Chapter 8

Hither turn thee, hither turn thee, hither turn thee gentle Swain, Hither turn thee, hither turn thee, hither turn thee gentle Swain, Let not _Venus_, let not _Venus_, let not _Venus_ sue in vain; _Venus_ rules, _Venus_ rules, _Venus_ rules the Gods above, Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them, and she rules Love? _Venus_ rules the Gods above, Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them, and she rules Love. Love rules them, and she rules Love.

_A_ SONG.

_The Words by Mr._ WARD, _Set by Mr._ HARRIS.

[Music]

_Belinda_! why do you distrust, So faithful and so kind a Heart: Which cannot prove to you unjust, But must it self endure the smart: No, no, no, no the wandring Stars, Shall sooner cease their Motion; And Nature reconcile the Jars, 'Twixt _Boreas_ and the Ocean: The fixed Poles shall seem to move, And ramble from their Places; E'er I'll from fair _Belinda_ rove, Or slight her charming Graces.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ William Turner.

[Music]

Long was the Day e're _Alexis_ my Lover, To finish my Hopes would his Passion reveal; He could not speak, nor I could not discover, What my poor aking Heart was so loath to conceal: Till the Strength of his Passion his Fear had remov'd, Then we mutually talk'd, and we mutually lov'd.

Groves for Umbrella's did kindly o'er-shade us, From _Phoebus_ hot rages, who like envy in strove; Had not kind Fate this Provision made us, All the Nymphs of the Air would have envy'd our Love: But we stand below Envy that ill-natur'd Fate, And above cruel Scorn is happy Estate.

_A_ SONG.

_Set to Musick by Mr._ John Eccles.

[Music]

As _Cupid_ roguishly one Day, Had all alone stole out to play; The _Muses_ caught the little, little, little Knave, And captive Love to Beauty gave: The _Muses_ caught the little, little, little Knave, And captive Love to Beauty gave: The laughing Dame soon miss'd her Son, And here and there, and here and there, And here and there distracted run; Distracted run, and here and there, And here and there, and here and there distracted run: And still his Liberty to gain, his Liberty to gain, Offers his Ransom, But in vain, in vain, in vain; The willing, willing Prisoner still hugs his Chain, And Vows he'll ne'er be free, And Vows he'll ne'er be free, No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, No, no, no, no, no he'll ne'er be free again, No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, No, no, no, no, no he'll ne'er be free again.

_Old_ SOLDIERS.

[Music]

Of old Soldiers, the Song you would hear, And we old Fidlers have forgot who they were, But all we remember shall come to your Ear, _That we are old Soldiers of the Queens,_ _And the Queens old Soldiers._

With the _Old Drake_, that was the next Man To _Old Franciscus_, who first it began, To sail through the Streights of _Magellan_, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

That put the proud _Spanish Armado_ to wrack, And Travell'd all o'er the old World, and came back, In his old Ship, laden with Gold and old Sack, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

With an _Old Cavendish_, that seconded him, And taught his old Sails the same Passage to swim, And did them therefore with Cloth of Gold Trim, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

Like an _Old Rawleigh_, that twice and again, Sailed over most part of the _Seas_, and then Travell'd all o'er the World with his Pen, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

With an _Old John Norris_, the General, That at old _Gaunt_, made his Fame Immortal, In spight of his Foes, with no loss at all, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

Like _Old Brest Fort_, an invincible thing, When the old _Queen_ sent him to help the _French_ King, Took from the proud _Fox_, to the World's wond'ring, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

Where an old stout _Fryer_, as goes the Story, Came to push of Pike with him in Vain-glory, But he was almost sent to his own _Purgatory_, _By this old Soldier_, &c.

With an _Old Ned Norris_, that kept _Ostend_, A terror to Foe, and a Refuge to Friend, And left it Impregnable to his last End, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

That in the old unfortunate Voyage of all, March'd o'er the old Bridge, and knock'd at the Wall, Of _Lisbon_, the Mistress of _Portugal_, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

With an _Old Tim Norris_, by the old _Queen_ sent, Of _Munster_ in _Ireland_, Lord President, Where his Days and his Blood in her service he spent, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

With an _Old Harry Norris_, in Battle wounded, In his Knee, whose Leg was cut off, and he said, You have spoil'd my Dancing, and dy'd in his Bed, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

With an _Old Will Norris_, the oldest of all, Who went voluntary, without any Call, To th' old _Irish_ Wars, to's Fame Immortal, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

With an _Old Dick Wenman_, the first in his Prime, That over the Walls of old _Cales_ did Clime, And there was Knighted, and liv'd all his Time, _Like an old Soldier_, &c.

