COVENT GARDEN DROLERY, OR A collection, Of all the Choice Songs, Poems, Prologues, and Epilogues, (Sung and Spoken at Courts and theatres) never in Print before.  
Written by the refined'st Wits of the Age.  
And Collected by A. B.  
LONDON, Printed for James Magnes near the Piazza in Russel-Street, 1672.   

PROLOGUE Spoken by Mrs. Boutell to the Maiden Queen.  
WOmen like us (passing for men) you'll cry,  
Presume too much upon your Secrecy.  
There's not a fop in town but will pretend,  
To know the cheat himself, or by his friend.  
Then make no words on't, Gallants 'tis e'en true,  
We are condemned to look, and strut, like you.  
Since we thus freely our hard fate confess,  
Accept us these bad times in any dress.  
You'll find the sweet on't, now old Pantaloons,  
Will go as far, as formerly new Gowns,  
And from your own cast Wigs, expect no frowns.  
The Ladies we shall not so easily please.  
They'll say what impudent bold things are these.  
That dare provoke, yet cannot do us right,  
Like men with huffing looks, that dare not fight.  
But this reproach, our courage must not daunt,  
The Bravest Soldier may a Weapon want,  
Let Her that doubts us, still send Her Gallant.  
Ladies in us, you'll Youth and Beauty find,  
All things but one, according to your mind.  
And when your Eyes and Ears are feasted here,  
Rise up and make out the short Meal elsewhere.   

EPILOGUE Spoken by Mrs. Reeves to the Maiden Queen.  
What think you Sirs, was't not all well enough,  
Will you not grant that we can strut, and huff.  
Men may be proud, but faith for aught I see,  
They neither walk, nor cock, so well as we.  
And for the fight Part we may in time,  
Grow up to swagger in heroic Rhyme.  
For though we cannot boast of equal force,  
Yet at some Weapon's men have still the worse.  
Why should not then we Women act alone,  
Or whence are men so necessary grown,  
Ours are so old, they are as good as none  
Some who have tried 'em if you'll take their Oaths,  
Sweat they're as arrant tinsel as their .  
Imagine us but what we represent,  
And we could e'en, give you as good content.  
Our faces, shapes, all's better than you see,  
And for the rest they want as much as we!  
Oh would the higher Powers be kind to us,  
And grant us to set up a female house.  
we'll make ourselves to please both Sexes then,  
To the Men Women, to the Women Men.  
Here we presume, our Legs are no ill sight,  
And they would give you no ill Dreams at night.  
In Dream's both Sexes may their passions ease,  
You make us then as civil as you please.  
This would prevent the houses joining two,  
At which we are as much displeased as you.  
For all our Women most devoutly swear,  
Each would be rather a poor Actress here,  
Then to be made a Mamamouchi there.   

Prologue to the Parson's Wedding, spoken by M. Martial.  
AFter so many sad complaints to us,  
The painful labouring Woman of this house.  
We with our Poet have prevailed again,  
To give us our Revenge upon the men.  
Our tricks, our jelting hath been often told,  
They ne'er were taxed for impotent, and old.  
'Twas not our crime, the house so long lay still,  
When e'er we play not, 'tis against our will.  
We could have acted, could but they have joined,  
You know the fault lies seldom in our kind,  
Poor Sinners their best parts are worn away,  
And now they quarrel, when they cannot play.  
'Twas somewhat better when they did agree,  
'Twas old but 'twas a willing company.  
Mean time till they their quarrels can atone,  
You may supply their Parts now they are gone,  
We hope you will not let us act alone,  
The House, the Scenes, and all things are free,  
While this Play lasts 'tis ours, and you, and we  
Can join and make an abler Company.  
For so much every Woman here assures,  
The Profit ours, the Pleasure shall be yours.   

Epilogue to the Parson's Wedding.  
WHen boys played woman's parts, you'd think the Stage,  
Was innocent in that untempting Age.  
No: for your amorous Fathers then, like you,  
Amongst those Boys had Playhouse Misses too:  
They set those bearded Beauties on their laps,  
Men gave 'em Kisses, and the Ladies Claps.  
But they, poor hearts, could not supply our room;  
They went but Females to the Tyring-room:  
While we, in kindness to ourselves, and you,  
Can hold out Women to our Lodgings too.  
Now, to oppose the humour of that Age,  
We have this day, expelled our Men the Stage.  
Why cannot we as well perform their Parts?  
No, 'twould not take: the tender Lady's hearts  
Would then their former charity give o'er:  
The Madams in disguise would steal no more  
To th' young Actors Chambers in masked Faces,  
To leave Love offerings of Points and Laces.  
Nor can we Act their Parts: Alas! too soon  
You'd find the cheat in th' empty Pantaloon.  
Well; though we are not Womens-Men, at least  
We hope to have you Gallants constant Guests;  
Which if you grant, and fill our house each day,  
We will return your kindnesses this way:  
we'll build up a new Theatre to gain you,  
And turn this to a House to entertain you.   

A Prologue to Marriage Al la mode, by Mr. Heart.  
LOrd how reformed and quiet are we grown,  
Since all our Braves, and all our Wits are gone,  
Fop corner now is free from civil War,  
While Wig and Vizard Masks, no longer jar.  
France and the Fleet, hath swept the Town so clear,  
That we can Act in Peace, and you can hear;  
Those that durst fight are gone to get renown,  
And those that durst not, blush to stand in Town.  
'Twas a sad sight, before they went from home,  
To see our Warriors in Red wastcots come,  
With Hair tucked up into our tyring-Room.  
But 'twas more sad, to hear their last adieu,  
The women sobbed, and swore they would be true.  
And so they were as long as ere they could;  
But powerful Guinnie cannot be withstood:  
And they were made of Playhouse Flesh & Blood.  
Fate did their Friends for double use ordain,  
In Wars abroad, the grinning honour gain,  
And Mistresses, for all that stay maintain.  
Now they are gone, 'tis dead vacation here,  
For neither Friends, nor Enemies appear.  
Poor pensive Punk, now peeps ere Plays begin,  
Sees the bare Bench, and dares not venture in.  
But manages her half-Crown with care,  
And trudges to the Mall, on foot for Air;  
Our City Friends, so far will heardly roam,  
They can take up with pleasures nearer home.  
And see gay Shows, with gaudy Scenes else where,  
For 'tis presumed they seldom come to hear:  
But they have now ta'en up a glorious trade,  
And cunning Morecraft, strut in masquerade;  
Here's all our hope, for we shall show to do,  
A masking Ball, to recommend our Play.  
Nay to endear them more, and let them see,  
We scorn to come behind in courtesy;  
We'll follow the new Mode, which they begin,  
And treat them with a Room and Couch within:  
For that's one way, how ere the Play falls short,  
To oblige the Town, the City, and the Court.   

Epilogue by Mr. Moon.  
THus have my Spouse and I informed the Nation,  
And led you all the way to Reformation:  
Not with dull morals, gravely writ like those,  
Which Men of easy phlegm, with care compose.  
Your Poets of stiff words and limber sense,  
Born on the confines of indifference!  
But by example drawn, I dare to say,  
From most of you, who see and hear the Play.  
There are more Rhodolphis in this Theatre,  
More Palamedes, and some few wives I fear.  
But yet too far, our Poet would not run,  
Though 'twas well offered, there was nothing done:  
He would not quite the Women faulty bare,  
But stripped them to the waste, and left them there.  
And the men's faults were less severely shown,  
For he considers that himself is one;  
Some stabbing wits to bloody satire lent,  
Would fret both Sexes with less compliment.  
Would lay the Scene at home, of Husband tell,  
For wenches taking up their wives i'th' Mell;  
And a brisk bout, which of them did want,  
Made by mistake of Mistress and Gallant:  
Our modest Author thought it was enough,  
To cut you off a sample of the Stuff.  
He spared my Shame, which you I'm sure would not  
For you are all for driving on the Plot.  
You sighed when I came in to break the sport,  
And set your Teeth, when each design fell short.  
To Wives and Servants all good wishes lend,  
But the poor Cuckold seldom finds a Friend.  
Since therefore Town, nor Court will take no pity  
O humbly cast myself upon the City.   

Prologue to julius Caesar.  
IN Country Beauties as we often see,  
Something that takes in their simplicity.  
Yet while they charm, they know not they are fair,  
And take without their spreading of the snare;  
Such Artless beauty lies in Shakespears wit,  
'Twas well inspite of him what ere he writ.  
His Excellencies came and were not sought,  
His words like casual Atoms made a thought:  
Drew up themselves in Rank and File, and writ,  
He wondering how the Devil it were such wit.  
Thus like the drunken Tinker, in his Play,  
He grew a Prince, and never knew which way.  
He did not know what trope or Figure meant,  
But to persuade is to be eloquent,  
So in this Caesar which this day you see,  
Tully ne'er spoke as he makes Anthony.  
Those than that tax his Learning are too blame,  
He knew the thing, but did not know the Name:  
Great johnson did that Ignorance adore,  
And though he envied much, admired him more,  
The faultless johnson equally writ well,  
Shakespeare made faults; but then did more excel.  
One close at Guard like some old Fencer lay,  
I other more open, but he showed more play.  
In Imitation johnsons' wit was shown,  
Heaven made his men but Shakespeare made his own.  
Wise Johnson's talon in observing lay,  
But others follies still made up his play.  
He drew the like in each elaborate line,  
But Shakespeare like a Master did design.  
johnson with skill dissected humane kind,  
And showed their faults that they their faults might find.  
But then as all Anatomists must do,  
He to the meanest of mankind did go.  
And took from Gibbets such as he would show.  
Both are so great that he must boldly dare,  
Who both of 'em does judge and both compare.  
If amongst Poets one more bold there be,  
The man that dare attempt in either way, is he.   

The Prologue to Wit without money: being the first Play acted after the Fire.  
SO shipwrecked Passengers escape to Land,  
So look they, when on bare Beach they stand,  
Dropping and cold; and their first fear scarce o'er,  
Expecting Famine from a desert Shore;  
From that hard Climate, we must wait for Bread,  
Whence even the Natives forced by hunger fled.  
Our Stage does humane chance present to view,  
But ne'er before was seen so sadly true,  
You are changed to, and your pretence to see  
Is but a nobler name of charity.  
Your own provisions furnish out our Feasts  
Whilst yond the Founders make yourselves our guests.  
Of all mankind besides Fate had some care,  
But for poor Wit no portion did prepare,  
'Tis left a rent-charge to the brave and fair.  
You cherish it, and now its fall yond mourn,  
Which blind unmannered Zealots make their scorn,  
Who think the Fire a judgement on the Stage,  
Which spared not Temples in its furious rage.  
But as our new-built City rises higher,  
So from old theatres may new aspire,  
Since Fate contrives magnificence by fire.   

