〈…〉 E Praise of the DAIRY-MAID, With a Lick at the CREAM-POT, or Fading ROSE.  
To the Tune of, Packington's Pound.  

LEt Wine turn a Spark, and Ale huff like a Hector;  
let Pluto drink Coffee, and Jove his rich Nectar;  
Neither Cider nor Sherry,  
Metheglin nor Perry,  
shall more make me Drunk, which the vulgar call Merry:  
These Drinks o'er my Fancy no more shall prevail,  
but I'll take a full soep at the merry Milk-Pail.   

II.  
In praise of a Dairy I purpose to sing;  
But all things in order; first, God save the King,  
And the Queen I may say,  
That every May-day,  
Has many fair Dairy-Maids all fine and gay.  
Assist me, fair Dam'sels, to finish this Theme,  
And inspire my fancy with Strawberries and Cream.   

III.  
The first of fair Dairy-Maids, if you'll believe,  
Was Adam's own Wife, your Great-grand-mother Eve:  
She milked many a Cow,  
As well she knew how,  
Tho' Butter was then not so cheap as 'tis now;  
She hoarded no Butter nor Cheese on a Shelf,  
For the Butter and Cheese in those days made itself.   

IV.  
In that Age or Time there was no damned Money,  
Yet the Children of Israel said on Milk and Honey;  
No Queen you could see  
Of the highest Degree,  
But would milk the brown Cow with the meanest she;  
Their lamb gave them Clothing, their Cows gave them Meat.  
In a plentiful Peace all their Joys were complete.   

V.  
But now of the making of Cheese we shall treat,  
That Nurser of Subjects, bold Britains chief Meat;  
When they first begin it,  
To see how the Rennet  
Begets the first cured, you would wonder what's in it;  
Then from the blue Whey, when they put the Curds by,  
They look just like Amber, or Clouds in the Sky.   

VI.  
Your Turkey Sherbet, and Arrabian Tea,  
Is Dish-water-stuff to a Dish of new Whey;  
For it cools Head and Brains,  
Ill Vapours it drains,  
And tho' your Guts rumble, 'twill ne'er hurt your Brains.  
Court-Ladies i'th' morning will drink a whole Pottle,  
And sand out their Pages with Tankard and Bottle.   

VII  
Thou Daughter of Milk, and Mother of Butter,  
Sweet Cream, thy due praises how shall I utter!  
For when at the best,  
A thing's well expresst,  
We are apt to reply, That's the Cream of the Jest:  
Had I been a Mouse, I believe in my Soul  
I had long since been drowned in a Cream-Bowl.   

VIII  
The Elixir of Milk, the Dutch-mens delight,  
By mo 〈…〉 and tumbling thou bringest to light;  
But Oh, the soft Stream  
That remains of the Cream!  
Old Morpheus ne'er tasted so sweet in a Dream;  
It removes all Obstructions, depresses the Spleen,  
And makes an old Bawd li●e a Wench of Fifteen.   

IX.  
Amongst the rare Virtues that Milk does produce,  
A thousand more Dainties are daily in use;  
For a Pudding I'll tell ye,  
E'r it goes in the Belly,  
Must have of good Milk both the Cream and the Jelly;  
For a dainty fine Pudding without Cream or Milk,  
Is like a Citizen's Wife without satin or Silk   

X.  
In the Virtues of Milk there's more to be mustered,  
The charming Delights of Cheese-Cake and Custard;  
For at tottenham Court  
You can have no Sport,  
Unless you give Custards and Cheese-Cakes for't:  
And what's the Jack Pudding that makes you to laugh,  
Unless he hath got a great Custard to quaff.   

XI.  
Both Pan-cakes and Fritters of Milk have good store,  
But a Devonshire White-pot requires much more.  
No state you can think,  
Tho' you study and wink,  
From the lusty Sack-Posset to poor Poss●t-Drink;  
But Milk's the Ingredient, tho' Sack's ne'er the worse;  
For 'tis Sack makes the Man, tho' Milk makes the Nurse.   

XII.  
But now I shall treat of a Dish that is cool,  
A rich clotted Cream, or a Goose-berry-Fool;  
A Lady I heard tell,  
Not far off did dwell,  
Made her Husband a Fool, and yet pleased him full well:  
Give thanks to the Dairy then every Lad,  
That from good-natured Women such Fools may be had,   

XIII.  
When the Dam'sel has got the Cows Teat in her hand,  
How she merrily sings, whiles smiling I stand;  
Then with pleasure I rub,  
Yet impatient I scrub,  
When I think of the Blessings of a Syllabub:  
Oh Dairy-maids, Milk-maids, such Bliss ne'er oppose,  
If e'r you'll be happy; I speak under the Rose.   

XIV.  
This Rose was a Maiden once of your Profession,  
Till the rak and the Spade had taken possession;  
At length it was said,  
That one Mr. Ed.  
mond did both dig and sow in her Parsley-bed;  
But the Fool for his labour deserves not a Rush,  
For grafting a Thistle upon a Rose-Bush.   

XV.  
Now Milk-maids, take warning by this Maidens fall,  
Keep what is your own, and then you keep all;  
Mind well your Milk-pan,  
And ne'er touch a man,  
And you'll still be a Maid, let him do what he can,  
I am your well-wisher, then list to my word,  
And give no more Milk than the Cow can afford,    

Printed for the Use of the Milk-Maids on May-day for ever, MDCLXXXIII.