[Transcriber's Note: This e-book is volume 5 of Thomas D'Urfey's Wit and Mirth: Or Pills to Purge Melancholy, published in six volumes in 1719-20 by J. Tonson, London. It was prepared from a 1959 facsimile reprint by Folklore Library Publishers, Inc., New York, of an 1876 reprint (publisher unidentified).

The 1719-20 edition was published in two issues. The first issue was published under the title Songs Compleat, Pleasant and Divertive; the second, under the Wit and Mirth title. The 1876 reprint apparently used a combination of the two issues, and volume 5 bears the Songs Compleat title. Moreover, the 1876 reprint was not an exact facsimile of the 1719-20 edition, as the typography and music notation were modernized. For more information on the various editions, see Cyrus L. Day, "Pills to Purge Melancholy," The Review of English Studies, Vol. 8, No. 30 (Apr. 1932), pp. 177-184, available at http://www.jstor.org/stable/508831 (login required).

Archaic and inconsistent spellings and hyphenation have been preserved as they appear in the original, except that "VV" is rendered as "W." The original order of titles in the Alphabetical Table has also been preserved. Obvious printer errors have been corrected.

Some words are rendered in the original in blackletter font. They are rendered here in uppercase letters. Italics are indicated with underscores.]



WIT and MIRTH:

OR

PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY

EDITED BY THOMAS D'URFEY

IN SIX VOLUMES VOLUME V

FOLKLORE LIBRARY PUBLISHERS, INC. NEW YORK 1959

This edition is a facsimile reproduction of the 1876 reprint of the original edition of 1719-1720.

Copyright (C) 1959

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. by Noble Offset Printers, Inc. New York 3, New York



SONGS Compleat,

Pleasant and Divertive;

SET TO

MUSICK

By Dr. JOHN BLOW, Mr. HENRY PURCELL, and other Excellent Masters of the Town.

Ending with some ORATIONS, made and spoken by me several times upon the PUBLICK STAGE in the THEATER. Together with some Copies of VERSES, PROLOGUES, and EPILOGUES, as well as for my own PLAYS as those of other Poets, being all Humerous and Comical.

VOL. V.

LONDON:

Printed by W. Pearson, for J. Tonson, at SHAKESPEAR'S Head, against Catherine Street in the Strand, 1719.



AN

Alphabetical TABLE

OF THE

SONGS and POEMS

Contain'd in this

BOOK.

Page

A

All Christians and Lay-Elders too, 1

As I went by an Hospital, 29

A Shepherd kept Sheep on a, 35

As I was a walking under a Grove, 37

A Councel grave our King did hold, 49

A Heroe of no small Renown, 56

As the Fryer he went along, 58

A Bonny Lad came to the Court, 88

A Pox on those Fools, who exclaim, 91

Amongst the pure ones all, 105

As Oyster Nan stood by her Tub, 107

Ah! Caelia how can you be, 111

Are you grown so Melancholy, 118

As Collin went from his Sheep, 122

A Wife I do hate, 173

A Thousand several ways I try'd, 181

A Whig that's full, 207

As Cupid roguishly one Day, 217

A Young Man sick and like to die, 267

At Noon in a sultry Summer's Day, 282

Ah! how lovely sweet and dear, 287

Advance, advance, advance gay, 288

Ah! foolish Lass, what mun I do, 322

B

Bold impudent Fuller invented, 5

By Moon-light on the Green, 103

Bonny Peggy Ramsey that any, 139

By shady Woods and purling, 161

Belinda! why do you distrust, 213

Born to surprize the World, 250

Bring out your Coney-Skins, 303

Bonny Scottish Lads that keens, 326

C

Come bring us Wine in Plenty, 15

Come pretty Birds present your, 120

Come fill up the Bowl with, 138

Cease lovely Strephon, cease to, 189

Cease whining Damon to complain, 202

Caelia my Heart has often rang'd, 230

Corinna, if my Fate's to love you, 254

Caelia's Charms are past expressing, 257

Come Beaus, Virtuoso's, rich Heirs, 265

Cease, cease of Cupid to complain, 298

Come, come ye Nymphs, 300

Chloe blush'd, and frown'd, and swore, 345

Caelia hence with Affectation, 350

D

Did you not hear of a gallant, 80

Divine Astrea hither flew, 275

Draw Cupid draw, and make, 306

Damon if you will believe me, 327

Drunk I was last Night that's, 329

Delia tir'd Strephon with her, 343

F

Fair Caelia too fondly contemns, 169

Fly Damon fly, 'tis Death to stay, 247

Fear not Mortal, none shall harm, 248

Farewel ungrateful Traytor, 335

G

Gilderoy was a bonny Boy, 39

Good Neighbour why do you, 73

H

How now Sister Betteris, why look, 68

Heaven first created Woman to, 135

Hears not my Phillis how, 149

How happy's the Mortal whose, 179

He himself courts his own Ruin, 188

How happy and free is the, 193

How charming Phillis is, 201

Hither turn thee, hither turn thee, 211

Here lies William de Valence, 220

Ho my dear Joy, now what dost, 240

Here's a Health to the Tackers, 284

Here are People and Sports of, 308

Hark! now the Drums beat up again, 319

How often have I curs'd that sable Deceit, 352

I

I am a young Lass of Lynn, 59

I am a jovial Cobler bold and, 75

It was a Rich Merchant Man, 77

If Sorrow the Tyrant invade, 83

In the pleasant Month of May, 101

It was a happy Golden Day, 110

I prithee send me back my Heart, 143

In Chloris all soft Charms agree, 162

I lik'd, but never lov'd before, 171

Iris beware when Strephon pursues, 199

I am one in whom Nature has, 241

In vain, in vain, the God I ask, 251

In the Devil's Country there, 271

In elder Time, there was of Yore, 289

Ianthia the lovely, the Joy of, 301

Jockey met with Jenny fair, 317

I met with the Devil in the, 330

Jilting is in such a Fashion, 333

Jockey loves his Moggy dearly, 341

L

Let the Females attend, 8

Let's be jolly, fill our Glasses, 16

Let's sing of Stage-Coaches, 20

Last Christmas 'twas my chance, 25

Lately as thorough the fair, 44

Let Soldiers fight for Pay and Praise, 145

Long had Damon been admir'd, 158

Laurinda, who did love Disdain, 167

Let Ambition fire thy Mind, 205

Long was the Day e'er Alexis, 214

Let's be merry, blith and jolly, 337

M

My Friend if you would understand, 94

Marriage it seems is for better, 272

N

No more let Damon's Eyes pursue, 239

Nay pish, nay pish, nay pish Sir, 305

No, no every Morning my, 323

Now my Freedom's regain'd, 325

No, Phillis, tho' you've all the Charms, 338

Now to you ye dry Wooers, 340

O

Once more to these Arms my, 92

One Night in my Ramble I, 109

Oh! let no Eyes be dry, 130

Old Lewis le Grand, he raves like, 151

Of old Soldiers, the Song you, 217

Of late in the Park a fair Fancy, 243

Oh! how you protest and solemnly, 316

P

Philander and Sylvia, a gentle, 140

Poor Jenny and I we toiled, 146

Pretty Floramel, no Tongue can, 160

Plague us not with idle Stories, 204

Poor Mountfort is gone, and the, 244

Pretty Parrot say, when I was, 280

S

State and Ambition, all Joy to, 11

Stay, stay, shut the Gates, 85

Slaves to London I'll deceive you, 114

Stay, ah stay, ah turn, ah whither, 237

See how fair and fine she lies, 252

Since Caelia only has the Art, 286

Some brag of their Chloris, 307

See, Sirs, see here! a Doctor rare, 311

Swain thy hopeless Passion smother, 344

T

There was an old Woman liv'd, 13

The Suburbs is a fine Place, 27

There can be no Glad man, 32

Then Jockey wou'd a wooing away, 42

There was a Lass of Islington, 46

There was a Lord of worthy Fame, 53

There was a Jovial Tinker, 62

There is a fine Doctor now come, 71

There was a Knight and he, 112

Think wretched Mortal, think, 134

To the Wars I must alass, 137

Though the Pride of my Passion fair, 156

Tell me ye Sicilian Swains, 175

To the Grove, gentle Love, let, 182

Tell me no more of Flames in, 183

Tho' Fortune and Love may be, 186

That little Patch upon your Face, 197

Tho' over all Mankind, besides my, 233

There lives an Ale-draper near, 259

The Caffalier was gone, and the, 274

The Devil he pull'd off his Jacket, 278

The Jolly, Jolly Breeze, 347

The Jolly, Jolly Bowl, ib.

U

Upon a Holiday, when Nymphs, 87

W

Where gott'st thou the Haver-mill, 17

When first Mardyke was made, 65

When Maids live to Thirty, yet never, 99

What Life can compare, with the, 125

With my Strings of small Wire, 128

When that young Damon bless'd, 131

Would you be a Man in Fashion, 154

When first I fair Celinda knew, 157

When busy Fame o'er all the, 164

Why am I the only Creature, 165

Where would coy Amyntas run, 172

When gay Philander left the Plain, 177

Wealth breeds Care, Love, Hope, 185

When first Amyntas charmed my, 192

Why so pale and wan fond Lover, 195

When I languish'd and wish'd you, 209

When first I saw her charming Face, 277

While the Love is thinking, 283

When Jemmy first began to love, 332

Y

You Master Colours pray, 22

Ye brave Boys and Tars, 115

Young Coridon and Phillis, 126

Your Hay it is mow'd, and your, 142

You happy Youths, whose Hearts, 191

Young Ladies that live in the, 262

You I love by all that's true, 336

You've been with dull Prologues, 349



SONGS Compleat,

Pleasant and Divertive, &c.

VOL. V.



The FOUR-LEGG'D ELDER: Or a Horrible Relation of a DOG and an Elder's MAID.

By Sir John Burtonhead.

[Music]

All Christians and Lay-Elders too, For Shame amend your Lives; I'll tell you of a Dog-trick now, Which much concerns you Wives: An Elder's Maid near Temple-Bar, (Ah! what a Quean was she?) Did take an ugly Mastiff Cur, Where Christians use to be. Help House of Commons, House of Peers, Oh now or never help! Th' Assembly hath not sat Four Years, Yet hath brought forth a Whelp.

One Evening late she stept aside, Pretending to fetch Eggs; And there she made her self a Bride, To one that had four Legs: Her Master heard a Rumblement, And wonder she did tarry; Not dreaming (without his consent) His Dog would ever Marry. Help House of Commons, &c.

He went to peep, but was afraid, And hastily did run, To fetch a Staff to help his Maid, Not knowing what was done: He took his Ruling Elders Cane, And cry'd out help, help, here; For Swash our Mastiff, and poor Jane, Are now fight Dog, fight Bear. Help House of Commons, &c.

But when he came he was full sorry, For he perceiv'd their Strife; That according to the Directory, They Two were Dog and Wife: Ah! (then said he) thou cruel Quean, Why hast thou me beguil'd? I wonder Swash was grown so lean, Poor Dog he's almost spoil'd. Help House of Commons, &c.

I thought thou hadst no Carnal Sense, But what's in our Lasses: And could have quench'd thy Cupiscence, According to the Classes: But all the Parish see it plain, Since thou art in this pickle; Thou art an INDEPENDENT Quean, And lov'st a CONVENTICLE. Help House of Commons, &c.

Alas now each Malignant Rogue, Will all the World perswade; That she that's Spouse unto a Dog, May be an Elder's Maid: They'll jeer us if abroad we stir, Good Master Elder stay; Sir, of what Classis is your Cur? And then what can we say? Help House of Commons, &c.

