A Perfect Collection Of the Several SONGS.  
Now in MODE Either at the COURT OR, theaters.  
All New.  
Printed in the Year, 1675.   

To the Honest Reader.  
Dear Heart,  
I Have not been with thee upon this Errand a long time: and perhaps I could coin as many formal lies, and frame as Substantial Excuse for not appearing in Print, as people generally do on the contrary occasion. But hang't! I scorn to tell a lie for the matter. The plain down right naked truth on't is, that I, being but a Collector, and( as some say) a spoiler of Songs; Twas impossible( you know) I should Collect or Publish what was not written, and in good faith the Poetastors of the Town, have of late( for what cause I know not) been extraordinary idle, and yet I think, not altogether so idle as they would have been if they had written more. But I'm sure I was like to have had the worst o●'t, for had not I rubbed up a pretty smart Collection for my Old Friend against Michaelmas Term, my threadbare Summer Jerkin must have been converted into a Winter one, like th● Star that is called Hespherus one half of th● Year, and Vesperus ' tother. But now I think I shall be able to purchase me a good smart Compaign● which a great many honest fellows besides myself, are forced to wear more out of Necessity then for Fashion's-sake. Thus you see what Shifts we poor Collectors are driven to, nor can we in reason complain, when our authors, the Poets themselves, thrive no better; I know 'em all pretty familiarly, and call 'em Jack, Tom, &c. wherever I meet 'em, and if they are to be credited,( as they can speak Truth sometimes) the Trade is grown so dull they can hardly live by it, and truly I think one of the Notablest of 'em, has quiter given it over. However, as long as there is a New Song to be got for Love or Money, and that will be as long as there is a Poet, and that will be as long as there is a Town, thou shalt be sure, as often as possible, from thy Old Friend:  
Vale.   

A TABLE OF THE SONGS Contained in this BOOK.  

DOrinda Lamenting the Death of her amyntas, a Pastoral Song. page. 1.  
Why should Friends and Kindred gravely make thee? p. 2.  
Love not Returned. p. 4.  
The catholic Lover. p. 5.  
Retraction. ibid.  
Lost Opportunity. p. 6.  
The Secret Lover. p. 7.  
I Pitty crave since 'tis my fate. p. 8.  
The Libertine. p. 9.  
I am no Subject unto Fate. p. 10.  
Merry after Death. p. 12.  
Dialogue. p. 13.  
The Request. p. 14.  
Drinking Catch. p. 15.  
Vanity of Love. p. 16.  
To what modest grief is a Lover confined? p. 17.  
Were Celia but as chast as fair. p. 18.  
How strangely severe and unkind are we grown? and Drinking Catch. p. 19.  
Celadon on Delia, Singing a Pastoral. p. 20.  
Despair. p. 21.  
what sighs and what groans now fill my Breast? p. 23.  
When a woman that's buxom a dotard▪ does wed. p. 24.  
A nymph grieves at the absence of her Lover, a Pastoral. p. 25.  
A New Ballad. p. 27.  
When first I saw fair Celia's face. p. 31.  
Long since fair Clarinda my passion did move. p. 32.  
A Dialogue between Neptune and Apollo, occasioned by the death of the Earl of Sandwich. p. 33.  
Song against Poets. p. 34.  
A Rant. p. 35.  
Tom Farthing, Tom Farthing. p. 39.  
dissuading his friend from Love. p. 40.  
The Jealous Mistris. ib.  
Venus and Adonis: Sung in the Play, called, The siege of Constantinople. p. 41.  
A Mad-mans song. ib.  
A Catch of four parts. p. 42.  
A Song by a debauched soldier. p. 43.  
The Quakers Ballad. p. 44.    


Dorinda Lamenting the Death of her amyntas, a Pastoral Song.  

ADieu to the pleasures and follies of Love,  
For a passion more noble my fancy does move;  
My Shepherd is dead, and I live to proclaim,  
Insorrowful notes my Amintas's name;  
The wood-nymphs reply when they hear me complain,  
Thou never shall see thy amyntas again;  
For Death hath befriended him,  
Fate hath defended him,  
None, none, alive is so happy a Swain▪   

You Sh●pherds and Nymphs that have danced to his  
Come help me to sing forth Amintas's praise, lays,  
No Swin 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'er 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 lev'd him too late,  
You e●choes and fountains my witnesses prove,  
How deeply I sigh for the loss of my love:  
And now of our PAN whom we chiefly adore,  
This favour I never will cease to implore;  
That now I may go above  
And there enjoy my Love,  
Then, then, I never will part with him more.    

