When Money comes in I live well 'till it's gone, So with it I'm happy, Content when I've none: I spend it Genteelly, and never repent, If I lose it at Play, why I count it but Lent: For that which at one time I Lose among Friends, Another Night's Winnings still makes me amends: And though I'm without the first Day of the Week, I still make it out by Shift or by Tick: In Mirth at my Work the swift Hours do pass, And by Saturday Night, I'm as rich as I was.

Then let Masters drudge on, and be Slaves to their Trade, Let their Hours of Pleasure by Business be stay'd; Let them venture their Stocks to be ruin'd by Trust, Let Clickers bark on the whole Day at their Post: Let 'em tire all that pass with their rotified Cant, "Will you buy any Shoes, pray see what you want"; Let the rest of the World still contend to be great, Let some by their Losses repine at their Fate: Let others that Thrive, not content with their store, Be plagu'd with the Trouble and Thoughts to get more.

Let wise Men invent, 'till the World be deceived, Let Fools thrive thro' Fortune, and Knaves be believed; Let such as are rich know no Want, but Content, Let others be plagu'd to pay Taxes and Rent: With more Freedom and Pleasure my Time I'll employ, And covet no Blessings but what we enjoy.

Then let's celebrate Crispin with Bumpers and Songs, And they that drink Foul, may it blister their Tongues, Here's two in a Hand, and let no one deny 'em, Since Crispin in Youth was a Seat's-man as I am.



The Female Scuffle. To the foregoing Tune.

Of late in the Park a fair Fancy was seen, Betwixt an old Baud and a lusty young Quean; Their parting of Money began the uproar, I'll have half says the Baud, but you shan't says the Whore: Why 'tis my own House, I care not a Louse, I'll ha' three parts in four, or you get not a Souse.

'Tis I, says the Whore, must take all the Pains, And you shall be damn'd e'er you get all the Gains; The Baud being vex'd, straight to her did say, Come off wi' your Duds, and I pray pack away, And likewise your Ribbonds, your Gloves, and your Hair, For naked you came, and so out you go bare; Then Buttocks so bold, Began for to Scold, Hurrydan was not able her Clack for to hold.

Both Pell-Mell fell to't, and made this uproar, With these Compliments, th'art a Baud, th'art a Whore: The Bauds and the Buttocks that liv'd there around, Came all to the Case, both Pockey and Sound, To see what the reason was of this same Fray, That did so disturb them before it was Day; If I tell you amiss, Let me never more Piss, This Buttocks so bold she named was Siss.

By Quiffing with Cullies three Pound she had got, And but one part of four must fall to her Lot; Yet all the Bauds cry'd, let us turn her out bare, Unless she will yield to return her half share; If she will not, we'll help to strip off her Cloaths, And turn her abroad with a slit o' the Nose: Who when she did see, There was no Remedy, For her from the Tyranous Bauds to get free; The Whore from the Money was forced to yield, And in the Conclusion the Baud got the Field.



An Elegy on MOUNTFORT. To the foregoing Tune.

Poor Mountfort is gone, and the Ladies do all Break their Hearts for this Beau, as they did for Duvall; And they the two Brats for this Tragedy damn At Kensington Court, and the Court of Bantam, They all vow and Swear, That if any Peer, Should acquit this young Lord, he shou'd pay very dear; Nor will they be pleased with him who on the Throne is, If he do's not his part to revenge their Adonis.

With the Widow their amorous Bowels do yearn, There are divers pretend to an equal Concern; And by her Perswasion their Hearts they reveal, In case if not guilty, to bring an Appeal: They all will unite, The young Blade to indite, And in Prosecution will joyn Day and Night; In the mean time full many a Tear and a Groan is, Wherever they meet, for their departed Adonis.

With the Ladies foul Murther's a horrible Sin Of one Handsome without, tho' a Coxcomb within; For not being a Beau, the sad Fate of poor Crab, Tho' himself hang'd for Love, was a Jest to each Drab; Then may Jering live long, And may Risby among The Fair with Jack Barkley, and Culpepper throng: May no Ruffin whose Heart as hard as a Stone is, Kill any of those for a Brother Adonis.

No Lady henceforth can be safe with her Beau, They think if this Slaughter unpunish'd should go; Their Gallants, for whose Persons they most are in Pain, Must no sooner be envy'd, but strait must be Slain: For all B—— shape, None car'd for the Rape, Nor whether the Virtuous their Lust did escape; Their Trouble of Mind, and their anguish alone is, For the too sudden Fate of departed Adonis.

Let not every vain Spark think that he can engage, The Heart of a Female, like one on the Stage; His Flute, and his Voice, and his Dancing are rare, And wherever they meet, they prevail with the Fair: But no quality Fop, Charms like Mr. Hop, Adorn'd on the Stage, and in East-India Shop; So that each from Miss Felton, to ancient Drake Joan is, Bemoaning the Death of the Player Adonis.

Yet Adonis in spight of this new Abjuration, Did banter the lawful King of this great Nation: Who call'd God's anointed a foolish old Prig, Was both a base and unmannerly Whigg: But since he is Dead No more shall be said, For he in Repentance has laid down his Head; So I wish each Lady, who in mournful Tone is, In Charity Grieve for the Death of Adonis.



A SONG.

Set by Mr. JAMES TOWNSHEND, Organist of LYN RIGES. The Words by J.R.

[Music]

Fly Damon fly, 'tis Death to stay, Nor listen to the Syren's Song; Nor hear her warbling Fingers play, That kills in Consort with her Tongue: Oft to despairing Shepherds Verse, Unmov'd she tunes the trembling Strings; Oft does some pitying Words rehearse, But little means the thing she Sings.

Cease on her lovely Looks to gaze, Nor court your Ruin in her Eyes; Her Looks too 's dangerous as her Face, At once engages and Destroys: Speak not if you'd avoid your Fate, For then she darts Resentment home; But fly, fly Damon e'er too late, Or else be Deaf, be Blind, be Dumb.



MERCURY to PARIS, in the Prize Musick, Compos'd by Mr. John Eccles.

[Music]

Fear not Mortal, none shall harm thee, With this Sacred Rod I'll Charm thee; Freely gaze, and view all over, Thou mayst every Grace discover: Though a thousand Darts fly round thee, Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee; Though a thousand Darts fly round thee, Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee.



A SONG. Set by Mr. W. Morley.

[Music]

Born to surprize the World, Born to surprize the World, and teach the Great, The slippery Danger of exalted State; Victorious Marlborough, Victorious Marlborough, to Battle flies, Arm'd, Arm'd with new Lightning from bright Anna's Eyes: Wonders, Wonders like these no former Age has seen, The Subjects Heroes, the Subjects Heroes, and a Saint the Queen.



A SONG. Set by Mr. J. ISUM.

[Music]

In vain, in vain, in vain, in vain, in vain, In vain the God I ask, He'll ne'er remove the Dart; And still I love the pretty, pretty Boy, Altho', altho' he wound my Heart: Henceforth I'll be contented then, No more will I desire; No, no, no more, no, no, no more will I desire, To slight her whom I love so much, That but creates the Fire: Well might I expect the Fate, As well as any other; Since he ne'er spares the Gods themselves, Nor does he spare his Mother.



An Amorous SONG. To the Tune of, The bonny Christ-Church Bells.

[Music]

See how fair and fine she lies, Upon her Bridal Bed; No Lady at the Court, So fit for the Sport, Oh she look'd so curiously White and Red: After the first and second time, The weary Bridegroom slacks his Pace; But Oh! she cries, come, come my Joy, And cling thy Cheek close to my Face: Tinkle, tinkle, goes the Bell under the Bed, Whilst Time and Touch they keep; Then with a Kiss, They end their Bliss, And so fall fast asleep.



A SONG. Set by Mr. J. ISUM.

[Music]

Corinna if my Fate's to love you, Corinna if my Fate's to love you, Where's the harm in saying so? Corinna if my Fate's to love you, Where's the harm in saying so? Why shou'd my Sighs, why shou'd my Sighs, Why shou'd my Sighs and Fondness move you? To encrease, to encrease your Shepherd's Woe: Flame pent in still burns and scorches, 'Till it burns a Lover's Heart: Love declar'd like lighted Torches, Wastes it self and gives less Pain: Love declar'd like lighted Torches, Wastes it self, wastes it self, Wastes it self, and gives less Smart.



A SONG. Set by Mr. JOHN ISUM.

