis a virtue more Divine,  
That makes me offer to thy shrine,  
To that my vows I pay.   

Your stately presence, wit acute,  
Inviting mean, and charming voice;  
Though rare they be,  
Or excellent touch upon the Lute,  
Of which you have the greatest choice;  
These take not me,  
'Tis to thy beauteous Soul I bow,  
To that alone, I've made a vow,  
And called my Deity,   

Some outward Objects may admire,  
And fond rest themselves paid,  
With those alone,  
Those never yet fed my desire,  
Because I know they often fade,  
As soon as blown;  
Unto thy virtuous Soul I bend,  
Which will continue to the end,  
When others quite are flown.    

SONG 40. On a Gentlemen that was in Love with two Mistresses at once.  

I Have a flame within my breast,  
Yet still do freeze between two fires:  
Sometimes I think Aminta best,  
Whose sight does heighten my desires:  
Bot when I do Corinna see,  
Then she alone's my Deity.   

When I but on Aminta think,  
With Joy I'm in an ecstasy,  
And that I'm at the very brink,  
Of being her real Votorie:  
But when Corinna I espy,  
I'm changed i'th' turning of an Eye.   

Each does Inflame my tortured mind,  
But know not which to choose of either:  
Then prithee Cupid be so kind,  
To give me both, or give me neither;  
For if I with Aminta bed,  
Without Corrinna I'm but dead.    

SONG 41. A Drinking Song.  

COme my Lads that love Canary,  
Let us have a brisk Fegary,  
Underneath this spreading Vine,  
Underneath this spreading Vine;  
And there we will tipple,  
Like Babes at the Nipple,  
As long as we have a drop of Wine.   

Fill me up a lusty Glass Boy,  
He that bawks it is an Ass Boy;  
Fill it up unto the brim,  
Fill it up unto the brim;  
Filled quicker and quicker,  
Until that the Liquor  
Have made our muddy brains to swim.   

First, here's a health to Moll and Betty,  
Who both thou know'st are very pretty,  
And are likewise full of coin,  
And are likewise full of coin,  
For when we do want Boys,  
They'll give us a grant Boys,  
Of that which still does pay for our Wine.   

Next here's a health to Sue and Nanny.  
Who sing and dance the best of any,  
And are likewise very free,  
And are likewise very free;  
Then here's to'em both Boys,  
Good Faith I'd be loath Boys,  
To miss their good healths, are so kind to me.   

Come says one, let us strait Boys  
All be gone, now 'tis late Boys:  
But another that was there,  
But another that was there,  
Said he'd lay him a Crown,  
That he'd sooner be gone,  
The longer time he did tarry here.    

SONG 42. A Song of a whole Family, that were great Lovers of Bacchus.  

MY Grandsire is a brave Fellow,  
Keeps Men in Blue, and Yellow,  
His drink it is strong and mellow,  
And has a good lusty swallow,  
Yet learns to tipple and drink,  
With Cups filled up to the brink,  
I never knew him to shrink,  
As long as he had any chink.   

My Gran'ams a good old Woman,  
Beloved of Knights▪ and Yeomen,  
She never was foe to no Man,  
And the Trade with her was common,  
To learn to Tipple and kiss,  
Of which she would never miss,  
Until that her brains did hiss,  
And her name was Bonny Bess.   

My Uncle is a brave Spark,  
If he meet with ado in the dark,  
In the midst of any Park,  
He never will miss the mark,  
Yet learns to bub good Ale,  
Of which he ne'er does fail,  
And falls to't tooth and nail,  
Whether't be new or stale.   

My Aunt is a Woman kind,  
She will not be behind,  
If her Gallant she can find,  
She'll only give her mind,  
To learn the drinking Trade,  
And kissing too in the shade,  
And ne'er will stir, as 'tis said.  
Until that the Reckoning's paid.   

My Brothers's a lusty young Gallant,  
Knows Flanders, and Zealand, and Brabaut,  
And lately's come out of Holland,  
And freely will spend his Talon,  
To learn this bubbing art,  
At which he is very smart,  
And from it will never start,  
Till all the Company part.   

My Sister is a brave Lass,  
For so it came to pass,  
That kissing on the grass  
Her chiefest pleasure was,  
To learn to drink and tip,  
And still have the Cup at her lip,  
At which she would always sip,  
Till up her heels it did trip.   

Thus Uncle, Grannam, and Grandsire,  
You see to their Cups would stand Sir,  
And Aunt, and Sister, and Brother,  
Did teach it to one another;  
And all were very well read,  
In this kissing and bubbing Trade,  
And never in any decayed,  
Until they were all of 'em dead.    

