Part 11

You Bill and Cooe when you are kind, And happy's the Nymph believes you; You are true, but you are not Blind, For never a Nymph deceives you; Tho' she were naught, you'll ne'er be caught, But still have your Wits about you; You're a Hero, and you have Fought, There's ne'er a Hector can flout you.

You are good, and you are bad, And you can be what you please, Sir; You are an honest trusty Lad, And I'll Wager ne'er had the Disease, Sir: Then here's to you, a Glass or two, For farther I dare not venture; And then my Dear I bid thee adieu, For I must be now a Dissenter.

_A_ SONG.

_Tune of_ Oh! how happy's he. _Pag._ 104.

Ah! how happy's he, Lives from drinking free, Can enjoy his Humour, Paper and his Pen; Nor ensnar'd with Wine, Or some Whores design, But in harmless Sonnets thinking does ever mend; Prigs shall never vex him, Pox shall ne'er perplex him, If his Pocket's full, sits down and counts his Joy; If it be not so, Takes a Tune or two, 'Till by wise Content, his trouble does destroy.

When a Monarch reels, He his Thoughts conceals, Whether WHIG or _Tory_, never does express; With a sober Dose Of _Coffee_ funks his Nose, And reading all the News does leave the World to guess: But when his Noddle's full, O then he hugs his Soul, And homeward flush'd with Joy does trudge apace, When on Pillow laid, Then with Mind display'd Argues with himself the Queen and Nation's Case.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Had I but Love, I'd quit all Treasure, Had I but Love, I'd Envy none above: Camp and Court, Have no such Pleasure; Camp and Court, Have both such pretty Sport.

_Wo_. Let me alone, let me alone, Says the Fool, Or I'll cry out, Sir; _Man_. Prithee do, prithee do, With all my Soul, But you shan't stir.

Such is Love, And such is living, Such is Love, And such was mighty _Jove_: Gods and Kings, Have both been contriving, Gods and Kings, To catch these pretty things.

_Wo_. Let me go, what d'ye do, pray forbear, Alass I cannot bear it; _Man_. Hold your Tongue, hold your Tongue, Never fear you peevish Chit.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

Love's Passion never knew 'till this, A blissful Happiness like mine; With Joy now _CÊlia_ crowns my wish, And _Cupid_ both our Hearts does joyn: With Joy now _CÊlia_ crowns my wish. And _Cupid_ both our Hearts does joyn.

Whene'er our Hearts dart fiery Beams, Fierce as the pangs of our Desires; The meeting Glances kindle flames More pure than fancyed fires: Then _CÊlia_ let's no Pleasure want, To perfect the most happy State; The bliss you fear too soon to grant, You'll rather think enjoyed too late.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ABELL.

[Music]

_CÊlia_ be not too complying, Ease not soon a Lovers pain; Love increases by denying, Soon we leave what soon we gain. CÊlia _be not too complying_, &c.

If in Courtship you're delighting, And wou'd no Adorer loose; Let your looks be still inviting, But your Vertue still refuse. _Let your looks be still inviting_, &c.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ABELL.

[Music]

A Little Love may prove a Pleasure, Too great a Passion is a Pain; When we our Flame by reason measure, Blest is our Fate, and light our Chain: Who then would long a Slave remain? True Hearts are like a Fairy Treasure, Talk'd of, but ever sought in vain; A little Love may prove a Pleasure, Too great a Passion is a Pain.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

When first I lay'd Siege to my _Chloris_, When first I lay'd Siege to my _Chloris_: Cannon Oaths I brought down, To batter the Town, And boom'd her with amorous Stories.

Billet deux like small Shot did so ply her, Billet deux like small Shot did so ply her; And sometimes a Song, Went whistling along, Yet still I was never the nigher.

At length she sent Word by a Trumpet, At length she sent Word by a Trumpet, That if I lik'd the Life, She would be my Wife, But she would be no Man's Strumpet.

I told her that _Mars_ wou'd ne'er Marry, I told her that _Mars_ wou'd ne'er Marry; I swore by my Scars, Got in Combates and Wars, That I'd rather dig Stones in a Quarry.

At length she granted the Favour, At length she granted the Favour; With the dull Curse, For better for worse, And saved the Parson the Labour.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Seignor_ BAPTIST.

[Music]

Why alas do you now leave me, You who vow'd a Love so true; Can you hope whilst you deceive me, Others will be just to you? Oh you know what you forsake, You're pursuing, My undoing, But you know not what you take.