[Music]

Caelia's Charms are past expressing, Were she kind as she is Fair; Caelia's Charms are past expressing, Were she kind as she is Fair: Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing, Nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care; Heav'ns cou'd grant no greater Blessing, Nor Earth a Nymph, nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care.

But Unkindness, Unkindness mars her Beauty, And useless makes that Heav'nly, That Heav'nly, that Heav'nly frame; But Unkindness mars her Beauty, And useless makes that Heav'nly, Heav'nly frame: While she mistakes and calls that Duty, Which ill Nature others name: While she mistakes and calls that Duty, Which ill Nature others name.



The Hopeful Bargain: Or a Fare for a Hackney-Coachman, giving a Comical relation, how an Ale-draper at the Sign of the Double-tooth'd Rake in or near the new Palace-yard, Westminster, Sold his Wife for a Shilling, and how she was sold a Second time for five Shillings to JUDGE; My Lord —— Coachman, and how her Husband receiv'd her again after she had lain with other Folks three Days and Nights, &c. The Tune Lilly Bullero.

[Music]

There lives an Ale-draper near New-palace-yard, Who used to Jerk the Bum of his Wife; And she was forced to stand on her Guard, To keep his Clutches from her Quoiff: She poor Soul the weaker Vessel, To be reconcil'd was easily won; He held her in scorn, But she Crown'd him with Horn, Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run.

He for a Shilling sold his Spouse, And she was very willing to go; And left the poor Cuckold alone in the House, That he by himself his Horn might blow: A Hackney Coachman he did buy her, And was not this a very good Fun; With a dirty Pinner, As I am a Sinner, Without Hood or Scarff, but rough as she run.

The Woman gladly did depart, Between three Men was handed away; He for her Husband did care not a Fart, He kept her one whole Night and Day: Then honest Judge the Coachman bought her, And was not this most cunningly done? Gave for her five Shilling, To take her was willing, Without Hood or Scarff, &c.

The Cuckold to Judge, a Letter did send, Wherein he did most humbly crave; Quoth he, I prithee, my Rival Friend, My Spouse again I fain would have: And if you will but let me have her, I'll pardon what she e'er has done; I swear by my Maker, Again I will take her, Without Hood and Scarff, &c.

He sent an old Baud to interceed, And to perswade her to come back; That he might have one of her delicate breed, And he would give her a ha'p'uth of Sack: Therefore prithee now come to me, Or else poor I shall be undone: Then do not forgo me, But prithee come to me, Without Hood or Scarff, tho' rough, &c.

The Coachman then with much ado, Did suffer the Baud to take her out; Upon the Condition that she would be true, And let him have now and then a Bout: But he took from her forty Shillings, And gave her a parting Glass at the Sun; And then with good buyt' ye, Discharged his Duty, And turn'd her a grazing, rough as she run.

The Cuckold invited the Coachman to dine, And gave him a Treat at his own Expence; They drown'd all Cares in full brimmers of Wine, He made him as welcome as any Prince: There was all the Hungregation, Which from Cuckolds-Point was come; They kissed and fumbled, They touzed and tumbled, He was glad to take her rough as she run.

Judge does enjoy her where he list, He values not the old Cuckold's Pouts; And she is as good for the Game as e'er pist, Fudge on his Horns sits drying of Clouts: She rants and revels when she pleases, And to end as I begun, The Horned Wise-acre, Is forced to take her Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run.



The MAIDEN LOTTERY: Containing 70 Thousand Tickets, at a Guinea each; the Prizes being Rich and Loving Husbands, from three Thousand to one Hundred a Year, which Lottery will begin to draw on next VALENTINE'S Day.

Then pretty Lasses venture now, Kind Fortune may her Smiles alow.

[Music]

Young Ladies that live in the City, Sweet beautiful proper and Tall; And Country Maids who dabling wades, Here's happy good News for you all: A Lottery now out of hand, Erected will be in the Strand; Young Husbands with Treasure, and Wealth out of measure Will fairly be at your Command: Of her that shall light of a Fortunate Lot, There's Six of three Thousand a Year to be got.

I tell you the Price of each Ticket, It is but a Guinea, I'll vow; Then hasten away, and make no delay, And fill up the Lottery now: If Gillian that lodges in Straw, Shall have the good Fortune to draw A Knight or a 'Squire, he'll never deny her, 'Tis fair and according to Law; Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot, There's Ten of two Thousand a Year to be got.

The number is Seventy Thousand, When all the whole Lot is compleat; Five Hundred of which, are Prizes most rich, Believe me for this is no Cheat: There's Drapers and Taylors likewise, Brave Men that you cannot despise; Come Bridget and Jenny, and throw in your Guinea, A Husband's a delicate Prize: Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot, There's Ten of one Thousand a Year to be got.

Suppose you should win for your Guinea, A Man of three Thousand a Year; Would this not be brave; what more would you have? You soon might in Glory appear: In glittering Coach you may ride, With Lackeys to run by your side; For why should you spare it? Faith win Gold and wear it; Now who would not be such a Bride? Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot, There's Sixty, Five Hundreds a Year to be got.

Old Widows, and Maids above Forty, Shall not be admitted to draw: There's five Hundred and Ten, as proper young Men, Indeed, as your Eyes ever saw: Who scorns for one Guinea of Gold, To lodge with a Woman that's Old; Young Maids are admitted, in hopes to be fitted, With Husbands couragious and bold: Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot, There are wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got.

Kind Men that are full of good Nature, The flaxen, the black, and the brown; Both lusty and stout, and fit to hold out, The prime and the top of the Town: So clever in every part, They'll please a young Girl to the Heart; Nay, kiss you, and squeese you, and tenderly please you, For Love has a conquering Dart: Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot, There are Wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got.

Then never be fearful to venture, But Girls bring you Guineas away; Come merrily in, for we shall begin, To draw upon Valentine's Day: The Prizes are many and great, Each Man with a worthy Estate; Then come away Mary, Sib, Susan, and Sarah, Joan, Nancy, and pretty fac'd Kate: For now is the time if you'll purchase a Lot, While Wealthy kind Husbands they are to be got.

Amongst you I know there is many, Will miss of a Capital Prize: Yet nevertheless, no Sorrows express, But dry up your watry Eyes: Young Lasses it is but in vain, In sorrowful Sighs to complain; Then ne'er be faint hearted, tho' Luck be departed, For all cannot reckon to gain: Yet venture young Lasses, your Guineas bring in, The Lucky will have the good Fortune to win.



A SONG on the JUBILEE.

[Music]

Come Beaus, Virtuoso's, rich Heirs and Musicians Away, and in Troops to the Jubile jog; Leave Discord and Death, to the College Physicians, Let the Vig'rous whore on, and the impotent Flog: Already Rome opens her Arms to receive ye, And ev'ry Transgression her Lord will forgive ye.

Indulgences, Pardons, and such Holy Lumber, As cheap there is now as our Cabbages grown; While musty old Relicks of Saints without number, For barely the looking upon, shall be shown: These, were you an Atheist, must needs overcome ye, That first were made Martyrs, and afterwards Mummy.

They'll shew ye the River, so Sung by the Poets, With the Rock from whence, Mortals were knockt o'th' Head; They'll shew ye the place too, as some will avow it, Where once a She Pope was brought fairly to Bed: For which, ever since, to prevent Interloping, In a Chair her Successors still suffer a Groping.

What a sight 'tis to see the gay Idol accoutred, With Mitre and Cap, and two Keys by his side; Be his inside what 'twill, yet the Pomp of his outward, Shows Servus servorum, no hater of Pride, These Keys into Heav'n will as surely admit ye, As Clerks of a Parish to a Pew in the City.

What a sight 'tis to see the old Man in Procession, Through Rome in such Pomp as here Caesar did ride, Now scattering of Pardons, here Crossing, there Blessing, With all his shav'd Spiritual Train'd-bans by his side; As, Confessors, Cardinals, Monks fat as Bacons, From Rev'rend Arch-Bishops, to Rosie Arch-Deacons.

Then for your Diversion the more to regale ye, Fine Music you'll hear, and high Dancing you'll see; Men who much shall out-warble your Famous Fideli, And make ye meer Fools, of Balloon and L'Abbe: And to shew ye how fond they're to Kiss Vostre Manos, Each Padre turns Pimp, all Nuns Courtezana's.

And when you've some Months at old Babylon been-a, And on Pardons, and Punks, all your Rhino is spent; And when you have seen all, that there is to be seen-a, You'll return not so Rich, tho' as Wise as you went: And 'twill be but small Comfort after so much Expence-a, That your Heirs will do just so an Hundred Years hence-a.