SONG. 43. A Mock Song to Collamina of my heart, none shall e'er bereave me: And to that Tune.  

PRetty Peggy grant to me  
One sweet kiss, to prove me  
If I stick not close to thee,  
As the wood-bine to thee,  
Mayst thou never love me.   

Passion is a simple thing,  
That will ne'er content ye,  
It will never pleasure bring,  
But will leave behind a sting,  
That will still torment ye.   

Love that Brisk and airy is,  
Brings a Lady pleasure;  
But if dull our bloods will freeze,  
Which will make you by degrees  
To repent at leisure.   

Heightened Love doth still beget,  
Torment to the Master;  
For Jealousy is such a cheat,  
No Physician e'er could yet  
Find for it a Plaster.   

Anger still doth stir up Love,  
And increase the fancy,  
If't be moderate than you'll prove,  
'Tis the only Sphere to move  
In, for to advance ye.    

SONG 44. On a whipping Schoolmaster.  
The Tune is: Old Tom a Bedlam.  

THere was a Jerking Master,  
That was of humour muddy,  
His Scholars he'd Lerk,  
And so sound Jerk,  
Till their breeches all were bloody.   

A Rumpish new made Captain,  
Whose name was Robin Burrows,  
When in he was come,  
He so ploud up his bum,  
That it lay in Ridges and furrows.   

Likewise came in a Porter,  
Who disturbed this humming concord,  
Then he took up his Frock,  
And he tawed his nock;  
Nay, he paid him with his own cord.   

Then came a lusty Brewer,  
By name Cornelius Wallis,  
He whipped him so sore,  
Both behind and before,  
Till his Breech was not'cht like's Tallies.   

Then came in a Car-man,  
When he was in his fury,  
He took's wip away,  
And with it did him pay,  
Till he cried, ge woe I'll assure ye.   

A Taylor came to mend then  
His Breeches and his Gown too,  
But he clawed him of so,  
Before he did go,  
He was forced to mend his own too.   

A Drunkard came tothth' door then,  
In the Month of dull October;  
Though the Man was young,  
Yet he whipped him so long,  
Until he had whipped him sober.   

An Upholster came to put up,  
Some hangings in the Garret,  
Yet he hung him on the back,  
Of his lusty Man jack,  
Till his breech was as red as Claret.   

A Cobbler came to underlay  
His Shoes, and them to mend too,  
Yet he did him so Thump,  
On the top of the Rump,  
'Twas almost his Last and End too.   

A Tinker knocked at door too,  
And made a woeful din there,  
And instead of work,  
He was wiped like a Turk,  
Until he had scarce any skin there.   

A Rope-maker came by chance,  
And made such a noise with crying,  
That he took some of's Cords,  
And without more words,  
Did whip him instead of buying.   

Then a lusty Wench came in once,  
Who so it seems was something waggish,  
Her name was Gillion,  
Yet he turned up her Pillion,  
And he used her like a Baggage,   

The weapons that he fought with,  
In Birch-lane they were made still,  
And the Man grew rich,  
By this War for the brich,  
Because he was truly paid still.   

At lak this bold Schoolmaster,  
So weary was with wipping,  
He could whip no more,  
Death whipped in at door,  
And did seize upon him sleeping.    

SONG 45. A Mock to a Song called, since Fortune thou art grown so kind: And to that Tun●.  

O All ye Powers that Rule above,  
I have a boon to beg of jove,  
Which I desire;  
Which if he grant and shall approve,  
I still within that Sphere will move,  
And go no higher:  
I still within that Sphere will move,  
And go no higher.   

And first do desire to be,  
A Yeoman of a low degree,  
And Lands to have,  
On which I may live merrily,  
And leave't to my posterity,  
'Tis all I crave:  
And leave't to my, etc.   

But now it comes into my mind,  
Because I would not be behind,  
In place and power,  
I'd be a Gentleman well lined,  
And with a pretty Girl be joined,  
Then beg no more;  
And with a pretty Girl be joined,  
Then beg no more.   

And when that I have lived a while  
In this Estate with fortunes smile,  
With your good leave,  
I'd be a Squire too, if you please,  
And still to live in health and ease,  
'Tis all I crave;  
And still to live, etc.   

And when that you have grant me this,  
I'd likewise Justice be o'th' Peace,  
And Quoram grave,  
That so I still might domineer,  
Over all Men in the Shire,  
'Tis all I'd have;  
Over all Men, etc.   

And after this I do entreat,  
I might be Knight and Baronet,  
With riches store;  
And every day the best of Meat,  
For me and my good Friends to eat,  
I crave no more. For me, etc.   