A Prologue to the Pilgrim.  
OUr Author once was one that drove a trade,  
Till pinching some odd customers (as 'tis said)  
Shop was shut up forthwith, and from that fall  
Like broken Tradesmen humbly took a stall.  
And fell to Cobbling, all that he has done,  
Is to piece up what Fletcher had begun.  
He dares make nothing new, for fear some may  
Turn that to earnest which he meant a Play.  
Suppose a Painter should a Story draw,  
And invent postures which he never saw,  
With several looks, to one you may suppose  
He gives grave looks, another a great Nose.  
Would you not laugh if one of gravity  
Should see't, and swear by this the Rogue meant me,  
Or one lead byth' Nose something too high,  
Should see the piece and swear, judge me that's I.  
Another figure may be finely dressed,  
Painted in Feathers and a gaudy Vest.  
Should therefore a Gallant that wears good store,  
Swear I am Painted by this Son of a whore.  
This is the case, and now be judge I pray,  
Whether the Poet be in fault or they.  
A Poet from his fancy draws alone  
They that the likeness find make it their own.  
Yet let them at least not seem to know it,  
But Pox' ont, the business that they do will show it,  
Yet such perhaps may justly cry to day,  
Hang him, he that finds fault with us can't mend a Play,  
Then hiss him off and let him learn to be,  
Wise, and grow rich, and leave off Poetry.   

Prologue to Richard the third.  
LOck up your doors and bring the keys to me,  
From henceforth learn to value liberty.  
This day we Act a Tyrant, ere you go  
I fear that to your cost you'll find it so.  
What early hast you have made to pass a Fine,  
To purchase Fetters, how you crowd to join  
With an Usurper, be advised by me  
ne'er serve Usurpers, fix to Loyalty.  
For you will find, at latter end o'th' day  
It is your noblest and the safest way.  
Who steers that course, needs fear nor wind, nor tide,  
He wants no Pilot who has such a guide.  
Tyrants (like children's bubbles in the Air)  
Puffed up with pride, still vanish in despair.  
But lawful Monarches are preserved by Heaven,  
And 'tis from thence that their Commissions given.  
Though giddy Fortune, for a time may frown,  
And seem to eclipse the lustre of a Crown.  
Yet a King can with one Majestic Ray,  
Disperse those Clouds and make a glorious day.  
This blessed truth we to our joy have found,  
Since our great Master happily was Crowned.  
So from the rage of Richard's Tyranny,  
Richmond himself will come and set you free.   

Prologue to the double Marriage.  
GAllants you have so long been absent hence,  
That you have almost cooled your diligence,  
For while we study or revive a Play,  
You like good Husbands in the Country stay.  
There frugally were out your Summer Suit,  
And in Freeze Jerkin after Beagles Toote,  
Or in Mountere Caps at field far shoot.  
Nay some are so obdurate in their Sin,  
That they swear never to come up again.  
But all their charge of  and treat Retrench,  
To Gloves and Stockings for some Country Wench.  
Even they who in the summer had mishaps,  
Send up to Town for Physic for their Claps.  
The Ladies too are as resolved as they,  
And having debts unknown to them they stay.  
And with the gain of Cheese and Poultry pay,  
Even in their visits they from Banquets fall,  
To entertain with Nuts and bowl Ale.  
And in discourse with secrecy reports,  
Stolen News that past a Twelvemonth since at Courts.  
Those of them, who are most refined and gay,  
Now learn the Songs of a last Summer Play.  
While the young Daughter does in private Mourn,  
Her Loves in Town, and hopes not to return;  
These Country grievances too great appear,  
But cruel Ladies, we have greater here.  
You come not sharp, as you were wont to Plays,  
But only on the first and second Days:  
This made our Poet in his visits look,  
What new strange courses, for your time you took;  
And to his great regret he found too soon,  
Damned Beast and Umbre, spent the afternoon.  
So that we cannot hope to see you here,  
Before the little Network Purse be clear:  
Suppose you should have luck;  
Yet sitting up so late as I am told,  
You'll lose in Beauty, what you win in Gold.  
And what each Lady of another says,  
Will make you new Lampoones, and us new Plays.   

A SONG.  

1.  
Far well fair Arminda, my joy and my grief,  
In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief;  
Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,  
Your Eyes gave me Love, and you gave me Despair,  
Now called by my Honour, I seek with content,  
The Fate which in pity, you would not prevent:  
To languish in Love, were to find by delay,  
A death that's more welcome the speedyest way,   

2.  
Or Seas, and in Battles, in Bullets and Fire,  
The danger is less, then in hopeless desire;  
My Death's-wound you gave, though far off I bear,  
My fall from your sight, not to cost you a Tear.  
But if the kind Flood, on a Wave should convey,  
And under your Window, my Body would lay!  
The wound on my breast, when you happen to see,  
You I say with a sigh— it was given by me.    

The Answer.  

1.  
BLame not your Arminda, nor call her your grief  
'Twas honour, not she, that denied you relief  
Abuse not her virtue, nor call it severe,  
Who Loves without honour, must meet with despair  
Now prompted by pity I truly Lament,  
And Mourn for your fall, which I could not prevent;  
I Languish to think that your Blood should defray,  
The expense of a fall, though so noble a way.   

2.  
In Seas, and in Battles that you did expire,  
Was the effect of your Valour, not hopeless desire;  
Of the Fame you acquired, I greedily hear,  
And grieve when I think that it cost you so dear.  
And when dismal Fate, did your Body convey,  
By my window your Funeral Rites for to pay:  
I sigh that your Fate, I could not reverse,  
And all my kind wishes, I strew on your Hearse.    

Prologue spoken by Mrs. Martial, to Philaster.  
LAte Prologues, have had so much confidence,  
We did believe we had frighted you from hence.  
And plainly told the Poets of this house,  
Such wit would ruin both themselves and us.  
But they replied we much mistook the age.  
If we thought virtue, must support the Stage;  
Our Bawdry will lose you here 'tis true,  
Some civel women; and of them but few.  
The most discreet amongst 'em will come still,  
Good souls—  
They neither near not understand, what's ill:  
But what are these to Vi●●●o Masques, who come,  
To appland that here, which keeps 'em fine at home●  
And all the spruce Gallants will hither crowd,  
To laugh at what themselves perform abroad;  
They and their dear loved Misses, 'tis well known,  
Ate much the strongest party of the Town.  
And while—  
Or, you; or, we; are Vicious, never fear,  
To have a full, and candid Audience here;  
Our Poets this, to excuse themselves did say:  
And faith by your appearance here to day  
We find they had reason; Confidence won't lose you.  
youare always the best pleased when we abuse you,  
And that's a Courtesy; we'el ne'er refuse you—  
Your follies, are so obvious; and so great,  
'tis much the cheapest way, Wit has to treat.  
There's no delight we give you with such ease,  
Lord; why do they say th' Age is hard to please.  
When it will dote, on its own fooleries.  
Gallants; Men need not study much to gain you,  
Since telling you your faults, will entertain you.   

Epilogue spoken by Mrs. Martial to Philaster.  
THough change all times, both practice and allow,  
Women were never left as we are now.  
We blame the Inconstant Gallants of the Age,  
But yet the Pit is nothing to the Stage.  
You leave us one; by one; they, all at once,  
And unprovok'd, our company Renounce.  
We put 'em to no Charge, no House i'th' Fields,  
No damask Coach, which the last Guinnie, yields.  
And yet they left us; had they been like you,  
We had kept 'em sure, till they, or we, got new.  
Gallants; your Fathers with one sex made shift,  
Sure out's of pleasing; has the better gift.  
A bearded Princess their concern could move,  
Why may not now, a beardless Prince make Love.  
Nor should soft lines; for youth, and beauty meant,  
Be on Men's blue, and withered faces spent.  
We have all that Modesty pretends to prize,  
And what we want, is hid from vulgar eyes.  
It is all one to us, but 'twill appear,  
'Tis much your cheapest way to keep us here.   

A Lampoon on the Greenwich Strowlers.  

1.  
OH! Assist me you Powers, who have Rhimes a command  
For I faith I've a weighty business in hand sing  
Of the late Greenwich Strowlers I'm now going to  
But all things in order— first, God save the King   

2.  
Him; hem; now put we off to the matter,  
On Easter Sunday, the Rascals took water.  
Where landing at Greenwich they agreed that a shar●  
Should be settled o'th' Sculler, instead of his fare.   

3.  
Then up they marched to the sign of the Bull,  
Where ask for Lodging, quoth the folks we are full.  
But we'll see for some for you, and so with that wheadle  
Ud's, lid exit's the Landlord, and enter the Beadle.   

4.  
With that their chief Actor gins for to bristle,  
Quoth he, p'shaw waw ' let the Beadle go whistle.  
For I can; and he did too produce strait a Patent,  
That had the King's Hand and Seal, and all that in't.   

5.  
Well this rub of fortune is over; but stay,  
They call for a Reckoning, there's six Pence to pay.  
Now mark how damned fortune these Strowlers does cousin  
They Pawn all their stock to pay the half dozen.   

6.  
But promising th' Host that he should Tricket free,  
See their Plays every day, and his whole family.  
He releases 'em strait, and now all the rabble;  
Marched up to go lie in their Playhouse— a Stable.   

7.  
This fortunate stable had Faggots in it  
Which served to seat all the House but the Pit,  
For that was more decently spread I confess  
With straw to secure 'em from horse dung and piss.   

8.  
Now he that sat here, had much the better place,  
He broke not his neck though he wetted his Are—  
For by th' ill succe●●ve disposure of th'other  
Folks saw, and they tumbled too, one o'er another.   

9  
I confess they had never a Scene at all,  
They wanted no copy, they had th' original,  
For the windows being down, and most part of the roof,  
How could they want Scenes, when they had prospect enough.   

10.  
Now will we suppose that Monday is come,  
And the Play is proclaimed by beat of a Drum  
Faith now you are supposing, let it be Tuesday morn,  
For of Monday I know no more than the child unborn.   

11.  
It's said that they Acted not upon Monday,  
Something was wanting, and so they lost one day,  
They send unto London, what's lacking is gotten  
And so on the next day, wy'e all things did cotton.   

12.  
The Prizes they took, were a Londoners groat,  
A Gentleman's size, but his skipkennels pot,  
The Townsmen they let in for drink and good cheer,  
The School boys for peace, and the Seamen for fear.   

13.  
On Tuesday at three a clock I was w'ye 'em,  
I kissed their doorkeeper and went into see 'em,  
Being entered an Actor strait brought me a stool,  
he'd a held my cloak too, but I wasn't such a fool.   

14.  
The first that appeared when I was come in  
With her train to her ankles, was who but the Queen  
She civilly made me a curtsy and strait  
Retired to sit on her Faggots of state.   

