Part 12

Let those Youths who Freedom prize, Far from the conquering _Sylvia_ run, Never see her killing Eyes, Or hear her soft enchanting Tongue: For such sure Destruction waits, On those Darts with which she wounds; No shepherd ever can escape, But falls if _Sylvia_ does but Frown.

_Damon_ to his cost has prov'd, All resistance is but vain; Heaven has form'd her to be lov'd, And made her Queen of all the Plain: _Damon_ when he saw her Face, From her Beauty would have fled; But the Charmer turn'd her Voice, And with a Song she struck him dead.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Your Melancholy's all a Folly, The Peace I'm sure is Sign'd; The _French_ are for't, so is our Court, And the _Dutch_ must be inclin'd: What is't to us who's King of _Spain_, So we are Masters of the Main, Our Fleet must always the Trade maintain, If we are not Banter'd and Bubbl'd. And Cheated and Banter'd and Bubbl'd.

We very well know when _Marlborough_, Did take the Towns in _Flanders_; 'Twas _English-men_, did pay for them, Tho' they put in _Dutch_ Commanders; So that while we were humbling _France_, _Hollands_ Power we did advance, And made 'em Great at our expence, And so we were Banter'd, _&c._

We must suppose, the WHIGS are Foes, When Treatys they will Sign a; To give the _Dutch_ so plaguy much, And call it the Barrier Line a: For how can we Great _Europe_ Sway, Or keep the Ballance every way, I fear we shall pay for't another Day, For we have been Banter'd, _&c._

For Liberty, and Property, 'Twas once we us'd to Fight; 'Gainst Popery, and Slavery, We did it with our Might: But now the Taxes make us poor, The Emperor may Swear and roar, We neither can nor will do more, For we have been Banter'd, _&c._

FANATICKS then, are now the Men, Who Kingly Pow'r divide; Their Villany to Monarchy, 'Tis makes 'em _France_ deride: If _Hollanders_ wou'd choose a King, As much as now their Praises Sing, They wou'd Curse, and Damn, and Fling, And cry they were Banter'd, _&c._

I swear adsnigs, the Canting WHIGS, Have run their Knavish Race; The Church and Queen, are Flourishing, Now they are in Disgrace: Great _Harly_ he has set us right, And _France_ will banish _Perkenite_, So we're no more the _Holland_ Bite, Nor will we be Banter'd and Bubbl'd, And Cheated and Banter'd and Bubbl'd.

_The_ MOHOCKS. _A_ SONG.

[Music]

There's a new set of Rakes, Entitled Mohocks, Who infest Her Majesties Subjects; He who meets 'em at Night, Must be ready for flight, Or withstanding he many a Drub gets.

In their nightly Patrole, They up and down rowle, To the Bodily fear of the Nation; Some say they are Gentle- men, otherwise Simple, And their Sense like their Reputation.

Others say that the Van's Led by Noblemen, Tho' to Forreigners this will but sound ill; But let 'em take care, How they manage th' Affair; For a Lord may be kill'd by a Scoundrel.

Some count it a Plot, And the Lord knows what, Contriv'd by the WHIGS out of Season; But shou'd it be so, By the _High-Church_ or _Low_, Rebellion was always high Treason.

Fie, curb the Disgrace, 'Tis imprudent and base, Pray take the advice of a Stranger; But if you go on, Like Fools as ye've done, When ye're Hang'd ye'll be quite out of Danger.

Tune _of Joy to the Bridegroom_.

My _Theodora_ can those Eyes, From whence those Glories always shine: Give light to every Soul that prys, And only be obscure to mine: _Give light to every Soul that prys_, _And only be obscure to mine._

Send out one Beam t' enrich my Soul, That doth in Clouds of darkness roul; And chase away this gloomy Shade, That in my Breast a Hell has made: _And chase away this gloomy Shade_, _That in my Breast a Hell has made._

Where fire burns, where Flame is bright, Yet I the Comfort want of light: O shine, then shine upon the Man, That else in Darkness is undone: _O shine, then shine upon the Man_, _That else in Darkness is undone._

_A_ SONG _in Praise of_ BEGGING: _Or, the Beggars Rivall'd._

[Music]

Tho' Begging is an honest Trade, Which wealthy Knaves despise; Yet Rich Men may be Beggars made, And we that Beg may rise: The greatest Kings may be betray'd, And lose their Sov'raign Power, But he that stoops to ask his Bread, But he that stoops to ask his Bread, Can never fall much lower.

What lazy Foreigns Swarm'd of late, Has spoil'd our Begging-trade; Yet still we live and drink good Beer, Tho' they our Rights invade: Some say they for Religion fled, But wiser People tell us, They were forc'd Abroad to seek their Bread, For being too Rebellious.