Another Boon, if you'll afford,  
I do desire to be a Lord,  
With Lands good store,  
That so I may fix Horses keep,  
For my fine Coach of excellent shape,  
I crave no more: For my, etc.   

And likewise then I further crave,  
To be an Earl, that's rich and brave,  
With House's store,  
To each a Park filled full of Deer,  
And groves of Timber here and there;  
I beg no more: And groves, etc.   

And then me thinks I feign would be  
A Duke likewise, of highest degree,  
With Lands o'th' best,  
That so I may keep Misses store,  
Which if you grant, I'll beg no more,  
I do protest: Which if etc.   

But now I think upon it well,  
I have no mind to go to Hell,  
For all I have;  
But do desire that I may go  
To Heaven myself, and Friends also,  
'Tis all I crave:  
To Heaven myself, and Friends also,  
'Tis all I crave.    

SONG 46. A Gentleman on his Mistress lately forced into the Country.  

FAir Saint farewell, to thee I'll pay,  
The tribute of my vows each day,  
Distance of place shall ne'er bring me,  
To play the Heretic against thee;  
Though thou art absent, yet will I  
Remain thy constant votary.   

Dear Object of my Souls delight,  
Though thou art ravished from my sight,  
New Beauties shall not me surprise,  
I none of those will Idolise;  
My loyal heart shall ever be,  
A Sacrifice reserved for thee.   

Should any ask the reason why,  
Sorrow's Triumphant in mine eye,  
Or what the cause is that my grief,  
Exceed all Limits of relief;  
'Tis too to plain, since I must say,  
The fair B●lind●'s gone away.    

SONG 47. In praise of his beautiful Mistress.  

WHen first my Lucasta my heart did surprise,  
By the attraction of Beauty, & power of her eyes,  
I trembled, and sighed, and steadfastly gazed,  
Until that my thoughts in raptures were raised,  
That Monarch's unworthy, who grudges to part  
With Sceptre or Crown to attain such a heart.   

Were the Curtains of Age drawn over that face,  
Where now dwells perfection of Beauty and Grace;  
Her tongue is so charming and language so fit,  
Some call her Angel, so Divine is her wit;  
But whilst Wit and Beauty each other support.  
She'll be the chief Gallant of Town and of Court.   

Let none then presume with Lucasta to vie  
A Star of her Luster outshines all that's nigh;  
That Beauty's no Beauty, if she be but near,  
All Beauty to hers, still a foil will appear:  
What wish could I wish, were I sure of a grant,  
But to Love as I do, and adore such a Saint.   

Let Envy now burst, and speak if it dare,  
Since all the World knows, how much she is fair;  
A mind that's so Noble, a Spirit so brave,  
Who would not then wish still to be her Slave:  
I would not be freed, though an Empire I gain  
A troublesome Crown, cannot equal my chain▪    

SONG 48. A Complaint against Love.  

LOve is a sickness full of woes,  
All remedy refusing;  
A plant that with most cutting grows,  
Most barren with least using:  
Why so?  
More we enjoy it, more it dies;  
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,  
hay ho.   

Love is a torment of the mind,  
A tempest everlasting;  
And you have made it of a kind,  
Not well, nor full, nor fasting.  
Why so?  
More we enjoy it, more it dies;  
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,  
hay ho.    

SONG 49. A Song by a Person of Quality.  

LOve is a passion every one must have;  
'Twas never known that freedom reached the grave;  
●hose glowing fires always existent are,  
●hough they're at first unknown; and then we dare  
Huff at the Boy, and call him blind, defy  
His Art, and all that lies in destiny.   

●e choke our knowledge in a Spongy Tomb,  
contented Ignorance doth give the doom:  
●e strive to think we are in the right, but then  
●Ve can not think, for yet we are not Men:  
Thus for a while weare foiled, as in a dream,  
Till the Sparks join, and burst into a flame.    

AN ELYGY  

On Sir Edward Sprague.  
●Ale like the Prisoners, trembling at the Bar,  
When they to death condemned byth' Judges are▪  
● looked true Englishmen with self same fear  
surprised, when they their Admiral's fate did hear,  
● sad a Consternation, seized on all  
Their hopes in him, have found their Funeral,  
The future Age shall curse that rigid Fate,  
Which did decree such ruin to the State  
Of Brittain's Isle, so soon for to admit,  
Death should arrest what was so dear to it:  
God Mars dejectedly does hang his head,  
Since his brave matchless Darling Sprague is dead:  
Those victorious Laurels, which did heretofore  
Invest his Temples, he from thence hath tore;  
And hath resolved, all his Trophys shall  
Be in one Pyle burnt, at his Funeral.  
The Sea-born God, doth sit oppressed with grief,  
Cursing the Waves, for yielding no relief  
To him, who did alone deserve that they,  
Should their just Tribute of obedience pay.  
Weep Britain's, weep, and let your flowing Ey●  
Bring Floods of Tears, each day for Sacrifice,  
To his dear Memory; whose spotless Fame  
Shall live, till Death itself shall want a Name.   

