A NEW COLLECTION OF THE CHOICEST SONGS.  
Now in Esteem in TOWN or COURT.  
Exigis ut donem nostros tibi, Quincte, libellos;  
non habeo, said habet bibliopola Tryphon.  
Aes dabo pro nugis? & emam tua Carmina sanus?  
non, inquis, faciam tam fatuè; nec ego.  marshal. lib. 4. Epig. 60. 
Still dunning me for Songs? Away, you Sot!  
They're sold by Stationers, I have 'em not.  
What? give my Money for a Song? thou'lt cry,  
I am not such a Bubble; saith, nor I.  


licenced,  
Apr. 28. 1676. Ro. L'Estrange.    
Printed in the Year, 1676.   

A New Collection of the CHOICEST SONGS.  

Song by Sir Fopling Flutter.  
WHen first Amyntas charmed my heart,  
my heedless sheep began to stray,  
The wolves soon stolen the greatest part,  
and all will now be made a prey:  
Ah! let not love your thoughts possess,  
'Tis fatal to a Shepherdess;  
The dangerous passion you must shun,  
Or else, like me, be quiter undone.   

Drinking Song in the same.  
THe pleasures of love, and the joys of good wine  
To perfect our happiness, wisely we join;  
We to beauty all day,  
Give the sovereign sway,  
And our Favourite Nymphs devoutly obey;  
At the Plays we are constantly making our Court,  
And, when they are ended, we follow the sport,  
To the Mall, and the Park,  
Where we love till 'tis dark,  
Then sparkling Champaign,  
Puts an end to their reign,  
It quickly recovers,  
Poor languishing Lovers,  
Makes us frolic and gay, and drowns all our sorrow  
But alas! we relapse again on the morrow;  
Let ev'ry man stand,  
With his glass in his hand,  
And briskly discharge at the word of Command:  
Here's a Health to all those  
Whom to Night we depose,  
Wine and beaaty, by turns, great souls should inspire  
Present all together, and now boys give fire.   

Song in the same.  

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

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

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

Mock-Song.  

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

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

Was it a Prince, or yet a butterfly,  
she gave her heart unto you!  
Or a sparkling skip-Jack of the Sky,  
that tumbles down like a lump of glue?   

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

Song.  

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

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

Against jealousy,  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Song.  

LEt business no longer usurp your high mind,  
But to Dalliance give way, & to pleasure be kind  
Let business to morrow, to morrow employ,  
But to day the short blessing le●s closely enjoy;  
Let us frolic below, till they hate us above,  
To caesar we'l sing, to caesar and Jove.   

From business we'l ramble, like Bridegrooms unbracd  
A●d surfeit on pleasures, which othrs but taste:  
We'l laugh till we weep on the breast of the fair;  
And the tears that are  shed shall the trespass repair;  
Then you that below do but act those above,  
Who never repent, yet are always in love.    

Song.  
HOw severe is fate to break a heart,  
that never went a Roving?  
To torture it with endless smart,  
for onely constant loving?  
I bleed, I bleed, I melt away,  
and wash my watery pillow;  
I walk the woods alone all day,  
and wrap me round in willow.   

Ungrateful after Enjoyment.  

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

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

Changeable.  

BY heaven! she's hard, and melts no more,  
Than does the Adamantine shore;  
She's could as Ice, or Northern air,  
As unconcerned at my despair:  
And stops her unrelenting Ears,  
like storms to shipwrecked mariners;  
Such is the female I implore,  
By heaven! she's hard and melts no more.   

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

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

Song.  

WHat pleasure I take,  
when I figh for his sake,  
to remember the love he expressed;  
But my heart falls a hleeding,  
With distraction succeeding,  
when I fancy be spake but in jest.  
With safety I cannot believe, or distrust,  
what in prudence I ought to deny,  
How wretched is he, if he prove to be just?  
but if not, how unhappy am I.   

Yet, since he has sworn,  
I'm obliged to return,  
the affection I cannot disprove,  
And if e'r his unkindness  
Should convince me of blindness,  
I too late may repent of my love.  
The proud and the peevish may always say no  
but still it is better, say I  
That twenty inconstant unpunishd should go  
than for one that is faithful to die.    

Against Constancy.  

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

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

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

Constancy after Death.  

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

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

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

Song.  