Song.  

WHy should friends & kindred gravely make  
Wrong thyself, and cruelly forsake me; thee  
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.   

●●ynture is a sordid Lay-invention,  
quiter beside our nature and intention:  
When we would agree it makes resistance,  
Finding tricks to keep us at a distance;  
Then who poorly makes a new election,  
Suffers wealth to cuckolded his affection.    

Love not Return'd.  

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

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

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

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, one 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! & 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 troughly slain;  
Plagues such as these seldom infect again:  
Let thy first Trophy then suffice,  
First Arrow, and first conquering eye,  
Unbend thy Bow, and break thy Dart,  
Torture me not with second smart;  
One wound doth kill as sure as twenty in the heart.    

Lost Opportunity.  

O Name not the day! lest my senses reprove,  
And curse my kind heart from the knowledge of love;  
Ah! the ignorant fate of a fearful young lover,  
When a sign is return'd to want wit to discover:  
To delay a kind Nymph from her hour of design,  
Is to dig for a treasure and sink in the Mine.   

The effect of a smile in a vein of discourse,  
' ●●ixt fear and good will ought to make a divorce;  
Such Items deserve to be well understood,  
Like a Vizardess when she peeps under her Hood:  
Had I known but the minute her joys were upon her,  
She had bid me good night, and adieu to her honour.   

I knew not alas the intrigue of her art,  
I thought she designed to make sport with my heart;  
It panted with fear, and it leaped so with joy,  
Yet I thought to attempt all my hopes would destroy:  
But since, I'm resolved, e're I'll prove such a sot,  
The Nymph I'll enjoy, though I die on the Spot.    

The secret Lover.  

I Languish for one that ne'er thinks of me,  
and all my vain hopes now turn to despair,  
The complaints which I utter( O love) against thee,  
are nothing so sweet as my sufferings are:  
Then cease by your power to add to my pain,  
Lest death by a greater put an end to your reign.   

My sighs and my tears so privately I  
Do give to a passion I ne'er will impart,  
That though I am vanquished, and conquered die,  
No one can e're say that I first lost my heart;  
Since the torments I feel I will not discover,  
It ne'er shall be said there dyes a poor lover.   

How strangely severe is my fate, since I find  
that with all my resistance I cannot get free  
From a slavery, by which I see I▪ m designed,  
my dearest PHILANDER thy Martyr to be;  
O fate so unkind, to make me esteem  
My death to be welcome, cause given by him.    

Song▪  

I Pitty crave since 'tis my fate,  
My Mistris should me captivated;  
confined I am a Slave to be,  
And must submit to destiny:  
My story's sad, I did it tell  
To her, she sleights me, is this well?  
O no, 'tis my misfortune still to be,  
Neglected for my faith and constancy.   

Then I resolved to love no more,  
Nor any beauty to ad●re;  
The Sc●●e is changed, and I am free,  
I care ●●t for loves tyranny:  
Th●●●lteration likes me well,  
My liberty no more I'll sell:  
She then desired I would her love receive,  
I gave her thanks, and so I took my leave.    

The Libertine.  

SInce Phillis we find,  
We grow so inclined,  
That we dare not quiter bid love defiance,  
Yet let us be wise,  
And with freedom advice,  
So to make up a triple alliance:  
For why should we lose;  
What most creatures do use,  
The freedom of Natures great Charter,  
Let us use love as chance,  
Not as God of Romance,  
And die like a Fool, or a Martyr.  
We'l use love no more,  
Then our humour or store,  
Will be able to pay, or allow,  
We'l then scorn all dodging,  
When we go to our lodging,  
And fear no Goal made by a Vow.  
Nor shall we be hurled,  
Like the rest of the World,  
Into Madness by being so jealous,  
Let us laugh at all Rumour,  
And ne'er spoil good humour,  
Like fanatics by seeming too Zealous.  
Love ●e●● does appear,  
When by vow or by fear,  
It seems fettered by justice or duty;  
'Tis more glory for you,  
To keep our love true,  
By force of your wit and your beauty.    