On Epitaph on the same.  
Hence flattering Mourners, you whose hired Ey●  
Can weep, not grief at funeral Obsequies;  
Whose sighs and tears do only serve like smoke,  
To crowed yourselves, into a Mourning cloak;  
Let none such dare presume this place, 'tis ●or tru●  
And real Plaintiss, here's no room for you:  
Should all true Mourners wait upon his Hearse,  
We then must Congregate the Universe;  
Which were not safe, for fear the Tears which fall  
Should cause a Deluge, at his Funeral,  
Within this Urns his Magazeen, whose worth  
No Tongue, nor Pen, can really set forth:  
Here, here, alas! he lies Intered! each dust  
Of whom deserves Executors in trust.    

SONG. 50. A Match at Drinking.  

LEt the Bowl pass free,  
From thee unto me,  
As it first came to thee;  
'Tis pity that we should confine it,  
Seeing we have, both Credit, and Coin yet;  
Let it e'en take its course,  
There's no stopping its force;  
Let him hang, that first does decline it.   

Away cast the cares,  
Your sho●s and your wares,  
Those Irrational fears,  
Let your minds be as frolic as his'en is,  
That from his young Bride newly risen is:  
We will banish that Soul,  
That comes here to condole,  
Which is troubled with Love, or with business.   

There's no Man we'll name,  
Nor a Lady Inflame,  
That is given toth' game,  
It will to adumpishnes drive all,  
And make us go mad, and go wive all:  
We will have this whole Night  
Set apart for delight,  
And our Mirth shall have no corrival.   

Then see that the Glass  
In its Circuit does pass,  
Till it comes where it was;  
And every Man's Nose has been in it,  
Till he ends it, that first did begin it,  
As Copernicus' sound,  
That the World goes round,  
We will prove, so shall every thing in it.    

SONG 51. The Foolish kind Husband.  

A Very pretty Girl was forced to Wed  
A Rich, but Country Bumkin, (as 'tis said;)  
His kindness to her was great; nay loved her so,  
That for his life he could not her forgo;  
With Presents also he would daily ply her,  
And gave her more still than she did desire:  
He asked her Parents to what kind of Meat  
She liked best, he'd provide it her to eat?  
They told him she did delight in Furmity,  
And that with Sugar it must sweetened be;  
Which he provided for her every day,  
Thinking to get her Love that kind of way.   

One Night it fortuned she had eat good store,  
Which made her Belly rumble o'er and o'er:  
And being that Night both a Bed together,  
She tumbled and tossed still hither, and thither;  
And at the last, (which is a certain truth,)  
She clapped her sweet Bum to her Husband's mouth;  
And he being then 'twixt sleeping and waking,  
Was the chief cause of his mistaking▪  
He thought it her Mouth, and believed that she  
D●d it a purpose, to kiss him Lovingly;  
Then he began to kiss it very roundly,  
And she poor heart did likewise fizle sound:  
Yet he kissed on; at last says he, my Dear,  
What hast thee eat to Night? something I'll swear  
Hath made thy breath smell very strong; he bust again,  
But she answered him only in fizles then.  
Dear Wife, says he, me thinks thy face to night  
Is wonderfully swelled; yet he with might  
And main, still in his bussing humour kept;  
But she did only fizle, and still slept.  
Me thinks thy face is so much swelled, it grows  
Bigger and bigger, that I can't find thy Nose:  
He asked her what she had a mind to have  
To Morrow for her Dinner? she only gave  
Him a soysting answer, and not to's wish,  
For he thought when she fizled, she fed awe fish,  
No says he, I hate Fish, of all kinds of Meat.  
But she cried▪ awe Fish; which put him in a heat,  
And if she would not tell him, he did swear,  
That he would take her a good box o'th' ear.  
Yet she kept up her fizling Dialect still,  
That he, it seems, with scent was very ill;  
And thought that he had struck her on the face,  
But to his cost he found 'twas in another place:  
For with the blow, she flounced the furmety out  
In his sweet face, and bosom round about.  
ud's Nigs, said he, I've beaten out the brains  
Of my dear Wife, and shall be hanged for my pains.  
Then he cried out with might and main, poor heart;  
Which noise did make his fizling Wife to start:  
Up comes a Maid, who laughed till she did tickle,  
To see her sweet Master in such a pickle.  
Then up they got, and sat, until the Maid,  
Had cleansed the Man, and put fresh Sheets o'th' Bed;  
And glad he was, to see his Wife not dead,  
Swearing he'd never strike her again in the Bed.   