A Young Man's WILL.

[Music]

A Young Man sick and like to die, His last Will being written found; I give my Soul to God on high, And my Body to the Ground: Unto some Church-men do I give, Base Minds to greedy Lucre bent; Pride and Ambition whilst they live, By this my Will and Testament.

Item. Poor folks brown Bread I give, And eke bare Bones, with hungry Cheeks; Toil and Travel whilst they live, And to feed on Roots and Leeks: Item. To Rich Men I bestow, High Looks, low Deeds, and Hearts of Flint; And that themselves they seldom know, By this, &c.

Proud stately Courtiers do I Will, Two Faces in one Head to wear, For Great Men Bribes, I think most fit, Pride and Oppression through the Year: Tenants I give them leave to lose, And Landlords for to raise their Rent; Rogues to Fawn, Collogue and glose, By this, &c.

Item. To Soldiers for their Fees, I give them Wounds their Bodies full; And for to beg on bended Knees, With Cap in Hand to every Gull: Item. I will poor Scholars have, For all their Pains and Travel spent: Raggs, Jaggs, and Taunts of every Knave, By this my Will and Testament.

To Shoemakers I grant this Boon, Which Mercury gave them once before; Altho' they earn two Pence by Noon, To spend e'er Night two Groats and more: And Blacksmiths when the Work is done, I give to them incontinent, To drink two Barrels with a Bun, By this my Will and Testament.

To Weavers swift, this do I leave, Against that may beseem them well: That they their good Wives do deceive, Bring home a Yard and steal an Ell: And Taylors too must be set down, A Gift to give them I am bent; To cut four Sleeves to every Gown, By this, &c.

To Tavern haunters grant I more, Red Eyes, Red Nose, and Stinking Breath; And Doublets foul with drops before, And foul Shame until their Death: And Gamesters that will never leave, Before their Substance be all spent; The Wooden Dagger I bequeath, By this, &c.

To common Fidlers I Will that they, Shall go in poor and thread-bare Coats; And at most places where they Play, To carry away more Tunes than Groats: To wand'ring Players I do give, Before their Substance be all spent; Proud Silk'n Beggars for to live, By this, &c.

To Wenching Smell-smocks give I these, Dead looks, gaunt purrs, and crasy Back; And now and then the foul Disease, Such as Gill gave to Jack; To Parretors I give them clear, For all their Toil and Travel spent; The Devil away such Knaves to bear, By this my Will and Testament.

I Will that Cutpurses haunt all Fairs, And thrust among the thickest Throng; That neither Purse nor Pocket spare, But what they get to bear along: But if they Falter in their Trade, And so betray their bad intent; I give them Tyburn for their share, By this my Will and Testament.

To serving Men I give this Gift, That when their Strength is once decay'd; The Master of such Men do shift, As Horsemen do a toothless Jade: Item. I give them leave to Pine, For all their Service so ill spent: And with Duke Humphry for to Dine, By this, &c.

Item. To Millers I Grant withal, That they Spare, nor Poke, nor Sack; But with Grist, so e'er befal, They Grind a Strike, and steal a Peck: I Will that Butchers Huff their Meat, And sell a lump of Ramish scent; For Weather Mutton good and sweet, By this, &c.

I Will Ale Wives punish their Guests, With hungry Cakes and little Canns; And Barm their Drink with new found Yeest, Such as is made of Pispot Grounds: And she that meaneth for to Gain, And in her House have Money spent, I Will she keep a pretty Punck, By this my Will and Testament.

To jealous Husbands I do grant, Lack of Pleasure, want of Sleep; That Lanthorn Horns they never want, Tho' ne'er so close their Wives they keep: And for their Wives, I Will that they, The closer up that they are pent; The closer still they seek to Play, By this my Will and Testament.

For Swearing Swaggerers nought is left, To give them for a parting Blow; But leaving off of damned Oaths, And that of them I will bestow: Item. I give them for their Pain, That when all Hope and Livelihood's spent, A Wallet or a Hempen Chain, By this &c.

Time and longest Livers do I make, The Supervisor of my Will: My Gold and Silver let them take, That will dig for't in Malvein Hill.



A New SONG, Sung at the Playhouse. By Mr. DOGGET.

[Music]

In the Devil's Country there lately did dwell, A crew of such Whores as was ne'er bred in Hell, The Devil himself he knows it full well, Which no Body can deny, deny; Which no Body can deny.

There were Six of the Gang, and all of a Bud, Which open'd as soon as got into the Blood, There are five to be hang'd, when the other proves good, Which no Body, &c.

But it seems they have hitherto sav'd all their Lives, Since they cou'd not live honest, there's four made Wives, The other two they are not Marry'd but Sw——s, Which no Body, &c.

The Eldest the Matron of t'other Five Imps, Though as Chast as Diana, or any o'th' Nymphs, Yet rather than Daughter shall want it, she Pimps, Which no Body, &c.

Damn'd Proud and Ambitious both Old and the Young, And not fit for honest Men to come among, A damn'd Itch in their Tail, and a sting in their Tongue, Sing tantara rara Whores all, Whores all, Sing tantara rara Whores all.



A SONG.

[Music]

Marriage it seems is for Better for Worse, Some count it a Blessing and others a Curse; The Cuckolds are Blest if the Proverb prove true, And then there's no doubt but in Heav'n there's enough: Of honest rich Rogues who ne'er had got there, If their Wives had not sent them thro' trembling and fear.

Some Women are Honest, tho' rare in a Wife, Yet with Scolding and Brawling they'll shorten your Life, You ne'er can enjoy your Bottle and Friend; But your Wife like an Imp, is at your Elbow's end: Crying fie, fie you Sot, come, come, come, come, So these are Unhappy abroad and at home.

We find the Batchelor liveth best, Tho' Drunk or Sober he takes his rest; He never is troubl'd with Scolding or Strife, 'Tis the best can be said of a very good Wife: But merrily Day and Night does spend, Enjoying his Mistress, Bottle, and Friend.

A Woman out-wits us, do what we can, She'll make a Fool of ev'ry Wise Man; Old Mother Eve did the Serpent obey, And has taught all her Sex that damnable way: Of Cheating and Couzening all Mankind, 'Twere better if Adam had still been Blind.

The poor Man that Marries he thinks he does well, I pity's Condition, for sure he's in Hell; The Fool is a Sotting and spends all he gets, The Child is a Bawling, the Wife daily Frets: That Marriage is pleasant we all must agree, Consider it well, there's none happier can be.



A SONG.

[Music]

The Caffalier was gone, and the Roundhead he was come, Was the greatest Blessing under the Sun; Before the Devil in Hell sally'd out, and ript the Placket of Letter, Ay, and take her Money too, Cot bless hur Master Roundhead, and send hur well to do.

Now hur can go to Shrewsperry her Flannel for to sell, Hur can carry a creat sharge of Money about hur, Thirty or Forty Groats lap'd in a Welsh Carter, Ay, and think hur self rich too, Cot bless, &c.

Now hur can coe to Shurch, or hur can stay at home, Hur can say hur Lord's Prayer, or hur can let it alone: Hur can make a Prayer of hur own Head, lye with hur Holy Sister, Ay, and say a long Crace too, Cot bless, &c.

But yet for all the great Cood that you for hur have done, Would you wou'd made Peace with our King, and let hur come home, Put off the Military Charge, Impost, and Excise, Ay, and free Quarter too. Then Cot shall bless you Master Roundhead, and send hur well to do.



A SONG Sung by Mrs. CROSS. Set by Mr. JEREMIAH CLARK.

[Music]

Divine Astrea hither flew, To Cynthia's brighter Throne; She left the Iron World below, To bless the Silver Moon: She left the Iron World below, To bless the Silver Moon.

Tho' Phoebus with his hotter Beams, Do's Gold in Earth Create; That leads those wretches to Extreams, Of Av'rice, Lust, and Hate.



A SONG in the Surpriz'd Lovers. Set by Mr. John Eccles, Sung by Mr. BOWMAN.

[Music]

When first I saw her charming Face, Her taking Shape and moving Grace; My Rosie Cheeks, my Rosie Cheeks did glow with heat, My Heart and my Pulse did beat, beat, beat, My Heart and my Pulse did beat; I wish'd for a, I wish'd for a, do you, do you guess what, Do you guess what makes Soldiers fight, Soldiers Fight, and States-men Plot.