15.  
Then in came the King with a Murderous mind,  
'Gainst his new married Queen which when I did find;  
I called him a side, and whispering in's Ear,  
Desired him to fetch me a Flagon of Bear.   

16.  
There's twelve pence said, I take the rest for your pains,  
Your Servant said he Sir, sweet Mr. Haines.  
His Majesty faith, I must needs say was civil,  
For he took up his Heels, and ran for't like a Devil,   

17.  
Mean time I addressed myself to his Bride,  
And took her into the tireing House side;  
A hay loft it was which at a dead lift,  
Instead of a better served then for a shift.   

18.  
But mark the Fate of her Civility,  
The Players did rant both at her and me:  
And therefore because for fear she'd be lacked,  
I ordered the Drummer to beat a long Act.   

19  
He beat and he beat, but no Queen appeared,  
He beat till at length the house was all cleared;  
By my Troth a sad loss, but to make 'em amends▪  
I threw 'em a Crown, and we were all Friends:  
And so this Renowned History ends.    

SONG.  

1.  
Maid, CHaron Charon come away,  
Bring forth thy Boat and Oar;  
That I poor Maid may make no stay,  
But Row me to some Shore.   

2.  
Charon Who calls on Charon in such haste,  
As if they suffered Pain:  
I carry none but pure and ,  
Such as true Love hath Slain.   

3.  
Maid, Oh! carry me within thy Boat,  
I'll tell thee a true Love's Tale?  
With sighs so deep, when as we float,  
Shall serve us for a Gale.   

4.  
Charon I Come I come, sweet Soul I come,  
Thy Beauty does so charm me;  
Come in my Boar, take there a Room,  
Nor Wind nor Rain, shall harm thee.   

5.  
Maid, And now I am within thy Boat,  
I'll sing thee a true Love Song:  
My Eyes shall shed a Sea of Waves,  
To float our Boat along.   

6.  
Charon. But what's become of those hard hearts,  
That Virgins did not pity  
They live within Virginia parts  
Where Pluto built his City.    

A Song.  

SInce we poor slavish Women know,  
Like men we cannot pick and choose;  
To him we like, why say we not,  
And both our time and labour lose,  
By our put off's, and feigned delays:  
A Lover's appetite we palls,  
And if too long the Youngsters stays,  
His stomach's gone for good and all.   

2.  
Or our impatient amorous Guest,  
Unknown to us away may steal;  
And rather than stay for a Feast,  
Take up with some course ready Meal:  
When opportunity is kind,  
Let prudent women be so two,  
And if the man be to her mind.  
Be sure she do not let him go.   

3.  
The match soon made, is happiest still,  
For Love has only there to do,  
Let no one Marry 'gainst her will,  
But stand off when her Parent's woe;  
And to the Suitor be not coy,  
For they whom Jointure can obtain:  
To let a Fop her bed enjoy,  
Is but a lawful Wench for gain.    

HOw many Lover's Poetry has got  
No mistress by so many Rivals sought.  
And sure to be so courted, she's the first,  
That was so very poor and very cursed.  
All her enjoyments too, is but a name,  
Yet coy of that, nor safe in her own Fame.  
The vain Gallants that unto Poetry,  
Or women do pretend, in this agree,  
Each thinks his Mistress sure, and in despite,  
Though he never hopes to gain her, swears he might.  
Another Dam Lover with a smile,  
cries I could have her, were it worth the while.  
Says t'other, would I court this Rich ming dame,  
Gad I could show the world both salt and flame,  
One line should Not be high, and th'other sinking,  
But jac and Tom Pox take 'em, keep me drinking.  
Against such censurers we do declare,  
Before they plead they should be called toth' Barr.  
To Judge's places, these ought not to rise,  
That for degrees have done no exercise.  
For some who did pretend to the most wit,  
Have not made out their claims when they have writ,  
By those contentions, should not sure be sought,  
When their own titles are in question brought,  
Those judges he allows whose claims are clear,  
For those he thinks are few and less severe.   

SONG.  

1.  
IN few words I'll describe a Fanatic knave,  
That snarls and knows not what he would have,  
Pray mark but the tricks of this prick eared slave,  
Which no body can deny.   

2.  
he'd kill his King, to preserve his cause,  
Hang honest men in defence of the Law's  
And this he says is a legal cause,  
Which no body, etc.   

3.  
He flies from the scripture, and stands to the Word,  
Protests the Gospel must come in by the Sword,  
But that the Devil is his good Lord,  
there's no body can deny.   

4.  
He prays by the spirit two hours at least,  
And spends in edification the rest,  
With an Evil spirit he is possessed,  
Which no body can deny.   

5.  
His Text you shall find in a State's Declaration,  
His doctrine is an association,  
Rebellion is his application.  
Which no body can deny.   

6.  
He bids Plunder, and tells 'em the meek must inherit  
He had rather be guilty of Murder then merit,  
And these he cries up for the fruits of the spirit.  
Which no body, etc.   

7.  
He talks of the Mitre, but would strike at the Crown,  
And stands for the public advance and his own,  
He will have smocks up, and Surplices down.  
Which no body can, etc.   

8.  
A Church is profane and a barn does as well  
Where the holy sister her wants may tell,  
But verily this is a codpiece zeal,  
Which no body can deny.    

SONG  

1.  
PRide for the most part,  
When we lose a Sweetheart;  
Will make us dissemble and seem to disdain,  
The conquest which we, can no longer maintain.  
But such was my Love, and such was my Lover,  
That in spite of my Pride I my Grief did discover.   

2.  
Though short was my Reign,  
Yet I will not complain;  
When Pleasure grow dull then a Lover may range,  
And seek fresh delights in some happy new change.  
The Devils in her that will have a poor man,  
Still Love, and still Love, when he has Loved all he can.    

SONG.  

1.  
TO her Beauty I'll pay  
My devotions each day,  
That all jaunty delights will me give,  
Though her soul do expire,  
Phenix-like in love's fire,  
Yet again her enjoyments does live.   

2.  
With a brisk Airy spark,  
At Spring Garden or Park,  
In Glass Coach or Balcony thus free,  
She will vanquish all hearts,  
With her Boon Mien and parts,  
she's the heaven on earth unto me.    

Prologue.  
HE who comes hither with design to hiss,  
And with a bum reversed, to whisper Miss,  
To comb a Periwig, or to show gay ,  
Or to vent Antique nonsense with new oaths,  
Our Poet welcomes as the Muse's friend,  
For he'll by irony each play commend.  
Next these we welcome such as briskly dine,  
At Locket's, at jiffords', or with Shatiline.  
Swelled with Pottage, and the Burgundian Grape,  
They hither come to take a kindly nap.  
In these our Poet don't conceive much harm,  
For they pay well and keep out benches warm,  
And though scarce half awake some Plays they damn  
They do't by wholesale, not by Ounce and Dram.  
But when fierce Critics get them in their clutch,  
They're crueler than the Tirannique Dutch.  
And with more art, do dislocate each Scene,  
Then in Amboyna they the limbs of men.  
They wrack each line, and every word unknit,  
As if they'd find a way to cramp all Wit.  
They are the terror of all adventurers here,  
The very objects of their hate and fear,  
And like rude Commonwealths they still are knit,  
'Gainst English Plays the Monarchy's of wit,  
They invade Poetic Licence; and still rail,  
At Plays to which in duty they should veil?  
Yet still they infest this coast to fish for jests,  
To supplement their Wits at City feasts.  
Thus much for Critics: to the more generous Wit,  
Our Poet Frankly, does each scene submit;  
And begs your kind Alliance to engage,  
Those Hogen interlopers of the Stage.   

Epilogue.  
OUr next new Play, if this Mode hold in vogue,  
Shall be half Prologue, and half Epilogue.  
The way to please you is easy if we knew't,  
A jig, a Song, a Rhyme or two will do't.  
When your i'th' vain: and sometimes a good Play,  
Strangely miscarries and is thrown away;  
That this is such our Poet dares not think,  
For what displeases you's, a waist of Ink:  
Besides this Play was writ nine years ago,  
And how times altars, Ladies you best know;  
Many then, fair and courted, I dare say,  
Act half as out of Fashion, as our Play.  
Besides if you'd considered well, you'd find,  
YE have altered since, ten thousand times, your mind;  
And if your humours do so often vary,  
These in our Comedy must needs miscarry?  
For as you change, each Poet moves his Pen,  
They take from you their Characters of Men.  
The Wit they writ, the Valour and the Love,  
Are all but Copies, of what you approve;  
Ours followed the same rule, but does confess,  
The love and humour of that season less.  
And every Artist knows that Copies fall,  
For th'most part short of their Original.   

A Song.  

When first my free heart was surprised by desire  
So soft was the Wound, and so gentle the Fire;  
My sighs were so sweet, and so pleasant the smart,  
I pitied the Slave who had ne'er lost his heart;  
He thinks himself happy, and free, but alas!  
He is far from that Heaven, which Lovers possess.   

In Nature was nothing, that I could compare,  
With the beauty of Phillis, I thought her so fair:  
A Wit so divine all her say did fill,  
A Goddess she seemed; and I mentioned her still  
With â Zeal more inflamed, and â Passion more true,  
Then â Martyr in flames, for Religion can show.   

More Virtues and Graces, I found in her mind,  
Then Schools can invent, or the Gods e'er designed;  
She seemed to be mine by each glance of her Eye,  
(If mortals might aim at â blessing so high)  
Each day, with new favours, new hopes she did give;  
But alas! what is wished, we too soon do believe.   

With awful respect, while I loved and admired,  
But feared to attempt, what so much I desired;  
How soon were my Hopes, and my Heaven destroyed,  
A Shepherd more daring, fell on and enjoyed:  
Yet, in spite of ill Fate, and the pains I endure,  
I will find a new Phillis, to give me my Cure.    

A SONG.  

Loves' daring flight, is unconfined,  
No Laws can reach his soaring Wings,  
More free than Air, or pathless wind,  
Or sec et thoughts formed in a youthful mind.  
Above the power of the highest Kings;  
The Gods (if there were any more,  
Besides great Love) by him were made;  
His favour they did all implore.  
His Darts they all obeyed,  
Their deities by his, did shine or fade.   

The lasting fame bold Haeroes win,  
The sacred virtues you admire;  
All that the World can glory in,  
By Love's assistance did at first begin.  
Your beauty's raised from this Promethean fire:  
Whom Love inspires, though dull before,  
Becomes accomplished, wise and brave,  
To conquer her he doth adore.  
The glories which you have,  
Your Lover's passion, and their praises gave.   