They'll many graceless Ballads sing, Of a PRESBYTERIAN; That a Lay Elder is a thing Made up half Dog, half Man: Out, out, said he, (and smote her down) Was Mankind grown so scant? There's scarce another Dog in Town, Had took the COVENANT. Help House of Commons, &c.

Then Swash began to look full grim, And Jane did thus reply; Sir, you thought nought too good for him, You fed your Dog too high: 'Tis true he took me in the lurch, And leap'd into my Arms; But (as I hope to come at Church) I did your Dog no harm. Help House of Commons, &c.

Then she was brought to Newgate Gaol, And there was Naked stripp'd; They whipp'd her till the Cords did fail, As Dogs us'd to be whipp'd: Poor City Maids shed many a Tear, When she was lash'd and bang'd; And had she been a Cavalier, Surely she had been hang'd. Help House of Commons, &c.

Hers was but Fornication found, For which she felt the Lash: But his was Bugg'ry presum'd, Therefore they hanged Swash: What will become of Bishops then, Or Independency? For now we find both Dogs and Men, Stand up for PRESBYTRY. Help House of Commons, &c.

She might have took a Sow-gelder, With Synod-men good store, But she would have a Lay-Elder, With Two Legs and Two more: Go tell the Assembly of Divines, Tell Adoniram blue; Tell Burgess, Marshall, Case and Vines, Tell Now-and-Anon too. Help House of Commons, &c.

Some say she was a Scottish Girl, Or else (at least) a Witch; But she was born in Colchester, Was ever such a Bitch: Take heed all Christian Virgins now, The Dog-Star now prevails; Ladys beware your Monkeys too, For Monkeys have long Tails. Help House of Commons, &c.

Bless King and Queen, and send us Peace, As we had Seven Years since: For we remember no Dog-days, While we enjoy'd our Prince: Bless sweet Prince Charles, Two Dukes, Three Girls, Lord save his Majesty; Grant that his Commons, Lords, and Earls, May lead such lives as He. Help House of Commons, &c.



Plain Proof Ruin'd: Or, a Grand CHEAT Discover'd.

[Music]

Bold Impudent Fuller invented a Plot, And all to discover the Devil knows what; About a young Bantling strangely begot. Which no body can deny.

The better to cheat both the Fools and the Wise, He Impos'd on a Nation a Hundred of Lies; That none but a Knight of the Post could devise. Which no body can deny.

He tells us he had the Honour to peep, In the Warming-pan where the Welch Infant did sleep; And found out a Plot which was Damnable deep, Which no Body can believe.

Then to the Wise Senate he suddenly went, Where he told all the Lies that he then could invent, For which he was Voted a Rogue by consent, Which no Body can deny.

And tho' he was Punish'd for that his Offence, He has almost forgot it, it was so long since, Therefore the whole Game he began to Commence, Which no Body can deny.

Then he to the Lords his bold Letters did send, And told the high Peers, that the Plot he could mend, And make it as plain, as he first did pretend, Which no Body can deny.

He told them his Witnesses were mighty Men, That wou'd come to the Town, tho' the Devil knows when, And make William Fuller once famous agen, Which no Body can deny.

The Lords they were Generous, Noble and Kind, And allowed him Freedom his 'Squires to find, The which he will do when the Devil is Blind, Which no Body can deny.

So the Peers they declared him a scandalous Sot, And none thinks him fit to manage a Plot, If Newgate and Tyburn does fall to his Lot, There's no Body will deny.

They gave him no more time than himself did require, To find out his Jones and the wandering 'Squire, But the time being come, they were never the nigher, Which no Body can deny.

The brave House of Commons next for him did send, To hear what the Block-headly Fool wou'd pretend, Who humbly request, that they wou'd him befriend, Which no Body can deny.

One day he declar'd they were near London Town, But the very next Day into Wales they were flown, Such nimble Heel'd Witnessess never were known, Which no Body can deny.

When being Examin'd about his sham Plot, He answer'd as though he had minded them not, Perhaps the Young Rogue had his Lesson forgot, Which no Body can deny.

But after some Study and impudent Tales, Ask'd for a Commission to march into Wales, And be Chang'd to a Herse, as Rogues goes to Gaols, Which no Body can deny.

But seeing his Impudence still to abound, To go search for the Men who were not to be found, They immediately sent him back to Fleet Pound, Which no Body can deny.

From the Fleet to the Cart may he quickly advance To learn the true Steps of old Oates's New Dance, And something beside, or it is a great Chance, Which no Body can deny.

He has made it a Trade to be doing of Wrong, In Swearing, and Lying, and Cheating so long, For all his Life time, he's been at it ding dong, Which no Body can deny.

Welch Taffy he raves and crys Splutterdenails, He's abused hur Highness with Lies and with Tales, Hur will hang hur if e'er hur can catch hur in Wales, Which no Body will deny.



The Woman Warrior.

Who liv'd in COW-CROSS near WEST-SMITHFIELD; who changing her Apparrel, entered her self on Board in Quality of a Soldier, and sailed to IRELAND, where she Valiantly behaved her self, particularly at the Siege of CORK, where she lost her Toes, and received a Mortal Wound in her Body, of which she since Died in her return to LONDON.

[Music]

Let the Females attend, To the Lines which are penn'd, For here I shall give a Relation; Of a Young marry'd Wife, Who did venture her Life, For a Soldier, a Soldier she went from the Nation.

She her Husband did leave, And did likewise receive Her Arms, and on Board she did enter; And right valiantly went, With a Resolution bent, To the Ocean, the Ocean her Life there to venture.

Yet of all the Ships Crew, Not a Seaman that knew, They then had a Woman so near 'em; On the Ocean so deep, She her Council did keep, Ay, and therefore, and therefore she never did fear 'em.

She was valiant and bold, And would not be controul'd, By any that dare to offend her; If a Quarrel arose, She would give him dry Blows, And the Captain, the Captain did highly commend her.

For he took her to be, Then of no mean Degree, A Gentleman's Son or a 'Squire; With a Hand white and fair, There was none could compare, Which the Captain, the Captain did often admire.

On the Irish Shore, Where the Cannons did roar, With many stout Lads she was landed; There her Life to expose, She lost two of her Toes, And in Battle, in Battle was daily commended.

Under Grafton she fought, Like a brave Hero stout, And made the proud Tories retire; She in Field did appear, With a Heart void of Fear, And she bravely, she bravely did charge and give fire.

While the battering Balls, Did assault the strong Walls, Of Cork and the sweet Trumpets sounded; She did bravely advance, Where by unhappy Chance, This young Female, young Female alass she was wounded.

At the End of the Fray, Still she languishing lay, Then over the Ocean they brought her; To her own Native Shore, Now they ne'er knew before, That a Woman, a Woman had been in that Slaughter.

What she long had conceal'd, Now at length she reveal'd, That she was a Woman that ventur'd; Then to London with care, She did straitways repair, But she dy'd, oh she dy'd e'er the City she enter'd.

When her Parents beheld, They with Sorrow was fill'd, For why they did dearly adore her: In her Grave now she lies, 'Tis not watery Eyes, No nor Sighing, nor Sighing that e'er can restore her.



A Medly, Compos'd out of several SONGS.

[Music]

State and Ambition, all Joy to great Caesar, Sawney shall ne'er be my Colly my Cow; All Hail to the Shades, all Joy to the Bridegroom, And call upon Dobbin with Hi, Je, ho. Remember ye Whigs, what was formerly done; And Jenny come tye my bonny Cravat, If I live to grow old for I find I go down, For I cannot come every Day to Wooe.

Jove in his Throne was a Fumbler, Tom Farthing, And Jockey and Jenny together did lie; Oh Mother Roger: Boys, fill us a Bumper, For why will ye die my poor Caelia, ah why? Hark! how thundring Cannons do roar, Ladies of London both wealthy and fair; Charon make hast and Ferry me over, Lilli burlero bullen a lah.

Chloris awake, Four-pence-half-penny-farthing, Give me the Lass that is true Country bred; Like John of Gaunt I walk in Covent-Garden, I am a Maid and a very good Maid: Twa bonny Lads was Sawney and Jockey, The Delights of the Bottle and Charms of good Wine; Wading the Water so deep my sweet Moggy, Cold and Raw, let it run in the right Line.

Old Obadiah sings Ave-Maria, Sing Lulla-by-Baby with a Dildo; The old Woman and her Cat sat by the Fire, Now this is my Love d'y' like her ho? Old Charon thus preached to his Pupil Achilles, And under this Stone here lies Gabriel John; Happy was I at the fight of Fair Phillis, What should a Young Woman do with an old Man?

There's old Father Peters with his Romish Creatures, There was an old Woman sold Pudding and Pies, Cannons with Thunder shall fill them with Wonder, I once lov'd a Lass that had bright rowling Eyes: There's my Maid Mary, she does mind her Dairy, I took to my Heels and away I did run; And bids him prepare to be happy to Morrow, Alass! I don't know the right end of a Gun.

My Life and Death does lye both in your Power, And every Man to his Mind, Shrewsbury for me; On the Bank of a Brook as I sat Fishing, Shall I Die a Maid and never Married be: Uds bobs let Oliver now be forgotten, Joan is as good as my Lady in the Dark; Cuckolds are Christians Boys all the World over, And here's a full Bumper to Robin John Clark.



The TROOPER Watering his NAGG.

[Music]

There was an old Woman liv'd under a Hill, Sing Trolly lolly, lolly, lolly, lo; She had good Beer and Ale for to sell, Ho, ho, had she so, had she so, had she so; She had a Daughter her name was Siss, Sing Trolly lolly, lolly, lolly, lo; She kept her at Home for to welcome her Guest, Ho, ho, did she so, did she so, did she so.

There came a Trooper riding by, Sing trolly, &c. He call'd for Drink most plentifully, Ho, ho, did he so, &c. When one Pot was out he call'd for another, Sing trolly, &c. He kiss'd the Daughter before the Mother, Ho, ho, did he so, &c.

And when Night came on to Bed they went, Sing trolly, &c. It was with the Mother's own Consent, Ho, ho, was it so, &c. Quoth she what is this so stiff and warm, Sing trolly &c. 'Tis Ball my Nag he will do you no harm, Ho, ho, wont he so, &c.

But what is this hangs under his Chin, Sing trolly, &c. 'Tis the Bag he puts his Provender in, Ho, ho, is it so, &c. Quoth he what is this? Quoth she 'tis a Well, Sing trolly, &c. Where Ball your Nag may drink his fill, Ho, ho, may he so, &c.

But what if my Nag should chance to slip in, Sing trolly, &c. Then catch hold of the Grass that grows on the brim, Ho, ho, must I so, &c. But what if the Grass should chance to fail, Sing trolly, &c. Shove him in by the Head, pull him out by the Tail, Ho, ho, must I so, &c.



A Trip to the Jubilee. The Tune by Mr. R. Loe.

[Music]

Come bring us Wine in plenty, We've Money enough to spend; I hate to see the Pots empty, A Man cannot Drink to's Friend: Then drawer bring up more Wine, And merrily let it pass; We'll drink till our Faces do shine, He that wont may look like an Ass: And we'll tell him so to his Face, If he offers to baulk his Glass, For we defy all such dull Society.

'Tis drinking makes us merry, And Mirth diverts all Care; A Song of hey down derry, Is better than heavy Air: Make ready quickly my Boys, And fill up your Glasses higher; For we'll present with Huzzas, And merrily all give fire; Since drinking's our desire, And friendship we admire, For here we'll stay, ne'er call Drawer what's to pay.