Subdues us all in every thing, And makes, makes a Subject of a King; Still she deny'd, and I reply'd, Away she flew, I did pursue, At last I catch'd her fast; But oh! had you seen, but oh! had you seen, Had you seen what had past between; Oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear, I fear, I fear, I have spoil'd her Wast.



A SONG. Set by Mr. AKEROYD.

[Music]

The Devil he pull'd of his Jacket of Flame, The Fryer he pull'd off his Cowle; The Devil took him for a Dunce of the Game, And the Fryer took him for a Fool: He piqu'd, and repiqu'd so oft, that at last, He swore by the Jolly fat Nuns; If Cards came no better than those that are past, Oh! oh! I shall lose all my Buns.



A New SONG. Translated from the FRENCH.

[Music]

Pretty Parret say, when I was away, And in dull absence pass'd the Day; What at home was doing; With Chat and Play, We are Gay, Night and Day, Good Chear and Mirth Renewing; Singing, Laughing all, Singing Laughing all, like pretty pretty Poll.

Was no Fop so rude, boldly to Intrude, And like a sawcy Lover wou'd, Court, and Teaze my Lady: A Thing you know, Made for Show, Call'd a Beau, Near her was always ready, Ever at her call, like pretty, pretty Poll.

Tell me with what Air, he approach'd the Fair, And how she could with Patience bear, All he did and utter'd; He still address'd, Still caress'd, Kiss'd and press'd, Sung, Prattl'd, Laugh'd, and Flutter'd: Well receiv'd in all, like pretty, pretty Poll.

Did he go away, at the close of the Day, Or did he ever use to stay In a Corner dodging; The want of Light, When 'twas Night, Spoil'd my sight, But I believe his Lodging, Was within her call, like pretty, pretty Poll.



A SONG by a Person of Honour. Set by Mr. JOHN WELDON.

[Music]

At Noon in a sultry Summer's Day, The brightest Lady of the May, Young Chloris Innocent and Gay, Sat Knotting in a shade: Each slender Finger play'd its part, With such activity and Art; As wou'd inflame a Youthful Heart, And warm the most decay'd.

Her Fav'rite Swain by chance came by; She had him quickly in her Eye, Yet when the bashful Boy drew nigh, She wou'd have seem'd afraid, She let her Iv'ry Needle fall, And hurl'd away the twisted Ball; Then gave her Strephon such a call, As wou'd have wak'd the Dead.

Dear gentle Youth is't none but thee? With Innocence I dare be free; By so much Trust and Modesty, No Nymph was e'er betray'd, Come lean thy Head upon my Lap, While thy soft Cheeks I stroak and clap; Thou may'st securely take a Nap, Which he poor Fool, obey'd.

She saw him Yawn, and heard him Snore, And found him fast a sleep all o're; She sigh'd —— and cou'd no more, But starting up she said, Such Vertue shou'd rewarded be, For this thy dull Fidelity; I'll trust thee with my Flocks, not me, Pursue thy Grazing Trade.

Go milk thy Goats, and Sheer thy Sheep, And watch all Night thy Flocks, to keep; Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep, By me mistaken Maid.



A SONG. Set by Mr. Jeremy Clark.

[Music]

While the Lover is thinking, With my Friend I'll be Drinking And with Vigour pursue my Delight; While the Fool is designing, His fatal confining, With Bacchus I'll spend the whole Night: With the God I'll be Jolly, Without Madness or Folly. Fickle Woman to Marry Implore, Leave my Bottle and Friend, For so Foolish an end, When I do, may I never Drink more.



A Health to the TACKERS.

[Music]

Here's a Health to the Tackers, my Boys, But mine A——se for the Tackers about; May the brave English Spirits come in, And the Knaves and Fanaticks turn out: Since the Magpyes of late, are confounding the State, And wou'd pull our Establishments down; Let us make 'em a Jest, for they Shit in their Nest, And be true to the Church and the Crown.

Let us chuse such Parliament Men As have stuck to their Principles tight; And wou'd not their Country betray In the Story of Ashby and White: Who care not a T——d, for a Whig, or a Lord, That won't see our Accounts fairly stated; For C——ll ne'er fears, the Address of those Peers, Who the Nation of Millions have Cheated.

The next thing adviseable is, Since Schism so strangely abounds; To oppose e'ery Man that's set up By Dissenters, in Corporate Towns: For High-Church, and Low-Church, has brought us to no Church, And Conscience so bubbl'd the Nation; For who is not still for Conformity Bill, Will be surely a R—— on Occasion.



A SONG.

Set by Mr. ANTHONY YOUNG.

[Music]

Since Caelia only has the Art, And only she can Captivate, And wanton in my Breast; All other Pleasure I despise, Than what are from my Caelia's Eyes, In her alone I'm blest.

Whene'er she Smiles, new Life she gives, And happy, happy who receives, From her Inchanting Breath; Then prithee Caelia smile once more, Since I no longer must adore, For when you frown 'tis Death.



A SONG.

[Music]

Ah! how lovely sweet and dear, Is the kind relenting Fair, Who Reprieve us in Despair; Oh! that thus my Nymph wou'd say, Come, come my Dear thy Cares repay, Be Blest my Love, be mine to Day: Come, come my dear, thy Cares repay, Be blest my Love, be mine to Day.



A SONG. Sung by Mrs. Bracegirdle.

[Music]

Advance, advance, advance gay Tenants of the Plain, Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain, Loud Eccho spread my Voice, Loud Eccho spread my Voice, Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, loud Eccho, Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, spread my Voice, Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain, Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain.



The KING and the Shepherd, and GILLIAN the Shepherd's Wife, with her churlish Answer to the KING.

[Music]

In Elder Time, there was of Yore, When Guides of churlish Glee; Were us'd among our Country Earls, Though no such thing now be.

The which King Alfred liking well, Forsook his stately Court; And in Disguise unknown went forth, To see that jovial Sport.

How Dick and Tom, in clouted Shoon, And Coats of russet Grey, Esteem'd themselves more brave than them, That went in Golden ray.

In Garments fit for such a Life, The good King Alfred went, All ragg'd and torn, as from his Back The Beggar his Cloaths had rent.

A Sword and Buckler good and strong, To give Jack Sauce a rap; And on his Head, instead of Crown, He wore a Monmouth Cap.

Thus coasting through Somersetshire, Near Newton Court he met A Shepherd Swain of lusty Limb, That up and down did jet.

He wore a Bonnet of good Grey, Close buttoned to his Chin; And at his Back a leather Scrip, With much good Meat therein.

God speed, good Shepherd, quoth the King, I come to be thy Guest; To taste of thy good Victuals here, And drink that's of the best.

Thy Scrip I know, hath Cheer good store, What then the Shepherd said? Thou seem'st to be some sturdy Thief, And mak'st me sore afraid.

Yet if thou wilt thy Dinner win, The Sword and Buckler take; And if thou canst into my Scrip, Therewith an entrance make.

I tell thee, Roister, it hath store Of Beef, and Bacon fat; With sheafs of Barly-bread to make Thy Mouth to water at.

Here stands my Bottle, here my Bag, If thou canst win them Roister; Against the Sword and Buckler here, My Sheep-hook is my Master.

Benedicit now, quoth our good King, It never shall be said; That Alfred of the Shepherd's Hook, Will stand a whit afraid.

So soundly thus they both fell to't, And giving Bang for Bang; At every Blow the Shepherd gave, King Alfred's Sword cry'd twang.

His Buckler prov'd his chiefest Fence, For still the Shepherd's Hook; Was that the which King Alfred could, In no good manner brook.

At last when they had fought four Hours, And it grew just Mid-day; And wearied both, with right good Will, Desir'd each others stay.

King, Truce I cry, quoth Alfred then, Good Shepherd hold thy Hand: A sturdier Fellow than thy self, Lives not within this Land.

Nor a lustier Roister than thou art, The churlish Shepherd said, To tell thee plain, thy Thievish looks, Now makes my Heart afraid.

Else sure thou art some Prodigal, Which hast consum'd thy store; And now com'st wand'ring in this place, To rob and steal for more.

Deem not of me, then quoth our King, Good Shepherd in this sort; A Gentleman well known I am, In good King Alfred's Court.

The Devil thou art, the Shepherd said, Thou goest in Rags all torn; Thou rather seem'st, I think to be, Some Beggar basely born.

But if thou wilt mend thy Estate, And here a Shepherd be; At Night to Gillian my sweet Wife, Thou shalt go home with me.