With _Old Nando Wenman_, when _Brest_ was o'er thrown, Into the Air, into the Seas, with Gunpowder blown, Yet bravely recovering, long after was known, _For an Old Soldier_, &c.

When an _Old Tom Wenman_, whose bravest delight, Was in a good Cause for his Country to Fight, And dy'd in _Ireland_, a good old Knight, _And an old Soldier_, &c.

With a Young _Ned Wenman_, so valiant and bold, In the Wars of _Bohemia_, as with the Old, Deserves for his Valour to be Enroll'd, _An old Soldier_, &c.

And thus of Old Soldiers, ye hear the Fame, But ne'er so many of one House and Name, And all of old _John Lord Viscount_ of _Thame_, _An old Soldier of the Queens,_ _And the Queens old Soldier._

_On the Tombs in_ Westminster Abby.

_You must suppose it to be_ Easter _Holy-Days: At what time_ Sisly _and_ Dol, Kate _and_ Peggy, Moll _and_ Nan, _are marching to_ Westminster, _with a Leash of Prentices before 'em; who go rowing themselves along with their right Arms to make more hast, and now and then with a greasie Muckender wipe away the dripping that bastes their Foreheads. At the Door they meet a crowd of_ Wapping _Sea-men_, Southwark _Broom-men, the Inhabitants of the_ Bank-Side, _with a Butcher or two prickt in among them. There a while they stand gaping for the Master of the Show, staring upon the Suburbs of their dearest delight, just as they stand gaping upon the painted Cloth before they go into the Puppet Play. By and by they hear the Bunch of Keys, which rejoyces their Hearts like the sound of the_ Pancake-Bell. _For now the Man of Comfort peeps over the Spikes, and beholding such a learned Auditory, opens the Gate of_ Paradise, _and by that time they are half got into the first Chapel, (for time is very precious) he lifts up his Voice among the Tombs, and begins his Lurrey in manner and form following._

_To the foregoing Tune; In Imitation of the Old Soldiers._

Here lies _William de Valence_, A right good Earl of _Pembroke_, And this is his Monument which you see, I'll swear upon a Book.

He was high Marshal of _England_, When _Henry_ the Third did Reign; But this you take upon my Word, That he'll ne'er be so again.

Here the Lord _Edward Talbot_ lies, The Town of _Shrewsbury's_ Earl; Together with his Countess fair, That was a most delicate Girl.

The next to him there lyeth one, Sir _Richard Peckshall_ hight; Of whom we only this do say, He was a _Hampshire_ Knight.

But now to tell you more of him, There lies beneath this Stone: Two Wives of his, and Daughters four, To all of Us unknown.

Sir _Bernard Brockhurst_ there doth lie, Lord Chamberlain to Queen _Ann_; Queen _Ann_ was _Richard_ the Second's Queen, And was King of _England_.

Sir _Francis Hollis_, the Lady _Frances_, The same was _Suffolk's_ Dutchess; Two Children of _Edward_ the Third, Lie here in Death's cold Clutches.

This is the Third King _Edward's_ Brother, Of whom our Records tell Nothing of Note, nor say they whether, He be in Heaven or Hell.

This same was _John_ of _Eldeston_, He was no Costermonger; But _Cornwall's_ Earl, and here's one dy'd, 'Cause he could live no longer.

The Lady _Mohun_, Dutchess of _York_, And Duke of _York's_ Wife also; But Death resolv'd to Horn the Duke, She lies now with Death below.

The Lady _Ann Ross_, but wot ye well, That she in Childbed dy'd; The Lady Marquiss of _Winchester_, Lies Buried by her side.

Now think your Penny well spent good Folks, And that you're not beguil'd; Within this Cup doth lie the Heart Of a _French Embassador's_ Child.

But how the Devil it came to pass, On purpose, or by chance; The Bowels they lie underneath, The Body is in _France_.

[Sidenote: Dol. _I warrant ye the_ Pharises _carried it away._]

There's _Oxford's_ Countess, and there also The Lady _Burleigh_ her Mother; And there her Daughter, a Countess too, Lie close by one another.