Song:  

I Am no subject unto fate,  
the power assumed I give to you,  
Whether returning love or hate,  
which falls in storms or gentle due.   

It is my will that chooseth you,  
though tyrant, yet if I obey,  
Obedience is truly due,  
to whom I give myself away.   

The worlds Dimensions are wide,  
my mind not heaven can confine;  
That out-ward worship is belied,  
who inward bows to ' another shrine,   

Thus fettered I will freely Love,  
my choice doth make the conquest shine.  
And twill thy power best improve,  
that to thy subject thou incline.   

I may be born under a throne,  
a slave or free without my voice,  
But love and my Religion,  
holy depends on my own choice.   

For may be called Victory,  
yet only those are overcome,  
Who yield unto an Enemy,  
that is their certain fate and Doom.   

Who wisely rules deserves command,  
then keep thee loyal next thy heart,  
Elictiur Monarchs cannot stand,  
nor loves without an equal dart.    

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 conquerors 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 strive in vain,  
a midst 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 as 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.    

DIALOGUE?  Man. 

WHy Phillis to me so untrue and unkind?  
remember the vow which you made,  
Though Love cannot see let not honour be blind,  
whereon is the other betrayed.   Woman. 

Though sir to your bed true allegiance I vowed,  
I am not obliged by that Oath,  
No longer than you keep both constant and true,  
the same vow obligeth us both.   Man. 

Fair Nymph did you feel but those passions I bear,  
my Love you would never suspect,  
A heart made of steel must needs love the fair,  
and what we love cannot neglect.   Chorus. 

Then since we love both,  
let us both be agreed,  
And seal both our loves with a kiss:  
from breaking our oath  
we shall both be then freeed,  
A Princess shall envy our bliss.    

The Request.  

THou fair usurper of my fate,  
tell me what my lot shall be,  
Must I languish at this rate,  
without hope or help from thee?  
And am I damned a slave to be,  
Unto a truckling Destiny?   

Or is your love that poison grown,  
which inflicts those fatal darts,  
Which the God of love alone,  
did form for false rebellious hearts,  
And must none then approach thy love,  
But those who martyrdom will prove.   

Hadst thou the liberty preserved,  
and still a Noble sovereign been,  
At what a rate hadst thou been served,  
when all thy slaves had Rivals been?  
Nay gods themselves had quit their sway,  
Proud of the glory to obey.   

But stay I my passion grows too bold,  
seeking your honour thus to slain,  
It shows that loyalty grows could,  
when subjects for reward complain;  
Hence-forth my passions shall declare▪  
No perfect love without Despair.    

Drinking Catch?  

COme away, 'tother glass,  
He's a temperate ass,  
That refuses his brimmer of rhenish,  
While our bottles go round,  
A new way we have found,  
Both our heads and our veins to replenish,  
We'l be witty and brave, when our noddles are full,  
while the sober young fop is but prudently dull.   

With wenches and wine,  
ourselves we refine,  
From the dross of the puritan City,  
We care not a louse,  
For their dull Coffee-house,  
'Tis the Tavern that makes a man witty,  
In spite of misfortunes thus happy we are,  
In a jolly brave soul that's a stranger to care.    

Vanity of Love.  

WHat fancies of pleasure doth love all alone,  
Propose to itself when the object is gone?  
But alas! how vain is the strength of that joy,  
Which a word or a frown has the power to destroy.   

For though the first venture seem calm in her eyes,  
In the second access a storm may arise,  
Then with sighs, and with grief are those spirits displayed,  
Who to cherish despair have given their aid.   

Thus lovers with doubt a fond kindness pursue,  
While fate from their follies prove false and untrue,  
They are either possessed with the thoughts of despair,  
Or else lay on love a continual care.   

Then since we're endued with so gentle a soul,  
That ev'ry small signal our heart may control,  
'Twere a sign of loves pitty our care to restrain,  
By making us Free-men without so much pain.    

Song.  