Is your fit of Passion over, Will you Kill me dear unkind; Is your Heart then such a Rover, As no Vows, no Oaths can bind: Hear at least my last adieu, See me lying, See me dying, And remember 'tis for you.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.

[Music]

When Beauty such as yours has mov'd desires, A kind return, a kind return, Should raise the glowing Fires; But tho' you hate me, I am still Devoted wholly to your Will: Not all your Frowns can quench my Flame, My Love is something more than Name, And as it ought, will ever, ever be the same.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

See bleeding at your Feet there lies, One murder'd by Disdain; That Heart you wounded with your Eyes, Is by your Rigour slain: Expiring now I cannot live, Death no delay will brook, Unless some pitying word you give, Or kind relenting Look, Or kind relenting Look.

For then from Fate by Rapture born, And taken from your Arms; The Heart thus rescued from your Scorn, I'll offer to your Charms: Love's eager Rites, I'll then pursue, And Sacrificing dye; Altar and Beauteous Goddess you, And Priest, and Victim I.

_The good Fellow's Resolve_: _Tune_ as _May_ was in her youthful Dress. _Vol._ 3. _P._ 199.

Now I'm resolv'd to Love no more, But Sleep by Night, and Drink by Day; Your Coyness _Chloris_ pray give o'er, And turn your tempting Eyes away: I'll place no happiness of mine, On fading Beauty still to court; And say she's glorious and divine, When there's in Drinking better sport.

Love has no more Prerogative, To make me desperate Courses take; Nor me of _Bacchus_ Joys deprive, For them I _Venus_ will forsake: Despise the feeble Nets she lays, And scorn the Man she can o'ercome; In Drinking we see happy Days, But in a fruitless Passion none.

'Tis Wine alone that cheers the Soul, But Love and Women make us sad; I'm merry while I court the Bowl, Whilst he that Courts his Madam's mad. Then fill it up Boys to the brim, Since in it we refreshment find; Come here's a Bumper unto him, That courts good Wine, not Woman-kind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

When crafty Fowlers would surprize, The harmonious Lark that soars on high It is by glancing in his Eyes, The Sun-shine Rays which draws him nigh: _It is by_, &c.

Charm'd with Reflections from the Glase, He flies with eager hasty speed; Ceasing the Musick of his Lays, Into the Nets the Fowler spread.

So when _Clemelia_ would obtain, The Prey her Fancy most desires; She spreads her Dress like Nets in vain, And all her Youthful gay attires.

'Till watching Opportunity, She throws an Amorous charming Glance, Then to her Net the Youth does flie, And lies entangled in a Trance.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ BLOW.

[Music]

Boasting Fops who court the Fair, For the Fame of being lov'd; You who daily prating are Of the Hearts your Charms have mov'd, Still be vain in talk and dress, But while Shadows you pursue; Own that some who boast it less, May be blest as much as you.

Love and Birding are Ally'd, Baits and Nets alike they have; The same Arts in both are try'd, The unwary to inslave; If in each you'd happy prove, Without Noise still watch your way; For in Birding and in Love, While we talk it flies away.

_A_ SONG.

Must Love, that Tyrant of the Breast, Have all our Songs, have all our Hours; Whilst he alone disturbs our Rest, And with his Cares our Hearts devours, And with his Cares our Hearts devours: No more let's blame ignoble Souls, Who doat on Arbitrary Powers; Since cruel Love our Wills controuls, Yet all the World, yet all the World the Toy adores.

For shame let's break the feeble Bonds, And our old Liberty regain; Love against Reason seldom stands, Whenever that sways, its Power is vain: When Man the prize of Freedom knows, _Cupid_ is easily out-brav'd; The Bug-bear only conquers those, Who fondly seek to be enslav'd.

_The Woman's Complaint to her Neighbour._

[Music]

Good morrow Gossip _Joan_, Where have you been a Walking? I have for you at Home, A Budget full of Talking, Gossip _Joan_.

My Sparrow's flown away, And will no more come to me; I've broke a Glass to Day, The Price will quite undo me, Gossip _Joan_.

I've lost a _Harry_ Groat, Was left me by my Granny; I cannot find it out, I've search'd in every Cranny, Gossip _Joan_.

My Goose has laid away, I know not what's the Reason; My Hen has hatch'd to Day, A Week before the Season, Gossip _Joan_.

I've lost my Wedding-Ring, That was made of Silver gilt; I had Drink would please a King, And the whorish Cat has spill'd it, Gossip _Joan_.