Next Night she had Furmety also, and when  
She came to Bed, she speued it up again:  
Says he, my Dear, I find it does not please ye,  
I'm sorry such Furmity should disease ye;  
And being a Man that had a saving Soul,  
Did quickly rise, and fetched a Spoon and Bowl;  
And with the Spoon did keel it up so clean,  
That on the Sheets there was none to be seen,  
'Twas put into the Bowl, and there it stood  
Until the Morrow, (very fresh and good;)  
And when his Servants all were come from Blow,  
He called his Seedsman to him: saying, Hugh  
Dost thee love Furmety? Yes, Sir, that I do.  
Here take't, says he, and heat it, 'tis fresh and new;  
And when 'twas hot, did put therein some bread,  
That being done, he whipped it up with speed.  
His Master asked him then, how it did eat?  
Troth Sir, says he, I ne'er eat better Meat.  
Much good may it do thee; for by this light,  
It would not stay with my poor Wife last Night.  
Say you so, says he, nor it shan't with me;  
And flounced it out on's face immediately:  
That two Nights together his Wife, and he▪  
Did kindly wash his face with Furmety.    

SONG 51. A Dialogue between a Gallant, and his Mistress  
To the Tune: Of the new French Dance called Backnal.  Man. 
COme my Molly,  
Let's be jolly,  
Since we are gotten together, my Dear,  
Thy Father's s●orting,  
And we'll be sporting,  
Without any fear,  Wo. 
I but Neddy,  
My old Daddy  
Should he but miss me, O then  
He will watch us,  
If he catch us,  
● never shall see thee again.  Man. 
Prithee maly,  
Let's not dally,  
This is the happiest time we have had;  
We will Improve  
Our Talent of Love,  
In spite of the Dad.  Wo. 
I but Neddy  
He is ready  
Still on a sudden to wake;  
Should he miss me,  
Heavens bless me,  
What answer d'ye think I can make.  Man. 
Hang him Molly,  
'Tis but a folly  
●ow to dispute it, we must give it o'er;  
Let him leave thee,  
And I'll receive thee;  
What wouldst thou have more?  Wo. 
I see Neddy,  
There's no remedy,  
But that I must be thy mate;  
Then farewell honour  
Out upon her,  
We Women must yield to our Fate.   

SONG 52. The faithful Lover.  
To the Tune: O my Clarissa thou cruel fair.  

MY dear Elinda I now must go▪  
My cruel Parents tell me so,  
They, they, and only they,  
Do force me hence away,  
But my poor heart do answer no:   

For that is dedicated to thee,  
And so for evermore shall be;  
I here do vow and swear,  
Never to break, my Dear,  
That plighted Faith 'twixt thee and me.   

Sure goodness now is gone astray,  
Since Money bears the bell away;  
'Tis not what is she now,  
But 'tis, what has she now.  
That, that alone, bears all the sway.   

And though my dear Elinda now,  
My Parents wear a wrincled brow;  
If they have no remorse,  
No threatenings e'er shall force  
Me, to forsake thee, or my vow.    

SONG 53. The forsaken Maid.  
To the Tune: Of Balloo.  

MY dearest Baby, prithee sleep,  
It grieves me sore to see thee weep;  
Wouldst thou wert quiet, I should be glad,  
Thy mourning makes me very sad:  
Lie still my Boy,  
Thy Mother's joy;  
Thy Father caused my sad annoy:  
Ch. Ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me▪ poor Maid,  
That by my ●olly, my folly, am betrayed.   

And thou my Darling sleep a while:  
Yet when thou ' wakest do sweetly smile:  
Yet smile not as thy Father did  
To cozen Maids; Nay, God forbid:  
But now I fear,  
That thou, my Dear,  
Thy Father's face, and mind will bear:  
Ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, poor maid  
That by my folly, my folly, am betrayed.   

When he began to Court my Love,  
I thought him like the Gods above,  
His sugared words so pierced my heart,  
(And vowed from me he'd never part)  
But now I see,  
That cruel he,  
Cares neither for my Babe, nor me.  
Ay me, ay me, etc.   