Let heavy Taxes greater grow, To make our Army fight; Where 'tis not to be had you know, The King must lose his Right: Let one side laugh, the other mourn, We nothing have to fear; But that great Lords will Beggars be, To be as great as we are.

What tho' we make the World believe, That we are Sick or lame; 'Tis now a Virtue to Deceive, Our Teachers do the same: In Trade Dissembling is no crime, And we may live to see; That Begging in a little time, The only Trade will be.

Tune, _Let_ C∆SAR _rejoyce_.

_Alphonzo_, if you Sir, Your Heart have resign'd; Take care what you do, Sir, For a Lover is blind.

Beware of the Snare, That for Lovers is laid: Beware of the Fair, But more treacherous Maid: For when tir'd with the Joy, Of a Minutes delight; You'll repent the next Morn, What you did over Night.

_A new_ BALLAD, _Sung at_ Messieurs Brook _and_ Hellier's _Club, at the_ Temple-_Tavern in_ Fleet-Street.

[Music]

Since _Tom's_ in the Chair, and e'ery one here Appears in Gay humour and easie; Say, why shou'd not I, a new Ballad try, Bright Brethren o'th' Bottle to please ye. This Wine is my Theme, this is all on's Esteem, For _Brook_ and _Hellier_ cannot wrong us; Let them get Wealth, who keeps us in Health, By bringing neat Liquors among us, _Let them get Wealth_, &c.

Each Vintner of late, has got an Estate, By Brewing and Sophistication: With Syder and Sloes, they've made a damn'd Dose, Has Poisoned one half of the Nation: But _Hellier_ and _Brook_, a Method have took, To prove them all Scoundrels and Noddys; And shew'd us a way which (if we don't stray) Will save both our Pockets and Bodies.

This generous Juice, brisk Blood will produce, And stupid ones raise to the bonny'st: Make Poets and Wits, of you that are Cits, And Lawyers (if possible) honest: If any are Sick, or find themselves Weak, With Symptoms of Gout or the Scurvy; This will alone, the Doctor must own, _Probatum est_ Healthy preserve ye.

Have any here Wives, that lead 'em sad lives, For you know what pouting and storming; Then drink of this Wine, and it will incline, The weakest to vig'rous performing: Each Spouse will say then, pray go there agen, Tho' Money for the reck'ning you borrow; Nay, for so much Bub, here I'll pay your Club, So go there agen Dear to morrow.

Tho' one drinks red Port, another's not for't, But chuses _Vienna_ or White-Wine; Each takes what suits best, his Stomach or Tast, Yet e'ery one's sure he drinks right Wine; Thus pledg'd we all sit, and thus we are knit, In Friendship together the longer; As Musick in Parts, enlivens our Hearts, And renders the Harmony stronger.

Now God bless the Queen, Peers, Parliament Men, And keep 'em like us in true Concord; And grant that all those, who dare be her Foes, At _Tyburn_ may swing in a strong Cord; We'll Loyalists be, and bravely agree, With Lives and Estates to defend Her; So then she'll not care, come Peace or come War, For _Lewis_, the _Pope_, or _Pretender_.

_The_ LONDON PRENTICE.

[Music]

A Worthy _London_ Prentice, Came to his Love by Night; The Candles were lighted, The Moon did shine so bright: He knocked at the Door, To ease him of his Pain; She rose and let him in Love, And went to Bed again.

He went into the Chamber, Where his true Love did lye; She quickly gave consent, For to have his Company: She quickly gave consent, The Neighbours peeping out; So take away your Hand, Love let's blow the Candle out.

I would not for a Crown Love, My Mistress should it know; I'll in my Smock step down Love, And I'll out the Candle blow; The Streets they are so nigh, And the People walk about; Some may peep in and spy Love, Let's blow the Candle out.

My Master and my Mistress, Upon the Bed do lye; Injoying one another, Why should not you and I: My Master kiss'd my Mistress, Without any fear or doubt; And we'll kiss one another, Let's blow the Candle out.

I prithee speak more softly, Of what we have to do; Least that our noise of Talking, Should make our Pleasure rue: For kissing one another, Will make no evil rout; Then let us now be silent, And blow the Candle out.

But yet he must be doing, He could no longer stay; She strove to blow the Candle out, And push'd his Hand away: The young Man was so hasty, To lay his Arms about; But she cryed I pray Love, Let's blow the Candle out.

As this young Couple sported, The Maiden she did blow; But how the Candle went out, Alas I do not know: Said she I fear not now, Sir, My Master nor my Dame; And what this Couple did, Sir, Alas I dare not Name.

_A_ SONG _out of the_ GUARDIAN.

[Music]

Oh the Charming Month of _May_, When the Breezes fan the Trees, is Full of Blossoms fresh and gay, Full of Blossoms fresh and gay: Oh the Charming Month of _May_, Charming, Charming Month of _May_.

