Chapter 9

'Tis I, says the _Whore_, must take all the Pains, And you shall be damn'd e'er you get all the Gains; The _Baud_ being vex'd, straight to her did say, Come off wi' your _Duds_, and I pray pack away, And likewise your _Ribbonds_, your _Gloves_, and your _Hair_, For naked you came, and so out you go bare; Then _Buttocks_ so bold, Began for to Scold, _Hurrydan_ was not able her _Clack_ for to hold.

Both _Pell-Mell_ fell to't, and made this uproar, With these Compliments, th'art a _Baud_, th'art a _Whore_: The _Bauds_ and the _Buttocks_ that liv'd there around, Came all to the Case, both _Pockey_ and _Sound_, To see what the reason was of this same Fray, That did so disturb them before it was Day; If I tell you amiss, Let me never more Piss, This _Buttocks_ so bold she named was _Siss_.

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

_An Elegy on_ MOUNTFORT. _To the foregoing Tune._

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

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

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

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

Let not every vain Spark think that he can engage, The Heart of a Female, like one on the Stage; His Flute, and his Voice, and his Dancing are rare, And wherever they meet, they prevail with the Fair: But no quality Fop, Charms like Mr. _Hop_, Adorn'd on the Stage, and in _East-India_ Shop; So that each from _Miss Felton_, to ancient _Drake Joan_ is, Bemoaning the Death of the Player _Adonis_.

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

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ JAMES TOWNSHEND, _Organist of_ LYN RIGES. _The Words by_ J.R.

[Music]

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

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

MERCURY _to_ PARIS, _in the Prize Musick, Compos'd by Mr._ John Eccles.

[Music]

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

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ W. Morley.

[Music]

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

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.

[Music]

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

_An Amorous_ SONG. _To the Tune of_, The bonny Christ-Church Bells.

[Music]

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

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ J. ISUM.

[Music]

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

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN ISUM.

[Music]

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

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

_The Hopeful Bargain: Or a Fare for a Hackney-Coachman, giving a Comical relation, how an_ Ale-draper _at the Sign of the_ Double-tooth'd Rake _in or near the new_ Palace-yard, Westminster, _Sold his Wife for a Shilling, and how she was sold a Second time for five Shillings to_ JUDGE; _My Lord ---- Coachman, and how her Husband receiv'd her again after she had lain with other Folks three Days and Nights_, &c. _The Tune_ Lilly Bullero.

[Music]

There lives an Ale-draper near _New-palace-yard_, Who used to Jerk the Bum of his Wife; And she was forced to stand on her Guard, To keep his Clutches from her Quoiff: She poor Soul the weaker Vessel, To be reconcil'd was easily won; He held her in scorn, But she Crown'd him with Horn, _Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._

He for a Shilling sold his Spouse, And she was very willing to go; And left the poor Cuckold alone in the House, That he by himself his Horn might blow: A Hackney Coachman he did buy her, And was not this a very good Fun; With a dirty Pinner, As I am a Sinner, _Without Hood or Scarff, but rough as she run._

The Woman gladly did depart, Between three Men was handed away; He for her Husband did care not a Fart, He kept her one whole Night and Day: Then honest _Judge_ the Coachman bought her, And was not this most cunningly done? Gave for her five Shilling, To take her was willing, _Without Hood or Scarff_, &c.

The Cuckold to _Judge_, a Letter did send, Wherein he did most humbly crave; Quoth he, I prithee, my Rival Friend, My Spouse again I fain would have: And if you will but let me have her, I'll pardon what she e'er has done; I swear by my Maker, Again I will take her, _Without Hood and Scarff_, &c.

He sent an old Baud to interceed, And to perswade her to come back; That he might have one of her delicate breed, And he would give her a ha'p'uth of Sack: Therefore prithee now come to me, Or else poor I shall be undone: Then do not forgo me, But prithee come to me, _Without Hood or Scarff, tho' rough_, &c.

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

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

_Judge_ does enjoy her where he list, He values not the old Cuckold's Pouts; And she is as good for the Game as e'er pist, Fudge on his Horns sits drying of Clouts: She rants and revels when she pleases, And to end as I begun, The Horned Wise-acre, Is forced to take her _Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run._

_The_ MAIDEN LOTTERY: _Containing 70 Thousand Tickets, at a Guinea each; the Prizes being Rich and Loving Husbands, from three Thousand to one Hundred a Year, which Lottery will begin to draw on next_ VALENTINE'S _Day._

_Then pretty Lasses venture now,_ _Kind_ Fortune _may her Smiles alow._

[Music]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then never be fearful to venture, But Girls bring you Guineas away; Come merrily in, for we shall begin, To draw upon _Valentine's_ Day: The Prizes are many and great, Each Man with a worthy Estate; Then come away _Mary_, _Sib_, _Susan_, and _Sarah_, _Joan_, _Nancy_, and pretty fac'd _Kate_: _For now is the time if you'll purchase a Lot,_ _While Wealthy kind Husbands they are to be got._

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

_A_ SONG _on the_ JUBILEE.