The GOOD FELLOW.

[Music]

Let's be jolly, fill our Glasses, Madness 'tis for us to think, How the World is rul'd by Asses, That o'ersway the Wise with Chink: Let not such vain Thoughts oppress us, Riches prove to them a Snare; We are all as rich as Croesus, Drink your Glasses, take no care.

Wine will make us fresh as Roses, And our Sorrows all forgot; Let us fuddle well our Noses, Drink ourselves quite out of Debt: When grim Death is looking for us, Whilst we're singing o'er our Bowls; Bacchus joyning in our Chorus, Death depart, here's none but Souls.



JOCKEY'S Escape from DUNDEE; and the Parsons Daughter whom he had Mow'd.

[Music]

Where gott'st thou the Haver-mill bonack? Blind Booby can'st thou not see; Ise got it out of the Scotch-man's Wallet, As he lig lousing him under a Tree: Come fill up my Cup, come fill up my Can, Come Saddle my Horse, and call up my Man; Come open the Gates, and let me go free, And shew me the way to bonny Dundee.

For I have neither robbed nor stole, Nor have I done any injury; But I have gotten a Fair Maid with Child, The Minister's Daughter of bonny Dundee: Come fill up my Cup, come fill up my Can, Come saddle my Horse and call up my Man, Come open the Gates and let me go free, And Ise gang no more to bonny Dundee.

Altho' Ise gotten her Maiden-head, Geud feth Ise given her mine in lieu; For when at her Daddy's Ise gang to Bed, Ise mow'd her without any more to do? Ise cuddle her close, and gave her a Kiss, Pray tell now where is the harm of this, Then open the Gates and let me go free, And Ise gang no more to bonny Dundee.

All Scotland ne'er afforded a Lass, So bonny and blith as Jenny my dear; Ise gave her a Gown of Green on the Grass, But now Ise no longer must tarry here: Then saddle my Nag that's bonny and gay, For now it is time to gang hence away, Then open the Gates and let me go free, She's ken me no more to bonny Dundee.

In Liberty still I reckon to Reign, For why I have done no honest Man wrong; The Parson may take his Daughter again, For she'll be a Mammy before it is long: And have a young Lad or Lass of my breed, Ise think I have done her a generous deed; Then open the Gates and let me go free, For Ise gang no more to bonny Dundee.

Since Jenny the Fair was willing and kind, And came to my Arms with a ready good will; A token of love Ise left her behind, Thus I have requited her kindness still: Tho' Jenny the Fair I often had mow'd, Another may reap the harvest I sow'd, Then open the Gates and let me go free, She's ken me no more to bonny Dundee.

Her Daddy would have me to make her my Bride, But have and to hold I ne'er could endure; From bonny Dundee this Day I will ride, It being a place not safe and secure: Then Jenny farewel my Joy and my dear, With Sword in my Hand the passage I'se clear; Then open the Gates and let me go free, For Ise gang no more to Bonny Dundee.

My Father he is a muckle good Leard, My Mother a Lady bonny and gay; Then while I have strength to handle a Sweard, The Parson's request Ise never obey: Then Sawny my Man be thou of my Mind, In bonny Dundee we'se ne'er be confin'd, The Gates we will force to set ourselves free, And never come more to bonny Dundee.

The Sawny reply'd Ise never refuse, To fight for a Leard so valiant and bold; While I have a drop of Blood for to lose, E'er any fickle Loon shall keep us in hold: This Sweard in my Hand I'll valiantly weild, And fight by your side to kill or be kill'd, For forcing the Gates and set ourselves free, And so bid adieu to bonny Dundee.

With Sweard ready drawn they rid to the Gate, Where being denied an Entrance thro' The Master and Man they fought at that rate, That some ran away, and others they slew: Thus Jockey the Leard and Sawny the Man, They valiantly fought as Highlanders can, In spight of the Loons they set themselves free, And so bid adieu to bonny Dundee.



A SONG. Sung by Mr. Dogget.

[Music:

Let's sing of Stage-Coaches, and fear no Reproaches; for riding in one, but daily be jogging, while whistling, and flogging, while whistling and flogging, the Coachman drives on; with a hey geeup, geeup hey ho, with a hey gee Dobin hey ho, hey, geeup, geeup, geeup hey ho, geeup, geeup, geeup hey ho, with a hey, gee Dobin hey ho.]

In Coaches thus strowling, Who wou'd not be rowling; With Nymphs on each side, Still Pratling and Playing; Our Knees interlaying, We merrily ride. With a hey, &c.

Here chance kindly mixes, All sorts and all Sexes, More Females than Men, We squeese 'em, we ease 'em, The jolting does please 'em, Drive jollily then, With a hey, &c.

The harder you're driving, The more 'tis reviving, Nor fear we to tell, For if the Coach tumble, We'll have a rare Jumble, And then up tails all, With a hey, &c.



The Crafty Cracks of East-Smith-Field, who pick't up a Master Colour upon Tower-Hill, whom they Plundred of a Purse of Silver, with above Threescore Guineas.

[Music]

You Master Colours pray draw near, And listen to my Report; My Grief is great, for lo of late, Two Ladies I chanc'd to Court: Who did meet me on Tower-Hill, Their Beauties I did behold: Those Crafty Jades have learnt their Trades, And plunder'd me of my Gold.

I'll tell you how it came to pass, This sorrowful Story is thus: Of Guineas bright a glorious Sight, I had in a Cat-skin Purse: The Value of near Fourscore Pounds, As good as e'er I had told, Those Crafty Jades have learnt their Trades, And plunder'd me of my Gold.

I saw two poor distressed Men, Who lay upon Tower-Hill, To whom in brief I gave Relief, According to my good Will: Two wanton Misses drawing near, My Guineas they did behold; They laid a Plot by which they Got, My Silver and yellow Gold.

They both address'd themselves to me, And thus they was pleas'd to say; Kind Sir, indeed, we stand in need, Altho' we are fine and gay: Of some Relief which you may give, I thought they were something bold; The Plot was laid, I was betray'd, And plunder'd of all my Gold.

Alas 'tis pity, then I cry'd, Such Ladies of good Repute, Should want Relief, therefore in brief, I gave 'em a kind Salute: Thought I of them I'll have my Will, Altho' I am something old; They were I see too wise for me, They plunder'd me of my Gold.

Then to East-Smithfield was I led, And there I was entertain'd: With Kisses fine and Brandy Wine, In Merriment we remain'd: Methought it was the happiest Day, That ever I did behold; Sweet Meat alass! had sower Sauce, They plunder'd me of my Gold.

Time after Time to pay their Shot, My Guineas I would lug out; Those Misses they wou'd make me stay, And rally the other bout: I took my Fill of Pleasures then Altho' I was something old; Those Joys are past, they would not last, I'm plunder'd of all my Gold.

As I was at the wanton Game, My Pocket they fairly pick'd; And all my Wealth they took by stealth, Thus was a poor Colour trick'd: Let me therefore a Warning be, To Merchants both young and old; For now of late hard was my Fate, I'm plunder'd of all my Gold.

They got three Pounds in Silver bright, And Guineas above Threescore, Such sharping Cracks breaks Merchants Backs, I'll never come near them more: Sure now I have enough of them, My Sorrow cannot be told; That crafty Crew makes me look Blew, I'm plunder'd of all my Gold.



The Dance of the USURER and the Devil.

[Music]

Last Christmas 'twas my chance, To be in Paris City; Where I did see a Dance, In my conceit was very pretty—By men of France.

First came the Lord of Pool, And he begun his Measure; The next came in a Fool, And danc'd with him for pleasure—With his Tool.

The next a Knight came in, Who look'd as he would swagger; And after follow'd him A merry needy Beggar—Dancing in.

The next a Gentleman, On him a Servant tending, And there the Dance began, With nimble Bodies bending—Like two Friends.

Then in a Lawyer came, With him a Knave came leaping; And as they Danc'd in Frame, So Hand in Hand went skipping—To the Term.

The next a Citizen, And he a Cuckold leading; So round about the Room, Their Masque they fell a Treading—And fain they would.

The next an Usurer, Old fat Guts he came grunting; The Devil left all care, For joy he fell a Jumping—To see him there.

And ending then their Masque, The Fool his Lord he carries Upon his Back in hast, No longer there he tarries—But left the place.

The Beggar took the Knight, Who took it in Derision; The Searjeant took in Spite, The Gentleman to Prison—For all his might.

The Cuckold, silly Man, Altho' he was abhorred: He took the Citizen, And led him by the Forehead—And out he ran.

The Devil lik'd it well, His lot it was to carry; The Usurer to Hell, And there with him to tarry.



The SUBURBS is a fine place: To the Tune of LONDON is a fine Town.

[Music]

The Suburbs is a fine Place belonging to the City, It has no Government at all, alack the more the Pity; A Wife, a silly Animal, esteemed in that same Place, For there a Civil Woman's now asham'd to shew her Face: The Misses there have each Man's Time, his Money, nay, his Heart, Then all in all, both great and small, and all in ev'ry Part.

Which Part it is a thorough-fair so open and so large, One well might sail through ev'ry Tail even in a western Barge; These Cracks that Coach it now, when first they came to Town, Did turn up Tail for a Pot of Ale in Linsey Wolsey Gown.

The Bullies first debauch'd 'em, in Baudy Covent-Garden, That filthy place, where ne'er a Wench was ever worth a Farthing; And when their Maiden-heads are sold to sneaking Lords, Which Lords are Clapt at least nine-fold for taking of their Words.

And then my Lord, that many tries, she looks so Innocent, Believing he Infected her, he makes a Settlement; These are your Cracks, who skill'd in all kind of Debauches, Do daily piss, spue and whore in their own glass Coaches.

Now Miss turn Night-walker, till Lord-Mayor's Men she meets, O'er Night she's Drunk, next Day she's finely flogged thro' London streets; After their Rooms of State are chang'd to Bulks or Coblers Stalls, 'Till Poverty and Pox agree they dying in Hospitals.

This Suburbs gallant Fop that takes delight in Roaring, He spends his time in Huffing, Swearing, Drinking, and in Whoring; And if an honest Man and his Wife meet them in the Dark, Makes nothing to run the Husband through to get the name of Spark.

But when the Constable appears, the Gallant, let me tell ye, His Heart denies his Breeches, and sinks into his Belly; These are the silly Rogues that think it fine and witty, To laugh and joak at Aldermen, the Rulers of the City.

They'd kiss our Wives, but hold, for all their plotting Pates, While they would get us Children, we are getting their Estates; And still in vain they Court pretending in their Cares, That their Estates may thus descend unto the Lawful Heirs.

Their Play-houses I hate, are Shops to set off Wenches, Where Fop and Miss, like Dog and Bitch, do couple under Benches; That I might advise the chiefest Play-house monger, I have a Sister of my own both Handsomer and Younger.

She lives not far off in the Parish of St. Clements, She never liv'd in Cellar nor sold Oranges and Lemons: Then why should Play-house Trulls with Paint and such Temptations, Be an Eye sore to me & more to the best part o'th' Nation.

Now you that all this while have listened to my Dity, With streightened Hands pray drink a Health unto this noble City: And let us pray to Jove, these Suburb folks to mend, And having now no more to say, I think it fit to end.



The Old Woman's WISH.