Then ask not how I dare aspire,  
Before your sacred shrine to kneel,  
And after my ambitious fire.  
For were your Beauty, and your Title higher,  
Love would betray the pains, you make me feel.  
If you are scornful and severe,  
You add new Vigour to my flame:  
And make it still more bright appear:  
If I possess my aim,  
My happiness shall never spot your Fame.   

Though I should feast my greedy Eyes,  
And every minute steal â Kiss;  
Taste all those joys men Idolise,  
Your sum of pleasures still as high would rise.  
Nor would you have one charming grace the less,  
But if our wishes equal are;  
In Loves Elysium, you shall Reign,  
And by our secret amorous War.  
That Paradise obtain,  
Which all the graver World have sought in vain.    

A SONG.  

1.  
FAir was my Mistress, and fine as a Bride,  
That is decked in her wedding attire,  
Her eyes does protest, I shall not be denied,  
And yet I dare hardly come nigh her,  
I seemed to be sad, and she smiled,  
Which I thought did a kindness betray,  
Then forward I go,  
But was dashed with a no,  
Yet came off with a ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha'  
hay, ha' ha' ha' ha' ha'.   

2.  
Strange was she then as a politic Nun,  
And I found my first courting was lost,  
Her frowns put me farther than when I begun,  
O see how poor Mortals are crossed,  
I then made another assault,  
When her kindness began to display,  
And I brought her to this,  
That she gave me a kiss,  
And came off with a ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha',  
hay, ha' ha' ha' ha' ha'.   

3.  
High was my courage, but more my desire,  
Which fed my addresses with force,  
That you could not distinguish whose eyes had most Fire.  
Or who had the prettiest discourse,  
Agreed we laid down and tumbled  
Till both were a weary of play,  
Though I spent a full share,  
Yet by Cupid I swear,  
I came off with a ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha',  
hay, ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha'.    

SONG.  

1.  
FArewel dear Revechia my joy and my grief,  
Too long I have loved you and found no relief,  
Undone by your Jailor too strict and severe,  
Your eyes gave me Love and he gives me despair  
Now urged by your interest I seek to retire,  
Far off from the cause of so hopeless a fire.  
To stay near you still, were in vain to torment,  
Your ears with a passion you must not content.   

2.  
To live in the Country with fools is less pain,  
Then still to endure an unwilling disdain,  
You're the cause of my exile, and far off I'll go,  
That none of my sufferings you ever may know.  
But if some kind fate, you should chance to convey  
And through woods where i've been your journey should lay.  
Your name when you find upon every tree,  
You'll say poor Alexis! 'twas written by thee.    

On Calliope retiring to her Spring. Song.  

1.  
SAcred to Love and Harmony,  
And to the Fair Calliope,  
There is a Spring, by Heaven desig'nd,  
To feed a Melancholy mind:  
Hither, when big with sighs and tears,  
The troubled Deity repairs,  
And with those Crystal drops the spring augments,  
Pouring into the Nymph her discontents.   

2.  
So Nero to a Hill retired,  
When Rome by his command was fired,  
And on his Harp contemptuosly,  
Played the sad City's Elegy;  
As here, when to her conquering eyes,  
Mankind's a flaming sacrifice,  
Calliope insultingly retreats,  
And with her Voice and Lute, her scorn repeats.   

3.  
Her voice th' harmonious Swans admire,  
And in attention half expire;  
Catching the Echo of each sound,  
And drunk with air, and almost drowned.  
Charming Calliope! thy voice controul's.  
Even the passions of our souls!  
Charm me yet more, that dying, I may be  
A Sacrifice, to Harmony and Thee.    

Mad Tom of Bedlam.  

FOrth form the Dark and Dismal Cell,  
And deep abiss of Hell.  
Poor Tom is come to view the World again,  
To see if he can cure his distempered Brain.   

Fears and Cares oppress my Soul,  
And hark how the angry Furies howl.  
Pluto laughs and Proserpina is glad,  
To see poor Tom of Bedlam mad.   

Through the world I wander night and day,  
To seek my straggled senses;  
In an angry mood, I met old Tom,  
With his Pentarch of tenses;   

When me he spied,  
Away he hied;  
For time will stay for no man,  
In vain with cries,  
I rend the Skies,  
For Pity is not common.   

Cold and comfortless I lie,  
Help! Oh help, for Charity.  
Hark, I hear Appoll's team:  
The Carman 'gins to whistle,  
 Diana, has bend her Bow,  
And the Boar gins to bristle.   

Come Vulcan with Tools and with Jackles,  
Come knock off these troublesome Shackles:  
Bid Charles make ready his wain,  
To bring me my Senses again.   

Last night I heard the Dog Star bark,  
Mars met with Venus in the dark;  
Limping Vulcan haet an Iron bar,  
And furiously ran at the God of War.   

Mars with his Weapon laid about,  
But Limping Vulcan, had the Gout,  
His broad Horns did hang so in's light,  
He could not see, to aim his blow aright.   

Mercury the nimble Post of Heaven,  
Stood still to see the Quarrel:  
Gorbellyed Bacchus' Giant like,  
Bestrid a great Bear Barrel.   

To me he drank,  
I did him thank,  
But I could get no Cider,  
He drank whole Butts,  
And split his Guts:  
But mine were ne'er the wider.   

Poor Tom is very dry,  
A little Drink for charity;  
Hark, I hear Acteous horn:  
The Huntsman whoops and hollows,  
Bowman, Ringwood, Ropter, Joylen, ho, ho:  
At the Chase now follows.   

The man in the Moon, drinks Claret,  
Eats powdered ●●if, Turnip and Carrot;  
But a glass of old Malago Sack,  
Will fire the Bush at his back.    

Upon his Dead Mistress, represented in a Dream.  

UNkind! And cruel fancy too!  
Mocking my Senses to renew,  
The memory of that face!  
Which (Death) tyrannically took,  
On purpose he might gaze, and look:  
And all his empire grace.  
For, as, wild sullen, fettered Beasts, do tire  
Themselves by strangling; and put out their fire,  
So, my unrully grief, itself had tamed,  
Which now, by fresher Passion is inflamed.   

2.  
Were there but hoping from the Grave,  
I would to sorrow, live a Slave;  
And wait for her return,  
Or, stifle craftily my Breath  
With sighs; if proud, and stubborn death  
Would lay me in her Urn:  
But he's too fond of her, there she must stay,  
Where I access want, since he guards the way.  
I'll chide no more then; Fancies! use thy skill,  
That I may dream such kill pleasure still.    

An Epithalamium.  

1.  
THough so many say that chance is  
Sole disposer of our lives,  
That our actions and our fancies  
It directs and gives us Wives,  
Yet the story here Divine is,  
Past the reach of mortal sense,  
he's mistaken, whose design is  
To prevent a Providence.   

2.  
There was neither Birth nor Beauty,  
Made these years' Parenthesis,  
Fitting accidents and duty  
Did, before deny the bliss.  
Since they now embrace each other,  
With a just and mutual fire;  
May their passions never smother,  
Or their spirits fail desire.   

3.  
Happy be your first embraces,  
So to answer both your flames,  
That when either time defaces  
You restored be in your names.  
Prudence let your deeds contrive all,  
Free from jealousy and rage,  
Death alone let be your Rival,  
And the challenge brought by age.    

SONG  

THe beams of Lovers sparkling Eyes,  
Such strange mysterious powers dart,  
They make their object sympathise,  
And feel the flames that fire their heart,  
If this were true, as reason seems to prove  
You cannot be insensible of Love,   

2.  
Fires active Element ascends  
Love's passion is defined a flame,  
If then my heart too high pretends  
Ambition doth its truth proclaim.  
Love sometimes bows, though flames still upward move,  
So heavenly Cynthia did Endymion love.  
Love does of life and death dispose  
Commands as chief in Court and Feild,  
Then how can I a Prince oppose  
To whom the greatest Kings do yield.    

SONG.  

1.  
HOw charming are those pleasant pains  
Which the successful Lover gains,  
Oh how the longing spirit flies,  
From searching sighs, on dying eyes.  
Whose intermixing rays impart,  
Loves welcome message to the heart.   

2.  
Then how the active Pulse grows warm,  
To every sense gives the Alarm,  
But oh the raptures and the qualms  
When Love unites the melting palms,  
What ecstasies, what hopes and fears,  
What pretty talk, and Amorous tears.   

3.  
To these a thousand Vows succeed,  
Oh then oh Heavens the secret deed;  
When Sense and Soul are bathed in bliss,  
Think dear Arminda, think on this.  
And curse those hours we did not prove,  
The ravishing delights of Love.    

CATCH.  
JAck drink away,  
Thou hast lost a whole minute,  
Hang Wenches and Play.  
There's no pleasure in it;  
Faith take t'other glass,  
Though the Night's old and grey,  
We may all have a pass,  
To the Grave before Day.  
And in the cold forsaken Grave,  
There's no drink Jack, no drink,  
No wine nor women, can we have:  
No company but Worms that stink.  
Then name thy own health, and begin it.   

SONG.  

1.  
CAlina you see  
How from Court the new fashion,  
Has Conquered the Nation  
All Lovers must be,  
None but fanatics oppose the invasion  
Then pray why should we.   

2.  
Hang conscience and fear,  
I am secret and Loyal,  
No envious espyal  
Shall frighten my Dear.  
That blush was so sweet, I can take no denial  
Nor longer forbore.   

3.  
Nay strive not in vain,  
I'll o'ercome thee with kisses,  
Such pleasure as this is,  
Would make love again.  
Despise his high state, to partake of our blisses  
Then who can abstain.   

4.  
O these are the sweets,  
Which none can discover  
But the secret Lover  
Great Caesar ne'er meets  
A joy more sublime, though he is first mover  
To Love he submits.    

SONG.  

IN vain my dear Muse, you coily refuse,  
What Nature and Love do inspire,  
That formal old way, which your mother did use,  
Can never confine the desire  
It rather adds Oil to the fire.   

2.  
When the tempting delights of Wooing are lost  
And pleasures a duty become,  
We both shall appear, like some dead Lover's Ghost,  
To frighten each other from home,  
And the genial bed like a Tomb.   

3.  
Now low at your feet, your fond Lover will lie  
And seek a new fate in your eyes,  
One amorous smile, will exalt him so high  
He can all but Aminda despise,  
Then change to a frown and he dies.   

4.  
To love, and each other we'll ever be true,  
But to raise our enjoyments by Art,  
We'll often fall out, and often renew:  
For to wound, and to cure the smart,  
Is the pleasure which captives the Heart.    

SONG.  

GIve over foolish heart, and make haste to despair,  
For Daphne regards not thy vows nor thy prayers.  
When I plead for thy passion, thy pains to prolong,  
She Courts her Gyttar, and replies with a Song.  
No more shall true Lovers, thy Beauty adore,  
Were the Gods so severe, men would Worship no more.   