For she's as good a Toothless Dame, As mumbleth on Brown Bread; Where thou shalt lie on hurden Sheets, Upon a fresh Straw Bed.

Of Whig and Whey, we have good store, And keep good Pease-straw Fires; And now and then good Barly Cakes, As better Days requires.

But for my Master which is Chief, And Lord of Newton Court; He keeps I say, his Shepherds Swains, In far more braver sort.

We there have Curds, and clouted Cream, Of Red Cows morning Milk; And now and then fine Buttered Cakes, As soft as any Silk.

Of Beef and reised Bacon store, That is most Fat and Greasy; We have likewise to feast our Chaps, And make them glib and easie.

Thus if thou wilt my Man become, This usage thou shalt have; If not, adieu, go hang thy self, And so farewel Sir Knave.

King Alfred hearing of this Glee, The churlish Shepherd said; Was well content to be his Man, So they a Bargain made.

A Penny round, the Shepherd gave, In earnest of this Match; To keep his Sheep in Field and fold, As Shepherds use to watch.

His Wages shall be full Ten Groats, For Service of a Year; Yet was it not his use, old Lad, To hire a Man so dear.

For did the King himself (quoth he) Unto my Cottage come; He should not for a Twelvemonths Pay, Receive a greater Sum.

Hereat the bonny King grew blith, To hear the clownish Jest; How silly sots, as custom is, Do discant at the best.

But not to spoil the Foolish sport, He was content good King; To fit the Shepherd's humour right, In every kind of thing.

A Sheep-hook then, with Patch his Dog, And Tar-box by his side; He with his Master, jig by jowl, Unto old Gillian hy'd.

Into whose sight no sooner came, Whom have you here (quoth she) A Fellow I doubt, will cut our Throats, So like a Knave looks he.

Not so old Dame, quoth Alfred strait, Of me you need not fear; My Master hir'd me for Ten Groats, To serve you one whole Year.

So good Dame Gillian grant me leave, Within your House to stay; For by St. Ann, do what you can, I will not yet away.

Her churlish usage pleas'd him still, Put him to such a Proof, That he at Night was almost choak'd, Within that smoaky Roof.

But as he sat with smiling cheer, The event of all to see; His Dame brought forth a piece of Dow, Which in the Fire throws she.

Where lying on the Hearth to bake, By chance the Cake did burn; What can'st thou not, thou Lout (quoth she) Take Pains the same to turn:

Thou art more quick to take it out, And eat it up half Dow, Than thus to stay till't be enough, And so thy Manners show.

But serve me such another Trick, I'll thwack thee on the Snout; Which made the patient King, good Man, Of her to stand in Doubt:

But to be brief, to bed they went, The good old Man and's Wife; But never such a Lodging had King Alfred in his Life:

For he was laid in white Sheeps Wool, New pull'd from tanned Fells, And o'er his Head hang'd Spiders Webbs, As if they had been Bells.

Is this the Country Guise, thought he, Then here I will not stay; But hence be gone as soon as breaks The peeping of the Day.

The cackling Hens and Geese kept roost, And perched at his side; Whereat the last the watchful Cock, Made known the Morning Tide.

Then up got Alfred with his Horn, And blew so long a Blast, That made Gillian and her Groom, In Bed full sore agast.

Arise, quoth she, we are undone, This Night, we lodged have, At unawares within our House, A false dissembling Knave;

Rise Husband, rise, he'll cut our Throats, He calleth for his Mates, I'd give old Will our good Cade Lamb, He would depart our Gates.

But still King Alfred blew his Horn before them, more and more, 'Till that a hundred Lords and Knights, All lighted at the Door:

Which cry'd all hail, all hail good King, Long have we look'd your Grace; And here you find (my merry Men all) Your Sovereign in this place.

We shall surely be hang'd up both, Old Gillian I much fear, The Shepherd said, for using thus Our good King Alfred here:

O pardon, my Liege, quoth Gillian then, For my Husband and for me, By these ten Bones I never thought The same that now I see:

And by my Hook, the Shepherd said, An Oath both good and true, Before this time, O noble King, I never your Highness knew:

Then pardon me and my old Wife, That we may after say, When first you came into our House, It was a happy Day.

It shall be done, said Alfred streight, And Gillian thy old Dame, For this thy churlish using me, Deserveth not much Blame.

For this thy Country Guise I see, To be thus bluntish still, And where the plainest Meaning is, Remains the smallest Ill.

And Master, lo I tell thee now, For thy low Manhood shown, A Thousand Weathers I'll bestow Upon thee for thy own.

And pasture Ground, as much as will Suffice to feed them all, And this thy Cottage I will change Into a stately Hall.

As for the same, as Duty binds, The Shepherd said, good King, A milk white Lamb once every Year, I'll to your Highness bring.

And Gillian my Wife likewise, Of Wool to make you Coats, Will give you as much at New Year's Tide, As shall be worth ten Groats:

And in your Praise my Bagpipe shall Sound sweetly once a Year, How Alfred our renowned King, Most kindly hath been here.

Thanks Shepherd, thanks, quoth he again The next time I come hither, My Lords with me here in this House, Will all be merry together.



A SONG. Sung by Mrs. Bracegirdle.

[Music]

Cease, cease of Cupid to complain, Love, Love's a Joy even while a Pain; Oh! then think! oh! then think; Oh! then think how great his Blisses, Moving Glances, balmy Kisses, Charming Raptures, matchless Sweets, Love, Love alone, Love, Love alone, Love, Love alone, all Joys compleats.



A SONG.

Sung by Mrs. BRACEGIRDLE.

[Music]

Come, come ye Nymphs, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, Galatea leaves the Main, To revive us on the Plain, To revive us, to revive us, to revive us on the Plain; Come, come, come, come ye Nymphs, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain, Galatea leaves the Main, To revive us on the Plain, To revive us on the Plain, Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain.



A SONG. Set by Mr. John Barret.

[Music]

Ianthia the lovely, the Joy of her Swain, By Iphis was lov'd, and lov'd Iphis again; She liv'd in the Youth, and the Youth in the Fair, Their Pleasure was equal, and equal their Care; No Time, no Enjoyment their Dotage withdrew; But the longer they liv'd, but the longer they liv'd, Still the fonder they grew.

A Passion so happy alarm'd all the Plain, Some envy'd the Nymph, but more envy'd the Swain; Some swore 'twould be pity their Loves to invade, That the Lovers alone for each other was made: But all, all consented, that none ever knew, A Nymph yet so kind, a Nymph yet so kind, Or a Shepherd so true.

Love saw 'em with Pleasure, and vow'd to take care Of the faithful, the tender, the innocent Pair; What either did want, he bid either to move, But they wanted nothing, but ever to love: Said, 'twas all that to bless him his God-head cou'd do, That they still might be kind, that they still might be kind, And they still might be true.



A SONG.

[Music]

Bring out your Coney-Skins Bring out your Coney-Skins Maids to me, And hold them fair that I may see, Grey, Black and Blue, for the smaller Skins I'll give you Bracelets, Laces, Pins, And for your whole Coney Here's ready Money, Come gentle Joan, do thou begin With thy black Coney, thy black Coney-Skin, And Mary and Joan will follow, With their Silver-hair'd Skins and yellow; The White Coney-Skin I will not lay by, For tho' it be faint, it is fair to the Eye: The Grey it is worn, but yet for my Money, Give me the bonny, bonny black Coney; Come away fair Maids, your Skins will decay, Come and take Money Maids, put your Wares away: Ha'ye any Coney-Skins, ha'ye any Coney-Skins, Ha'ye any Coney-Skins here to sell?



A SONG.

The Words by Mr. Clossold, Set by Mr. John WILFORD.

[Music]

Nay pish, nay pish, nay pish Sir, what ails you; Lord! What is't you do? I ne'er met with one so uncivil as you; You may think as you please, but if Evil it be, I wou'd have you to know, you're mistaken in me. You Men now so rude, and so boistrous are grown, A Woman can't trust her self with you alone: I cannot but wonder what 'tis that shou'd move ye; If you do so again, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear I won't love ye.



A SONG. Set by Mr. Motley.

[Music]

Draw Cupid draw, and make fair Sylvia know; The mighty Pain her suff'ring Swain does for her undergo; Convey this Dart into her Heart, and when she's set on Fire, Do thou return and let her burn, like me in chast desire; That by Experience she, may learn to pity me, Whene'er her Eyes do tyrannize o'er my Captivity: But when in Love we jointly move, and tenderly imbrace, Like Angels shine, and sweetly join to one another's Face.



