The Modish LONDON Life: OR, The Merry Meeting.  
To an excellent New Tune. Or, My Life and my Death. Or, Now, now the Fight's done.  

[1]  
WOuld you know how we meet o'er our jolly full Bowls?  
As we drink off our Wine the Glass merrily trouls  
The sweet Mel's the sharp, the kind sooth the strong,  
And nothing but friendship flows all the night long:  
We drink, laugh, and celebrate every desire,  
Love only remains an unquenchable Fire.   

[2]  
Thus we drown all our cares in our Rosy rich Wine,  
While we drink a brisk Glass to the fair and divine;  
Though Beauty can charm, 'tis Wine does inspire,  
And in ev'ry breast can create a new fire:  
'Tis Wine, Wine our noble Physician does prove,  
And does cure the tormenting Ague of Love.   

[3]  
Is there here ere a Youth for a Beauty does pine?  
Let him take but a Dose of the Juice of the Vine,  
'Twill give him relief, 'twill cure his Disease,  
And in a few minutes bring pleasure and ease,  
'Twill give him new Life, and will take away care,  
And make him despise the fickle and fair.   

[4]  
Is there here ere a Man that does lead a dull life  
With a froward, untoward, cross, pevish, ill wife?  
Let him take this same Grape, 'twill vigour restore,  
And cure all his grief, (as I told you before.)  
When wives with their Curtain shrill Music alarm,  
Wine lulls men to sleep, and keeps them from harm.   

[5]  
'Tis the sad man's best friend, and creates him delight  
It takes away dulness, and makes the eyes bright;  
Those eyes that looked dull, will (soon) look divine,  
Will change in a moment, and sparkle like Wine.  
Thus Wine does new vigour and virtue impart,  
And does strangely relieve and comfort the Heart.   

[6]  
Would a Lover look gay, and appear with boon grace?  
Give him Wine, 'twill adorn and enliven his Face.  
'Twill make him more bold to court without fear,  
For some court young Maids as if Furies they were,  
They creep, cringe, and tremble, are hugely afraid  
Of a gentle, soft, tender, fair, beautiful Maid.   

[7]  
Let us merrily live, void of trouble and care,  
And regard not the snares and the Nets of the Fair.  
Let us all laugh at love that naked young boy,  
While we more substantial delights do enjoy;  
'Tis not Venus' Son can our fancies remove,  
To leave off our Wine, and think upon Love.   

[8]  
We have oft broke his Bow, ev'ry Arrow and Dart,  
The winged young Archer could ne'er hit our heart:  
All sighing we hate, as we whining despise,  
For Nectar does make us more merry and wise,  
We'll drink while young Lovers do court and do vow,  
While they to the Female Beauties do bow.   

[9]  
Thus in innocent mirth we are happy each day,  
And our minutes and hours glide sweetly away:  
We have no Cabals, nor plotting do mind,  
We safer and sweeter enjoyments can find.  
We bend all our thoughts for to pleasure our friend,  
And 'tis pity such pleasures ever should   
END.   

This may be printed,  
R. P.   

Printed for I. Conyers at the sign of the Black Raven in Fetter-lane, near Holbourn.  
Where any Chapmen may be furnished with all sorts of new Songs, as formerly.