2.  
No more will I wait like a Slave at the door,  
I'll spend the cold Nights, at thy window no more.  
My Lungs in long sighs, no more I'll exhale,  
Since thy Pride is to make me grow sullen and pale.  
No more shall Amintas thy Pity implore,  
Were the God's ingrate men would Worship no more.   

3.  
No more shall thy frowns or free humour persuade,  
To court the fair Idol my fancy hath made;  
When thy Saints so neglected their follies give o'er,  
Thy deities lost, and thy beauties no more.  
No more— etc.   

4.  
How weak are the Vows of a Lover in pain,  
When flattered by hope, or oppressed by disdain.  
No sooner my Daphne's bright eyes I review,  
But all is forgot, and I vow all a new:  
No more cruel Nymph, I will murmur no more,  
Did the gods seem so fair, men would Worship them more.    

A SONG.  

With so much ease ungrateful Swains,  
Your faithless Vows have cured your pains.  
You think by those, your perjuries betrayed,  
That all are false▪ or else may so be made;  
And every smile of pleasing word proclaims,  
The coldest Nymph, an offering to your flames.   

2.  
Vain Shepherd know, that now's the time,  
To suffer for thy boasted Crime:  
Repeated Vows with me less credit find,  
Then smiling Seas, or the uncertain Wind.  
Deep Sighs and frequent Tears, as things of course,  
So common are, that they have lost their force.   

3.  
Thy passions Truth will best appear,  
Disguised in doubts, and guilty fear!  
when all the heart and careful Tongue conceal,  
The sense disordered, and the eyes reveal.  
Such dark confusion makes the Flame shine bright,  
So Stars are best discerned through shades of night.   

4.  
One stolen look, can better woe,  
Then Sighs, and Tears, and Vows, can do.  
The falsest tears, like empty vessels sound,  
But may thy feigned become a real wound;  
That thy severer penance may declare,  
How great men's crimes, and women's virtues are.    

A Poem.  

FAirest Clariza, when you read,  
This rudness of my morning's Muse,  
My Pardon let my Passion plead.  
But how can Gild a Crime excuse:  
Then to your goodness only, I appeal,  
The Wounds your Justice makes, let Pity heal.   

I court Occasion but in vain,  
My restless passion to relate,  
From your entrancing Lips to gain;  
The knowledge of my doubtful Fate.  
You are my sacred Oracle, from whom,  
The sentence of my Life, or Death, must come.   

Prophetic influence of Stars,  
Henceforth I will no longer prize,  
Nor search the fate of Peace or Wars,  
But in your more resplendent Eyes.  
If you but smile, Fate cannot cast me down,  
So highest joys will vanish when you frown.   

Nature wants Language to impart,  
The real Paradise of bliss,  
With which your smiles possess my heart:  
If there be Heaven on Earth, 'tis this.  
If I had all man's boundless wish, would have,  
I'd slight whole Empires, to become your Slave.   

How tedious six short Suns appear,  
Which veil your beauty from my sight,  
Each flying minute seems a year.  
An Age is shorter than a Night,   

But when dull time, the long wished day has brought,  
The treacherous hours, out fly the swiftest thought.  
Impatience ne'er revealed my Love,  
To silent Screams or whispering Air,  
I trust no melancholy Grove:  
With Echoes of my sad despair.  
Friendship and Duty lose their interest here,  
To none— but you, my passion shall appear.   

All human actions must obey,  
The sure decrees of powerful Fate,  
From their prescriptions none can stray;  
Nor of themselves or love, or hate.  
We must, or must not, 'tis designed above,  
Perhaps my fate must be, to die for Love.    

On his Mistress going from home. SONG.  

1.  
SO does the Sun withdraw his Beams,  
From off the Northern coasts and streams▪  
Whence Clouds and Frosts ensue,  
And leaves the melancholy Slaves  
Stupid and dull, as near their Graves.  
Till he their joys renew;  
Those that in Green land, followed game,  
Too long, and sound when back they came.  
Their shipping gone, believed they must die,  
Ere Succour came, but yet more blest then I.   

2.  
How Soon our happiness does fly,  
Like Sounds, which with their Echoes die.  
And leave us in a Trance,  
Bewailing we had ere enjoyed,  
The blessing, since 'tis still destroyed.  
By some unhappy chance,  
Why should the spiteful stars agree,  
To vex and mock mortality.  
For thus like Traitors which in darkness lie  
weare only brought into the light to die.   

3.  
In dreams things are not as they seem,  
Else, what's fruition but a dream,  
When the possessions past  
Alas! to say, we were, we had,  
Is poor content and e'en as bad  
As if w' had ne'er had taste.  
Fire in great Frosts, small time possessed  
Produces pain instead of rest.  
So does the short enjoyment of such bliss  
And till restored, continual torment is,    

SONG.  

THose tricks and bows  
And amorous vows,  
I defy and never will need 'em  
For he that's taken with Puppet shows  
Never new the price of freedom.   

2.  
I defy the thoughts of loving  
Approving  
'tis a crime  
For my fancies always moving  
To the vain expense of time.   

3.  
All the wisest count it folly,  
Nor shall I  
Be so mad,  
To ruled by Melancholy,  
Or any effect as bad.  
But I'll have my mind,  
Still unconfined  
And my thoughts as free as fire,  
My humour still rove with the wind,  
And never know Lover's care,    

SONG  

.1  
SInce 'tis now become a fashion,  
To court all with equal passion  
And admires now do prove,  
There is as well in love  
As in blood, a circulation.   

2.  
I'm resolved to stand the sally,  
Of the sutlest Lovers volley,  
And when his vows are out,  
To let him move about,  
To his other Kate or Molley.   

3.  
Though I can allow his courting,  
For my present fancies sporting,  
Yet I never will admit  
A Passion, Love or wit  
Without some years supporting.   

4.  
If his humour sympathizes,  
With the same that mine advices,  
Be he pleasant as he will,  
I'll answer it but still  
Keep a guard against surprises.    

A SONG.  

1.  
Whilst Alixis lay pressed  
In her arms he loved best,  
With his hands round her Neck,  
And his head on her breast.  
He found the fierce pleasure too hasty to stay,  
And his soul in the tempest just flying away.   

2.  
When Celia saw this,  
With a sigh and a kiss,  
She cr'yd, oh my dear, I am robbed of my bliss;  
'Tis unkind to your love, and unfaithfully done  
To leave me behind you, and die all alone.   

3.  
The youth though in haste,  
And breathing his last,  
In pity died slowly, whilst she died more fast;  
Till at length she cried, now my dear, now let us go,  
Now die my Alixis, and I will die too.   

4.  
Thus in tranced they did lie,  
Till Alixis did try,  
To recover new breath that again he might die,  
Then often they did; but the more they did so,  
The Nymph did more quick, and the shepherd more flow.    

A SONG.  

Hung the trade of versifying,  
'tis lying.  
But in tune,  
For some will be denying,  
That a Rose is fresh in june.   

2.  
Besides the brother Poets,  
Or show Wits,  
Are some fierce,  
That one can pretend to no wit;  
Without the exchange of a Verse.   

3.  
They aim at praise,  
And write for the Bays:  
Yet all they mentions, a story,  
And old Ben himself in the best of his days,  
ne'er knew such a thing as Glory.   

4.  
To make up their Rhimes,  
They'll change our times,  
And make what is old seem new,  
They'll tell you a tale, in a moddle of Chimes.  
But the Devil a bit 'tis true    

To his Mistress with a pair of Turtles.  

DO happy Birds my Suit renew,  
Let her perceive that I like you,  
Excel in constancy,  
But you each other do possess,  
Mine's an inferior happiness,  
She pays no love to me.   

My constancy may greater than be thought,  
Since I to love a cruel Nymph, am taught.  
You do but pay each others Love with Love:  
But I by loving scorn, do kinder prove,  
If then more love than you I boast,  
Why should I more in love be crossed.  
Or not with hers be blest,  
It is the height of my desire,  
That I might but perceive my fire  
Had warmed my Coelia's Breast.   

Oh could you speak, you certainly would prove,  
That 'twere but justice to give love for love;  
Which though I can't expect, I'll outvie  
You Turtle Doves, in matchless constancy.    

A rural Dance at a Shrop shire Wake.  

Well met joan; let us haste to the Wake,  
For our honour lies at Stake.  
Didst thou see Tom, when he went to the Green,  
In gay , as ere were seen.  
With Nan and Doll  
Kate and Moll,  
Lads and Lasses that are brave Dancers,  
Will and Dick  
Hodge and Nick;  
All these are the next advancers.   

Trust me joan thou dancest best,  
And art fairer than the rest:  
Thou shalt now the Garland wear,  
Else I'll ne'er be seen at Fair.  
There be stree  
And to thee  
I will plight my faith to love she,  
Say then joan  
Shall my moan  
Or Vows have power to move thee.   

Grant me that I'll sigh and vow,  
Till thou sayest I'll love thee now.  
I'll give thee Ale and sugar Cakes,  
And carry thee to all our wakes.  
Pipeing Will  
Singing Sill,  
Shall be summoned, to our Wedding.  
Andrew Tit  
Wat and Kitt,  
Shall eat Posset at our Bedding.  
Now Joan, I find to my content,  
That thy silence gives consent;  
Let us married be to day,  
For I can no longer stay,  
Pris and Hodge  
james and Madge,  
Come a long to this our Feasting,  
Smile not joan  
Y'are to blame,  
For you'll find it is no jesting.    

To his Mistress grown common. A SONG.  

What Empire (Celia) equalled mine,  
When I alone reigned o'er all thine;  
When all thy glories did as aptly wait,  
On my Devotion, as my heart would have't  
When both thy heart and eyes,  
All other objects did despise.  
And like a sacred Votaress didst make,  
Me thy dear Saint, and hence thy Bliss didst take.  
Then in what pride I lived, to know that thee,  
Whom the world adored, were't ruled by me.   

.2  
But now like Foreigners, thine Eyes,  
Do gaze on all, to take a Prize.  
That beauty which once centred upon me,  
Is now diffused, and like the Sun, shine free.  
My vows and tears pass by,  
Yet know vain Celia! that I  
Can quietly into myself retire,  
Without the danger of a second fire:  
And scorn thy partial Love, 'tis seldom known,  
A Prince admits a sharer to his Throne.    

To his Mistress in Love with another. SONG.  

DIsdainful Chlona, canst thou despise  
That flame which had its rise  
From thy fair Eyes;  
Or which is crueler  
Canst thou to mine prefer,  
Another's dull flame.  
Wilt thou dispense thy love or hate,  
Unequally, like partial Fate.  
Who, though it be most rigorous to some,  
For others yet reserves a milder Doom.   