TO what modest grief is a lover confined?  
when the tongue dares not utter the truth of his heart,  
Yet it strengtheners the force in a generous mind,  
and makes him still think what his love would impart:  
For the more he loves one, the more happy 'twill prove  
When he comes to appearance to pled for his love.   

When our hearts are new kindled to jump at a beauty,  
but like a French-onset comes off with a blast,  
We ought to wait leisure, 'tis civil and duty,  
let's love by degrees, and the longer 'twill last:  
He that jumbles his love and enjoyment together,  
Makes two months of summer, & ten of could weather.   

Kind love like a tender and delicate flower,  
wants only improvement to make it endure;  
But so oft 'tis transplanted, that every hour  
it drops and decays, till 'tis almost past cure:  
Unless some fair Nymph by enchantment can bring,  
To make it refresh, a perpetual spring.    

A Song.  

WEre Celia but as chast as fair,  
How could I kiss the snare;  
And ne'er be tired with my captivity,  
But she's a whore that cools my blood,  
O that she were less handsome or more good.   

Would you believe that there can rest  
deceit within that breast,  
Or that those eyes,  
Which look like friends are onely spies;  
But she's a whore, yet sure I lie,  
May there not be degrees of Chastity?   

No, no, what means that wanton smile?  
But only to beguile;  
Thus did the first  
Of women, make all men accursed;  
I for their sakes give women o'er,  
The first was false, the fairest is a Whore.    

Song▪  

HOw strangely severe and unkind are we grown?  
For we punish in all, the offences of one:  
While dissembling amyntas a passion did feign,  
I Damons affection return'd with disdain;  
And gave more belief to the Shepherd that swore,  
Then to him who did faithfully love and adore:   

Then how is it just O ye powers divine,  
That Damon should die when the error was mine?  
Yet pardon me once, and if ever again,  
I'm deaf to the voice of a lover in pain,  
Then let me not prosper in what I've begun,  
But die in despair as my Damon has done.    

Drinking Catch.  

WHat madness it is to give over drinking,  
When Apollo is drunk you may know by his winking:  
His face is on flamme, and his nose is so read,  
It predicts he is sleepy and goes drunk to bed:  
Let him sleep to grow sober, while we tarry here,  
And drink till the morning appear.    

Celadon on Delia, Singing a Pastoral.  

O Delia, for I know 'tis thee,  
I know 'tis thee,  
For nothing else could move  
My Tuneless heart, then something from above;  
I hate all earthly harmony:  
Hark! Hark! ye 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,  
Argelick Delia sing no more,  
Thy songs too great for mortalear,  
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 passions thus poor Celadon betrayed,  
When first he saw, when first he heard the lovely maid    

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 skies,  
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 wind 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,  
Then Phillis alone is the Saint I implore,  
If she will not appease  
The rage of the Seas,  
Nor calm the rough weather,  
I'll 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,  
Too and fro with the Tide,  
Thereby is expressed,  
That a lover may die, but he never can rest.   

Over Phillis shall hover,  
The wandering soul of her Martyred Lover;  
And if I do find her,  
To my memory kinder,  
O then I shall never  
Abandon her bosom, but tarry for ever.    

A Song.  

WHat sighs and groans now fill my breast,  
And suffer me to take no rest?  
For my Carmelia, oh! she's gone,  
And left me here to mourn alone:  
But is she dead? then I'll go see  
If in her grave there's room for me.   

O cruel fate, that so designed  
To take her and leave me behind;  
And thou, O Death! whose quick alarms,  
Have snatched me rudely from her arms;  
Canst thou not find a way for me,  
To my Carmelia's breasts to fly?   

die then Anselmio! why dost stay,  
Since my Carmelia leads the way:  
O die yet faster! do not live  
That dearest Nymph for to survive:  
Now dearest soul, I come, I fly,  
Always to live with thee, I die.    

A Song.  

WHen a woman that's buxom a dotard does wed  
'Tis a madness to think she'l be tied to his bed  
For who ●an resist a gallant that is young,  
And a man Al-a-mode in his garb and his tongue?  
His looks have such charms, and his language 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 a civel 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 that are yoked to a Cit,  
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 nymph grieves at the absence of her lover, a Pastoral.  