A SONG; The Words by a Person of a Quality. Set to Musick by Mr. Robert Cary.

[Music]

Some brag of their Chloris, and some of their Phillis, Some cry up their Caelia, and bright Amaryllis: Thus Poets and Lovers their Mistresses dub, And Goddesses fram'd from the Wash-bowl and Tub; But away with these Fictions, and Counterfeit Folly: There's a thousand more Charms in the Name of my Dolly.

I cannot describe you her Beauty and Wit, Like Manna to each she's a relishing Bit; She alone by Enjoyment, the more does prevail, And still with fresh Pleasures does hoist up your Sail: Nay, had you a Surfeit, but took of all others, One Look from my Dolly your Stomach recovers.



The Mountebank SONG. Sung by Dr. LEVERIGO, and his merry Andrew Pinkanello, in Farewel to Folly. Set by Mr. LEVERIDGE.

[Music:

Here are People and Sports of all sizes and sorts, Coach'd Damsel with Squire, and Mob in the Mire, Tarpaulins, Trugmallions, Lords, Ladys, Sows, Babies, and Loobys in Scores. Some howling, some Bawling, some Leering, some Fleering, some Loving, some Shoving, with Legions of Furbelow'd Whores.

To the Tavern, some go, and some to a Show, see Poppets for Moppets, Jack-puddings, for Cuddens, Rope Dancing, Mares Prancing, Boats flying, Quacks lying, Pick-pockets, pick Plackets, Beasts, Butchers, and Beaus.

Fops prat'ling, Dies rat'ling, Rooks shaming, Puts Daming, Whores Painted, Mask's tainted, in Tallymans Furbelow'd Cloaths.

The Mobs Joys would you know to yon Musick-house go, see Tailors, and Saylors, Whores Oily in Doily, hear Musick, makes you sick: Cows Skipping, Clowns tripping, some Joaking, some Smoaking, like Spiggit and Tap; short Measure, strange Pleasure thus Billing, and Swilling, some yearly, get fairly, for Fairings Pig, Pork, and a Clap.]



The Mountebank SONG. Set and Sung by Mr. LEVERIDGE, in a New Play call'd, Farewel to Folly.

[Music:

See, Sirs, see here! a Doctor rare, who travels much at home! Here take my Bills, take my Bills, I cure all Ills, past, present, and to come; the Cramp, the Stitch, the Squirt, the Itch, the Gout, the Stone, the Pox, the Mulligrubs, the Bonny Scrubs, and all, all, all, all, all, Pandora's Box; Thousands I've Dissected, Thousands new erected, and such Cures effected, as none e'er can tell.

Let the Palsie shake ye, let the Chollick rack ye, let the Crinkums break ye, let the Murrain take ye; Take this, take this and you are well. Thousands, &c.

Come Wits so keen, devour'd with Spleen; come Beaus who sprain'd your Backs, Great-belly'd Maids, old founder'd Jades, and Pepper'd Vizard Cracks.

I soon remove the pains of Love, and cure the Love-sick Maid; the Hot, the Cold, the Young, the Old, the Living and the Dead.

I clear the Lass with Wainscot Face, and from Pim-ginets free, Plump Ladies Red, like Saracen's-head, with toaping Rattafe.

This with a Jirk, will do your work, and scour you o're and o're, Read, Judge and Try, and if you die, never believe me more, never, never, never, never, never believe me more.]



A SONG in the Mock Marriage. Sung by Mrs. KNIGHT. Set by Mr. Henry Purcell.

[Music]

Oh! how you protest and solemnly swear, Look humble, and fawn like an Ass; I'm pleas'd, I must own, when ever I see A Lover that's brought to this pass. Keep, keep further off, you're naughty I fear, I vow I will never, will never, will never yield to't; You ask me in vain; for never I swear, I never, no never, I never, no never, I never, no never will do't.

For when the Deed's done, how quickly you go, No more of the Lover remains, In hast you depart, whate'er we can do, And stubbornly throw off your Chains: Desist then in time, let's hear on't no more, I vow I will never yield to't; You promise in vain, in vain you adore, For I will never, no never will do't.



JOCKEY'S Lamentation.

[Music]

Jockey met with Jenny fair Betwixt the dawning and the Day, And Jockey now is full of Care, For Jenny stole his Heart away: Altho' she promis'd to be true, Yet she, alas, has prov'd unkind, That which do make poor Jenny rue, For Jenny's fickle as the Wind: And, 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, The Wind has blown my Plad away.

Jockey was a bonny Lad, As e'er was born in Scotland fair; But now poor Jockey is run mad, For Jenny causes his Despair; Jockey was a Piper's Son, And fell in Love while he was young: But all the Tunes that he could play, Was, o'er the Hills, and far away, And, 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, 'Tis o'er the Hills and far away, 'Tis o'er the Hills and far away, The Wind has blown my Plad away.

When first I saw my Jenny's Face, She did appear with sike a Grace, With muckle Joy my Heart was fill'd; But now alas with Sorrow kill'd.

Oh! was she but as true as fair, 'Twou'd put an end to my Despair; But ah, alass! this is unkind, Which sore does terrify my Mind; 'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away, 'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away, 'Twas o'er the Hills, and far away, That Jenny stole my Heart away.

Did she but feel the dismal Woe That for her Sake I undergo, She surely then would grant Relief, And put an end to all my Grief: But oh, she is as false as fair, Which causes all my sad Despair; She triumphs in a proud Disdain, And takes Delight to see my Pain; 'Tis o'er the Hills, &c.

Hard was my Hap to fall in Love, With one that does so faithless prove; Hard was my fate to court the Maid, That has my constant Heart betray'd: A thousand times to me she swore, She would be true for evermore: But oh! alas, with Grief I say, She's stole my Heart, and ran away; 'Twas o'er the Hills, &c.

Good gentle Cupid take my part, And pierce this false one to the Heart, That she may once but feel the Woe, As I for her do undergo; Oh! make her feel this raging Pain, That for her Love I do sustain; She sure would then more gentle be, And soon repent her Cruelty; 'Tis o'er the Hills, &c.

I now must wander for her sake, Since that she will no Pity take, Into the Woods and shady Grove, And bid adieu to my false Love: Since she is false whom I adore, I ne'er will trust a Woman more, From all their Charms I'll fly away, And on my Pipe will sweetly play; 'Tis o'er the Hills, &c.

There by my self I'll sing and say, 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, That my poor Heart is gone astray, Which makes me grieve both Night and Day; Farewel, farewel, thou cruel she, I fear that I shall die for thee: But if I live, this Vow I'll make, To love no other for your sake. 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, 'Tis o'er the Hills, and far away, The Wind has blown my Plad away.



The Recruiting Officer: Or, The Merry Volunteers: Being an Excellent New Copy of Verses upon raising Recruits.

To the foregoing Tune.

Hark! now the Drums beat up again, For all true Soldiers Gentlemen, Then let us list, and march I say, Over the Hills and far away; Over the Hills and o'er the Main, To Flanders, Portugal and Spain, Queen Ann commands, and we'll obey, Over the Hills and far away.

All Gentlemen that have a Mind, To serve the Queen that's good and kind; Come list and enter into Pay, Then o'er the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

Here's Forty Shillings on the Drum, For those that Volunteers do come, With Shirts, and Cloaths, and present Pay, When o'er the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

Hear that brave Boys, and let us go, Or else we shall be prest you know; Then list and enter into Pay, And o'er the Hills and far away, Over the Hills, &c.

The Constables they search about, To find such brisk young Fellows out; Then let's be Volunteers I say, Over the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

Since now the French so low are brought, And Wealth and Honour's to be got, Who then behind wou'd sneaking stay? When o'er the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

No more from sound of Drum retreat, While Marlborough, and Gallaway beat, The French and Spaniards every Day, When over the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

He that is forc'd to go and fight, Will never get true Honour by't, While Volunteers shall win the Day, When o'er the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

What tho' our Friends our Absence mourn, We all with Honour shall return; And then we'll sing both Night and Day, Over the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

The Prentice Tom he may refuse, To wipe his angry Master's Shoes; For then he's free to sing and play, Over the Hills and far away; Over the Hills, &c.

Over Rivers, Bogs, and Springs, We all shall live as great as Kings, And Plunder get both Night and Day, When over the Hills and far away, Over the Hills, &c.