Farewell, farewell, thou falsest Youth,  
That ever kissed a Woman's mouth;  
Let never Maid then after me,  
Commit her, to thy Courtesy;  
For cruel thou,  
If once they bow;  
Wilt thou abuse them, thou carest no● how,  
Ch. Ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, ay me, poor Maid,  
That by my folly, my folly, am betrayed.    

SONG 54. A Mock to, how hard is a heart to be cured.  

HOw hard is a Wench to be gotten,  
That is not all over be-itcht,  
She'll be sure to make a Man rotten.  
If on her his fancy be pitched,  
And nothing but Death can relieve  
The pangs that he must endure,  
When he from her shall receive  
The things, that admits of no cure.   

One had better take one to himself,  
Without danger of any relapse,  
And in Wine spend all his Pelf,  
Without danger of getting of claps,  
And enjoy his own mate at his pleasure;  
And that it once may be said,  
Of himself he had spent all his treasure,  
And once had lain with a Maid.    

SONG 55. A Mock Song, to fly Boys to the Cellar Bottom.  
STay Boys, stay, we'll have no Canary,  
Our Pockets quite are empty,  
Stay then till we have plenty;  
For a Penny we cannot spare ye,  
For Wine we don't care▪  
It goes against the Hair,  
And we'll stay not;  
For I know 'twill vex you much,  
And I'm sure yov'l it grudge,  
If we should be those as pay not.   

SONG. 56. A Mock to, Why so pale and wand fond Lover.  

WHy so proud you saucy Jade,  
Prithee why so proud;  
You scorn the Compliments I have made,  
Will Curses be allowed;  
Prithee why so proud.   

Why so brazenfaced and bold,  
Prithee why so surly,  
To say you were a bawling Scold  
Would make a hurly burly;  
Prithee why so surly.    

SONG 57 A Mock to, Calm was the Evening and clear was the Sky.  

SHarp was the Air, and cold was the Ground,  
When Old Roger and I was walking,  
And a warm place was not to be found,  
But starved we were in our talking:  
We made haste to our Chimney Corner,  
But we made such a smoke,  
It did us e'en choke,  
Till we fell to cough ho, ho, ho, ho, ho,  
Cough, ho, ho, ho.   

He laid his sweet Mouth to my face,  
And his Nose did drop on my chin,  
Which brought me into the same case,  
For a drivelling I did begin,  
And down it did run very low:  
But the best, of the jest  
Was, we caught out the rest,  
And we caught out, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho,  
Caught ho, ho, ho.   

I puked and my Lungs did heave,  
And he poor Man held my head  
Was so kind, that he did not leave  
Until he had got me to bed:  
Then down he came, and lay by me,  
Therein he was kind enough:  
We were each fourscore,  
And could do no more,  
But did cough, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho,  
Caught ho, ho, ho.    

SONG. 58.  

A Dieu fond World, and all thy wiles,  
Thy haughty frowns, and treacherous smiles:  
They that behold thee with their Eyes,  
Thy double dealing will despise.   

From the false World my deadly foe,  
Into some Desert let me go,  
Some Gloomy melancholy Cave,  
Dark, and ●●lent, dark and silent as the Grave.   

Let me withdraw, where I may be,  
From thy Impertinency free:  
There when I hear the Turtle groan,  
How sweetly would I make my moan.   

Kind Philomela would teach me there,  
My sorrow pleasantly to bear:  
There would I correspond with none,  
But Heaven, and mine own breast alone.    

SONG 59  

HOw b●n●y and bri●k▪ how pleasant and sweet,  
Wer● 〈◊〉 & I while my passions were strong  
So eagerly each other flames we did meet,  
That a Minute's delay did appear to be long:  
The vows that I made her, she sealed with a kiss,  
Till my Soul I had lost in a rapture of bliss.   

I vowed, and I thought I could ever have loved,  
When beauty and kindness together I found,  
So sweetly she looked, and so sweetly she moved,  
That I pansied my strength with my joys to abound  
The pleasure I gave she did doubly requite,  
By finding out ever new ways for delight.   

At length when enjoyment had put out my fire,  
My strength was decayed, and my passion was done  
So palled was my Fancy, so tame my desire,  
That I from the Nymph very fain would have gone  
Ah jenny said I, we adore you in vain,  
For beauty enjoyed doth but turn to disdain.   
FINIS.   

SONG. 60. A Mock Song to Cellamina of my heart, none shall ever bereave me. And to that Tune.  

MOll, I ne'er yet knew thy mind,  
Once again I'll prove thee,  
If thou wilt but be so kind,  
To kiss me twice or thrice behind,  
Faith I'll ever love thee.   