[Music]

As I went by an Hospital, I heard an Old Woman cry, Kind Sir, quoth she, be kind to me, Once more before I Die, And grant to me those Joys, That belong to Woman-kind, And the Fates above reward your Love, To an old Woman Poor and Blind.

I find an itching in my Blood, Altho' it be something Cold, Therefore Good Man do what you can, To comfort me now I'm Old. And Grant to me those Joys, That belong to Woman-kind, And the Fates above Reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

Altho' I cannot see the Day, Nor never a glance of light; Kind Sir, I swear and do declare, I honour the Joys of Night: Then grant to me those Joys, That belong to Woman-kind, And the Fates above Reward you Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

When I was in my Blooming Youth, My vigorous Love was Hot; Now in my Age I dare Engage, A fancy I still have got: Then give to me those Joys, That belong to Woman-kind, And the Fates above Reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

You shall miss of a Reward, If Readily you comply; Then do not Blush but touch my flesh. This minute before I die: O let me tast those Joys, That belong to Woman-kind, And the Fates above reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

I Forty Shillings would freely give, 'Tis all the Mony I have; Which I full long have begged for, To carry me to my Grave: This I would give to have the Bliss, That belongs to Woman-kind, And the Fates above reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

I had a Husband in my Youth, As very well 'tis known, The truth to tell he pleased me well, But now I am left alone; And long to tast the good Old Game, That belongs to Woman-kind: And the Fates above Reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

If Forty Shillings will not do, My Petticoat and my Gown; Nay Smock also shall freely go, To make up the other Crown: Then Sir, pray Grant that kind Request, That belongs to Woman-kind; And the Fates above Reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

Tho' I am Fourscore Years of Age, I love with a Right good Will; And what in truth I want in Youth, I have it in perfect Skill: Then grant to me that Charming Bliss, That belongs to Woman-kind; And the Fates above Reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.

Now if you do not pleasure me, And give me the thing I crave; I do protest I shall not rest, When I am laid in my Grave: Therefore kind Sir, grant me the Joys, That belong to Woman-kind; And the Fates above Reward your Love, To an Old Woman Poor and Blind.



The Mad-Man's SONG.

[Music]

There can be no Glad-man compar'd to the Mad-man, His Mind is still void of Care; His Fits and his Fancies, are above all Mischances, And Mirth is his ordinary Fare. Then be thou Mad, Mad, Mad let's be, Nor shall the foul Fiend be Madder than we.

The Wise and the Witty, in Court and in City, Are subject to sorrow and Pain; While he that is Mad, knows not why to be Sad, Nor has any cause to complain: Then be thou Mad, &c.

We laugh at you Wise Men, that thus do despise Men, Whose Senses you think to Decline; Mark well and you'll see, what you count but Frenzy, Is indeed but Raptures Divine. Then be thou Mad, &c.

Let the Grave and the Wise, pluck out their Eyes, To set forth a Book worth a Groat; We Mad-men are quicker, grow Learn'd with good Liquor, And Chirp a Merry note. Then be thou Mad, &c.

Hast thou lost thy Estate Man, why, care not for that Man, What Wealth may'st not fancy thy own; More than Queen Dido, or her Ass-Ear'd Midas, That great Philosopher's stone. Then be thou Mad, &c.

Pompey was a Mad-man, and so long a Glad-man; But at length he was forc'd to flee; For Caesar from Gallia beat him in Pharsalia, 'Cause a madder Fellow then he. Then be thou Mad, &c.

'Twas this Extasie brave, that the great Courage gave, If your Eyes were but ope'd and would see; To great Alexander, that mighty Commander, As Mad a Fellow as could be. Then be thou Mad, &c.

Then around goes a Health to the Lady o'th' House, If any Man here does forsake it; For a Fool let him go, we know better Manners, And so we mean to take it. Then be thou Mad, &c.

There's no Night Mirth's going, nor any Lad wooing, But Mad-men are privy unto it; For the Stars so peep, into every such thing, And wink upon us as you do it. Then be thou Mad, &c.

When the Frost, Ice and Snow, do benumb things below, We Chirp as merry as Larks; Our Sack and our Madness, consumes cold and sadness, And we are the Jovial Sparks. Then be thou Mad, &c.

Has thy Mistress frown'd on thee, or thy Rival out-gone thee? Let Sober and Wise Fellows pine; Whilst bright Miralind and goodly Dulcind, And the rest of the Fairies are thine. Then be thou Mad, &c.

A Mad-man needs baulk no manner of talk, His Tongues never guilty with Treason; But a Wise Knave would suffer, if the same he should utter, For a wise Man's Guilt is his Reason. Then be thou Mad, &c.



A SONG.

[Music]

A Shepherd kept Sheep on a Hill so high, fa, la, la, &c. And there came a pretty Maid passing by, fa, la, &c. Shepherd, quoth she, dost thou want e'er a Wife, No by my troth I'm not weary of my Life, fa, la, la, &c.

Shepherd for thee I care not a Fly, fa, la, la, For thou'st not the Face with a fair Maid to lie, fa, la, How now my Damsel, say'st thou me so, Thou shalt tast of my bottle before thou dost go, fa, la.

Then he took her and laid her upon the Ground, fa, la, And made her believe that the World went round, fa, la, Look yonder my Shepherd, look yonder I spy, There are fine pretty Babies that dance in the Sky, fa, la.

And now they are vanisht, and now they appear, fa, la, Sure they will tell Stories of what we do here, fa, la, la, Lie still my dear Chloris, enjoy thy Conceit, For the Babes are too young and too little to prate, fa, la, la.

See how the Heavens fly swifter than Day, fa, la, la, Rise quickly, or they will all run away, fa, la, la, Rise quickly my Shepherd, quickly I tell ye, For the Sun, Moon and Stars are got all in my Belly, fa, la.

O dear, where am I? pray shew me the way, fa, la, la, Unto my Father's House hard by, fa, la, la, If he chance to Chide me for staying so long, I'll tell him the fumes of your Bottle were strong, fa, la, la.

And now thou hast brought my Body to shame, fa, la, I prithee now tell me what is thy Name, fa, la, la, Why Robin in the Rushes my Name is, quoth he, But I think I told her quite contrary, fa, la, la.

Then for Robin in the Rushes, she did enquire, fa, la, la, But he hung down his Head, and he would not come nigh her, fa, la, la, He wink'd with one Eye, as if he had been Blind, And he drew one Leg after a great way behind, fa, la, la.



A SONG.

[Music]

As I was a walking under a Grove, Within my self, as I suppos'd; My Mind did oftentimes remove, And by no means could be disclosed: At length by chance a Friend I met, Which caused me long time to tarry; And thus of me she did intreat, To tell her when I meant to Marry.

Sweet-heart, quoth I, if you would know, Then hear the Words, and I'll reveal it; Since in your Mind you bear it so, And in your Heart you will conceal it: She promis'd me she'd make no Words, But of such things she would be wary; And thus in brief I did begin, To tell her when I meant to Marry.

When Shrove-tide falls in Easter week, And Christmas in the midst of July; When Lawyers for no Fees will Plead, And Taylors they prove Just and Truly: When all Deceits are quite put down, And Truth by all Men is preferred; And Indigo dies Red and Brown, O then my Love and I'll be Married.

When Men and Beasts in the Ocean flow, And Fishes in green Fields are feeding; When Muscle-shells in the Streets grow, And Swans upon dry Rocks be breeding: When Cockle-shells are Diamond Rings, And Glass to Pearl may be compared; Gold is made of a Grey-goose Wings, Oh then my Love and I'll be Married.

When hostesses do reckon true, And Dutchmen leave off drinking Brandy; When Cats do bark, and Dogs do Mew, And Brimstone is took for Sugar-candy: Or when that Whitsontide do fall, Within the Month of January; And a Cobler works without an Awl, O then my, &c.

When Women know not how to Scold, And Maids on Sweet-hearts ne'er are thinking; When Men in the Fire complain of Cold, And Ships on Salisbury Plain fear sinking: Or when Horse-Coursers turn honest Men, And London into York is carried; And out of One you can take Ten, Oh then, &c.

When Candlesticks do serve for Bells, And Frying-pans they do use for Ladles; When in the Sea they dig for Wells, And Porridge-pots they use for Cradles: When Maids forget to go a Maying, And a Man on his Back an Ox can carry; Or when the Mice with the Cat be playing, Oh then, &c.

Good Sir, since you have told me when, That you're resolv'd for to Marry; I wish with all my Heart till then, That for a Wife you still may tarry: But if all young Men were of your mind, And Maids no better were preferred; I think it were when the D——l were blind, That we and our Lovers should be Married.



Gilderoys last Farewel. To a New Tune.

[Music]

Gilderoy was a bonny Boy, Had Roses tull his shun, His Stockings were made of the finest Silk, His Garters hanging down: It was a comely sight to see, He was so trim a Boy; He was my Joy and Heart's Delight, My Handsom Gilderoy.

Oh sike a charming Eye he had, A Breath as sweet as a Rose, He never wore a Hiland plad, But costly silken Cloaths: He gain'd the Love of Ladies gay, There's none to him was Coy; Ah, wa's me, Ise mourn this Day, For my Dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I was born, Both in one Town together; Not past Seven years of Age, Since one did Love each other: Our Daddies and our Mammies both, Were cloath'd with mickle Joy, To think upon the Bridal Day, Betwixt I and my Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy, that Love of mine, Geud faith Ise freely bought: A Wedding-sark of Holland fine, With Silk in Flowers wrought: And he gave me a Wedding Ring, Which I receiv'd with Joy; No Lads or Lasses e'er could Sing, Like my sweet Gilderoy.

In mickle Joy we spent our time, Till we was both Fifteen; Then gently he did lay me down, Amongst the leaves so green: When he had done what he could do, He rose and he gang'd his way; But ever since I lov'd the Man, My Handsome Gilderoy.

While we did both together play, He kiss'd me o'er and o'er; Geud faith it was as blith a Day, As e'er I saw before: He fill'd my Heart in every Vein, With Love and mickle Joy; Who was my Love and Hearts delight, Mine own sweet Gilderoy.

Oh never, never shall I see, The cause of past Delight; Or sike a lovely Lad as he, Transport my Ravish'd sight: The Law forbids what Love enjoyns, And does prevent our Joy; Though just and fair were the Designs, Of me and Gilderoy.

'Cause Gilderoy had done amiss, Must he be punish'd then; What kind of Cruelty is this To hang such Handsom Men? The Flower of the Scotish land, A sweet and lovely Boy; He likewise had a Lady's Hand, My Handsom Gilderoy.

At Leith they took my Gilderoy, And there God wot they bang'd him: Carry'd him to fair Edenburgh, And there God wot they hang'd him: They hang'd him up above the rest, He was so trim a Boy; My only Love and Heart's Delight, My Handsom Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his Breath, In Cypress he was laid; Then for my dearest, after Death, A Funeral I made: Over his Grave a Marble-stone, I fixed for my Joy; Now I am left to weep alone, For my dear Gilderoy.



The SCOTCH Wedding

Between JOCKEY and JENNY.

[Music]

Then Jockey wou'd a Wooing away, On our Feast-day when he was foo; Then Jenny put on her best Array, When she thought Jockey would come to Woo.

If I thought Jockey were come to Town, It wad be for the leve of me; Then wad I put on beth Hat and Goown, Because I'd seem worstsome in his Eye.

Then Jenny prick'd up a brant breeght broow, She was as breeght as onny clock; As Moggy always used to do, For fear her Sweet-heart shou'd her mock.