AS I was sitting on the grass,  
within a silent shady Grove,  
I ever-heard a country Lass,  
was there bewailing of her Love,  
My love says she  
Is ta'en from me,  
And to the wars is prest and gone,  
He's marched away  
And gone to sea,  
Alack, alack and a welladay,  
And left me here alone.   

●y Love he was the kindest man,  
there's none that's like him in the town,  
He gently takes me by the hand,  
And give me many a green Gown,  
with kisses sweet  
He would me greet,  
And often sing a round delay,  
And sometimes smile,  
Then Chat a while,  
That so we might the time beguile,  
A live-long Summers-day▪   

My Love on May-day still would be,  
the earlyest up of all the rest,  
With scarves and Ribbons then would he  
of all the crew the finest dressed;  
With Morris-bells,  
And fine things else,  
But when the pipe began to play,  
He danced so well,  
I heard'em tell,  
That he did all the rest excel,  
And bore the bell away.   

The man that took my Love away,  
was too too harsh and too severe,  
I gently on my knees did pray,  
that he my Love would then forbear,  
I offered too,  
A breeding Ewe,  
And chilver Lamb that was my own,  
Do what I could,  
It did no good,  
He left me in this pensive mood,  
To sigh and make my moan.    

A New Ballad.  

I  told young Jenny I loved her,  
With a zeal that I thought would have moved her,  
And I gave her earnest in hand to boot,  
For I knew by my bargain I could stand to't:  
But the gipsy cunningly taught by her sire,  
cried M●rry, or else forsake me,  
When you've fil'd your belly and your desire,  
you'l be damned before you will take me.   

But her Old Dad of his own accord,  
Did make himself as Drunk as a Lord,  
In hopes to find it a wedding day,  
So I took up my Jenny and cared her away;  
Let her scratch and bite, let her kick and wince,  
Now I've got her into my clutches,  
She's witty, she's fair, she's a Gem for a Prince,  
And in time she may be a duchess.   

We took a lodging and went to bed,  
And I thought to have met with a maiden-head,  
Within her quarters no sooner I got,  
But the Jade in merriment cried you sot!  
Thou'rt as great a bubble as ever was seen,  
so idly thyself to cousen,  
To look for a maiden-head at fifteen,  
which thou't hardly find at a dozen:   

For women so forward of late are grown,  
That their fruit is ripe as soon as 'tis blown,  
Some mary their daughters at half a scor●,  
Or else at eleven they'd play the whore;  
If a girl be wise as soon as she can,  
she'l be rid of her troublesone Jewel,  
And certainly nothing but Ile of a man,  
can alloy the heat of her fuel.   

She made me laugh, and I could not forbear,  
To think she had fitted my cock to a hair,  
And yet you must know I was vexed at the heart,  
To find an old Bully out-done in his art.  
●or when so modest her looks I found,  
i'd have ventured my life to a shilling,  
●● a man would have given a thousand pound,  
young Jenny would ne'er have been billing.   

When first I knew her she made me stand,  
And wait a while for a kiss of her hand,  
But when I came to a touch of her lip,  
Twas so clawing a favour I must but sip;  
When I felt her breasts she cried I was bold,  
and checked me for being uncivil,  
●ut when I came to her copyhold,  
I found her as mad as the devil.   

●hen since I saw she was right for the sport,  
resolved to be leaguer and enter her fort,  
●s soon as my Cential came to the gate,  
put him a knocking because it was late;  
●ut the Garrison readily spoken within,  
your party may safely adventure,  
●or I am as willing to let you in,  
as ever you was to enter.   

No sooner within the gates I had got,  
But I thought it convenient to give her a shot,  
And she from a Morter-piece that she had,  
Let fly a Granado I thought she was mad:  
But when I gave her a fresh alarm,  
she  told me I did but vapour,  
For the bullets I shot would do her no harm,  
no more then Pellets of paper.   

So oft she charged, that she baffled my men,  
Till they sneaked at her salliport out again,  
My ammunition I found was spent,  
So I put on my clothes and away I went:  
My Jenny, said I, I must bid thee adieu,  
'Tis a folly to stay any longer,  
For still I found that the weaker I grew,  
Young Jenny grew stronger and stronger.   