Oh what Joys our Prospect yields, In a new Livery when we see every, Bush and Meadow, Tree and Field, _&c._ Oh what Joys, _&c._ Charming Joys, _&c._

Oh how fresh the Morning Air, When the Zephirs and the Hephirs, Their Odoriferous Breaths compare, Oh how fresh, _&c._ Charming fresh, _&c._

Oh how fine our Evenings walk, When the Nightingale delighting, With her Songs suspends our Talk, Oh how fine, _&c._ Charming fine, _&c._

Oh how sweet at Night to Dream, On mossy Pillows by the trillows, Of a gentle Purling Stream, Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._

Oh how kind the Country Lass, Who her Cows bilking, leaves her Milking, For a green Gown upon the Grass, Oh how kind, _&c._ Charming kind, _&c._

Oh how sweet it is to spy, At the Conclusion, her deep confusion, Blushing Cheeks and down cast Eye, Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._

Oh the Charming Curds and Cream, When all is over she gives her Lover, Who on her Skimming-dish carves her Name, Oh the Charming Curds and Cream, Charming, Charming Curds and Cream.

Tune, _Hopes farewel_.

Fates I defie, I defie your Advances, Since _CÊlia_ has crown'd My true Love with a Smile; I'll laugh at your Darts, Your Arrows and Lances, Since her Bosom abounds, With the Pleasures of Nile.

You shall never, Me from her sever, Since that my _CÊlia_ has thrown by her Scorn: Then forbear, To come so near, For I from _CÊlia_ can never be torn.

_The Country_ FARMER'S _Campaign_: _By the Author of_ Banter'd and Bubbl'd, _&c._

[Music]

Oh _Roger_ I've been to see _Eugene_, By _Villars_ over-reach'd; And that _Dutch_ Earl, great _Albermarle_, So foolishly Detach'd: For _Phil_ of _Spain_, saw _Doway_ tain, And _Quesnoy_ close beset; Saw _Frenchmen_ grin, at Count _Rechstrin_, And _Dutchmen_ in a Sweat.

With both my Eyes _Auxiliaries_, I saw desert our Cause; Old _Zinzendorf_ did buy 'em off, But never stopp'd their Maws: Whilst ORMOND he most orderly, Did march them towards _Ghent_; The _German_ Dogs, with great _Dutch_ Hogs, Their towns against him Pent.

Were not we mad to spend our Blood, And weighty Treasure so; Do they deserve, that we should serve, Adad we'll make them know: They'll be afraid, of Peace and Trade, And downfal of the WHIGS; Our glorious ANN, with _France_ and _Spain_, Will dance then many a Jigg.

If they have a mind, 'fore Peace be Sign'd, To own Great ANNA'S Power; Such Terms she'll get, as she thinks fit, And they shall have no more: Great _Oxford's_ Earl, that weighty Pearl, And Minister of State: With _Bollingbrook_, I swear adzooks, Old _England_ will be great.

We Farmers then, shall be fine Men, And Money have good store; Their WHIGISH Tax they'll have with a Pox, When Monarchy's no more: My Son I'm sure, will ne'er endure, To pay their plaguy Funds; 'Tis with reproach, they ride in Coach, It makes me mad Ads--

For twenty Years, with Popish fears, We have been Banter'd much; With Liberty, and Property, And our very good Friends the _Dutch_: But now I hope, our Eyes are ope, And _France_ is more Sincere; Then _Emperor_ with all his stir, _Or Dounders Divil myn Heir._

STRAWBERY.

[Music]

Of all the handsome Ladies, Of whom the Town do talk; Who do frequent the _Opera's_, And in the Park do walk: The many lovely Beauties, There are who do excel; Yet my _Strawbery_, my _Strawbery_, Does bear away the Bell.

Some cry up Madam _Mar----_ For this thing and for that; And some her Grace of _Sh----_ Tho' she grows something fat: And tho' I love her _Ma----_ And all her Ladies well, Yet my _Strawbery_, &c.

The Kit Cat and the Toasters, Did never care a Fig; For any other Beauty, Besides the little WHIG: But for all that Sir _Harry_, That witty Knight can tell, 'Tis my _Strawbery_, &c.

The red Coats think the _Ch----ls_, The Fairest in the Land; Because the D. their Father, The Ar----y does Command: But the noble D. of _B----_ Who does all Dukes excel, Says my _Strawbery_, &c.

Tune, _Now the Fight's done_.

Now, now the Night's come, And the great God of Love Lyes lurking in Shades, His bright Arrows to prove:

He laughs at our Rest, And he Darts at our Hearts; And a Will that won't still, To each Lover imparts.

He smiles when he feels The sharp point of his Dart; And tho' our Breast's Steel, Yet he drives to the Heart.