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

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

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

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

Song.  
SInce Celia's my Foe,  
To a Desert I'll go,  
Where some River,  
for ever,  
Shall echo my woe.  
The trees will appear  
More relenting then her,  
In the morning,  
adorning,  
Each leaf with a tear.  
When I make my sad moan,  
To the Rocks all alone,  
From each hollow,  
will follow,  
A pitiful groan.  
Yet with silent disdain  
●●e requites all my pain,  
To my mourning,  
returning,  
No answer again.  
O Celia adieu,  
When I cease to pursue,  
you'l discover,  
no lover,  
Was ever so true.  
Your sad shepherd flies,  
From those, dear, cruel eyes,  
Which not seeing  
his being,  
Decays and he dies.  
Yet 'tis better to run  
To the fate we can't shun,  
then for ever  
t'endeavour  
What cannot be won.  
What? ye gods! have I done?  
That Amintor alone,  
is thus treated,  
and hated,  
For loving but one.   

Secret Love.  

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

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

Song.  

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

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

Love in spite.  

AH! how long have I fed my desire,  
With the hopes you'd be kinder at last?  
But in vain I have striven  
To persuade you to love,  
Till the pleasure of Courtship is past:  
Yet I will not, I cannot extinguish my fire,  
For in spite of your scorn I must ever admire.   

You command me to love you no more,  
'Tis a law which I cannot obey;  
For when ever I try,  
I am caught by your eye,  
That opposes what ever you say:  
And I will not, I cannot that folly give o'er,  
For in spite of your frowns I must ever adore.   

Thus you make it my fate to rebel,  
By the contrary humours you have,  
you command me away  
and I strive to obey,  
but your beauty with-holds me your slave:  
And I will not, I cannot, my passion repel,  
For in spite of your hate, I must love you too well.    

On the Death of Mr. Pelham humphrey, A Pastoral.  

DId you not hear the hideous groans,  
the shrieks and heavy moans?  
That spread themselves o'er all the pensive plain,  
And rent the breast of many a tender Swain;  
'Twas for amyntas dead and gone,  
Sing you forsaken Shepherds, sing his praise,  
In careless melancholy lays,  
Lend him a little doleful breath,  
Poor amyntas! poor amyntas! cruel death!  
'Twas thou that mad'st dead words to live,  
'Twas thou dead numbers didst inspire,  
With charming voice, and tuneful lyre:  
That life to all, but to thyself, couldst give,  
Why couldst not thou thy wondrous art bequeath?  
Poor amyntas! poor amyntas! cruel death!   

Chorus.  
Sing pious shepherds, sing while you may,  
Before th' approaches of the fatal day;  
For you yourselves that sing this mournful song,  
Alas! e're it be long,  
Shall like amyntas breathless be,  
Tho' more forgotten in the grave then he.    

Serenade.  

THou joy of all hearts, and delight of all eyes,  
Natures chief treasure, and beauties chief prise,  
look down you'l discover,  
here's a faithful young vigorous Lover,  
with a heart full as true,  
as e're languished for you,  
here's a faithful young vigorous lover.   

The heart that was once a Monarch in's breast,  
Is now your poor captive, and can have no rest;  
Twill never give over,  
but about your sweet bosom will hover,  
Dear Miss let it in,  
by heaven 'tis no sin,  
here's a faithful young vigorous Lover:    

Song.  
YOu Lovers love on,  
Lest the world be undone,  
and mankind be lost by degrees,  
For if all from their loves  
Should go wander in groves,  
There soon would be nothing but trees.   

Love not Return'd.  

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

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

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

A Pastoral Song By Dorinda, lamenting her amyntas.  

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

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

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

The catholic lover.  
'TIs not enough, great Gods, 'tis not enough,  
that I one single beauty love;  
No, no, Eternal sergeant's, if you  
Envy the peace my mind once knew;  
If't be my fate to be a slave,  
If I must love and such soft passions have,  
Let not one Quiver, or one Bow,  
One Glance, one Dart, or Arrow do;  
Let many eyes my freedom break,  
Let many chains me captive make:  
'Tis Cesar-like, from many wounds, a death to take.   

Retraction.  
DRaw back thy hand great love, and strike no more,  
that was too much I felt before:  
No, no; if thou, too cruel love!  
wilt on my breast thy poisons prove,  
let me at first be thoroughly slain;  
Plagues, such as these, seldom infect again;  
Let thy first Trophy then suffice,  
First arrow, and first conquering eyes:  
Unbend thy bow, and break thy dart,  
Torture me not with second smart;  
One wound doth kill, as sure as twenty, in the heart.   

dissuading his Friend from love.  
HAd Daphne honour, wealth, or famed,  
Thou hadst some colour for thy flamme:  
Or were she young she might excite,  
Thy lustful thoughts to appetite,  
Were she, or beautiful, or good,  
She unawares might fire thy blood,  
But being neither rich, young, chast nor fair,  
To love is dotage, frenzy to despair.   