And thus you have heard me fully relate,  
The sport that young Jenny and I have been at,  
But what will be the event of our blows,  
I think o' my conscience no body knows;  
But if my Tackling should be spoyled,  
I' faith I shall look like a ninnie,  
And if my Mistris should prove with child,  
The worst will fall upon Jenny.    

Song.  

●Hen first I saw fair Celia's face,  
So full of Majesty and Grace,  
〈◇〉 potent armies do attack,  
●●e place can no resistance make;  
she, by power, has made her way,  
to my heart, and there does stay,  
●●ceiving homage which I pay.   

●●e force of love who can withstand?  
●● is in vain to countermand,  
that envious Cupid has decreed,  
〈…〉 n my poor heart must ever bleed;  
●il you, fair Nymph! by pity moved,  
●●● passion having once approved,  
〈◇〉 love, as now you are beloved.   

〈…〉 ou'd be gallantry in love,  
Celia would the act approve,  
●here she so long has caused a smart,  
●ere to bestow at last her heart:  
●● doing so fair Saint you may  
●●om your blessed name derive a day,  
●hen Lovers all to you shall pray.    

Song.  

LOng since fair Clarinda my passion did mo●●  
Whilst under my friendship I covered my lov●  
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 she'l deny,  
I shall ease my sad heart and more quietly die.   

Ah sure by my eyes you my passion might sinned,  
No friendship e'r banquish'd or looked half so kin●  
Though I said not I loved you might see it too plain▪  
Friends use not to sigh or to speak with such pain:  
Each touch of your hand such a Warmth did inspire▪  
My face was all flamed, and my heart all a fire.   

My thoughts are so tender, my tongue cannot tell,  
what bliss would be yours could you love half so well▪  
Let the thing with a title our property move,  
Let him have the show, and let me have the love:  
I have loved you so long that if now you delay,  
You will owe so much as you never can pay.    

A Dialogue between Neptune and Apollo, occasioned by the Death of the Earl of Sandwich.  Ap. 

J Charge thee Neptune, as thou art just, resign  
The most admired Sandwich, who is mine;  
Whose loss creates a discord in the spheres,  
And turns our Melody to Groans and tears.   Nep. 

Forbear to ask what is unjust to grant,  
Thy Charge, and my Designs are Dissonant;  
He's mine by conquest, what is thy pretence?   Ap. 

In music his unequal'd excellence,   Nep. 

heroic parts I gave him, taught him how  
With thundering Canon, and a furrowed brow,  
To rule the surface of my Realm,   ( Ap.) 

and I,  
By a magnetic power in harmony,  
Made him a conqueror to overcome  
All souls that loved or liked elysium.   Nep. 

Thy seat is pleasant, there all sweets do dwell,  
But mine with rage and horror only swell,  
Which lately is increased, since Sandwich sent,  
So many Rel'gions to my Element;  
Whose Emulation to a Princes Throne,  
Makes me keep Sandwich to preserve my own.   Chorus. 

we'l sing his requiem by some murmuring brook  
On which as th' Emblem of our griefs we look,  
And with our Tears increase it to a Main,  
Then Sigh and Weep till Sandwich come again;  
Or else we never never will refrain.    

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 flamme  
And are puzzled to find a new Mistresses Name;  
But once in a Stanza they must be in love,  
Then their Protean Mistris must any thing prove;  
For their sense and their truths are but Pimps to their rhyme,  
And their Alphabet helps 'em to words that will Chime.   

The Mistris they fancy they fit to their mind,  
In a Minute she's pretty, coy, cruel, and kind;  
Thus women are Deities only in show,  
While to them they do all their inconstancy owe;  
But in Burgundy we the fond passion will quench,  
Or if we must love, we will go to a Wench.    

A Rant.  