My Duck has eat a Snail, And is not that a Wonder; The HORNS bud out at Tail, And have split her Rump asunder, Gossip _Joan_.

My Pocket is cut off, That was full of Sugar-candy; I cannot stop my Cough, Without a Gill of Brandy, Gossip _Joan_.

O I am sick at Heart, Therefore pray give me some Ginger; I cannot Sneeze or Fart, Therefore pray put in Finger, Gossip _Joan_.

O pitty, pitty me, Or I shall go Distracted; I have cry'd 'till I can't see, To think how things are acted, Gossip _Joan_.

Let's to the Ale-house go, And wash down all my Sorrow; My Griefs you there shall know, And we'll meet again to morrow, Gossip _Joan_.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ Jer. Clark.

[Music]

I'm vext to think that _Damon_ wooes me, Who with Sighs and Tears pursues me; He still whining and repining, Of my Rigour does complain: I'd not see him, yet wou'd free him, And my self, my self from pain: I'll enjoy him, and so cloy him, Love cures Love, more, more than Disdain.

_A_ SONG, _by Mr._ Burkhead.

[Music]

Claspt in my dear _Melinda's_ Arms, Soft engaging, oh how she Charms; Graces more divine, In her Person shine, Then _Venus_ self cou'd ever boast.

In the softest Moments of Love, Melting, Panting, oh how she moves; Come, come, come my Dear, Now we've nought to fear, Mortal sure was never so blest, Come, come, come, _&c._

Pray don't trifle, my dearest forbear, I shall die with Transports I fear; Clasp me fast my Life, 'Twill more Pleasure give, Both our stocks of Love let's Joyn, Clasp me, _&c._

Now our Souls are charm'd in Bliss, Raptures flow from every Kiss; Words cannot reveal, The fierce Joys I feel, 'Tis too much to bear and live, Words cannot, _&c._

_A_ SONG, _in the_ Play _call'd the Ladies Fine Aires: Sung by Mr._ Pack, _in the Figure of a_ Bawd. _Set by Mr._ Barrett.

[Music]

How happy are we, Who from thinking are free, That curbing Disease o'the Mind: Can indulge every Tast, Love where we like best, Not by dull Reputation confin'd.

When we're young fit to toy, Gay Delights we enjoy, And have crowds of new Lovers wooing; When we're old and decay'd, We procure for the Trade, Still in ev'ry Age we're doing.

If a Cully we meet, We spend what we get, E'ery day for the next never think: When we dye where we go, We have no Sense to know, For a Bawd always dyes in her drink.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FORCER.

[Music]

Farewel my useless Scrip, And poor unheeded Flocks; No more you'll round me trip, Nor cloath me with your Locks: Feed by yon purling Stream, Where _Jockey_, where _Jockey_ first I knew: I only think, I only think, I only think on him, I cannot, cannot, cannot think on you.

Farewel each Shepherdess, The bonny Lads adieu; May each his Wish possess, And to that Wish be true: Your Oaten Pipes cou'd please, But _Jockey_ then was kind; Your bonny Tunes may cease, The Lad has chang'd his Mind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

Ere _Phillis_ with her looks did kill, My Heart resisting, My Heart resisting them was ill; Now in its Wounds it finds a Cure, When most they bleed, I least endure.

For tho' 'tis Death those looks to meet, There's Life in dying at her feet; Kill _Phillis_ then, kill with your Eyes, If you let _Strephon_ live he dyes.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ KING.

[Music]

Not your Eyes _Melania_ move me, Not your flowring Charms or Wit; Not your daily Vows to love me, Make my easy Soul submit. Shape nor Dress can never sway me, Nor the softest looks betray me; _Shape nor Face can never sway me,_ _Nor the softest looks betray me._

But your Mind, my Dear, subdues me, Where a thousand Graces shine; Goodness, Love, and Honour moves me, And my Passion's all Divine. Goodness as a boundless Treasure, Yields the purest sweetest pleasure.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Then come kind _Damon_, come away, To _Cynthia's_ power advance: The _Sylvians_ they shall pipe and play, And we'll lead up, and we'll lead up, And we'll lead up the Dance: The _Sylvians_ they shall pipe and play, And we'll lead up, and we'll lead up, And we'll lead up the Dance; The _Sylvians_ they, _&c._

Smile then with a Beam Divine, We'll be blest if you but shine; Happy then our Pains and Toils, Wit only lives when Beauty smiles: Happy then our Pains and Toils, Wit only lives, Wit only lives, When Beauty smiles; Wit only lives, _&c._

_The Soldiers return from the Wars, or the Maids and Widdows Rejoycing._ _Tune Page_ 278.