Song.  

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

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

Long Vacation.  

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

The Nights are all peace, &c.   

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

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

Song.  
AH! Choridon thy flamme Remove,  
I pitty thee but cannot love:  
Yet I own, I have something in every vein  
Which moves me to love, could I meet with a swain  
That were to my mind, and would love me again.   

Celadon to Delia singing.  
O Delia for I know 'tis thee,  
I know 'tis thee,  
For nothing else could move,  
My tuneless heart than something from above,  
I hate all earthly hurmony.  
Hark, hark! the Nymphs and Satyrs all around,  
Hark how the baffled echo faints and dyes,  
See how the winged air all gasping lies,  
At the melodious sound.  
Mark while she sings,  
How they droop and flag their wings,  
angelic Delia sing no more.  
Thy songs too great for mortal ear,  
Thy charming notes I can no longer bear.  
O then in pitty to the World give o'er,  
And leave us stupid as we were before.  
Fair Delia take the fatal choice.  
To veil thy beauty or suppress thy voice,  
His passion thus poor Celadon betrayed,  
When first he saw, when I he heard the lovely Maid   

Song.  

WHy should friends and Kindred gravely make thee  
Wrong thyself, and cruelly forsake me?  
Be still my dearest mistris, hang Relations,  
Love's above their dull considerations:  
Let 'em live and want, to heap up treasure,  
Whilst that thee and I enjoy our pleasure.   

He that seeks a Mistris in a portion,  
Puts himself to use with damned extortion,  
If he must be bribed to copulation,  
Pox upon his love, 'tis out of fashion.  
Where we like, no matter what the estate is,  
'Tis not love, except we show it gratis.   

How to see the miser have I wondered,  
Weighing out his passion by the hundred,  
ne'er consulting, birth, or education,  
Virtue, without wealth's, but profanation.  
Be she, old or ugly, 'tis no matter,  
So she is but rich, he'l venture at her.   

jointure is a fordid Lay-invention,  
quiter beside, our nature and intention,  
When we would agree, it makes Resistance,  
Finding tricks to keep us at a distance.  
Thou who poorly makes a new election,  
Suffers wealth to cuckolded his affection.    

The Penitent.  

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

Merry after Death.  

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

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

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

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

A Song against Poets.  

WHat mean the dull Poets themselves to abuse  
With the pitiful rhymes of an ignorant muse  
No more in the praise of a Nymph let 'em prate,  
Nor complain of the stars, or unkindness of fate;  
But if they must rhyme, let 'em do't to some end,  
And sing us a song of our bottle and friend.   

they're in pitiful case, with their heart & their ●lame  
And are puzzled to find a new Mistress●● name;  
But once in a Stanza they 〈◇〉 b● in love,  
Then their Protear Mistris must any thing prove:  
For their Non-sense and lies, are but pimps to their rhyme,  
And their Alphabet helps 'em to words that will chime.   

The Mistris they fancy they sit to their mind,  
In a Minute, she's pretty, coy, cruel, and kind,  
Thus women are Deities onely in show,  
While to them they do all their inconstancy owe:  
But in Burgundy we the forced passion will quench,  
And if we must love, we'l away to a Wench.    

A Plea for Liberty.  

SInce Liberty Nature to all has designed,  
A Pox o'the Fool who to one is confined,  
All Creatures besides,  
When they please, change their Brides,  
All Females they get when they can;  
While they nothing but Nature obey,  
How happy, how happy are they?  
But the silly fond Animal Man,  
Makes laws to himself which his appetite sway.  
Chor. But since liberty, nature to all has designed,  
A Pox o'the Fool who to one is confined.  
At the first going down a woman is good,  
But when e're she comes up, I'll ne'er chew the cud;  
But out she shall go,  
And I'll serve 'em all so,  
When with one my stomach is cloyed,  
another shall soon be enjoyed.  
Then how happy, how happy are we?  
Let the Coxcomb when weary drudge on,  
And foolishly stay when he fain would be gone,  
Poor fool how unhappy is he?   

Chorus.  
At the first going down a Woman is good,  
But when e're she comes up i'll near chew the cud.  
Let the rabble obey i'll live like a man,  
Who by nature is free to debauch all he can,  
wise nature does teach,  
more truth then fools Preach,  
She, she's our infallible guide,  
but were the blessed freedom denied,  
In variety of the things we love best,  
Dull man were the slavishest beast.   