MAke a noise,  
Pull it out,  
And drink about  
Brave boys  
Tother Cup,  
Fill the Glass,  
You sober ass,  
Turn up,  
Why so sad?  
we'l have more  
upon the score  
My Lad:  
Let the Rabble,  
prate and babble,  
Foutre D'iable,  
We will all be mad.  
Sing a Catch  
Serenade  
In Masquerade,  
The wretch.  
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 wallow?  
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 ye whores,  
shut all the Doors,  
And flout  
All prepare  
see the sluts  
draw up the shuts;  
Beware  
Butts and Cinders!  
break the windows,  
nothing hinders,  
Let'em have a care:  
Together clash,  
in they go,  
at every throw,  
Dash! Dash!  
Hark! they tumble,  
How they jumble?  
Rumble, Rumble,  
Now the whores are quashed.  
Boys dispatch,  
'Tis enough  
That we can huff  
The wretch:  
Back again  
To the Sun  
Come let us run  
Amain:  
There we'l stay,  
Roar and Drink,  
And never think  
Of day.  
Time with Lasses,  
Pots and Glasses,  
Sweetly passes,  
how it slides away?  
Let the fool▪  
He that thinks  
And Sleeps and Drinks,  
By Rule,  
By a measure,  
At his leisure  
Take his pleasure,  
And grow wisely dull.    

Song.  

TOm Farthing, Tom Farthing,  
Where hast thou been Tom Farthing?  
Twelve a Clock e're thou come in,  
Four or five e're thou begin,  
lie all night and do nothing;  
would make a woman weary,  
deanery, weary, would make a woman weary.   

Hadst thou been a lively Lad,  
And given me part of what thoud'st had,  
Thou wouldst have made my heart full glad,  
And have made me wondrous merry,  
Merry, merry, and have made me wondrous merry.   

But thou art a Country Clown,  
Sometimes up, and sometimes down,  
Sometimes out, and sometimes in,  
And all thou dost is not worth a pin;  
'Twould make a woman weary,  
deanery, weary, 'twould make a woman weary.    

dissuading a 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 as dotage, phrensiy to despair.    

The jealous Mistris.  

LOng days of absence Dear I could endure,  
Were my divided heart of thine secure.  
But each Minute I find myself without thee,  
Methinks I find my Rivals arms about thee.   

But she perhaps her interest can improve,  
By all the studied Arts of wealth and Love,  
Whilst I alas poor kind and harmless creature,  
Plunge in true patience, trust me it shows good nature    

Venus and Adonis: Sung in the Play, called, The Siege of Constantinople▪  

VEnus chanc't to love a Boy,  
Young Adonis was her joy;  
He once leaped from off her knee,  
To hunt and take an Humble bee:  
Then the bag to her did bring,  
She sighed awed asked him for the sting:  
when he looked, and saw her eye,  
Drop a Year, he strait did cry,  
O forgive me, I will bring  
A bigger, and a longer sting:  
Smiling she cried, pretty Lad!  
when that time comes I shall be glad.    

A Mad Man's Song.  

IN Caves full of Skulls, and rotten old bones,  
There she sighs in the day time, and in the night groans  
'Mongst Ghosts of the guilty for ever she'l howl,  
And in beds fil'd with Serpents eternally roll.  
But I and Irene 'l be merry  
Amongst happy Lovers we'l play!  
Ah Charon! make hast with your ferry,  
Row hard and i'll double your pay.    

A Catch of Four Parts.  

NEw fruition has employed our bottles of love,  
Let the bottles of wine fly about,  
The heat of that fire,  
Shall inflame our desire,  
And phlegmatic dullness remove;  
A Health to the best,  
And a Pox of the rest,  
And hey for 'tother for 'tother brisk 'bout.    

A Song by a debauched soldier.  

They come! they come!  
Hark! do you hear that Drum?  
It is an alarm to War;  
To love it doth beat  
A fatal retreat,  
See! see, where our Enemies are!   

A noise! a noise,  
of shouts and dreadful crys,  
Has frighted our scouts they come in,  
then farewell delight,  
till after the fight,  
We'l rout ' em, and at it again!   

They fly, they fly,  
Hark, how they Quarter cry!  
Their valour lies now in their speed;  
their Bassaws in vain,  
Would rally again,  
But a Turk delights not to bleed.   

Bring wine, bring wine,  
What do you still repined?  
To trust a brave soldier for drink;  
The enemy's run,  
Then Souldiers be gone,  
Will he never return do you think?    

The Quakers Ballad.  

YE she-friends and he-friends whoever inherit,  
Infallible light in dark-lanthorn of spirit,  
Come prick up your ears, for behold I will fit ye,  
With an Hymn that is called by the wicked a dit●●   

In the scuffle we late have had with the Baptists,  
Wherein both our honour and interest wrapped is,  
Though our logitk perhaps be too weak to dispute ' ●●  
We hope by a Ballad at least to confute ' um.   