2.  
If loving most, may from you most obtain,  
Consider with what pain.  
And envious care  
I often have beheld,  
What you did my Rival yield,  
Keeping my fire  
Oh if you partially proceed,  
Think, how you make your offspring bleed;  
When natures dictates, do the Mother bind,  
Equally to her Children to be kind.    

To his formerly scornful Mistress, though now kind, as applying himself to his Study.  

NO proud Insultress, know my love,  
Is now fixed rightly far above  
The reach of fortune's frown or thine  
Nor mayst thou hope 'twill ere decline:  
On thee again,  
Here 'twill remain.  
Secure from folly to reward,  
With like contempt this disreguard:  
For here as on Olympus placed, I spy  
The giddy World misled by foolery.   

2.  
My love, this will never die,  
Since here I have variety:  
Then hope not it will so debase,  
Itself to dote upon thy face,  
It was thine hate  
That did create.  
To me this happiness, and so  
Thy form at first did prove my foe;  
For gazing like an harmless Forreigner,  
On thy bewitching features, I did err.   

3.  
But to myself, returned thy pride,  
Deservedly, I do deride.  
And seated here I do defy,  
The wanton glances of thine Eye,  
Then mourn and chide,  
Th' excess of pride.  
That made thee lose that heart which now,  
With all thy Arts thou canst not bow;  
Since now with more delight I daily prove  
The pleasures of revenge, than those of love.    

A SONG.  

CLoris I burn behold and view,  
And cool me with a sigh from you;  
I Fry in flames and still Consume,  
Although the Pill be all Perfume.   

2.  
To be in Oil of Roses drowned  
Or Water, where's the difference found,  
Both bring one death, and death will be,  
Unwelcome any way to me.   

3.  
Then gentle Maid some pity show,  
Destroy not him, that loves you so:  
A lass I call, but ah, I see  
There is no hope in store for me.    

SONG.  

SO closely, closely pressed,  
In his Clymena's Arms young Damon lay,  
Panting in that transport so over blessed:  
He seemed just ready, just to die away:  
Clymena beheld him with amorous Eyes,  
And thus betwixt sighing and kising she cries.  
Oh make not such haste to begun,  
'tis too much unkind,  
While I stay behind▪  
For you to be dying alone.   

2.  
This made the youth now drawing to his end,  
The happy moment of his death suspend:  
But with so great a pain,  
His flying Soul he did retain;  
That with himself he seemed at strife,  
Whether to let out Love, or keep in Life.  
Then she who already was hasting to Death,  
Said softly, and trembleing, and all out of breath:  
Oh! now my dear let us go,  
Dye with me Damon, for now I die too;  
Thus died they but 'twas, of so secret a death,  
That so to die again, they took new breath.    

SONG.  

AWay with this legal Fruition,  
The penance of Phlegmatic love,  
Devised by some old Politician:  
Whose sinews, no longer could move.   

Since wenching is modest, and beauties is common  
Why should we wed the defects of a woman.   

2.  
The Husband has all the vexation,  
The quarrels and care of the Sheets,  
Fair Periwigs and Fops, inth' Fashion;  
For nothing enjoy all the sweets.  
Since, etc.   

3.  
If the Wife has wit, beauty or portion,  
Fine  and Gallants must be had,  
She follows the Court for Promotion!  
And high for the new Masquerade.  
Since, etc.   

4.  
When the Chaos was made a Creation,  
And all things in order did move,  
The wisest in every nation  
Went into all they did love.  
Since, etc.   

5.  
Each bout is a feast of new pleasure,  
To those that may any where feed,  
The Bees have all nature's sweet treasure  
But Drones are confined to a weed.   

Since wenching is modish and beauties is common  
Why should we wed the defects of a woman.    

The Willow-wearing Lovers disconsolate Complaint.  

1.  
When first I beheld my fair Philomel's face,  
She appeared like an Angel to me,  
But ●hen her dear love  
She vouchsafed me to prove,  
I was blest with what mankind could be.   

2.  
She has toyed and has talked, when abroad we have walked  
And at home all delights have expressed  
Her discourse and her parts,  
Would have ravished all hearts  
That ever with her had conversed.   

3.  
When we were alone, than I gazed on her face,  
And the more I did gaze I admired  
No words I could speak,  
Lest my heart it should break  
But with sighs it told what I desired.   

4.  
Her frown's would sometimes put me into despair,  
But her smiles did create me new bliss,  
Though my death had me seized,  
Yet if she were but pleased:  
She could give me new life with a kiss.   

5.  
In fine all perfections that ever were seen,  
(In all beauties,) in her did abound,  
With Love's sweets most divine,  
Did my Philomel shine;  
Oh! her Parrallels not to be found.   

6.  
But mark what false fortune unto me has done,  
My delights were too great long to stay,  
For those sweets which she swore,  
Should increase ever more:  
In one moment all vanished away.   

7.  
For her faith she has broke; and denies me those joys  
Which in freedom, I oft have possessed,  
By her scorn's I'm betrayed,  
And alas I am made;  
The most wretched who was the most blessed.   

8.  
With melancholy sighs I am tormented each day,  
My discontents, hourly increase,  
My mind is perplexed,  
And my heart sore oppressed!  
And my soul will ne'er be at peace.   

9  
Therefore oh you gods, I am firmly resolved,  
Your power shan't my passion control,  
I'll die for her sake,  
And in death I make;  
A Love offering to her of my Soul.    

Prologue To the Knight of the burning Pestle.  
IF any here have ancient Records seen,  
Of Amadis, or doughty Palmerin,  
Of Squire, and Dwarf, and of enchanted wood,  
And taken true delight in Giant's blood.  
Such we invite with confidence, to laugh  
At the stout Acts and Monuments of Ra'ph;  
Of Ralph, who humbly does each Lady greet,  
And lays his Burning Pestle at her feet.  
This to the Learned; it does now remain,  
We descend upward to the vulgar swain;  
And gravely tell him, that our Fletcher's wit,  
Has here burlesqued all he himself had writ.  
Burlesqued, that is has turned to ridicule,  
As one would say, has wisely played the fool.  
Mock-love, Mock passion, that is still to say,  
He, as it were, has farcified a Play.  
This, Gallants, is that Play, which for your sake,  
We now revive, and doubt not it will take.  
For in our virtuous Age,  
Not only every wit, Lampoons his brother,  
But men are all burlosque to one another.  
In Burgundy and Mant, the great ones rail.  
But then blind sides are found in Mum and Ale.  
Therefore laugh on, and rally all you can,  
For there's no fop like to your absent man:  
The world will laugh at all you do or say,  
Then laugh you, for a clubs an equal lay,  
As good fall on, since you are sure to pay.   

Epilogue.  
THe Prologue durst not tell, before 'twas seen,  
The Plot we had to swinge the Maiden Queen,  
For had we, then, discovered our intent,  
The Fop, who writ it, had not given consent.  
Or the new peaching trick at least had shown,  
And brought in others faults to hid his own.  
That wit he has been by his betters taught,  
When he's accused to show another's fault,  
When one wit's hunted hard, by joint consent  
Another claps betwixt and does prevent,  
His death; for many Hares still foil the scent.  
Thus our poor Poet would have scaped to day,  
But from the heard I singled out his Play.  
Then Heigh along with me—  
Both great and small you Poets of the Town,  
And Nell will love you, or to run him down.   

Prologue to Horace, spoken by the Duchess of Munmouth, at Court.  
When Honour flourished ere for price 'twas sold '  
When Rome was poor, and undebauched with gold,  
That virtue which should to the world give law  
First under Kings, its Infant breath did draw:  
And Horace, who, his Sovereign's Champion fought  
Its first example to republics taught.  
Honour and Love, the Poets dear delight,  
The field in which, all Modern Muse's fight;  
Where gravely Rhyme, debates what's just and f  
And seeming contradictions pass for wit.  
Here in their native purity first grew,  
 they th' Adulterate arts of Stages knew.  
This Martial story, which through France did come,  
And there was wrought in great Corneliu's Toom.  
Orinda's matchless Muse to Britain brought,  
And Foreign Verse, our English Accents taught;  
So soft that to our shame we understand,  
They could not fall, but from a Lady's hand.  
Thus while a Woman, Horace did translate,  
Horace did rise above a Roman Fate.  
And by our Ladies he mounts higher yet,  
While he is spoke above, what he is writ.  
But his triumphant Honours, are to come  
When, mighty Prince, he must receive your Doom;  
From all besides our Actors have no fear,  
Censure, and Wit, are beauties Vassals here:  
And should they with Rebellion, tempt their rage,  
Our Basilisks, could shout 'em from the Stage!  
But that their Fate, would be two great to die,  
By bright Sabina's, or Camilla's Eye.   

SONG.  

SInce Cloris you my passion know,  
And every look my Love does show;  
Since Interest, which so long did Sway,  
To your soft Rule, at last gives way.  
A Slave to all the motions of your will,  
Why would you ha' me Pine and Languish still.   

I know you cannot love to see,  
The many pains that torture me:  
When at your Feet myself I lay,  
You always turn your Eyes away.  
Beauty a softness from its nature takes,  
Which cannot look upon the Wounds it makes.   

In scorn you can no pleasure find,  
For constant Love perverts your mind:  
Nor do you think, while thus to one,  
You give your charming self alone.  
Much of your youth and beauty needs must waste,  
For there's no one can half their sweetness taste.   

When you hereafter wiser grow,  
And further joys in Love shall know;  
With what regret will you repent,  
The time 've in unkindness spent!  
Trust me, a thousand times you'll wish in vain,  
To call those slighted Minutes, back again.    

Prologue to a revived Play.  
OLd Plays, like Mistresses, long since enjoyed,  
Long after please, whom they before had cloyed.  
For fancy schews the Cudd on past delight,  
And cheats itself to a new appetite.  
But then this second fit comes not so strong,  
Like second Agues, neither fierce nor long;  
What you have known before, grows sooner stolen,  
And less provokes you, than an untold tale.  
That but refreshes what before you knew,  
But this discovers something which is new:  
Hence 'tis, that at new Plays you come so soon.  
Like Bridegrooms, hit to go to bed ere noon!  
Or, if you are detained some little space,  
The stinking Foot-mans', sent to keep your place.  
But, when a Play's revived, you stay and dine,  
And drink till three, and then come dropping in;  
As Husband after absence, wait all day,  
And desently for Spouse, till bed time stay!  
So, ere the brethren's liberal fit was spent,  
The first wise Nonconformist, under went  
With ease, and battened in imprisoment.  
For greater gains his zeal refused the less,  
Each day to him was worth a Diocese.  
But he who now in hopes of equal gain,  
Will needs be Prisoner, tries the trick in vain,  
He melts in durance half his Grease away,  
To get, like us, poor twenty Pounds a day.   