We then shall lead more happy Lives, By getting rid of Brats and Wives, That Scold on both Night and Day, When o'er the Hills and far away: Over the Hills, &c.

Come on then Boys and you shall see, We every one shall Captains be, To Whore and rant as well as they, When o'er the Hills and far away: Over the Hills, &c.

For if we go 'tis one to Ten, But we return all Gentlemen, All Gentlemen as well as they, When o'er the Hills and far away: Over the Hills, &c.



A Scotch SONG. Set by Mr. JOHN BARRETT.

[Music]

Ah! foolish Lass, what mun I do? My Modesty I well may rue, Which of my Joy bereft me; For full of Love he came, But out of silly shame, With pish and phoo I play'd, To muckle the coy Maid, And the raw young Loon has left me.

Wou'd Jockey knew how muckle I lue, Did I less Art, or did he shew, More Nature, how bleast I'd be; I'd not have reason to complain, That I lue'd now in vain, Gen he more a Man was, I'd be less a coy Lass, Had the raw young Loon weel try'd me.



A SONG in the Comedy call'd Justice Buisy, or the Gentleman Quack: Set by Mr. John Eccles, Sung by Mrs. Bracegirdle.

[Music]

No, no ev'ry Morning my Beauties renew, Where-ever I go, I have Lovers enough; I Dress and I Dance, and I Laugh and I Sing, Am lovely and lively, and gay as the Spring: I Visit, I Game, and I cast away Care, Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air, Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air.



A SONG. Set by Mr. WILLIS.

[Music]

Now my Freedom's regain'd, and by Bacchus I swear, All whining dull whimsys of Love I'll cashire: The Charm's more engaging in Bumpers of Wine, Then let Chloe be Damn'd, but let this be Divine: Whilst Youth warms thy Veins, Boy embrace thy full Glasses, Damn Cupid and all his poor Proselyte Asses; Let this be thy rule Tom, to square out thy Life, And when Old in a Friend, thou'lt live free from all Strife, Only envied by him that is plagu'd with a Wife.



A Scotch SONG, the Words by Mr. Peter Noble, Set by Mr. John Wilford.

[Music]

Bonny Scottish Lads that keens me weel, Lith ye what, ye what good Luck Ise fun; Moggey is mine own in spight o'th' De'el, I alone her Heart has won: Near St. Andrew's Kirk in London Town, There Ise, Ise met my Dearest Joy; Shinening in her Silken Hued and Gown, But ne'er ack, ne'er ack she prov'd not Coy.

Then after many Compliments, Streight we gang'd into the Kirk; There full weel she tuck the documents, And flang me many pleasing Smirk: Weel I weat that I have gear enough, She's have a Yode to ride ont; She's neither drive the Swine, nor the Plough, Whatever does betide ont.



A New SONG in the Play call'd, a DUKE and no DUKE. Sung by Mrs. CIBBER.

[Music]

Damon if you will believe me, 'Tis not sighing o'er the Plain; Songs nor Sonnets can't relieve ye, Faint Attempts in Love are vain: Urge but home the fair Occasion, And be Master of the Field; To a powerful kind Invasion, 'Twere a Madness not to yield.

Tho' she vow's she'll ne'er permit ye, Says you're rude, and much to blame; And with Tears implores your pity, Be not merciful for shame: When the first assault is over, Chloris time enough will find; This so fierce and Cruel Lover, Much more gentle, not so kind.



A SONG. The Words made to a Tune of the late Mr. Henry Purcell's.

[Music]

Drunk I was last Night that's poss, My Wife began to Scold; Say what I cou'd for my Heart's Blood, Her Clack she wou'd not hold: Thus her Chat she did begin, Is this your time of coming in; The Clock strikes One, you'll be undone, If thus you lead your Life: My Dear said I, I can't deny, But what you say is true; I do intend, my Life to mend, Pray lends the Pot to Spew.

Fye, you Sot, I ne'er can bear, To rise thus e'ery Night; Tho' like a Beast you never care, What consequence comes by't: The Child and I may starve for you, We neither can have half our due; With grief I find, you're so unkind, In time you'll break my Heart: At that I smil'd, and said dear Child, I believe your in the wrong; But if't shou'd be you're destiny, I'll sing a merry Song.



The Gelding the Devil. Set by Mr. Tho. Wroth.

[Music]

I met with the Devil in the shape of a Ram, Then over and over the Sow-gelder came; I rose and halter'd him fast by the Horns, And pick'd out his Stones, as you would pick out Corns; Maa, quoth the Devil, with that out he slunk, And left us a Carkass of Mutton that stunk.

I chanc'd to ride forth a Mile and a half, Where I heard he did live in disguise of a Calf; I bound him and Gelt him e'er he did any evil, For he was at the best but a young sucking Devil: Maa, yet he cries, and forth he did steal, And this was sold after for excellent Veal.

Some half a Year after in the Form of a Pig, I met with the Rogue, and he look'd very big; I caught at his Leg, laid him down on a Log, E'er a Man could Fart twice, I made him a Hog: Huh, huh quoth the Devil, and gave such a Jerk, That a Jew was Converted and eat of that Pork.

In Woman's attire I met him most fine, At first sight I thought him some Angel divine; But viewing his crab Face I fell to my Trade, I made him forswear ever acting a Maid: Meaw, quoth the Devil, and so ran away, Hid himself in a Fryer's old Weeds as they say.

I walked along and it was my good chance, To meet with a Black-coat that was in a Trance; I speedily grip'd him and whip'd off his Cods, 'Twixt his Head and his Breech, I left little odds: O, quoth the Devil, and so away ran, Thou oft will be curst by many a Woman.



A SONG.

[Music]

When Jemmy first began to love, He was the finest Swain; That ever yet a Flock had drove, Or Danc'd upon the Plain: 'Twas then that I, woe's me poor heart, My Freedom threw away; And finding sweets in every part, I could not say him nay.

For ever when he spake of Love, He wou'd his Eyes decline; Each Sigh he gave a Heart wou'd move, Good 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 wish'd him more to blame.

Sometimes to feed my Flock with his, Jemmy wou'd me invite; Where he the finest Songs would Sing, Me only to Delight: Then all his Graces he display'd, Which were enough I trow; To conquer any Princely Maid, So did he me I trow.

But now for Jemmy I must Mourn, He to the Wars must go; His Sheephook to a Sword must turn, Alack what shall I do? His Bagpipes into Warlike sounds, Must now converted be; His Garlands into fearful Wounds, Oh! what becomes of me?



A SONG; to the Tune of Woobourn Fair.

Vol. 4. Pag. 330.

Jilting is in such a Fashion, And such a Fame, Runs o'er the Nation, There's never a Dame Of highest Rank, or of Fame, Sir, but will stoop to your Caresses, If you do but put home your Addresses: It's for that she Paints, and she Patches, All she hopes to secure is her Name, Sir.

But when you find the Love fit comes upon her, Never trust much to her Honour; Tho' she may very high stand on't, Yet when her love is Ascendant, Her Vertue's quite out of Doors High Breeding, rank Feeding, With lazy Lives leading, In Ease and soft Pleasures, And taking loose Measures, With Play-house Diversions, And Midnight Excursions, With Balls Masquerading, And Nights Serenading, Debauch the Sex into Whores, Sir.



A SONG.

Set by Mr. PACK.

[Music]

Farewel ungrateful Traytor, Farewel my Perjur'd Swain: Let never injur'd Creature, Believe a Man again: The pleasure of possessing, Surpasses all expressing; But Joys too short a Blessing, And love too long a Pain: But Joys too short a Blessing, And Love too long a Pain.

'Tis easie to deceive us, In pity of your Pain; But when we Love, you leave us, To rail at you in vain: Before we have descry'd it, There is no Bliss beside it; But she that once has try'd it, Will never Love again.

The Passion you pretended, Was only to obtain; But when the Charm is ended, The Charmer you disdain: Your Love by ours we measure, 'Till we have lost our Treasure; But dying is a Pleasure, When living is a Pain.



A SONG.

[Music]

You I Love by all that's true, More than all things here below; with a Passion far more great, Than e'er Creature loved yet: And yet still you cry forbear, Love no more, or Love not here.

Bid the Miser leave his Ore, Bid the Wretched sigh no more; Bid the Old be young again, Bid the Nun not think of Man: Sylvia thus when you can do, Bid me then not think on you.

Love's not a thing of Choice, but Fate, What makes me Love, that makes you Hate: Sylvia you do what you will, Ease or Cure, Torment or Kill: Be Kind or Cruel, False or True, Love I must, and none but you.