For though Fiddle and Organs are both Babilonis●  
commonwealth the profane delighted alone is;  
Yet in such a case inspiration may haunt  
Even us which are perfect to warble a chant.   

Then let us a while our tremblings lay by,  
And quit our still Meetings to set up a cry,  
Lets challenge, and rant, talk loud and be bold,  
For the Spirit at present doth move us to soold.   

'Tis time to exclaim, as receiving the wrong,  
And take up that carnal weapon the tongue,  
For if we delay our whole party mu●t sink,  
And our long-boasted light go out in a stink.   

●●r shilliings so plain will appear that each eye,  
through the mask of our holy pretences will spy,  
And see that a Quaker, when stripped of his paint,  
●● nearer of kin to an Atheist then Saint.   

Then let us equivocate neatly and lay,  
A plaufible meaning on all that we say,  
And the very same art that serves to excuse us,  
At once shall condemn all those that accuse us.   

This being done, we point time and place,  
And come full prepared to bandy the case,  
In the Barbican first we gave them a meeting,  
And never was seen such a Bear-garden greeting.   

A Rabble thrust in from each end of the town,  
And before half an argument could be laid down,  
In less time than a man can a pot of ale swallow,  
'twas confirmed with a hoop, & denied with a hallow   

The place like an Hot-house appeared, and by hap,  
Some friends might be cured here of a clap;  
And if it were so I cannot but say,  
Twas the best effect of our meeting that day.   

But once more have at 'em, for without doubt,  
If we cannot confute, we must tyre them out,  
And therefore sent word they were cowardly lubb 〈…〉  
If they would not in Spittle-fields venture a rue 〈…〉   

Four hours and more we dispute in and out,  
To know what it was we should dispute about,  
Which yet at the last was never agreed,  
But no matter for that we resolved to proceed.   

'Twould have made puss laugh, or child in the cri●  
To hear us chop logic, and talk sylogismes,[ sums,  
That spiritual cantings of Naylor and's brood,  
Should apostatise thus into figure and mood.   

To see holy seed so grand a designer,  
As to turn yea and nay into mayor and Minor,  
Use language of beast Concedo or Pergo,  
And tickle their tobies at last with an Ergo.   

At first they came on like huffing Philistians,  
And needs would attempt to prove us no Christians,  
When most by our wranglings already thought much  
To believe that in truth either of us were such,   

All Dialogues we cried down as profane,  
Though divers of us had written in that strain;  
But that by a figure must be understood,  
Making things bad in others, in us to be good.   

But let friends take notice how basely they wrong us,  
By suggesting a Papist God bless us, amongst us:  
For there was no need of that I must tell ye,  
Since each of us carries his Pope in his belly,   

ourselves to be Christians we loudly declare,  
But avoid the contest to prove that we were;  
For we find that our interest doth better agree,  
To be counted Christians, than truly to be.   

Yet inveigled at last by a kind of a wyle,  
We were drawn into what we had shunned all this while,  
But still we were safe, though shrewdly put to't,  
For when all shifts fail, inspiration can do't,   

To this then we fly, though certain it be,  
Old Mahomet had as much claim to't as we,  
However it serves to ward off a blow,  
For who shall refute what no man can know.   

For if folks would have wonders or miracles done  
We confess we can instance at present but one,  
That so many should scripture and reason forsake  
And in our ridiculous whimsies partake.   

But though in good form we would argue no mor●  
We went on with bawling as high as before,  
For we knew that the crowd would the glory affo●●  
To him that spoken loudest, and had the last Word   

To prove that we did our Antagonist beat,  
'Tis enough for to say that we made them retreat,  
And charged them bravely when we had done,  
In the Rear with an echo, they run friends, they r●●   

And to show that our ammunition of Lungs,  
Was yet not all spent, nor weary our tongues,  
After this we b●gan another new quoil,  
And fell all a preaching in Rank and in file,   

Thus in brief a strange clutter we kept, and a stir,  
But what good came on't, if I know I'm a cur,  
Only people went home, some sick, and some lame,  
But all of them just as wise as they came.    
FINIS.