Then Jenny shoo tripped up the Stairs, And secretly to shift her Smock; But leard how loud her mother swears, O hast away Jenny, and come to Jock.

Then Jenny came tripping down the Stairs, Oh Leard so nimbly tripped she; But oh how Jockey began to stare, When he beheld hur fair Beauty!

Then Jenny made a Curtshy low, Until the Stairs did touch her Dock; But Leard how loud her Mother did lough, When shoo Jenny was come to Jock.

Then Jockey tuke Jenny by the Nease, Saying my dear Lovey canst thou loof me? My Father is Dead and has left me Land, Some fair ould Houses twa or three.

Thou shalt be the Lady o'er them aw, I doot, quod Jenny you do me mock; Ad ta my saw, quoth Jockey, then, I come to woo thee Jenny, quoth Jock.

This to be said after the SONG.

Sea then they gang'd to the Kirk to be wad; noow they den't use to wad in Scotchland as they wad in England, for they gang to the Kirk, and they take the Donkin by the Rocket, and say, good morn Sir Donkin, says Sir Donkin, ah Jockey sen ater me, wit ta ha Jenny to thy wadded Wife? ay by her Lady quoth Jockey and thanka twa, we aw my Heart; ah Jenny sen ater me, wit ta ha Jockey to thy wadded Loon, to have and to hold for aver and aver, forsaking aw other Loons, lubberloons, black Lips, blue Nases, an aw Swiggbell'd caves? ah, an these twa be'nt as weel wadded as e'er I wadded twa in Scotchland, the Deel and St. Andrew part ye.



A Scotch SONG made to the Irish JIGG, and Sung to the King at Whitehall.

[Music]

Lately as thorough the fair Edinborough, To view the fair Meadows as I was ganging; Jockey and Moggy were walking and talking, Of Love and Religion, thus closely Haranguing; Never says Moggy, come near me false Jockey, For thou art a Whig, and I mean to abhor thee; Ize be no Bride, nor will lig by thy side, For no sneaking Rebel shall lift a Leg o'er me.

Jockey. Fairest and Dearest, And to my Heart nearest, To live with thy Frowns I no longer am able; I am so loving, And thou art so moving, Each Hair of thy Head ties me fast as a Cable: Thou hast that in thee, Ise sure to win me, To Jew, Turk or Atheist, so much I adore thee; Nothing I'd shun, That is under the Sun, So I have the pleasure to lift a Leg o'er thee.

Moggy. Plotters and Traytors, And Associators, In every degree thou shalt swear to oppose 'em; Swimmers and Trimmers, The Nations Redeemers, And for thy Reward thou shalt sleep in my Bosom; I had a Dad, Was a Royal brave Lad, And as true as the Sun to his Monarch before me; Moggy he cry'd, The same hour that he Dy'd, Let no sneaking Rebel e'er lift a Leg o'er thee.

Jockey. Adieu then ye Crew then, Of Protestant Blue Men, No Faction his Moggy from Jockey shall sever; Thou shalt at Court, My Conversion Report, I am not the first Whig by his Wife brought in favour; Ise never deal, For the dull Common Weal, To fight for true Monarchy shall be my Glory; Lull'd with thy Charms, Then I die in your Arms, When I have the Pleasure to lift a Leg o'er thee.



The Fair Lass of ISLINGTON.

[Music]

There was a Lass of Islington, As I have heard many tell; And she would to Fair London go, Fine Apples and Pears to sell: And as along the Streets she flung, With her basket on her Arm: Her Pears to sell, you may know it right well, This fair Maid meant no harm.

But as she tript along the Street, Her pleasant Fruit to sell; A Vintner did with her meet, Who lik'd this Maid full well: Quoth he, fair Maid, what have you there? In Basket decked brave; Fine Pears, quoth she, and if it please ye A taste Sir you shall have.

The Vintner he took a Taste, And lik'd it well, for why; This Maid he thought of all the rest, Most pleasing to his Eye: Quoth he, fair Maid I have a Suit, That you to me must grant; Which if I find you be so kind, Nothing that you shall want.

Thy Beauty doth so please my Eye, And dazles so my sight; That now of all my Liberty, I am deprived quite: Then prithee now consent to me, And do not put me by; It is but one small courtesie, All Night with you to lie.

Sir, if you lie with me one Night, As you propound to me; I do expect that you should prove, Both courteous, kind and free: And for to tell you all in short, It will cost you Five Pound, A Match, a Match, the Vintner said, And so let this go round.

When he had lain with her all Night, Her Money she did crave, O stay, quoth he, the other Night, And thy Money thou shalt have: I cannot stay, nor I will not stay, I needs must now be gone, Why then thou may'st thy Money go look, For Money I'll pay thee none.

This Maid she made no more ado, But to a Justice went; And unto him she made her moan, Who did her Case lament: She said she had a Cellar Let out, To a Vintner in the Town; And how that he did then agree Five Pound to pay her down.

But now, quoth she, the Case is thus, No Rent that he will pay; Therefore your Worship I beseech, To send for him this Day: Then strait the Justice for him sent, And asked the Reason why; That he would pay this Maid no Rent? To which he did Reply,

Although I hired a Cellar of her, And the Possession was mine? I ne'er put any thing into it, But one poor Pipe of Wine: Therefore my Bargain it was hard, As you may plainly see; I from my Freedom was Debarr'd, Then good Sir favour me.

This Fair Maid being ripe of Wit, She strait Reply'd again; There were two Butts more at the Door, Why did you not roul them in? You had your Freedom and your Will, As is to you well known; Therefore I do desire still, For to receive my own.

The Justice hearing of their Case, Did then give Order strait; That he the Money should pay down, She should no longer wait: Withal he told the Vintner plain If he a Tennant be; He must expect to pay the same, For he could not sit Rent-free.

But when the Money she had got, She put it in her Purse: And clapt her Hand on the Cellar Door, And said it was never the worse: Which caused the People all to Laugh, To see this Vintner Fine: Out-witted by a Country Girl, About his Pipe of Wine.



The most Famous BALLAD

Of King HENRY the 5th; his Victory over the French at Agencourt.

[Music]

A Councel grave our King did hold, With many a Lord and Knight: That he might truly understand, That France did hold his Right.

Unto the King of France therefore, Embassadors he sent; That he might truly understand, His Mind and whole Intent.

Desiring him in friendly sort, His lawful Right to yield; Or else he swore by dint of Sword, To win it in the Field.

The King of France with all his Lords, Did hear this Message plain; And to our brave Embassador, Did answer with Disdain.

And said our King was yet too young, And of but tender Age; Therefore they pass not for his Threats, Nor fear not his Courage.

His Knowledge yet in Feats of Arms, As yet is very small; His tender Joints more fitter are, To toss a Tennis-ball.

A Tun of Tennis-balls therefore, In Pride and great Disdain; He sent unto this Royal King, To recompence his Pain.

Which Answer when our King did hear, He waxed wroth in Heart; And swore he would provide such Balls, Should make all France to smart.

An Army then our King did hold, Which was both good and strong; And from Southampton is our King, With all his Navy gone.

In France he landed safe and sound, Both he and all his Train; And to the Town of Husle then He marched up amain.

Which when he had besieg'd the Town, Against the fenced Walls; To batter down the stately Towers, He sent his English Balls.

When this was done our King did march, Then up and down the Land; And not a Frenchman for his Life, Durst once his Force withstand.

Until he came to Agencourt, Whereas it was his chance; To find the King in readiness, With all the Power of France.

A mighty Host he had prepar'd, Of Armed Soldiers then; Which were no less by just Account, Than Forty Thousand Men.

Which sight did much amaze our King, For he and all his Host; Not passing Fifteen Thousand had, Accounted with the most.

The King of France who well did know, The Number of our Men; In vaunting Pride and great Disdain, Did send an Herald then:

To understand what he would give, For Ransom of his Life, When they in Field had taken him, Amongst the bloody strife.

And when our King with cheerful Heart, This answer then did make; Before that it does come to pass, Some of your Hearts will ake.

And to your proud presumptuous King, Declare this thing, quoth he; My own Heart's-blood will pay the Price, Nought else he gets of me.

Then spake the noble Duke of York, O noble King, quoth he, The Leading of this Battle brave, It doth belong to me.

God-a-mercy Cousin York, he said, I grant thee thy Request; Then lead thou on couragiously, And I will lead the rest.

Then came the bragging Frenchmen down, With cruel Force and Might; With whom our Noble King began, A fierce and dreadful Fight.

The Archers they discharg'd their Shafts, As thick as Hail from Skie; And many a Frenchman in the Field, That happy Day did die.

Their Horses tumbled on the Stakes, And so their Lives they lost; And many a Frenchman there was ta'en, As Prisoners to their cost.

Ten Thousand Men that Day was slain, As Enemies in the Field: And eke as many Prisoners, Were forc'd that Day to yield.

Thus had our King a happy Day, And Victory over France; And brought them quickly under foot That late in Pride did prance.

God save our King, and bless this Land, And grant to him likewise; The upper-hand and Victory, Of all his Enemies.



The Lady ISABELLA'S Tragedy: Or, the Step-Mother's Cruelty. To the foregoing Tune.

There was a Lord of worthy Fame, And a Hunting he would ride, Attended by a noble Train, Of Gentry on each side.

And whilst he did in Chace remain, To see both Sport and Play; His Lady went as she did feign, Unto the Church to pray.

This Lord he had a Daughter Fair, Whose Beauty shin'd so bright; She was belov'd both far and near, Of many a Lord and Knight.

Fair Isabella was she call'd, A Creature Fair was she; She was her Father's only Joy, As you shall after see.

But yet her Cruel Step-Mother, Did Envy her so much; That Day by Day she sought her Life, Her Malice it was such.

She bargain'd with the Master-Cook, To take her Life away; And taking of her Daughter's Book, She thus to her did say.

Go home, sweet Daughter, I thee pray. Go hasten presently; And tell unto the Master-Cook, These Words which I tell thee.

And bid him dress to Dinner straight, That fair and milk-white Doe; That in the Park doth shine so bright, There's none so fair to show.

This Lady fearing of no harm, Obey'd her Mother's Will; And presently she hasted home, Her Mind for to fulfil.

She straight into the Kitchin went, Her Message for to tell, And there the Master-Cook she spy'd, Who did with Malice swell.

Now Master-Cook it must be so, Do that which I thee tell; You needs must dress the milk-white Doe, Which you do know full well.

Then straight his cruel bloody Hands, He on the Lady laid; Who quivering and shaking stands, While thus to her he said:

Thou art the Doe that I must dress, See here, behold my Knife; For it is Pointed presently, To rid thee of thy Life.

O then cry'd out the Scullion Boy, As loud as loud might be; O save her Life, good Master-Cook, And make your Pies of me?

For pity sake do not destroy My Lady with your Knife; You know she is her Father's Joy, For Christ's sake save her Life.

I will not save her Life he said, Nor make my Pies of thee; Yet if thou dost this Deed betray, Thy Butcher I will be;

Now when this Lord he did come home, For to sit down to Meat; He called for his Daughter dear, To come and carve his Meat.

Now sit you down, his Lady said, O sit you down to Meat; Into some Nunnery she's gone, Your Daughter dear forget.

Then solemnly he made a Vow, Before the Company; That he would neither eat nor drink, Until he did her see.

O then bespoke the Scullion Boy, With a loud Voice so high; If that you will your Daughter see My Lord cut up the Pye.

Wherein her Flesh is minced small, And parched with the Fire; All caused by her Step-Mother, Who did her Death desire.