To my friend, Master Tho. St. Serf.  
BEfore we saw thy Play, dear Tom, we thought,  
No Scotish Merchandise, was worth the fraught.  
But we will trust thy Countrymen no more,  
For you, we see, grow rich, as we grow poor:  
You get the Bays, while we get only Mocks,  
As you got Prizes, while we got but Knocks.  
We thought none Plays, but what were English made,  
That wit like Wool had been our staple trade;  
But thou hast found the trick, (as others do,)  
Us with our own materials to undo.  
Henceforth we'll have a privy search decreed,  
For every errand Muse▪ that passes Tweed:  
A file of Covenanters, shall stop thee there,  
And search thy Pack, for Anti kirkall ware.  
Once, like a Pedlar, they have heard thee brag,  
How thou didst cheat their sight, and save thy crag;  
When to the great Montross, under pretence  
O● godly bakes, thou brought'st intelligence.  
But, hear ye, as a friend, let me advise,  
Trust not too far, that national disguise.  
If thou art caught no wit Grotisque can bribe 'em,  
They'll never spare a man, that so can gibe 'em:  
Nor is't the interest, of us English Poets,  
To suffer any but ourselves to grow wits;  
To show great Nature in Heroic story,  
Or in the Comic, Power, and Flame, and Glory▪  
Once and a way, we let you make us merry,  
With the rare virtues, of the Coffee Berry;  
But shall grow jealous of your Muse, and hate her,  
When we are hectored on our own Threater.  
And if a second time, you tread our Stage,  
We, with the Kirk against you must engage:  
As two weak States, when they have struggled long,  
Unite against a third, that grows too strong.   

Epilogue, spoken by the Lady Mary Mordont, before the King and Queen, at Court, to the faithful Shepherdess.  
When Princes in distress, would peace implore,  
They first take care to choose th'ambassador.  
And think him fittest for a charge so great,  
Who best can please that King with whom they treat▪  
Our Play they threatened with a tragic Fate,  
I, Sir, am chose for this affair of State.  
And, hope, what ever errors we confess,  
You'll pardon to the young Ambassadress.  
If not though now these little Ladies are,  
In no condition, to maintain a War:  
Their beauties will in time grow up so strong,  
That on your Court, they may revenge the wrong.   

Prologue to Alburnazar.  
TO say this Comedy pleased long a go,  
Is not enough to make it pass you now:  
Yet gentlemen your Ancestors had wit,  
When few men censured, and fewer writ.  
And johnson, of those few, the best chose this,  
And the best model of his master piece;  
Subtle was got by our Albumazar,  
That Alchamist by this ginger.  
Here he was fashioned, and I should suppose,  
He likes my fashion well, that wears my .  
But Ben made nobly his, what he did mould,  
What was anothere's Lead, became his Gold;  
Like an unrighteous Conqueror he reigns,  
Yet rules that well, which he unjustly gains.  
But this our age such Authors does afford,  
As make whole Plays, and yet scarce write a word:  
Who in this Anarchy of wit, rob all,  
And what's their Plunder, their Possession call.  
Who like bold Padders scorn by night to prey,  
But Rob by Sunshine, in the face of day;  
Who scarce the common Ceremony use,  
Of stand, Sir, and deliver up your Muse.  
But knock the Poet down; and, with a grace,  
Mount Pegasas before the owner's Face.  
Faith if you have such Country Toms, abroad,  
'tis time for all true men to leave that Road.  
Yet it were modest, could it but be said,  
They stripped the living, but they rob the dead:  
'Twill with the mummy of the Muse's Play,  
And make love to 'em, the Egyptian, way.  
Or as a Rhyming Author would have said,  
Join the dead living, to the living dead.  
Yet such in Poetry may claim some part,  
They have the Licence, though they want the Art.  
Such as in Sparta weight for Laurels stand,  
Poets, not of the head, but of the hand;  
They make their benefit of others studying,  
Much like the meals of Politic, Jack Pudding:  
Where Broth to claim, there's no one has the courage,  
'tis all his own, after he has spit i'th' Porridge.  
But Gentlemen, y'are all concerned in this,  
You are in fault for what they do a miss:  
For they their thefts will undiscovered think,  
And durst not steal unless you please to wink.  
Now should we Letters of reprisal seal,  
These men writ that, which no man else would steal,   

A SONG.  

UPon yond pleasing plain,  
Alexis thought, fair Cloris heart to gain;  
And therefore he unto her every day,  
Did sing, and on his Pipe would sweetly play:  
Most pleasing Tunes to give delight,  
Unto this beauteous Nymph so bright,  
She that had wounded him with her fair sight.   

2.  
But the obdurate Maid,  
Nought but unkindness to his sufferings paid;  
For when of love, he unto her did speak,  
And's passion sighed as if his heart would break.  
Nothing prevailed 'twas all in vain,  
She slew from him in proud disdain,  
And left Alexis, sadly to complain.   

3.  
Then to the neighbouring Grove,  
Poor Swain he went, and there his hopeless Love.  
Alone he mourned, and in that gloomey shade,  
Did grieve that he her hate and scorn was made;  
With pensive Looks and Arms a cross,  
In Tears he did lament her loss,  
To whom all beauties in the world are Dross.   

4.  
Perplexed a while he sat,  
Upon the Ground, complaining of his Fate:  
Against a Tree, he gently laid his head▪  
In hope to sleep, but rest from him was fled.  
He then start up, and once more went,  
To her who caused his discontent,  
To try if she would yet his Death prevent.   

5.  
Hard hearted Maid, said he,  
Why dost thou hate him, that so dotes on thee  
My flock's I've brought, to feed with thine all day,  
And we the while in harmless sports did play.  
But when my love I did make known,  
Then all my hopes too soon were gone,  
A lass, you left me to lament alone.   

3.  
Cruel, but yet most fair,  
Once more hear him whom you have made despair.  
Will your severity ne'er deign to give,  
One kind return of Love, and let me Live:  
Here at your Feet behold I lie,  
And here by Heaven I vow to die,  
If you my passion still with hate deny.   

7.  
But all his plaints were vain,  
She proudly scorned, to ease him of his pain;  
Which when he saw nor Tears nor Prayers could more  
Her heart with Pity, ere to yield him Love.  
He sighed much more and nought could speak,  
But Cloris with a voice so weak,  
That as he called on her, his heart did break.   

8.  
When Cloris saw him dead,  
She stood a mazed, her frighted spirits fled:  
O'er him she wept, and weeping she did say,  
Stay dear Alexis, Cloris bids thee stay.  
Then fetched a sigh, and faintly cried,  
Alexis, I will be thy Bride,  
And as she spoke these words, fair Cloris died.    

A SONG.  

I Led my Silvia to a Grove,  
Where all the Boughs did shade us,  
The Sun itself, though it had striven,  
It could not have betrayed us;  
The place secured from humane eyes,  
No other fear allows,  
But when the winds do gently rise:  
And kiss the yielding Boughs.   

Down there we sat upon the Moss,  
And did begin to play,  
A thousand wanton tricks to pass,  
The heat of all the day.  
A many kisses I did give,  
And she returned the same,  
Which made her willing to receive:  
That which I dare not name.   

My greedy eyes no aids required,  
To tell their Amorous Tale,  
On her that was already fired;  
'Twas easy to prevail.  
I did but kiss and clasp her round,  
Whose they my thoughts expressed,  
And laid her gently on the ground:  
Oh! who can guests the rest.    

A Song to a Scotish tune.  

COme my Phillis, let us improve,  
Both our joy of equal love,  
Whilst we in yonder shady Grove.  
Count Minutes by our kisses.  
See the flowers how sweetly they spread,  
And each displays his coloured head,  
To make for us a fragrant Bed.  
To practise over new blisses;  
The Sun itself with love does conspire,  
And sends abroad his Ardent fire,  
And kindly seems to bid us retire.  
And shade us from his Glory;  
Then fairest come and do not fear,  
All that your Slave desires there,  
Is Phillis, what you love to hear  
Him say; that he does adore you.   

2.  
Ah! Phillis, if you love me so,  
As you persuaded me long a go,  
Why should you now refuse to do,  
What you so oft have vowed me;  
Did I ere your bounty abuse,  
Or your our severest Commands refuse,  
Nay rather chose to Languish then to lose.  
The perfect respect I owed you,  
Yet Phillis, some reward is due,  
To him who daily does renew.  
The passion which he has for you,  
Is a faithful Lover,  
Then come my dearest be not shy,  
Thou know'st my heart, and my secrecy  
Wait not this opportunity,  
When none can our joys, discover.   

3.  
Phillis, in vain you shed these tears,  
Why do you blush, which speak your fears,  
There's none but your Amintas hears,  
What means this pretty passion  
Can you fear your fancies will cloy,  
Those that the blessings do enjoy,  
Oh, no such needless fears destroy.  
This niceties out of Fashion,  
When thou hast done by Pan I swore,  
Thou wilt unto mine eyes appear,  
A thousand times more charming and fair,  
Then thou wert to my first desire.  
That smile was kind: and now thou'rt wise,  
To throw away that coy disguise:  
And by the vegor of thy eyes,  
Declare thy youth and fire.    

Song to a Schotish tune.  

When jemmy, first began to Love,  
He was the finest Swain:  
That ever yet a flock had dorve,  
Or danced upon the Plain:  
'Twas yea that I, way's me poor heart,  
My freedom threw a way,  
And finding sweets in every smart;  
I could not say him nay.  
And ever when he spoke of Love,  
He would his eyes decline.  
And every sigh, would take a heart,  
Gued faith and why not mine:  
He'd press my Hand, and kiss it oft,  
His silence spoke his flame,  
And whilst he treated me thus soft:  
I wished him more to blame.   

Sometimes to feed my flocks with him,  
My jemmy would invite me,  
There he the gayest Songs, would sing;  
On purpose to delight me.  
And jemmy every grace displeased,  
Which were enough I trow,  
To conquer any princely Maid,  
So did he me I vow.   

But now for jemmy must I mourn,  
Who to the Wars must go,  
His sheephook to a sword must turn;  
A! lass what shall I do.  
His Bagpipe into warlike sounds,  
Must now exchanged be,  
Instead of Garlands, fearful Wounds;  
Then what becomes of me.    

Damon being asked a reason for loving.  

PHillis, you ask me why I do pursue,  
And Court no other Nymph but you;  
And why with eyes, and sighs, I do betray,  
A passion which I dare not say:  
His cause I love, and if you ask me why,  
With women's answers, I must make reply.   

You ask what Arguments I have to prove,  
That my unrest proceeds from Love.  
You'll not believe my passion till I show,  
A better reason why 'tis so;  
Then Phillis let this reason serve for one,  
I know I love, because my reasons gone.   

You say a love like mine must needs declare,  
The object so beloved, not fair;  
That neither wit nor beauty in her dwell,  
Whose lover can no reason tell:  
Why 'tis he does adore, or why he burns;  
Phillis, let them give such that have returns.   