At the Change as I was walking, I heard a Discourse of Peace; The People all were a Talking, That the tedious Wars will cease: And if it do prove but true, The Maids will run out of their Houses, _To see the Troopers all come Home,_ _And the Grenadiers with their Drum a Drum Drum,_ _Then the Widdows shall all have Spouses._

The Scarlet colour is fine, Sir, All others it doth excel; The Trooper has a Carbine, Sir, That will please the Maidens well: And when it is Cock'd and Prim'd, Sir, The Maids will run out of their Houses, _To see the Troopers come come come_, &c.

There's _Joan_, and _Betty_, and _Nelly_, And the rest of the Female Crew; Each has an Itch in her Belly, To play with the Scarlet hue: And _Marg'ret_ too must be peeping, _To see the Troopers_, &c.

The Landladys are preparing, Her Maids are shifting their Smocks; Each swears she'll buy her a Fairing, And opens her _Christmas-box_: She'll give it all to the Red-coats, _When as the Troopers_, &c.

_Jenny_ she lov'd a Trooper, And she shew'd her all her Gear; _Doll_ has turn'd off the Cooper, And now for a Grenadier: His hand Grenadoes they will please her, _When as the Troopers_, &c.

Old musty Maids that have Money, Although no Teeth in their Heads; May have a Bit for their Bunny, To pleasure them in their Beds: Their Hearts will turn to the Red-coats, _When as the Troopers_, &c.

The Widdows now are a Singing, And have thrown their Peaks aside; For they have been us'd to stinging, When their Garters were unty'd: But the Red-coats they will tye 'em, _When as the Troopers_, &c.

Wives and Widdows and Maidens, I'm sure this News will please ye; If any with Maiden-heads laden, The Red-coats they will ease ye: Then all prepare to be happy, _To see the Troopers all come Home_, &c.

_A_ SONG. _Tune of_ Old Boree.

Come _CÊlia_ come, let's sit and talk a while, About the Affairs of Loving: Let a mutual Kiss our Cares and Fears beguile, Far distant from this Grove: Let's pass our Time in Mirth away, Now we're remov'd from the noisy, noisy Court, Now we're got out of the stormy Sea, Into the safer Port.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Damascene.

[Music]

Who can _Dorinda's_ Beauty view, And not her Captive be; _Apollo_, _Daphne_ did pursue, Embraced the Maid, though chang'd to a Tree: If God's could love at such a rate, Poor Mortals must adore: _Dorinda's_ Merit is as great; 'Tis just, 'tis just to love her more.

_A_ HYMN _upon the Execution of two_ CRIMINALS, _by Mr._ RAMONDON.

[Music]

All you that must take a leap in the Dark, Pity the Fate of _Lawson_ and _Clark_; Cheated by Hope, by Mercy amus'd, Betray'd by the sinful ways we us'd: Cropp'd in our Prime of Strength and Youth, Who can but weep at so sad a Truth; _Cropp'd in our Prime_, &c.

Once we thought 'twould never be Night, But now alass 'twill never be light; Heavenly mercy shine on our Souls, Death draws near, hark, _Sepulchres_ Bell Toles: Nature is stronger in Youth than in Age, Grant us thy Spirit Lord Grief to assuage:

Courses of Evil brought us to this, Sinful Pleasure, deceitful Bliss: We ne'er shou'd have cause so much to repent, Could we with our Callings have been but Content: The Snares of Wine and Women fair, First were the cause that we now Despair.

You that now view our fatal End, Warn'd by our Case your Carriage mend; Soon or late grim Death will come, Who'd not prepare for a certain Doom: Span long Life with lifeless Joys, What's in this World but care and noise.

Youth, tho' most blest by being so, As vast thy Joy, as great thy Woe; Ev'ry Sin that gives Delight, Will in the end the Soul affright: 'Tis not thy Youth, thy Wealth nor Strength, Can add to Life one Moments length.

God is as Merciful as Just, Cleanse our Hearts, since die we must: Sweet Temptations of worldly Joys, Makes for our Grief, and our Peace destroys, Think then when Man his Race has run, Death is the Prize which he has won.

Sure there's none so absurd and odd, To think with the Fool there is no God; What is't we fear when Death we meet, Where't not t' account at the Judgment-Seat: That Providence we find each Hour, Proves a supernatural Power; In Mercy open thy bright Abode, Receive our Souls tremendous God.