Tom, I'm Ignorant I vow,  
Which way to come to it,  
But if you the way will show,  
First kiss mine; then I shall know  
The better how to do it.   

We'll draw Cuts then if thou wilt  
Now, within this Minute.  
And when we have drawn the Lot,  
They that have the shortest Cut,  
They shall first begin it.   

Hang your Cuts, do you begined,  
You're the first did move it,  
And when I see you do●'t in Print,  
Sure you'll think the Devils in't,  
Should I not approve it.    

SONG 61. A Mock to that against Marriage, Called out of pure, and arrant Devotion.  
Out of my chaste, and good intent,  
In Marriage now my life shall be spent,  
'TIs the end of Debauchery, the beginning of pleasure,  
The preserver of Youth, wit, virtue, and treasure,  
And there's no danger of a troublesome Night,  
Or occasion with Constable, or Watch men to fight;  
And so equal a thing is the Marriage Notion,  
That from years' end, to years' end, it keeps the same motion;  
For in Wenches and Cracks there's a great deal of trouble;  
Their Hectors they h●ff you & make you their bubble;  
The wenches they cheat, make you pawn cloak, and hat,  
To find Money only to give you a clap,  
That's so hard to be cured: there's no more to be said  
Keep close to your Wife, and enjoy her in Bed.   

SONG 62. A Mock to, Let's laugh and be merry.  
LEt's away from the Tavern, and not be so mad,  
To be drunk every day, now the world is so bad,  
And run after Wenches i'th' Park or the Fields,  
To waste our Estates, when no profit it yields:  
But now we grow far wiser, than e'er we have been,  
And upon all occasions in our Shops to be seen:  
For he that spends Money, on Wenches and drink,  
May starve without coin, when our pockets do chink●   

SONG 63.  
POx take your humours Madam, don't believe,  
'Cause you ●rown, I'm such an Ass to grieve;  
'Cause I have got a foolish trick to prate,  
And call you handsome, must you put on state;  
Sometimes I rant it higher; and compare  
Your Eyes to Stars, the very Angel's Livery; swear  
You out vie the Sun in his defusive way;  
Come don't believe all is true I say;  
I ne'er could take such pleasure in a kiss,  
Nor in a smile conceive so great a bliss:  
Nor e'er could smell the sweetness, which the Air  
Drew from your breath, unless your hair  
Were powdered: I've a Critic guests, and can allow  
A counterfeited wrinkle on the Brow;  
Provided it be to prepare a light  
To sweeten joy, and relish Appetite:  
But if you frown in earnest, when I woo  
And serious are: by jove I can do so to.  
Take heed, this do not bring you to that pass,  
That all shall scorn to Court you, but your Glass:  
Then you with sorrow may your shadow tell,  
You had a Servant once that loved you well:  
Till your own folly lost him: then be sure,  
If you'll be loved by me, with Love that's pure  
And shine as glorious as you did be●ore;  
Henceforth be wise, and anger me no more.   

SONG. 64.  

LOng since fair Clarinda, my passion did move,  
Whilst under my friendship, I conveyed my love  
But now I must speak, though I fear 'tis in vain,  
'Tis too late in my Death to dissemble my pain  
In telling my Love, though I fear I shall deny.  
I shall ease my sad heart, and more quietly die.   

But sure by my eyes, you my passion may find,  
No Friendship e'er Languished, or looked half so kind,  
Though I said not I loved, you might see it so plain,  
Friends used not to sigh, or to speak with such pain:  
Each touch with her hand, such warmth did inspire  
My face was all Favour, my heart was all fire.   

My thoughts are so tender, my Tongue cannot tell,  
What bliss would be yours, if you loved half so well  
Let the the thing with the Title or property prove,  
Let him have the show, and me have the love:  
I have loved you so long, that if you delay,  
You will owe me so much, that you never can pay.    

SONG. 65.  

WHat a Riddle is Love, if thought on aright,  
'tis mirth mixed with sorrow, & pain with delight,  
'tis a pleasant Disease, and de●icate smart,  
At once the vexation, and joy of my heart.   

For this Signal Grace to the world I declare,  
In Earth, Heaven, and Hell, love's power's the same,  
No Laws there, nor here, no Gods so severe,  
But Love can repeal, and Beauty can tame.    

