Gallantry All-a-Mode: Or, The Bully to the Life.  
Here Fops& boisterous Bully-Rocks are shown, They pass their Golden hours away in pleasure, The Gallant Feats they practise in the Town; Detest those doting Fools that live by measure.  
To a New Play-house Tune: Viz. Let the Traytors Plot on.  
 woodcut of four men and a woman sitting at a table in an inn  woodcut of cupid with arrow and bow  

LEt the Cinick Zealots,  
Impose on Dull Sots,  
Rub Brethrens Gumbs with false Corals,  
Let the Dull Bearded Crowd,  
Insult and grow proud,  
And Preach up their Wheedling Morals:  
Let the Grave Block-heads sit,  
Muster up all their Wit,  
To Poach on the snivelling Sister;  
Whilst that Stout Hectors we  
Do court, the jolly she  
That with fiery sparkling Carbuncle does glister.  
Cho. Let Bumpers go round,  
Let Bumpers go round,  
Whilst thus double armed we stand to our ground,  
And the dull Rogue that dare,  
Bawk his liquour and spare;  
Kick him out,  
Kick him out,  
Whilst Bumpers go round.   

Let the Rascals declaim,  
show the gay punks their shane  
Cry down their Paint& their patch-boxes  
Let the Block-heads repined  
At our brisk sparkling Wine,  
And covet our Goddess like Doxes:  
Let each whining dull Rogue,  
Fawn, Decoy, and Cologue,  
And wish to depose his old Gown Sir,  
Quit all Orders, turn Bully,  
And at length prove a Cully,  
And like Bullyrocks to go roar about town Sir:  
Cho. Let Bumpers go round,  
Let Bumpers go round,  
Whilst thus double armed we stand to our ground  
And the dull Rogue that dare,  
Bawk his liquour and spare,  
Kick him out,  
Kick him out  
Whilst Bumpers go round,   

WHilst like Rockets we rove,  
We do imitate Jove,  
Both handsome and ugly we plunder,  
With drawn trusty Steel,  
The streets we do Reel.  
Like Cannons with shouts we do thunder:  
Our sole joys are Kisses.  
bestowed by brisk Misses,  
We Lavish and wallow in Pleasure,  
We detest the dull Fool.  
That does moap like an Owl,  
whose poor prisoner soul is confined by measure:  
Ch. Let Bumpers, &c.   

We scorn the fools tract,  
Whilst we Revel in Sack,  
And in natures full plenty do lavish,  
Our labouring Souls,  
We refresh with full Bowls,  
Whilst other poor Mortals live slavish  
All the night we do play,  
And sleep all the day,  
And we know no end of our Horning.  
Our full Bowls do weep,  
Every each Star asleep,  
And with drwzy bowls we salute the dull Morning:  
Cho. Let Bumpers, &c.   

Bright jewels we have,  
Then why should we crave  
The treasuries of the Magull, Boys,  
Our Noses do swell,  
With pure Carbuncle,  
Then why do we sit all so dull Boys?  
If the Moon hid her head,  
Our Noses so read,  
Directs our light heels as we stagger,  
And whilst that we're Drunk  
With a brisk bounce Punk,  
Like the young jolly God we look big& do swagger  
Cho. Let Bumpers go round,  
Let Bumpers go round,  
Whilst thus double armed ●re stand to our ground  
And the dull Rog●e that dare  
Bawk his liquour and spare,  
Kick him out,  
Kick him out,  
Whilst Bumpers go round.   

To the Play-house we reel,  
Then about we do wheel.  
And All-a-amode of the brisk Monsieur.  
In the midst of the Pit,  
Like ourselves we do sit,  
That is right Bully-rocks of the town sir  
We cringe and then show,  
Shapes Proteus ne'er knew,  
And with volley shots we do thunder:  
Glass windows in rage,  
We oft do engage,  
And a piping-hot Quean we do hire to lie under.  
Cho. Let Bumpers go round,  
Let Bumpers go round,  
While thus double armed we stand to our ground  
And the dull Rogue that dare  
Bawk his liquour and spare,  
Kick him out,  
Kick him out,  
Whilst Bumpers go round.   

Then oftimes the Watch  
us Hectors does catch,  
And nabs us in this late Ren'counter,  
With Swords and with stones,  
We break the Loons bones,  
And so fly the Cage or the counter:  
Thus like pirates o'th town,  
We roam up and down,  
And scour the main Sea of the City,  
And he that durst beat  
The late Watch in the street,  
Among us Bully-rocks, is accounted for witty.  
Cho. Let Bumpers go round,  
Let Bumpers go round,  
Whilst thus double armed we stand to our ground  
And the dull Rogue that dare  
Bawk his liquour and spare,  
Kick him out,  
Kick him out,  
Whilst Bumpers go round.   
FINIS.   

Printed for F. coals, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. clerk.