For by the self same reason, which you use,  
Damon might justly, you accuse:  
Why do you scorn and with a proud disdain,  
Receive the Vows, but slight the Swain;  
You say you cannot love, yet know no cause,  
May I not prove my love, by your own Laws,   

Am I not youthful, and as gay a Swain,  
As ere appeared upon the Plain:  
Have I not courted you withal t'adress,  
An amorous Shepherd could profess;  
To add to this, my Flocks and Herds, are great,  
Yet this will scarce my happiness complete.   

Thus you no reason for your coldness give,  
And 'tis but just, you should believe;  
That all your beauty unadorned by art,  
Have hurt, and not obliged my heart.  
Be kind to that, return my passion too,  
And I'll give reason why I love you so.    

SONG.  

When reason o'er my heart did sway,  
Then subject passions did obey:  
And freedom, still I most did crave,  
Not thinking e'er to be Love's slave;  
Till he most cunning, by surprise,  
Stole in, and fixed my wand'ring eyes.   

2.  
My reason then by passion led,  
With pleasing joys, my fancy fed;  
Which for a time, did so transcend,  
I thought they ne'er could have an end:  
And nothing then, did grieve me more,  
Then that I had not loved before.   

3.  
When at my freedom I did range,  
My joy uncertainly did change!  
My pleasures still methoughts were scant,  
And still my joys did something want;  
Till in her centre fixed by love,  
Satiety of sweets I prove.   

4.  
Blessed with love's chains, I thus did live,  
But for it could no reason give:  
My pleasures were too sweet to last,  
And by disdain were soon o'er cast.  
Another's flame her heart assaults,  
Which proved her love to me was false.   

5.  
My love then scorned, died with disgrace,  
And reason once again took place;  
When reason comes, love must departed,  
Both ne'er at once, lived in a heart:  
Strange that I should so foolish prove,  
And thus to be misled by love.    

SONG.  

LOng did fair Phillis love a Swain,  
Who as 'twas thought repaid again:  
With interest her kindness  
Their love's but flocks, not equal were,  
The only cause of all their fear:  
This proved god Cupid's blindness.   

2.  
With equal flames, a while they burn,  
When one, both did rejoice or mourn;  
Their hearts so were fettered  
Yet a new love did him succeed,  
Which proved the first, was but for need,  
Though may be 'twas not bettered.   

3.  
A Gallant comes, Gallants can do,  
Much with young Maids, and old ones too;  
And lovingly accost her,  
The unjust Nymph, did court his flame,  
More eagerly then  the Swain;  
Did hers before he left her.   

4.  
The Swain forgot, the match is made,  
With the new love, though as 'twas said;  
He had no mind to marry,  
Hymen to light his Torch they call,  
The Nymphs and Swains invited all,  
To see him reach his Quarry.   

5.  
But providence the Marriage crossed,  
Just at the time the Bridegrooms lost;  
When he should be a doing,  
It cost her many sighs and tears,  
With little joy and many fears,  
 Hymen ends the woeing.   

6.  
This woman's folly plainly shows,  
Who still withdraw their smiles from those.  
Who love and most affect them,  
Which fortune on themselves return,  
And commonly does make them burn:  
For those that most neglect them.   

7.  
Some sor●y were, but many smiled,  
And said the Nymph the Swain beguiled;  
Because he did not at her,  
Some cried the plains he would desert,  
Or that despair would break his heart:  
But faith 'twas not such matter.    

SONG.  

TRuest joy must arise,  
From a woman's bright eyes.  
For there is the perfectest bliss,  
Till we can obtain,  
Betwixt pleasure and pain,  
The enjoyments that follow a kiss.   

2.  
For love after scorning,  
And joy after mourning;  
Are always far better accepted,  
Then that love which we gain,  
Without trouble or pain:  
From a Miss, who us never neglected.   

3.  
For when with a home-touch,  
She is tickled so much;  
That it makes her cry oh; it does hurts me,  
Oh! oh! then does succeed,  
Those true pleasures indeed;  
Which what Paradise is ' does instruct me.    

SONG.  

FOnd man that hopes to catch a face,  
Whose every grace  
Will strick thy heart, with an amazing terror,  
Her beauties shine  
So like divine;  
That they'll convince thee of thy foolish error.   

2.  
Mark but that glance, which now did fly  
From her bright Eye,  
And tell me then, can any Mortal draw,  
A Line by art  
Like that fierce Dart;  
Which all the subject world can keep in awe.   

3.  
Hark to that heavenly voice which can,  
Transport a man.  
Beyond the raptures of the heavenly Spheres,  
As soon you may  
Create a day:  
Or sweet Aurora's beauties Lymn, as hers.   

4.  
Leave then thy bold attempt to Fate  
Who must create,  
New fancy which must heavenly power receive,  
For grant that here,  
Apellis were;  
She as his fruits the Birds, would him deceive,    

SONG.  

NO justice he had, that first did approve,  
To cast down high Honour, and set up fond Love.  
Though love we confess, has the ancienter state  
Yet old things we see, grows most out of date.   

2.  
Love after enjoyment, does seldom prove good,  
But Honour, for ever, does reign in the blood;  
That just like the Smoke, does quickly expire,  
But this does for ever, remain like Fire.   

3.  
Love must unto Honour, precedency give,  
That dies with the Subject, when Honour does live:  
'Tis that that keeps love out of the Dust,  
For love without honour, at best is Lust.   

4.  
To be scorned in Love, is a most cruel Fate,  
And thus we prove Honour, the happier state:  
For old things we know, must give place unto new,  
Then cast back fond Love, and give Honour her due.    

A Country Dialogue.  Will. 
GOod Morrow Dolly, I Salute thee,  
After our own Country way,  Doll. 
Now by my Maidenhead Will, I thank thee;  
And good Morrow to thee I say.  Will. 
Your Maidenhead you pretty Dowdy,  
What a simpering look thou hast,  
Methinks thou show'st a pretty maiden  
In all parts, below thy waist.  Doll. 
And why below my waist I pray you,  
There I'm covered with my ,  Will. 
I but I once saw something naked;  
Made my Teeth hack in my Hose.  
Oh Doll I mean my Occilliaries,  
Such gear I think thou ne'er did see,  
Things that will please thee without measure  
And these poor Rogue, I'll give to thee;  
For hark thee Doll, I'm come to woe thee,  
Thou know'st my mind and what I mean,  
I'll give thee that shall fill thy belly,  
Wast thou near so poor or lean;  
I'd feign be married, prithee tell me,  
When shall be our wedding day,  Doll. 
First let me know how well you love me:  
Then you shall hear what I will say.  Will. 
I love thee Dolly more and better,  
Then our Browny, love's her Calf,  
Oh Doll my tongue can never utter;  
All my love to thee nor half.  
'tis even such my dearest Dolly,  
Though I not angry am at all,  
That with my Teeth I could tear from thee:  
All thy , thy Smock and all.  
Oh love me then, thou pretty Doxcy,  
Which am thy true and faithful Lover,  
Quench thou my fire which else will burn;  
And strait way make my Pot run over.  Doll. 
Well, if your love be so exceeding,  
As you do protest and say;  
I can no longer then deny you,  
But yield to love without delay.  
And we'll be married my dear honey,  
To morrow morn with all my heart,  Will. 
I am glad we have agreed so quickly:  
And from thee I'll never part.  Doll. 
Prithee kiss to bind the bargain,  
Thou shalt be all my love and joy,  
I long my dear till we are Married,  
That we might always kiss and toy.  Will. 
Kiss thee my Dolly, I faith will I:  
Oh! there is a Breath most sweet▪  
But yet 'tis something strong at p●●ting,  
And doth smell like stinking Feet.  Doll. 
Kiss me again, again I pray thee,  
Oh there, oh there; Oh that, oh that.  Will. 
Zounds, and she be so mad of Kissing,  
She'll run stark mad of you know what.  Doll. 
What time i'th' morning wilt thou fetch me,  
O if I shall come to thee;  
Name but the time, and I'll wait on thee,  
Thou shalt not stay one jot for me.  Will. 
No no, I'll fetch thee but be ready,  
Lest the time us overslip,  Doll. 
Oh! for remembrance let me hug thee,  
And take my farewell of thy Lip.  
Ah me! that kiss as sweet as Honey,  
Makes me long and much desire,  
To taste those sweets I oft heard on  
Which are raised by Cupid's Fire.  
I'll strait go home and make me ready,  
Then will I wait till you do call.  Will. 
Do for to morrow night, I tell thee,  
We will play at uptails all;  
We'll dance a dance, I faith shall please thee:  
Up and down, and never miss,  
Instead of turning we'll keep dancing,  
And when we have done than we will kiss;  
Thou'dst wish that thou mightst dance so ever,  
Oh 'twill give thee such content,  Doll. 
I shall not sleep for thinking on thee,  
And of our next night's merriment.  
But now we know each other's meaning,  
Let's prepare against the night,  
I may enjoy those sports thou talk'st of,  
Which will yield me such delight.   

Coridon's, Contemplation.  

When Sue and Moll a milking went,  
Then Will and I hied thither,  
And as they milked by them we lay,  
Making our Love's together.   

2.  
He complemented his dear Moll,  
And so did I my Sue:  
Oh! never yet was men so blest,  
With th' love of two so true.   

3.  
For when their milking they had done,  
Then did begin our bliss,  
We lay upon the Ground and talked,  
We tumbled and did kiss.   

4.  
Till two long hours was quickly spent,  
In such sweet harmless pleasure,  
As Maids will to their Sweethearts give,  
When they have time and leisure.   

5.  
With Sillibubs, with Cake and Cheese,  
We eat and drunk our fill,  
Which these poor Rogues had brought with them,  
For me and honest Will.   

6.  
Moll, gave to Will a new lased Band,  
She bought it at our Fair,  
It's fellow pretty Sue had got,  
And gave it me to wear.   

7.  
But now poor Maid's they must go home.  
No longer durst they stay,  
Moll kissed her Will, and Sue kissed me,  
Then sighing went away.   

8.  
Oh! such true Love's, was never heard on,  
Nor ever yet was seen,  
In all the Country far and near,  
As they to us have been.   

9  
Therefore at th' Wake's we'll carry them,  
Where ere the Fiddlers play,  
we'll give 'em Cider, Ale and Cakes,  
And dance with none but they.    

The Wood-Man's Song.  

THis way, this way, come and hear,  
You that hold these pleasures dear;  
Fill your ears with our sweet sound,  
Whilst we melt the frozen Ground.   

2.  
This way come, make haste, oh fair,  
Let your clear eyes gild the Air:  
Come and bless us with your sight,  
This way, this way, seek delight.