These once were bonny Dames, and tho' There were no Coaches then, Yet could they jog their Tails themselves, Or had them jogg'd by Men.

[Sidenote: Dick. _Ho, ho, ho, I warrant ye they did as other Women did, ha_ Ralf. Ralf. _Oy, Oy._]

But woe is me! those high born Sinners; That went to pray so stoutly; Are now laid low, and 'cause they can't, Their Statues pray devoutly.

This is the Dutchess of _Somerset_, By Name the Lady _Ann_; Her Lord _Edward_ the Sixth Protected, Oh! he was a Gallant Man.

[Sidenote: Tom. _I have heard a Ballad of him sang at_ Ratcliff Cross. Mol. _I believe we have it at home over our Kitchin Mantle-Tree._]

In this fair Monument which you see, Adorn'd with so many Pillars; Doth lie the Countess of _Buckingham_, And her Husband, Sir _George Villers_.

This old Sir _George_ was Grandfather, And the Countess she was Granny; To the great Duke of _Buckingham_, Who often topt King _Jammy_.

Sir _Robert Eatam_, a _Scotch_ Knight, This Man was Secretary; And scribl'd Compliments for two Queens, Queen _Ann_, and eke Queen _Mary_.

This was the Countess of _Lenox_, Yclep'd the Lady _Marget_: King _James's_ Grandmother, and yet 'Gainst Death she had no Target.

This was Queen _Mary_, Queen of _Scots_, Whom _Buchanan_ doth bespatter; She lost her Head at _Tottingham_, What ever was the Matter.

[Sidenote: Dol. _How came she here then?_ Will. _Why ye silly Oafe could not she be brought here, after she was Dead?_]

The Mother of our Seventh _Henry_, This is that lyeth hard by; She was the Countess wot ye well, Of _Richmond_ and of _Derby_.

_Henry_ the Seventh lieth here, With his fair Queen beside him, He was the Founder of this Chapel, Oh! may no ill betide him.

Therefore his Monument's in Brass, You'll say that very much is; The Duke of _Richmond_ and _Lenox_, There lieth with his Dutchess.

[Sidenote: Rog. _I warrant ye these were no small Fools in those days._]

And here they stand upright in a Press With Bodies made of Wax; With a Globe and a Wand in either Hand, And their Robes upon their Backs.

Here lies the Duke of _Buckingham_, And the Dutchess his Wife; Him _Felton_ Stabb'd at _Portsmouth_ Town, And so he lost his Life.

Two Children of King _James_ these are, Whom Death keeps very chary; _Sophia_ in the Cradle lies, And this is the Lady _Mary_.

[Sidenote: Bess. _Good Woman pray still your Child, it keeps such a bawling, we can't hear what the Man says._]

And this is Queen _Elizabeth_, How the _Spaniards_ did infest her? Here she lies Buried, with Queen _Mary_, And now agrees with her Sister.

To another Chapel now we come, The People follow and chat; This is the Lady _Cottington_, And the People cry, who's that?

This is the Lady _Frances Sidney_, The Countess of _Suffolk_ was she; And this the Lord _Dudley Carleton_ is, And then they look up and see.

Sir _Thomas Brumley_ lieth here, Death would him not reprieve; With his four Sons, and Daughters four, That once were all alive.

The next is Sir _John Fullerton_, And this is his Lady I trow; And this is Sir _John Puckering_, Whom none of you did know.

That's the Earl of _Bridgwater_ in the middle, Who makes no use of his Bladder; Although his Lady lie so near him, And so we go up a Ladder.

[Sidenote: Kate. _He took more pains, than I would ha done for a Hundred such._]

_Edward_ the First, that Gallant Blade, Lies underneath this Stone; And this is the Chair which he did bring, A good while ago from _Scone_.

In this same Chair, till now of late, Our Kings and Queens were Crown'd; Under this Chair another Stone Doth lie upon the Ground.

[Sidenote: Ralf. _Gad I warrant there has been many a Maiden-head got in that Chair._ Tom. _Gad and I'll come hither and try one of these Days, an't be but to get a Prince._ Dol. _A_ Papist _I warrant him._]

On that same Stone did _Jacob_ sleep, Instead of a Down Pillow; And after that 'twas hither brought, By some good honest Fellow.