SONG. 66.  
WHen on my sickbed I Languish,  
Full of sorrowful Anguish,  
Faiting, Gasping, Trembling, Crying,  
Panting, Groaning, Speechless, Dying;  
My Soul just now, about to take her flight,  
Into the Region of Eternal Night;  
O tell me you,  
That have been long below,  
What shall I do?  
What shall I think, when cruel Death appears,  
That may extenuate my fears?  
Me thinks I hear some gentle Spirit say,  
Be not fearful, come away:  
Think with thyself, that now thou shalt be free,  
And find thy long expected liberty:  
Thou mayst, but worst thou canst not be,  
Then in the Vale of tears, and misery:  
Like Caesar, with assurance then come on;  
And unamazed attempt the Laurel Crown,  
What lies on th'other side Deaths Rubicon.   

SONG 67.  
PHilander, and Sylvia, a gentle soft pair,  
Whose business was love and kissing their care,  
In a sweet smelling grove went sighing along,  
Till the youth gave a vent to his heart, by his tongue:  
O Sylvia, said he, (and sight as he spoke)  
Your cruel resolve, will you never revoke?  
No never, she said. How never! he cried,  
'Tis the ill that shall only that Sentence abide.   

SONG 68  
FAir Caelia too sondly contemns those delights,  
wherewith gentle Nature, hath softened the nights:  
If she be so kind to present us with power:  
The fault is our own to neglect the good hour:  
Who gave thee thy beauty, ordained thou shouldst be  
As kind to thy S●aves, as the Gods are to thee.   

SONG 69. The Gadding Gallant.  
To the Tune of, She lay all naked in her bed,  

WHy shouldst thou say Arinda, I  
Have been untrue to thee?  
Thou know'st a week I did comply,  
And was thy Votary;  
Which was a tedious time to me,  
Because that heretofore  
I ne'er did stay  
Above a day,  
Nor ne'er intent it more.   

Do but observe the industrious Bee,  
Who after every shower,  
Will swiftly fly from Tree to Tree,  
And sip at every flower:  
Were she confinded to one alone,  
The pleasure would be void:  
But being free  
Withal, you see  
The Fancy ne'er is cloyed.   

Likewise I pray what he or she,  
Wither of Flesh or Fish,  
Woven be content perpetualy,  
To feed upon one Dish;  
Too much of one things good for nought,  
And dulls the Appetite;  
And all agree,  
Variety  
Does raise it to the height.   

Besides Arinda, know that change  
Is now the only mode,  
And every one delights to Range,  
And make their Meals abroad;  
Then why should I be tied to one  
Since all are free beside,  
Yet thou'dst have me  
Be fixed to thee,  
As if thou wert my Bride.    

SONG 70. Tune is, And 'tis the knave of Clubs bears all the 〈◊〉  

I Sing of Sciences which fate,  
To Englishmen has brought of late;  
And though from foreign parts they came,  
Yet we have all embraced the same.  
And now have fixed them so well here,  
They're all a mode de Anglitterre.   

First Boy, if thou hast store of Chink,  
And hast a mind to learn to drink,  
Although the Dutchmen showed the way  
To tipple Brandy Night and Day;  
Yet we the knack on't now have here,  
'Tis all a Mode, etc.   

Hast thou a mind thy time to pass,  
With a Miss or pretty Lass.  
And though the French at first did show  
The way to all, yet you must know  
We now so much esteem it here,  
'Tis all a Mode, de Anglitt●rre.   

Hast thou a mind to learn to Swear,  
The wickedest Oath that ever were,  
Though the Germans it began,  
We now do swear, and curse and ban;  
'Tis pleasant grown to every ear,  
And all a Mode, etc.   

Hast thou a mind to learn to Lie,  
●o Cousin, Cheat, and Cog a die,  
Which we from Foreign parts have learned,  
Yet more plainly now it is discerned,  
That we so well have learned it here,  
'Tis all a mode, etc.   

Last wouldst thou learn to Quarrel too,  
Here thou may'st do't with small ado,  
From thence away to duelling,  
Which we from Foreign Parts did bring;  
And now 'tis so established here,  
'Tis all a mode, etc.   

Thus have you heard both one and all,  
The Sciences Illiberal,  
Which here are learned in little space,  
And all are done with Devilish grace;  
And being made free Denizens here,  
They're all a mode de Angliterre.    
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 10. line 18, always read always. p. 13. l. 8. tongue r. thunder. p. 18. l. 21. add when. p. 45. l. 13. Thrgeo r. Turgeo. p. 46. l. 4. Renno r. Renuo. p. 47. l. 27. Drodo r. Prodo. p. 48. l. 12. Puso r. Pulso. p. 63. l. 6. Thus r. There. p. 78. l. 6. round r. unwed. p. 80. l. 7. Thy r. There. p. 111. l. 1. 〈◊〉 r. last. p. 137. l. 20. Faiting r. Fainting.