[Music]

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

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

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

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

What a sight 'tis to see the old Man in Procession, Through _Rome_ in such Pomp as here _Caesar_ did ride, Now scattering of Pardons, here Crossing, there Blessing, With all his shav'd Spiritual Train'd-bans by his side; As, _Confessors_, _Cardinals_, _Monks_ fat as Bacons, From Rev'rend _Arch-Bishops_, to Rosie _Arch-Deacons_.

Then for your Diversion the more to regale ye, Fine Music you'll hear, and high Dancing you'll see; Men who much shall out-warble your Famous _Fideli_, And make ye meer Fools, of _Balloon_ and _L'Abbe_: And to shew ye how fond they're to Kiss _Vostre Manos_, Each _Padre_ turns Pimp, all _Nuns_ Courtezana's.

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

_A Young Man's_ WILL.

[Music]

A _Young Man_ sick and like to die, His last _Will_ being written found; I give my _Soul_ to _God_ on high, And my _Body_ to the Ground: Unto some _Church-men_ do I give, Base Minds to greedy Lucre bent; _Pride_ and _Ambition_ whilst they live, _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

_Item._ Poor folks _brown Bread_ I give, And eke _bare Bones_, with hungry Cheeks; _Toil_ and _Travel_ whilst they live, And to feed on _Roots_ and _Leeks_: _Item._ To Rich Men I bestow, High _Looks_, low _Deeds_, and Hearts of Flint; And that themselves they seldom know, _By this_, &c.

Proud stately _Courtiers_ do I _Will_, Two Faces in one Head to wear, For Great Men _Bribes_, I think most fit, _Pride_ and _Oppression_ through the Year: _Tenants_ I give them leave to lose, And _Landlords_ for to raise their _Rent_; _Rogues_ to Fawn, Collogue and glose, _By this_, &c.

_Item._ To _Soldiers_ for their _Fees_, I give them _Wounds_ their Bodies full; And for to beg on bended Knees, With Cap in Hand to every _Gull_: _Item_. I will poor _Scholars_ have, For all their Pains and Travel spent: _Raggs_, _Jaggs_, and _Taunts_ of every Knave, _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

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

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

To Tavern haunters grant I more, Red Eyes, Red Nose, and Stinking Breath; And Doublets foul with drops before, And foul Shame until their _Death_: And _Gamesters_ that will never leave, Before their Substance be all spent; The Wooden _Dagger_ I bequeath, _By this_, &c.

To common Fidlers I _Will_ that they, Shall go in poor and thread-bare Coats; And at most places where they Play, To carry away more _Tunes_ than _Groats_: To wand'ring _Players_ I do give, Before their _Substance_ be all spent; Proud Silk'n _Beggars_ for to live, _By this_, &c.

To _Wenching_ Smell-smocks give I these, Dead looks, gaunt purrs, and crasy Back; And now and then the foul _Disease_, Such as _Gill_ gave to _Jack_; To _Parretors_ I give them clear, For all their _Toil_ and _Travel_ spent; The _Devil_ away such _Knaves_ to bear, By _this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

I _Will_ that _Cutpurses_ haunt all _Fairs_, And thrust among the thickest Throng; That neither _Purse_ nor _Pocket_ spare, But what they get to bear along: But if they Falter in their Trade, And so betray their bad intent; I give them _Tyburn_ for their share, _By this my_ Will _and_ Testament.

To serving Men I give this Gift, That when their Strength is once decay'd; The Master of such Men do shift, As Horsemen do a toothless _Jade_: _Item._ I give them leave to _Pine_, For all their Service so ill spent: And with _Duke Humphry_ for to Dine, _By this_, &c.

_Item._ To _Millers_ I Grant withal, That they Spare, nor Poke, nor Sack; But with _Grist_, so e'er befal, They Grind a Strike, and steal a Peck: I _Will_ that _Butchers_ Huff their Meat, And sell a lump of _Ramish_ scent; For Weather Mutton good and sweet, _By this_, &c.

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

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

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

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

_A New_ SONG, _Sung at the Playhouse. By Mr._ DOGGET.

[Music]

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

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

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

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

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

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

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

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

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

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

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

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

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

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