_Richard_ the Second lieth here, And his first Queen, Queen _Ann_; _Edward_ the Third lies here hard by, Oh! there was a Gallant Man.

For this was his two handed Sword, A Blade both true and Trusty; The _French_ Men's Blood was ne'er wip'd off, Which makes it look so rusty.

Here he lies again, with his Queen _Philip_, A _Dutch_ Woman by Record, But that's all one, for now alass! His Blade's not so long as his Sword.

King _Edward_ the Confessor lies Within this Monument fine; I'm sure, quoth one, a worser Tomb Must serve both me and mine.

_Harry_ the Fifth lies there, and there Doth lie Queen _Eleanor_; To our first _Edward_ she was Wife, Which was more than ye knew before.

_Henry_ the Third lies there Entomb'd, He was Herb _John_ in Pottage; Little he did, but still Reign'd on, Although his Sons were at Age.

Fifty six Years he Reigned King, E'er he the Crown would lay by; Only we praise him, 'cause he was Last Builder of the _Abby_.

Here _Thomas Cecil_ lies, who's that? Why 'tis the Earl of _Exeter_; And this his Countess is, to Die How it perplexed her.

[Sidenote: Dol. _Ay, ay, I warrant her, rich Folks are as unwilling to die as poor Folks._]

Here _Henry Cary_, Lord _Hunsdon_ rests, What a noise he makes with his Name? Lord Chamberlain was he unto Queen _Elizabeth_ of great Fame.

[Sidenote: Sisly. _That's he for whom our Bells ring so often, is it not_ Mary? Mol. _Ay, ay, the very same._]

And here's one _William Colchester_ Lies of a Certainty; An Abbot was he of _Westminster_, And he that saith no, doth lie.

This is the Bishop of _Durham_, By Death here lay'd in Fetters; _Henry_ the Seventh lov'd him well, And so he wrote his Letters.

Sir _Thomas Bacchus_, what of him? Poor Gentleman not a Word; Only they Buried him here; but now Behold that Man with a Sword.

_Humphry de Bohun_, who though he were Not born with me i'the same Town; Yet I can tell he was Earl of _Essex_, Of _Hertford_, and _Northampton_.

He was High Constable of _England_, As History well expresses; But now pretty Maids be of good Chear, We're going up to the Presses.

And now the Presses open stand, And ye see them all arow; But never no more are said of these Then what is said below.

Now down the Stairs come we again, The Man goes first with a Staff; Some two or three tumble down the Stairs, And then the People laugh.

This is the great Sir _Francis Vere_, That so the _Spaniards_ curry'd; Four Colonels support his Tomb, And here his Body's Buried.

That _Statue_ against the _Wall_ with one Eye, Is Major General _Norris_; He beat the _Spaniards_ cruelly, As is affirm'd in Stories.

[Sidenote: Dick. _I warrant ye he had two, if he could have but kep'd 'em._]

His six Sons there hard by him stand, Each one was a Commander; To shew he could a Lady serve, As well as the _Hollander_.

And there doth Sir _John Hollis_ rest, Who was the Major General; To Sir _John Norris_, that brave blade, And so they go to Dinner all.

For now the Shew is at an end, All things are done and said; The Citizen pays for his Wife, The Prentice for the Maid.

_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ CAMPION, _in the Comedy call'd_, she wou'd and she wou'd not. _By Mr._ JOHN WELDON.

[Music]

_Caelia_ my Heart has often rang'd, Like Bees o'er Gaudy Flowers; And many Thousand Loves have chang'd, 'Till it was fix'd, 'till it was fix'd on yours; But _Caelia_ when I saw those Eyes, 'Twas soon, 'twas soon determin'd there; Stars might as well forsake the Skies, And Vanish into Air: Stars might as well forsake the Skies, And Vanish into Air.

Now if from the great Rules I err, New Beauties, new Beauties to admire; May I again, again turn wanderer, And never, never, never, never, never, no, never, Never, never, never, never, never, never, never, Never, never, never, settle more: May I again, again turn wanderer, And never, never, never, never, never, no, never, Never, never, never, never, never, never, never, Never, never, never, settle more.

_A_ SONG _made for the Entertainment of her Royal Highness. Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE. _Sung by Mrs._ LINDSEY _in_ CALIGULA.