And cursed be the Master-Cook, O cursed may he be! I proffer'd him my own Heart's Blood, From Death to set her free.

Then all in Black this Lord did Mourn, And for his Daughter's sake; He judged for her Step-Mother, To be burnt at a Stake.

Likewise he judg'd the Master-Cook, In boyling Lead to stand; He made the simple Scullion Boy, The Heir to all his Land.



A BALLAD

In Praise of a certain Commander in the City.

[Music]

A Heroe of no small Renown, But noted for a Man of Mettle; Thro' all the Parts of London Town, No Gentleman, nor yet a Clown, No grave wise man, nor stupid Beetle.

By many Deeds of Prowess done, He's gain'd a matchless Reputation; Perform'd by neither Sword nor Gun, But by what means you'll know anon, And how he work'd his Preservation.

Well mounted on a noble Steed, With Sword and Pistol charg'd before him; Altho' we must confess indeed, Of either Arms there was no need, His Conduct did alone secure him.

With's Wife upon a single Horse, T'wards Eppin both rid out together; But what than ill Luck can be worse, A High-way-Man of equal Force, Alass, obstructed both their Pleasure.

With Pistol cock'd he made demand, And told them he must have their Money; The Major wisely would not stand, Nor on his Pistols clap a Hand, He was not such a Fighting Tony.

But spur'd away as swift as Wind, No Elk or Tyger could run faster; Was ever Man so stout and kind, To leave his frighted Wife behind, Expos'd to such a sad Disaster.

Her Necklace, Cloaths and Diamond Ring, The greedy Robber quickly fell to; One Petticoat he let her bring Away with Smock, and t'other Thing, To let her noble Heroe smell to.

This Slight bred sad domestick Strife, Altho' the Man's to be commended; For what's a loving handsome Wife, To a Man's Money or his Life, For all is lost when that is ended.



A SONG.

[Music]

As the Fryer he went along, and a poring in his Book, At last he spy'd a Jolly brown Wench a washing of her Buck,

Sing, Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go.

The Fryer he pull'd out and a Jolly brown T——d as much as he could handle, Fair Maid, quoth he, if thou earnest Fire in thy A—— come light me this same Candle. Sing, Stow the Fryer, &c.

The Maid she sh—— and a Jolly brown T—— out of her Jolly brown Hole, Good Sir, quoth she, if you will a Candle light come blow me this same Cole. Sing, Stow the Fryer, &c.

Part of the Sparks flew into the North, and part into the South, And part of this jolly brown T—— flew into the Fryer's Mouth.

Sing, Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go.



The Lass of LYNN'S sorrowful Lamentation for the Loss of her Maiden-Head.

[Music]

I am a young Lass of Lynn, Who often said thank you too; My Belly's now almost to my Chin, I cannot tell what to do.

My being so free and kind, Does make my Heart to rue; The sad Effects of this I find, And cannot tell what to do.

My Petticoats which I wore, And likewise my Aprons too; Alass, they are all too short before, I cannot, &c.

Was ever young Maid so crost, As I who thank'd him too: For why, my Maiden-head is lost, I cannot tell what to do.

In sorrowful sort I cry'd, And may now for ever rue; The Pain lies in my Back and Side, I cannot tell what to do.

Alass I was kind and mild, But now the same I rue; Having no Father for my Child, I cannot, &c.

I took but a Touch in jest, Believe me this is true; Yet I have proved, I protest, And cannot, &c.

He crav'd my Virginity, And gave me his own in lieu; In this I find I was too kind, And cannot, &c.

Each Damsel will me degrade, And so will the young Men too; I'm neither Widow, Wife, nor Maid, I cannot, &c.

A Cradle I must provide, A Chair and Posset too; Nay, likewise twenty Things beside, I cannot, &c.

When I was a Maiden fair, Such Sorrows I never knew; But now my Heart is full of Care, I cannot, &c.

Oh what will become of me, My Belly's as big as two; 'Tis with a Two-legg'd Tympany, I cannot tell what to do.

You Lasses that hear my Moan, If you will your Joys renew; Besure, while Married, lye alone, Or else you at length may rue.

I came of as good a Race, As most is in Lynn's fair Town; And cost a great deal bringing up, But a little Thing laid me down.



The Jovial Tinker.

[Music]

There was a Jovial Tinker, Which was a good Ale drinker; He never was a Shrinker, Believe me this is true; And he came from the wild of Kent, When all his Money was gone and spent, Which made him look like a Jack-a-Lent, And Joan's Ale is new, And Joan's Ale is new Boys, And Joan's Ale is new.

The Tinker he did settle, Most like a Man of Mettle, And vow'd to pawn his Kettle, Now mark what did ensue; His Neighbours they flock'd in apace, To see Tom Tinker's comely Face, Where they drank soundly for a space, Whilst Joan's Ale, &c.

The Cobler and the Broom Man, Came next into the Room, Man, And said they would drink for boon Man, Let each one take his due; But when good Liquor they had found, They cast their Caps upon the Ground, And so the Tinker he drank round, Whilst Joan's Ale, &c.

The Rag-Man being weary, With the Burden he did carry, He swore he would be merry, And spend a Shilling or two; And he told his Hostess to her Face, The Chimney-corner was his Place, And he began to drink apace, And Joan's Ale, &c.

The Pedlar he drew nigher, For it was his desire, To throw the Rags i'th' Fire, And burn the bundle blue; So whilst they drank whole Flashes, And threw about the Glasses, The Rags were burnt to Ashes, And Joan's Ale, &c.

The Second PART.

And then came in a Hatter, To see what was the matter, He scorn'd to drink cold Water, Amongst that Jovial Crew; And like a Man of Courage stout, He took the Quart-Pot by the Snout, And never left till all was out, O Joan's Ale, &c.

The Taylor being nimble, With Bodkin, Shears and Thimble, He did no whit dissemble, I think his name was True; He said that he was like to choak, And he call'd so fast for Lap and Smoak, Until he had pawn'd the Vinegar Cloak, For Joan's Ale, &c.

Then came a pitiful Porter, Which often did resort there, Quoth he, I'll shew some Sport here, Amongst the Jovial Crew; The Porter he had very bad luck, Before that it was ten a Clock, The Fool got Drunk, and lost his Frock, For Joan's Ale, &c.

The bonny brave Shoe-maker, A brave Tobacco taker, He scorn'd to be a Quaker, I think his Name was Hugh; He call'd for Liquor in so fast, Till he forgot his Awl and Last, And up the Reckoning he did cast, Whilst Joan's Ale, &c.

And then came in the Weaver, You never saw a braver, With a Silk Man and a Glover, Tom Tinker for to view; And so to welcom him to Town, They every Man spent half a Crown, And so the Drink went merrily down, For Joan's Ale, &c.

Then came a Drunken Dutchman, And he would have a touch, Man, But he soon took too much, Man, Which made them after rue; He drank so long as I suppose, 'Till greasie Drops fell from his Nose, And like a Beast befoul'd his Hose, Whilst Joan's Ale, &c.

A Welchman he came next, Sir, With Joy and Sorrow Mixt, Sir, Who being partly vex'd, Sir, He out his Dagger drew; Cuts-plutter-a-nails, quoth Taffy then, A Welchman is a Shentleman, Come Hostess fill's the other Cann, For Joan's Ale, &c.

Thus like to Men of Courage stout, Couragiously they drank about, Till such time all the Ale was out, As I may tell to you; And when the Business was done, They every man departed home, And promis'd Joan again to come, When she had Brew'd anew.



The Soldiers Fortune: Or, the taking Mardyke.

[Music]

When first Mardyke was made a Prey, 'Twas Courage that carry'd the Fort away, Then do not lose your Valours Prize, By gazing on your Mistresses Eyes; But put off your Petticoat-parley, Potting and sotting, and laughing and quaffing Canary, Will make a good Soldier miscarry: And never Travel for true Renown: Then turn to your Marshal Mistress, Fair Minerva the Soldier's Sister is; Rallying and sallying, with gashing and slashing of Wounds Sir, With turning and burning of Towns, Sir, Is a high step to a great Man's Throne.

Let bold Bellona's Brewer frown, And his Tunn shall overflow the Town; And give the Cobler Sword and Fate: And a Tinker may trapan the State; Such Fortunate Foes as these be, Turn'd the Crown to a Cross at Naseby: Father and Mother, Sister and Brother confounded, And many a good Family wounded; By a terrible turn of Fate, He that can kill a Man, thunder and plunder the Town, Sir, And pull his Enemies down, Sir, In time may be an Officer great.

It is the Sword does order all, Makes Peasants rise, and Princes fall; All Sylogisms in vain are spilt, No Logick like a Basket-hilt: It handles 'em joint by joint Sir, Quilling and drilling, and spilling, and Killing profoundly, Until the Disputers on Ground lie, And have never a word to say; Unless it be Quarter, Quarter, Truth is confuted by a Carter, By stripping and nipping, and ripping and quipping Evasions, Doth Conquer a Power of Perswasions, Aristotle hath lost the Day.

The Musket bears so great a force, To Learning it has no Remorse; The Priest, the Layman, the Lord, Find no distinction from the Sword; Tan tarra, Tan tarra the Trumpet, Now the Walls begin to crack, The Councellors struck dumb too, By the Parchment upon the Drum too; Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub an Alarum, Each Corporal now can out-dare 'em, Learned Littleton goes to rack.

Then since the Sword so bright doth shine, We'll leave our Wenches and our Wine, And follow Mars where-e'er he runs, And turn our Pots and Pipes to Guns. The Bottles shall be Grenadoes, We'll bounce about the Bravado's By huffing and puffing, and snuffing and cuffing the French Boys, Whose Brows have been dy'd in a Trench Boys; Well got Fame is a Warriour's Wife, The Drawer shall be the Drummer, We'll be Colonels all next Summer By hiking and tilting, and pointing and jointing like brave Boys, We shall have Gold or a Grave, Boys, And there's an end of a Soldier's Life.



The MISSES Complaint.

Tune, Packington's Pound.

[Music]

How now Sister Betteris, why look you so sad? Gillian. The times are so hard and our trading so bad, That we in our Function no Money can gain, Our Pride and our Bravery for to maintain.

Bett. True Sister, Gillian, I know it full well, But what will you say if such News I do tell? And how't will rejoyce you, I'll make it out plain, Will make our Trade quick, and more Money will gain.

There's none of the pitiful Tribe we'll be for, And Six-penny Customers we will abhor; For all those that will our Dominions invade, Must pay for their sauce, we must live by our Trade.

Gil. Good Sister if you can make this but appear, My Spirit and Senses you greatly will chear, But a Famine of Flesh will bring all things to pass, Or else we are as bad still as ever we was.

Bett. Lately a Counsel of Bauds there did meet, In Cock and Pye Alley, near Do-little Street: And who was the Counsel, and what was there done; I'll make it out to you as clear as the Sun.

From Ratcliffe-highway, and from Nightingale-lane, Their Deputies come with a very fine Train: Unto these two Couple come long sided Sue, Is as good as e'er twang'd, if you give her her due.

Then Tower-Ditch and Hatton-Wall sent in their Prayers, And drest as compleatly as Horses to Fairs; With them Jumping Jenny appear'd, as 'tis said, Who ne'er in her Life of a Man was afraid.

The two Metropolitans came from the Park, As arch at the Game, as e'er plaid in the Dark; Then Lutener's-lane a gay Couple did bring, Two better, I think, was ne'er stretch'd in hemp-string.

There was many others from Places remote, The which were too tedious for me here to note; And what was their Business I here will declare, How to keep our Trade in Repute they take care.