_The_ British ACCOUNTANT.

[Music]

You Ladies draw near, I can tell you good News, If you please to give Ear, or else you may Choose; Of a _British Accountant_ that's Frolick and free, Who does wondrous Feats by the Rule of Three.

_Addition_, _Division_, and other such Rules, I'll leave to be us'd by your Scribling Fools; This Art is Improv'd unto such a Degree, That he manages all by the Rule of Three.

You Dames that are Wed who can make it appear, That you lose an Estate for want of an Heir: This _Accountant_ will come without e'er a Fee, And warrants a Boy by his Rule of Three.

Is the Widdow distress'd for the loss of her Spouse, Tho' to have him again she cares not a Louse; Her Wants he supplys whatsoever they be, And all by his Art in the Rule of Three.

Do you Dream in the Night and fret at your Fate, For want of the Man when you happen to wake; You may presently send and satisfy'd be, That he Pacifies all by the Rule of Three.

You Ladies who are with a Husband unblest, And are minded to make him a delicate Beast; He'll fix the Brow-antlers just where they should be, And all by his Art in the Rule of Three.

You Lasses at large of the true Female Race, Who are glad of the Men who will lye on their Face; Do but try the bold _Britton_, you all will agree, That you never did know such a Rule of Three.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

The Night is come that will allow, No longer any Coyness now, But every freedom must to Love be given; What tho' the Shadows of the Night, Withdraw her Beauty from his sight, The Youth another way, another way, Another way will find his Heav'n.

See, see the charming Nymph is lay'd, Never again to rise a Maid, The vigorous Bridegroom now impatient grown; Thrown himself by her side, With eager Joy, and amourous Pride, Ready to seize the Prey that's now his own.

And now that all have left the Place, Transporting Joys crowd on apace, The Nymph contends like one that would not win; Entrain'd with Pleasure now she lies, The Youth has gain'd the noble Prize, And now her Fears are past, and Joys begin.

_A_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ ESCOURT.

[Music]

You tell me _Dick_ you've lately read That we are beaten in _Spain_; But prithee Boy hold up thy Head, We'll beat 'em twice for it again _With a Fal la la la la la la la._

Is this the Courage you us'd to boast, Why thou art quite cast down; You can reflect on what we've lost, But ne'er think what we've won, _With a Fal_, &c.

What tho' _Jack Spaniard_ crack and bounce, He ne'er shall do so again; We took last Year as many Towns, As they have now took Men, _With a Fal_, &c.

In War and Gaming it is the same, According to the old Saying; Who's sure to conquer ev'ry Game, Quite loses the Pleasure of playing: _With a Fal_, &c.

I think we have a Man of our own, A Man if I may call him so; For after those great Deeds he has done, I may question if he's so or no, _With a Fal_, &c.

But now if you wou'd know his Name, 'Tis _Johnny Marlborough_; The beaten _French_ has felt his Fame, And so shall the Spaniards too, _With a Fal_, &c.

And since we cannot Justice do, To ev'ry Victory; In a full Glass our Zeal let's show, To our General's Family, _With a Fal_, &c.

For he has Eight fair Daughters, And each of them is a Charmer; There's Lady _Railton_, _Bridgwater_, Fine _Sunderland_, Lady _Mount-Hermer_, _With a Fal_, &c.

The other Four so Charming are, They will with Raptures fill ye; There's Lady _Hochstet_, _Schellenburgh_, Bright _Blenheim_, and Lady _Ramillie_, _With a Fal_, &c.

The last were got so fair and strong, As in Story ne'er was told; The first Four always will be Young, And the last will never be Old, _With a Fal_, &c.

At ev'ry Feast, e'er we are all deceas'd, And the Service begins to be hard; 'Tis surely your Duty, to Toast a young Beauty, Call'd Madamosel _Audenard_, _With a Fal_, &c.

All Joy to his Grace, for the ninth of his Race, She's as fair as most of the former; But where is that he, dare so impudent be, To compare her to Lady _Mount-Hermer_, _With a Fal_, &c.

And now to make thy Hopes more strong, And make you look like a Man; Remember that all these belong, To the Queen of Great _Britain_, _With a Fal_, &c.

Then prithee _Dick_ hold up thy Head, Altho' we were beaten in _Spain_; As sure as Scarlet Colour is Red, We'll beat them twice for it again: _With a Fal_, &c.

_A_ SONG.