[Music]

Tho' over all Mankind, besides my conquering Beauty, Conquering beauty, my conquering beauty Reigns; My conquering Beauty Reigns; From him I love, from him I love when I meet disdain, A killing damp, a killing damp comes o'er my Pride: I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young in vain: I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young, I'm fair and young in vain; No, no, no, let him wander where he will, Let him wander, let him wander, Let him wander, let him wander where he will, I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty, I shall have Youth and Beauty, Youth and Beauty still; I shall have Beauty that can charm a _Jove_, Can Charm a _Jove_, and no fault, No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no fault, no, no, no fault, But constant Love: From my Arms then let him fly, fly, fly, From my Arms then let him fly; Shall I languish, pine, and dye? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no not I.

_A_ SONG _in the Fair_ PENITENT. _Set by Mr._ ECCLES. _Sung by Mrs._ HUDSON.

[Music]

Stay, ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly? Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly? Whither, whither wou'd you fly? Too Charming, too Charming, too relentless Maid, I follow not to conquer, not to conquer, I follow not to conquer, but to dye: You of the fearful, of the fearful are afraid, Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly? Whither, whither, whither, whither, ah whither wou'd you fly?

In vain, in vain I call, in vain, in vain I call, While she like fleeting, fleeting Air; When press'd by some tempestuous Wind, Flys swifter from the voice of my Despair: Nor cast a pitying, pitying, pitying, pitying look behind, No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying look, Not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind, No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind, No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind.

_A new_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ Tho. Wall. _Set to Musick by Mr._ Henry Eccles, _Junior._

[Music]

No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue, No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue, The bright enchanting Fair; _Almira_ thousands, thousands, thousands can undo, And thousands more, and thousands more, And thousands more may still despair, And thousands more may still despair.

For oh her bright alluring Eyes, And Graces all admire; For her the wounded Lover dies, And ev'ry Breast, and ev'ry Heart, And ev'ry Breast is set on Fire.

Then oh poor _Damon_, see thy Fate, But never more complain; For all a Thousand Hearts will stake, And all may sigh, and all may die, And all may sigh and die in vain.

_The_ DEAR JOY'S _Lamentation._

[Music]

Ho my dear Joy, now what dost thou think? Hoop by my shoul our Country-men stink; To _Ireland_ they can never return, The Hereticks there our Houses will burn: _Ah hone, ah hone, ah hone a cree._

A Pox on _T----l_ for a Son of a W----, He was the cause of our coming o'er; And when to _Dublin_ we came to put on our Coats, He told us his business was cutting of Throats. _Ah hone_, &c.

Our Devil has left us now in the Lurch, A Plague light upon the _Protestant_ C---- If _P----s_ had let but the Bishops alone, O then the Nation had all been our own. _Ah hone_, &c.

And I wish other Measures had been taken, For now I fear we shan't save our Bacon; Now _Orange_ to _London_ is coming down-right, And the Soldiers against him resolve not to Fight _Ah hone_, &c.

What we shall do, the Lord himself knows, Our Army is beaten without any blows; Our M----r begins to feel some remorse, For the Grey Mare has proved the better Horse. _Ah hone_, &c.

If the _French_ do but come, which is all our Hopes, We'll bundle the Hereticks all up with Ropes; If _London_ stands to us as _Bristol_ has done, We need not fear but _Orange_ must run. _Ah hone_, &c.

But if they prove false, and to _Orange_ they scower, By G---- all the M---- shall play from the _Tower_; Our Massacree fresh in their Memories grown, The Devil tauk me, we all shall go down. _A hone, a hone, a hone a Cree._

_The Character of a_ Seat's-man; _written by one of the_ CRAFT: _To be Sung on_ CRISPIN-Night. _Tune_ Packington's Pound.

[Music]

I am one in whom Nature has fix'd a Decree, Ordaining my Life to happy and free; With no Cares of the World I am never perplex'd, And never depending, I never am vex'd: I'm neither of so high nor so low a degree, But Ambition and Want are both strangers to me; My life is a compound of Freedom and Ease, I go where I will, and I work when I please: I live above Envy, and yet above Spight, And have Judgment enough for to do my self right; Some greater and richer I own there may be, Yet as many live worse, as live better than me, And few that from Cares live so quiet and free.

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

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

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

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

_The Female Scuffle. To the foregoing Tune._

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