And first for those Ladies that walk in the Night, Their Aprons and Handkerchiefs they should be white, And that they do walk more in Town than in Fields, For that is the Place most Variety yields.

And those that are over-much worn by their Trade, Shall go in a Vessel, their Passage being paid; The Venture of Cuckolds, 'tis called by Name, And this is the way for to keep up our Fame.

And this is the Ship which the Cuckolds have brought, It lies at their Haven, and is to be frought: And thither Whores rampant, that please may repair, With Master and Captain to truck for their Ware.

And for a Supply that our trade may increase, For wanton Commodity it will grow less; We'll visit the Carriers, and take them up there, And then for their Tutering we will take care.

In this we shall ease all the Countries to do't, And do our selves Pleasure and Profit to boot; For one that is crack'd in the Country before, In London will make a spick and span Whore.

There's many more Precepts which they did advise, But these which I'll give you here shall suffice: And when you have heard them, I think you will say, We ne'er were more likely to thrive in our way.

Some Orders agreed upon at a General Consultation of the Sisterhood of Nightingale-lane, Ratcliff-high-way, Tower-Ditch, Rose-mary-lane, Hatton-Wall, Saffron-hill, Wetstone's-Park, Lutener's-lane, and other Places adjacent, for the general Encouragement and Advancement of their Occupation.

I.

That no Night-walker presume to go without a White Apron and Handkerchief, the better to be seen.

II.

To keep due Time and Hours, for fear of the Constable and his Watch.

III.

That those which are over-worn, cast off and cashier'd, do repair to the Ship called (the Cuckolds Venture) now riding at Cuckolds Haven, thence to be transported over-Sea, to have their Breeches repaired.

IV.

That a due care be taken to visit the Carriers for crack'd Maidenheads, for the use and increase of our Occupation.

V.

That all honest Women belonging to either Wittals or Cuckolds, be admitted to the principal Places in this Ship.

VI.

And lastly, for the better State and Magnificence of the honourable Corporation of W——es, 'tis order'd that a Chariot be made to be drawn by Cuckolds, the Cuckold-makers to drive, and the Wittals to ride.



The well approved Doctor:

Or, an Infallible Cure for CUCKOLDS. To the foregoing Tune.

There is a fine Doctor now come to Town, Whose practice in Physick hath gain'd him Renown, In curing of Cuckolds he hath the best Skill, By giving one Dose of his approved Pill.

His Skill is well known, and his Practice is great, Then come to the Doctor before 'tis too late; His Med'cines are safe, and the Doctor is sure, He takes none in Hand but he perfects, the Cure.

The Doctor himself he doth freely unfold, That he can Cure Cuckolds tho' never so old; He helps this Distemper in all sorts of Men, At Forty and Fifty, yea, Threescore and Ten.

There was an old Man lived near to the Strand, Decripid and Feeble, scarce able to stand; Who had been a Cuckold full Forty long Years, But hearing of this how he prick'd up his Ears.

Away to the Doctor he went with all speed, Where he struck a bargain, they soon were agreed; He cured his Forehead that nothing was seen, And now he's as brisk as a Youth of Fifteen.

Now this being known, how his Fame it did ring, And unto the Doctor much trading did bring; They came to the Doctor out of e'ery Shire, From all Parts and Places, yea both far and near.

Both Dutchmen and Scotchmen to London did ride, With Shonny-ap-Morgan, and Thousands beside; Thus all sorts and sizes, both rich Men and poor, They came in whole Cart-loads to this Doctor's door.

Some whining, some weeping, some careful and sad, And some was contented, and others born mad; Some crooked, some straight Horns, and some overgrown, The like in all Ages I think was ne'er known.

Some rich and brave flourishing Cuckolds were there, That came in whole Droves, Sir, as if to Horn-Fair; For now there is hopes to be cur'd of their Grief, The Doctor declares in the Fall of the Leaf.

Let none be so foolish as now to neglect, This Doctor's great Kindness and civil Respect; Tho' rich Men may pay, yet the Poor may go free, So kind and so courteous a Doctor is he.

'Tis known he so worthy a Conscience doth make, Poor Cuckolds he'll cure them for Charity sake; Nay, farther than this still his Love does enlarge, Providing for them at his own Cost and Charge.

But some are so wicked, that they will exclaim Against their poor Wives, making 'em bare the Blame; And will not look out in the least for a Cure, But all their sad Pains and their Tortures endure.

But 'tis without reason, for he that is born Under such a Planet, is Heir to the Horn: Then come to the Doctor both rich Men and Poor, He'll carefully cure you, what would you have more?

The Term of his Time here the Doctor does write, From six in the Morning 'till seven at Night; Where in his own Chamber he still will remain, At the Sign of the Woodcock in Vinegar-lane.



The Doctor doth here likewise present you with the Receipt of his Infallible Medicine, that those which have no occasion for it themselves, may do good to their Neighbours and Acquaintances: And take it here as followeth.

Take five Pound of Brains of your December Flies, And forty true Tears from a Crocodile's Eyes; The Wit of a Weasel, the Wool of a Frog, With an Ounce of Conserve of Michaelmas Fog.

And make him a Poultis when he goes to Bed, To bind to his Temples behind of his Head; As hot as the Patient he well can endure, And this is for Cuckolds an absolute Cure.



A SONG.

Good Neighbour why do you look awry, You are a wond'rous Stranger; You walk about, you huff and pout, As if you'd burst with Anger: Is it for that your Fortune's great, Or you so Wealthy are? Or live so high there's none a-nigh That can with you compare? But t'other Day I heard one say, Your Husband durst not show his Ears, But like a Lout does walk about, So full of Sighs and Fears: Good Mrs. Tart, I caren't a Fart, For you nor all your Jears.

My Husband's known for to be one, That is most Chast and pure; And so would be continually, But for such Jades as you are: You wash, you lick, you smug, you trick, You toss a twire a grin; You nod and wink, and in his Drink, You strive to draw him in: You Lie you Punck, you're always Drunk, And now you Scold and make a Strife, And like a Whore you run o' th' Score, And lead him a weary Life; Tell me so again you dirty Quean, And I'll pull you by the Quoif.

Go dress those Brats, those nasty Rats, That have a Lear so drowzy; With Vermin spread they look like Dead, Good Faith they're always Lousie: Pray hold you there, and do not swear, You are not half so sweet; You feed yours up with bit and sup, And give them a dirty Teat: My Girls, my Boys, my only Joys, Are better fed and taught than yours; You lie you Flirt, you look like Dirt, And I'll kick you out of Doors; A very good Jest, pray do your best, And Faith I'll quit your Scores.

Go, go you are a nasty Bear, Your Husband cannot bear it; A nasty Quean as e'er was seen, Your Neighbours all can swear it: A fulsome Trot and good for nought, Unless it be to chat; You stole a Spoon out of the Room, Last Christning you were at: You lye you Bitch you've got the Itch, Your Neighbours know you are not sound; Look how you Claw with your nasty Paw, And I'll fell you to the Ground; You've tore my Hood, you shall make it good If it cost me Forty Pound.



The Jovial COBLER of St. Hellens.

[Music]

I am a jovial Cobler bold and brave, And as for Employment enough I have: For to keep jogging my Hammer and Awl, Whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall, Stall, Stall, whilst I sit Singing and Whistling in my Stall.

But there's Dick the Carman, and Hodge who drives the Dray For Sixteen, or Eighteen Pence a Day, Slave in the Dirt, whilst I with my Awl, Get more Money, sitting, sitting in my Stall, &c.

And there's Tom the Porter, Companion of the Pot, Who stands in the Street with his Rope and Knot, Waiting at a Corner to hear who will him call, Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there's the jolly Broom-man, his Bread for to get, Crys Brooms up and down in the open Street, And one crys broken Glasses tho' ne'er so small, Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there's another gang of poor smutty Souls, Doth trudge up and down to cry Small-coals; With a Sack on their Back, at a Door stand and call, Whilst I am getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there's another sort of Notes, Who crys up and down old Suits and Coats; And perhaps some Days get nothing at all, Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there's the Jolly Cooper with his Hoops at his Back, Who trudgeth up and down to see who lack Their Casks to be made tite, with Hoops great and small, Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there's a Jolly Tinker that loves a bonny Lass, Who trudges up and down to mend old Brass; With his long smutty Punch to force holes withal, Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there is another old Tom Terrah, Who up and down the City drives his Barrow; To sell his Fruit both great and small, Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there is the Blind and Lame, with a Wooden Leg, Who up and down the City they forced are to beg Some Crumbs of Comfort, the which are but small, Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there's a gang of Wenches who Oysters sell, And Powder Moll with her sweet smell; She trudges up and down with Powder and Ball, Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

And there's the jovial Girls with their Milking-Pails, Who trudge up and down with their Draggle Tails: Flip flapping at their Heels for Custom they call, Whilst I sit getting Money, Money in my Stall, &c.

'Tis these are the Gang who take great Pain, And it is those who do me maintain; But when it blows and rains I do pity them all, To see them trudge about while I am in my Stall, &c.

And there's many more who slave and toil, Their living to get, but it is not worth while, To mention them, so I'll sing in my Stall, I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all, All, all, I am the happiest Mortal, Mortal of them all.



The Merchant and the Fidler's WIFE.

[Music]

It was a Rich Merchant Man, That had both Ship and all; And he would cross the salt Seas, Tho' his cunning it was but small.

The Fidler and his Wife, They being nigh at hand; Would needs go sail along with him, From Dover unto Scotland.

The Fidler's Wife look'd brisk, Which made the Merchant smile; He made no doubt to bring it about, The Fidler to beguile.

Is this thy Wife the Merchant said, She looks like an honest Spouse; Ay that she is, the Fidler said, That ever trod on Shoes.

Thy Confidence is very great, The Merchant then did say; If thou a Wager darest to bet, I'll tell thee what I will lay.

I'll lay my Ship against thy Fiddle, And all my Venture too; So Peggy may gang along with me, My Cabin for to View.

If she continues one Hour with me, Thy true and constant Wife; Then shalt thou have my Ship and be, A Merchant all thy Life.

The Fidler was content, He Danc'd and Leap'd for joy; And twang'd his Fiddle in merriment, For Peggy he thought was Coy.

Then Peggy she went along, His Cabin for to View; And after her the Merchant-Man, Did follow, we found it true.

When they were once together, The Fidler was afraid; For he crep'd near in pitious fear, And thus to Peggy he said.

Hold out, sweet Peggy hold out, For the space of two half Hours; If thou hold out, I make no doubt, But the Ship and Goods are ours.

In troth, sweet Robin, I cannot, He hath got me about the Middle; He's lusty and strong, and hath laid me along, O Robin thou'st lost thy Fiddle.

If I have lost my Fiddle, Then am I a Man undone; My Fiddle whereon I so often play'd, Away I needs must run.

O stay the Merchant said, And thou shalt keep thy place; And thou shalt have thy Fiddle again, But Peggy shall carry the Case.

Poor Robin hearing that, He look'd with a Merry-chear; His wife she was pleas'd, and the Merchant was eas'd, And jolly and brisk they were.

The Fidler he was mad, But valu'd it not a Fig; Then Peggy unto her Husband said, Kind Robin play us a Jigg.

Then he took up his Fiddle, And merrily he did play; The Scottish Jigg and the Horn pipe, And eke the Irish Hey.

It was but in vain to grieve, The Deed it was done and past; Poor Robin was born to carry the Horn, For Peggy could not be Chast.