Chorus.  
Let the rabble obey i'll live like a man,  
Who by nature is free to debauch all he can.    

Song.  

WOman who is by nature wild,  
dull-bearded man encloses,  
Of natures freedom we'r beguiled,  
By Laws which man imposes,  
who still himself continues free,  
Yet we poor slaves must fettered be.  
Chorus. A shane and a Curse,  
Of for better, for worse,  
'Tis a vile imposition on nature,  
For women should change,  
and have freedom to range,  
Like to every other wild creature.   

So gay a thing was ne'er designed,  
to be restain'd from Roving,  
heaven meant so changeable a mind,  
should have its change in Loving.  
By cunning we could make men smart,  
But they by strength o're-come our art.  
Chor. A shane and a curse, &c.   

How happy is the Village maid,  
whom only love can fetter?  
By foolish honour ne'er betrayed,  
she serves a power much greater:  
That lawful Prince the wisest rules,  
Th' Usurper, Honour, rules but fools.  
Chor. A shane and a curse, &c.   

Let us resume our ancient right,  
make man at distance wonder;  
Tho' he Victorious be in Fight,  
in love we'l keep him under:  
War and ambition hence he hurled,  
Let love and women rule the world.   

Chorus. A shane and a curse  
Of for better for worse,  
'Tis a vile imposition on Nature,  
For women should change,  
And have freedom to range,  
Like to every other wild creature.    

Song.  

CLoris, when you dispeirce your influence,  
your dazzling beams are quick and clear,  
You so surprise and wound the sense,  
so bright a miracle y' appear.  
Admiring mortals you astonish so,  
no other deity they know,  
But think that all divinity's below.   

One charming look from your illustrious face,  
is able to subdue mankind,  
So sweet, so powerful a grace,  
makes all men Lovers but the blind.  
Nor can they freedom by resistance gain,  
for each embraces the soft chain,  
And never struggles with the pleasant pain.    

A Rural Song.  

NYmphs and Shepherds come away,  
In these Groves let's sport and play;  
Let each day be an holy day,  
Sacred to ease and happy love;  
To dancing music Poetry,  
Your flocks may now securely rove,  
while you express your jollity.   

Chorus of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.   

We come, we come, no joy like to this,  
The great can never know such bliss,  
1 As this,  
2 As this,  
3 As this,  
All, as this;  
The great can never know such bliss.   

All the Inhabitants oth' Wood,  
Now Celebrate the Spring,  
That gives fresh vigour to the blood  
Of every living thing;  
The birds have been singing and billing before us,  
And all the sweet Choristers join in the Chorus.  
The Nightingalls with jugging throats,  
Warble out their pretty notes,  
So sweet, so sweet, so sweet,  
And thus our loves and pleasures greet.   

Chorus of all.  
Then let our pipes sound, let us dance & sing,  
Till the murmuring groves with echoes ring.   

How happy are we,  
From all jealousy free,  
No dangers nor cares can annoy us:  
we toy and we kiss,  
and love's our chief bliss,  
a pleasure that never can cloy us,  
Our days we consume in unenvy'd delights,  
And in love and soft rest our happy long Nights.   

Each Nymph does impart,  
her love without art,  
To her swain who thinks that his chief treasure;  
No envy is feared,  
No sighs are e're heard,  
But those which are caused by our pleasure.  
When we feel the best raptures of Innocent love,  
No joys exceeds ours but the pleasures above.   

Chorus.  
In these delightful fragrant Groves,  
Let's celebrate our happy Loves,  
Lets pipe, and Dance, and Laugh, and Sing,  
Thus every happy Living thing,  
Revels in the cheerful Spring.    

The way to Rule a Wife.  

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

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

The Dream.  

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

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

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

A wild blushy stains her face and idly seeks,  
T' establish virtue surer in her cheeks,  
I reached that story with mine eye,  
And straight a vocal tear let fly,  
Of mercy then I found a sign,  
For straight in tears her eyes did echo mine.   

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

Aurelia.  

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

Ah scornful shepherdess, said I,  
What pleasure is to see your servants die?  
should all your votaries be slain▪  
What honour would your tyrant-beauty gain?  
The cruel Nymph in scorns replied,  
Go swain be thou the first that ever tried,  
I then may pitty what I now deride.    

Song.  

NOw that the could winters expelled by the Sun,  
and the fields that did pennance in Snow,  
Have put Madam Natures gay Livery's on,  
embroidered with flowers to make a fine show:  
Since the hills & the valleys with pleasures abound  
Let the mortals bear a part, and the frolic go round.   