A SONG.

Note: You must Sing 8 lines to the first Strain.

[Music]

Let's be merry blith and jolly, Stupid Dulness is a Folly; 'Tis the Spring that doth invite us, Hark, the chirping Birds delight us: Let us Dance and raise our Voices, Every Creature now rejoyces; Airy Blasts and springing Flowers, Verdant Coverings, pleasant Showers: Each plays his part to compleat this our Joy, And can we be so dull as to deny.

Here's no foolish surly Lover, That his Passions will discover; No conceited fopish Creature, That is proud of Cloaths or Feature: All things here serene and free are, They're not Wise, are not as we are; Who acknowledge Heavens Blessings, In our innocent Caressings: Then let us Sing, let us Dance, let us Play, 'Tis the Time is allow'd, 'tis the Month of May.



A New SONG, the Words by Mr. J.C. Set to Musick by Dr. Prettle.

[Music]

No Phillis, tho' you've all the Charms, Ambitious Woman can desire; All Beauty, Wit, and Youth that warms, Or sets our foolish Hearts on fire: Yet you may practice all your Arts, In vain to make a Slave of me; You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart, Revolted from your Tyranny: You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart, Revolted from your Tyranny.

When first I saw those dang'rous Eyes, They did my Liberty betray; But when I knew your Cruelties, I snatch'd my simple Heart away: Now I defy your Smiles to win, My resolute Heart, no pow'r th'ave got; Tho' once I suck'd their Poyson in, Your Rigour prov'd an Antidote.



The Epilogue to the Island Princes, Set by Mr. Clark, Sung by Mrs. Lindsey, and the Boy.

[Music]

Now to you ye dry Wooers, Old Beaus, and no doers, So doughty, so gouty, So useless and toothless, Your blindless, cold kindness, Has nothing of Man; Still doating, or gloating, Still stumbling, or fumbling, Still hawking, still baulking, You flash in the Pan: Unfit like old Brooms, For sweeping our Rooms, You're sunk and you're shrunk, Then repent and look to't; In vain you're so upish, in vain you're so upish. You're down ev'ry foot.



A Scotch SONG, Set by Mr. R. BROWN.

[Music]

Jockey loves his Moggy dearly, He gang'd with her to Perth Fair; There we Sung and Pip'd together, And when done, then down I'd lay her: I so pull'd her, and so lull'd her, Both o'erwhelm'd with muckle Joy; Mog. kiss'd Jockey, Jockey Moggy, From long Night to break of Day.

I told Mog. 'twas muckle pleasing, Moggey cry'd she'd do again such; I reply'd I'd glad gang with thee, But 'twould wast my muckle Coyn much: She lamented, I relented, Both wish'd Bodies might increase; Then we'd gang next Year together, And my Pipe shall never cease.



A SONG, in the Lucky Younger Brother, or, the Beau Defeated; Set by Mr. John Eccles, and Sung by Mr. BOWMAN.

[Music]

Delia tir'd Strephon with her Flame, While languishing, while languishing she view'd him; The well dress'd Youth despis'd the Dame, But still, still; but still the old Fool pursu'd him: Some pity on a Wretch bestow, That lyes at your Devotion; Perhaps near fifty Years ago, Perhaps near fifty Years ago, I might have lik'd the Motion.

If you, proud Youth, my Flame despise, I'll hang me in my Garters; Why then make hast to win the Prize, Among loves foolish Martyrs: Can you see Delia brought so low, And make her no Requitals? Delia may to the Devil go, Delia may to the Devil, Devil go, to the Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil go for Strephon; Stop my Vitals, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop my Vitals.



A SONG, Set by Mr. John Weldon.

[Music]

Swain thy hopeless Passion smother, Perjur'd Caelia loves another; In his Arms I saw her lying, Panting, Kissing, Trembling, Dying: There the Fair deceiver swore, As once she did to you before.

Oh! said you, when She deceives me, When that Constant Creatures leave me; Isis Waters back shall fly, And leave their Ouzy Channels dry: Turn your Waters, leave your Shore, For perjur'd Caelia loves no more.



A SONG in the Comedy call'd the BITER, Set by Mr. John Eccles, and Sung by Mr. Cook.

[Music]

Chloe blush'd and frown'd and swore, And push'd me rudely from her; I call'd her Faithless, Jilting Whore, To talk to me of Honour: But when I rose and wou'd be gone, She cry'd nay, whither go ye? Young Damon saw, now we're alone, Do, do, do what you will, do what you will with Chloe: Do what you will, what you will, what you will with Chloe, Do what you will, what you will, what you will with Chloe.



A SONG in Rinaldo and Armida: Set by Mr. John Eccles. Sung by Mr. Gouge.

[Music]

The Jolly, Jolly Breeze, That comes whistling through the Trees; From all the blissful Regions brings, Perfumes upon its spicy Wings: With its wanton motion curling, Curling, curling, curling the crystal Rills, Which down, down, down, down the Hills, Run, run, run, run, run o'er Golden gravel purling.



A SONG on the Punch Bowl. To the foregoing Tune.

The Jolly, Jolly Bowl, That does quench my thirsty Soul; When all the mingling Juice is thrown, Perfum'd with fragrant Goar Stone: With it's wanton Toast too, curling, Curling, curling, curling, curling the Nut-brown Riles, Which down, down, down, down by the Gills, Run through ruby Swallows purling.



The PROLOGUE in the Island-Princess, Set and Sung by Mr. LEVERIDGE.

[Music]

You've been with dull Prologues here banter'd so long, They signify nothing, or less than a Song; To sing you a Ballad this Tune we thought fit, For Sound has oft nickt you, when Sence could not hit: Then Ladies be kind, and Gentlemen mind, Wit Capers, play Sharpers, loud Bullies, tame Cullies, Sow grumblers, Wench Fumblers give ear ev'ry Man: Mobb'd Sinners in Pinners, kept Foppers, Bench-hoppers, High-Flyers, Pit-Plyers, be still if you can: You're all in Damnation, you're all in Damnation for Leading the Van.

Ye Side-Box Gallants, whom the vulgar call Beaus, Admirers of Self, and nice Judges of Cloaths; Who now the War's over cross boldly the Main, Yet ne'er were at Seiges, unless at Campaign: Spare all on the Stage, Love in every Age, Young Tattles, Wild Rattles, Fan-Tearers, Mask-Fleerers, Old Coasters, Love boasters, who set up for Truth: Young Graces, Black Faces, some Faded, some Jaded, Old Mothers, and others, who've yet a Colt's Tooth: See us Act that in Winter, you'd all Act in Youth.

You Gallery Haunters, who love to lye snug, And maunch Apples or Cakes, while some Neighbour you hugg; Ye lofties, Genteels, who above us all sit, And look down with Contempt, on the Mob in the Pit, Here's what you like best, Jigg, Song and the rest, Free Laughers, close Graffers, dry Jokers, old Soakers, Kind Cousins, by Dozens, your Customs don't break: Sly Spouses with Blouses, grave Horners, in Corners, Kind No-wits, save Poets, clap 'till your Hands ake, And tho' the Wits Damn us, we'll say the Whims take.



A SONG Set by Mr. JOHN BARRETT, and Sung by Mrs. LINDSEY.

[Music]

Caelia hence with Affectation, Hence with all this careless Air; Hypocrisy is out of Fashion, With the Witty and the Fair: Nature all thy Arts discloses, While the Pleasures she supplies; Paint thy glowing Cheeks with Roses, And inflame thy sparkling Eyes.

Foolish Caelia not to know, Love thy Int'rest and thy Duty; Thou to love alone dost owe, All thy Joy, and all thy Beauty: Mark the tuneful Feather'd kind, At the coming of the Spring; All in happy Pairs are joyn'd, And because they love they Sing.



A SONG, Set by Mr. CLARK.

[Music]

How often have I curs'd that sable Deceit, For making me wish and admire; And rifle poor Ovid to learn to intreat, When Reason might check my desire: For sagely of late it has been disclos'd, There's nothing, nothing conceal'd uncommon; No Miracles under a Mask repos'd, When knowing Cynthia's a Woman.

Tho' Beauty's great Charms our Sences delude, 'Tis the Centre attracts our Needle; And Love's a Jest when thought to intrude, The design of it to unriddle: A Virgin may show strange coyness in Love, And tell you Chimera's of Honour; But give her her Wish, the Man she approves, No Labour he'll have to win her.

FINIS.