Then Fidlers all beware, Your Wives are kind you see; And he that's made for the Fidling Trade, Must never a Merchant be.

For Peggy she knew right well, Although she was but a Woman; That Gamesters Drink, and Fidlers Wives, They are ever Free and Common.



The Unconstant WOMAN.

[Music]

Did you not hear of a gallant Sailor, Whose Pockets they were lin'd with Gold; He fell in Love with a pretty Creature, As I to you the Truth unfold: With a kind Salute, and without Dispute, He thought to gain her for his own, Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man, She has gone and left me all alone.

Don't you remember my pretty Peggy, The Oaths and Vows which you made to me: All in the Chamber we were together, That you would ne'er unconstant be: But you prove strange Love, and from me range, And leave me here to Sigh and Moan; Unconstant Woman is true to no Man, She's gone and left me all alone.

As I have Gold you shall have Treasure, Or any dainty kind of thing; Thou may'st command all Delights and Pleasure, And what you'd have, Love, I would you bring: But you prove shy, and at last deny, Him that admires you alone; Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man, She's left me here to make my moan.

When first I saw your charming Beauty, I stood like one all in amaze; I study'd only how to pay Duty, And could not speak but only gaze, At last said I, fair Maid comply, And ease a wretched Lover's Moan; Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man, She's gone and left me here alone.

I made her Presents of Rings and Jewels, With Diamond Stones I gave her too; She took them kindly, and call'd me Jewel, And said her Love to me was true: But in the end she prov'd unkind, When I thought she had been my own; Unconstant Woman, &c.

For three Months time we saw each other, And she oft said she'd be my Wife; I had her Father's Consent and Mother, I thought to have liv'd a happy Life: She'd laugh and toy both Night and Day, But at length she chang'd her Tone; Unconstant Woman, proves true to no Man, She's left me now to make my Moan.

Many a time we have walk'd together, Both Hand in Hand to an Arbour green; Where Tales of Love in Sun-shiny Weather, We did discourse and were not seen: With a kind Salute we did dispute, While we together were alone: Unconstant Woman she's true to no Man, She's gone and left me here alone.

Since Peggy has my kindness slighted, I'll never trust a Woman more; 'Twas in her alone I e'er delighted, But since she's false I'll leave the Shoar: In Ship I'll enter, on Seas I'll venture, And sail the World where I'm not known: Unconstant Woman proves true to no Man, She's gone and left me here alone.



Sorrow banish'd in a MUG. The Words by Sir Edward Morgan.

[Music]

If Sorrow the Tyrant invade thy Breast, Haul out the foul Fiend by the Lug, the Lug, Let nought of to morrow disturb thy Rest, But dash out his Brains with a Mug, a Mug. If Business unluckily goes not well, Let the fond Fools their Affections hug, To shew our Allegiance we'll go to the Bell, And banish Despair in a Mug, a Mug.

If thy Wife proves not one of the Best, the Best, But admits no time but to think, to think; Or the weight of thy Forehead bow down thy Crest, Divert the dull Damon with Drink, with Drink, If Miss prove peevish and will not gee, Ne'er pine, ne'er pine at the wanton Pug, But find out a fairer, a kinder than she, And banish Dispair in a Mug, a Mug.

If dear Assignation be crost, be crost, And Mistress go home in a rage, a rage; Let not thy poor Heart like a Ship be tost, But with a brisk Brimmer engage, engage: What if the fine Fop and the Mask fall out. And the one Hug, and t'other Tug, While they pish and fie, we will frolick in Stout, And banish all Care in a Mug, a Mug.

If toying young Damon by Sylvia's Charms, At length should look pale and perplexed be; To cure the Distemper and ease those harms, Go straight to the Globe and ask Number three: There beauties like Venus thou canst not lack, Be kind to them, they will sweetly hug; There's choice of the Fairest, the Brown or the Black. Then banish Despair in a Mug, a Mug.

Let then no Misfortune e'er make thee dull, But drink away care in a Jug, a Jug; Then let not thy Tide steal away, but pull, Carouse away though in a Mug, a Mug: While others for Greatness and Fortune's doom, While they for their Ambition tug; We'll sit close and snug in a Sea-coal Room, And banish Despair in a Mug, a Mug.

Let Zealots o'er Coffee new Plots devise, And lace with fresh Treason the Pagan Drug; Whilst our Loyal Blood flows our Veins shall shine, Like our Faces inspir'd with a Mug, a Mug: Let Sectaries dream of Alarms, Alarms, And Fools still for new changes tug; While fam'd for our Loyalty we'll stand to our Arms, And drink the King's Health in a Mug, a Mug.

Come then to the Queen let the next Advance, And all Loyal Lads of true English Race; Who hate the stum Poison of Spain and France, Or to Bourdeux or Burgundy do give place; The Flask and the Bottle breeds Ach and Gout, Whilst we, we all the Season lie snug; Neither Spaniard nor Flemming, can vie with our Stout, And shall submit to the Mug, the Mug.



The Good Fellow. Words by Mr. Alex. Brome.

[Music]

Stay, stay, shut the Gates, T'other Quart, faith, it is not so late As you're thinking, Those Stars which you see, In this Hemisphere be, But the Studs in your Cheeks by your Drinking: The Sun is gone to Tiple all Night in the Sea Boys, To Morrow he'll blush that he's paler than we Boys, Drink Wine, give him Water, 'tis Sack makes us jee Boys.

Fill, fill up the Glass, To the next merry Lad let it pass, Come away with't: Come Set Foot to Foot, And but give our Minds to't, 'Tis Heretical Six that doth slay Wit, No Helicon like to the Juice of the Vine is, For Phoebus had never had Wit, nor Diviness, Had his Face been bow dy'd as thine, his, and mine is.

Drink, drink off your Bowls, We'll enrich both our Heads and our Souls With Canary; A Carbuncled Face, Saves a tedious Race, For the Indies about us we carry: Then hang up good Faces, we'll drink till our Noses Give freedom to speak what our Fancy disposes, Beneath whose protection is under the Roses.

This, this must go round, Off your Hats, till that the Pavement be Crown'd With your Beavers; A Red-coated Face, Frights a Searjeant at Mace, And the Constable trembles to shivers: In state march our Faces like those of the Quorum, When the Wenches fall down and the Vulgar adore'em, And our Noses, like Link-boys, run shining before'em.



The Nymphs Holiday. The Tune of the Nightingale.

[Music]

Upon a Holiday, when Nymphs had leave to play, I walk'd unseen, on a pleasant Green, Where I heard a Maid in an angry Spleen, Complaining to a Swain, to leave his drudging Pain, And sport with her upon the Plain; But he the silly Clown, Regardless of her Moan, did leave her all alone, Still she cry'd, come away, come away bonny Lad come away, I cannot come, I will not come, I cannot come, my Work's not done, Was all the Words this Clown did say.

She vex'd in her Mind to hear this Lad's reply, To Venus she went, in great Discontent, To desire her Boy with his Bow ready bent, To take a nimble Dart, and strike him to the Heart, For disobeying her Commandment: Cupid then gave the Swain such a Bang, As made him to gang with this bonny Lass along, Still she cry'd, come away, come away bonny Lad, come hither, I come, I come, I come, I come, I come, I come, So they gang'd along together.



Good Honest Trooper take warning by DONALD COOPER. To the Tune of Daniel Cooper.

[Music]

A Bonny Lad came to the Court, His Name was Donald Cooper, And he Petition'd to the King, That he might be a Trooper: He said that he, By Land and Sea, Had fought to Admiration, And with Montross Had many blows, Both for his King and Nation.

The King did his Petition grant, And said he lik'd him dearly, Which gave to Donald more content, Than Twenty Shillings yearly: This wily Leard Rode in the Guard, And lov'd a strong Beer Barrel; Yet stout enough, To Fight and Cuff, But was not given to Quarrel.

Till on a Saturday at Night, He walked in the Park, Sir; And there he kenn'd a well fair Lass, When it was almost dark, Sir; Poor Donald he Drew near to see, And kist her bonny Mow, Sir; He laid her flat Upon her back, And bang'd her side Weam too, Sir.

He took her by the Lilly white Hand, And kiss'd his bonny Mary, Then they did to the Tavern go, Where they did drink Canary; When he was Drunk, In came a Punck, And ask'd gan he would Mow her; Then he again, With Might and Main, Did bravely lay her o'er, Sir.

Poor Donald he rose up again, As nothing did him ail, Sir; But little kenn'd this bonny Lass, Had Fire about her Tail, Sir: When Night was spent Then Home he went, And told it with a Hark, Sir; How he did Kiss A dainty Miss, And lifted up the Sark, Sir.

But e'er a Month had gone about, Poor Donald walked sadly: And every yean enquir'd of him, What gar'd him leuk so badly: A Wench, quoth he, Gave Snuff to me, Out of her Placket box, Sir; And I am sure, She prov'd a Whore, And given to me the Pox, Sir.

Poor Donald he being almost Dead, Was turn'd out of the Guard, Sir; And never could get in again, Although he was a Leard, Sir: When Mars doth meet, With Venus sweet, And struggles to surrender; The Triumph's lost, Then never trust A Feminine Commander.

Poor Donald he went home again, Because he lost his Place, Sir; For playing of a Game at Whisk, And turning up an Ace, Sir; Ye Soldiers all, Both great and small, A Foot-man or a Trooper; When you behold, A Wench that's bold Remember Donald Cooper.



The Jovial Drinker.

[Music]

A Pox on those Fools, who exclaim against Wine, And fly the dear sweets that the Bottle doth bring; It heightens the Fancy, the Wit does refine, And he that was first Drunk was made the first King.

By the help of good Claret old Age becomes Youth, And sick Men still find this the only Physitian; Drink largely, you'll know by experience, the Truth, That he that drinks most is the best Politician.

To Victory this leads on the brave Cavalier, And makes all the Terrors of War, but Delight; This flushes his Courage, and beats off base Fear, 'Twas that taught Caesar and Pompey to fight.

This supports all our Friends, and knocks down our Foes, This makes us all Loyal Men from Courtier to Clown; Like Dutchmen from Brandy, from this our Strength grows So 'tis Wine, noble Wine, that's a Friend to the Crown.



The Sexton's SONG.

Sung by BEN. JOHNSON, in the Play of Hamlet Prince of Denmark, acting the Grave maker.

[Music]

Once more to these Arms my lov'd Pick-ax and Spade, With the rest of the Tools that belong to my Trade; I that Buried others am rose from the Dead, With a Ring, a Ring, Ring, a Ring, and Dig a Dig, Dig.

My Thoughts are grown easie, my Mind is at rest, Since Things at the worst are now grown to the best, And I and the Worms that long fasted shall Feast, With a Ring, &c.

How I long to be Measuring and cleaving the Ground, And commending the Soil for the Sculls shall be found, Whose thickness alone, not the Soil makes them sound, With a Ring, &c.

Look you Masters, I'll cry, may the Saints ne'er me save, If this ben't as well contriv'd sort of a Grave, As a Man could wish on such occasion to have, With a Ring, &c.

Observe but the make of't, I'll by you be try'd, And the Coffin so fresh there that lies on that side, It's Fifty Years since he that owns it has dy'd. With a Ring, &c.

I hope to remember your Friend in a Bowl, An honest good Gentleman, God rest his Soul, He has that for a Ducket is worth a Pistole, With a Ring, &c.

At Marriages next I'll affirm it and swear, If the Bride would be private so great was my Care, That not a Soul knew that the Priest joyn'd the Pair, With a Ring, &c.