Hark, hark how the birds in sweet comsort conspire,  
the Lark and the Nighting al join:  
And in every grove there's an amorous Choire,  
while nothing but mirth is their harmless design.  
Since the hills, &c.   

Methinks the god Pan, whose subjects we are,  
sits and smiles in his flowery Throne:  
He accepts our kind offering every year,  
our May-pole his sceptre, our Garland his Crown.  
Since the hills & the valleys with pleasures abound  
Let Mortals bear a part, & the frolic go round.    

Song.  
AUgusta is inclined to fears,  
Be she full, or be she waning,  
Still Augusta is complaining:  
Give her all you can to ease her,  
You can never, never please her.   

Song.  

When a woman that's buxom a dotard does wed,  
Tis a madness to think she'l be tied to his bed,  
far who can resist a gallant that is young,  
And a man al-a-mode in his garb and his tongue?  
His looks have such charms, and langue such force,  
That the drowsy Mechanick's a cuckolded of course.   

He brings her acquainted with Dons of the Court,  
That are persons of worth, and of civil report,  
Thus she cannot a kind opportunity want,  
For he'l trust her with no man except her gallant.  
Yet the confident Fop for her honesty swears,  
So he grafts on himself the gay horns that he wears.   

Thus happy are we who are yoked to a Citt,  
For when ever we teach him he pays for his wit;  
By his Duck that appeared to be faithful and chast,  
He finds himself cuckolded and beggared at last:  
And the credulous fool having drudg'd all his life,  
Proves a thief to himself, and a pimp to his wife.    

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

Despair.  

MAke a bed in the deep,  
For me discontented poor Lover to sleep,  
Till the Cannons like thunder,  
Rend the heavens in sunder,  
and frightening the Main,  
Do force me at last to awaken again.   

When the storms do arise,  
And with their proud surges encounter the skys,  
My head finds a pillow,  
On the top of a Billow,  
and I look for a grave,  
Within the could womb of a turbulent wave.   

The winds shall convey,  
My prayers unto her I adore ev'ry day,  
It gently shall move,  
Her to pitty my love,  
and each sigh that it hears,  
It shall whisper again into Phillis's ears.   

If the tempest do roar,  
Theo Phillis alone is the Saint I implore,  
If she will not appease  
The rage of the Seas,  
nor calm the rough weather,  
I'l breath out her name and my life both together.   

So the Ocean to me,  
Shall instead of a Tomb and a Sepulchre be,  
and as I do glide  
To and fro with the Tide,  
Thereby is expressed,  
That a Lover may die but he never can rest.   

Our Phillis shall cover,  
The wandring soul of her martyred Lover,  
and if I do finder,  
To my memory kinder,  
O then I shall never  
Abandon her bosom, but tarry for ever.    

Song.  

fie, Cloris, 'tis silly to sigh thus in vain,  
'tis silly to pitty the Lovers you've slain,  
If still you continue your slaves to deride,  
The compassion you feign will be taken for pride.  
And sorrow for sin can never be true,  
In one that does daily commit it anew.   

If while you are fair you resolve to be cay,  
You may hourly repent as you hourly destroy,  
Yet none will believe you, protest what you will,  
That you grieve for the dead if you daily do kill.  
And where are our hopes when we zealously woe,  
If you vow to abhor what you constantly do?   

Then Cloris be kinder and tell me my fate,  
For the worst I can suffer, is to die by your hate,  
If this you design never fancy in vain,  
By your sighs and your te●rs to recall me again.  
Nor weep at my grave, for I swear if you do,  
As you now laugh at me, I will then laugh at you.    

The Seamans Song.  
TO plough the wide Ocean go we,  
Tho' tho merciless waves,  
Still show us our graves,  
And the black, black tempest surround us,  
Tho' dangers and fears do confounded us.  
Let it blow, let it blow, we care not a feather,  
for the could North-wind, nor the rain,  
We'l into the Main,  
And fear, and fear neither rocks nor the weather.  
Let serving-men take care, grow wretched and poor,  
and think themselves happy at home,  
Whilst freely we ramble to a wealthier shore,  
and are happy wherever we come.   

A Drinking Catch.  
LEts drink, dear friends, let's drink,  
the time flies fast away,  
And we no leisure have to think,  
then let's make use on't while we may,  
When the black Lake we have past,  
farewell to wine, to love, and pleasure,  
To drink, to drink, let's then make hast,  
to drink we always shan't have leisure,  
Lets love, let's drink while we have breath,  
no love nor drinking is after death.   
FINIS.