Whilst we court and we play, He makes a full pass; And ne'er does delay, 'Till we're link'd on the Grass.

_The_ SCOTCH _Wedding: Or, Lass with the Golden Hair._

[Music]

Now _Jockey_ and _Moggy_ are ready, To gang to the Kirk to sped; As fine as a Laird or Lady, For they are resolv'd to wed: Come aw let's awa to the Wedding, For there will be Lilting there; _Jockey'll_ be Married to _Moggy_, The Lass with the Golden Hair,

And for a whole Month together, Brisk _Jockey_ a wooing went; 'Till _Moggy's_ Mother and Vather, At last gave their Consent, _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be long Keel and Pottage, And bannarks of Barly Meal; And ther'll be good Sawt Herring, To relish a Cogue of good Ale, _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be _Sawney_ the Soater, And _Will_ with muckle mow; And there'll be _Tommy_ the Blutter, And _Andrew_ the Tinker I trow, _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be Bow-legg'd _Bobby_, And thumbless _Kate's_ geud Man; And there'll be blue cheek'd _Dolly_, And _Luwry_ the Laird of the Land, _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be low lipper _Betty_, And pluggy fac'd _Wat_ of the Mill; And there'll be farnicled _Huggy_, That wins at the Ho of the Hill, _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be _Annester Dowgale_, That splay footed _Betty_ did wooe; And mincing _Bessey_ and _Tibely_, And _Chrisly_, the Belly gut Sow, _Come aw let's_, &c.

And _Craney_ that marry'd _Steney_, That lost him his Brick till his Arse; And after was hang'd for stealing, It's well that it happen'd no worse, _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be hopper-ars'd _Nancy_, And _Sarey_ fac'd _Jenny_ by Name; Glud _Kate_ and fat legg'd _Lissey_, The Lass with the codling Wem. _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be _Jenny_ go Gibby, And his glack'd Wife _Jenny Bell_; And messed skin blosen _Jordy_, The Lad that went Scipper himsel. _Come aw let's_, &c.

There'll be all the Lads and Lasses, Set down in the middle of the Hall; To Sybouse, and Rastack, and Carlings, They are both sodden and raw. _Come aw let's_, &c.

There'll be Tart Perry and Catham, And Fish of geud Gabback and Skate; Prosody, and Dramuck and Brandy, And Collard, Neats-feet in a Plate. _Come aw let's_, &c.

And there'll be Meal, Kell and Castocks, And skink to sup 'till you rive; And Roaches to roast on the Gridiron, And Flukes that were tane alive, _Come aw let's_, &c.

Cropt head Wilks and Pangles, And a Meal of good sweting to ney; And when you're all burst with eating, We'll rise up and Dance 'till we dey: _Come aw let's awaw to the Wedding, For there will be Lilting there;_ Jockey'll _be marry'd to_ Moggy, _The Lass with the Golden Hair._

_The Mistresses: A_ SONG _Set by Mr._ JAMES TOWNSEND, _the Words by Mr._ ROLFE.

[Music]

_Lavia_ would, but dare not venture, Fear so much o'er-rules her Passion; _Chloe_ suffers all to enter, Subjects Fame to Inclination: Neither's Method I admire, Either is in Love displeasing; _Chloe's_ fondness gluts desire _Lavia's_ Cowardise is Teazing.

_CÊlia_ by a Wiser Measure, In one faithful Swains embraces; Pays a private Debt to Pleasure, Yet for Chast in publick Passes: Fair ones follow _CÊlia's_ Notion, Free from fear and censure wholly; Love, but let it be with Caution, For Extreams are Shame or Folly.

_A_ SONG. _Set by an Eminent Master._

When embracing my Friends, And quaffing Champain; Dull Phlegmatick Spleen, Thou assault'st me in vain; Dull Phlegmatick Spleen, Thou assault'st me in vain: My Pleasures flow pure, Without Taint or Allay; And each Glass that I drink, Inspires with new Joy.

My Pleasures thus heighten'd, No Improvement receive; But what the dear Sight Of my _Phillis_ can give: The Charms of her Eyes, The Force of my Wine, Do then in Harmonious Confed'racy joyn: To wrap me with Joys, To wrap me with Joys, Seraphick, Seraphick, and Divine.

_A_ TENEMENT _to Let_.

[Music]

I Have a Tenement to Let, I hope will please you all, And if you'd know the Name of it, 'Tis called _Cunny Hall_.

It's seated in a Pleasant Vale, Beneath a rising Hill; This Tenement is to be Let, To whosoe'er I will.

For Years, for Months, for Weeks or Days, I'll let this famous Bow'r; Nay rather than a Tennant want, I'd let it for an Hour.

There's round about a pleasant Grove, To shade it from the Sun; And underneath is Well water That pleasantly does run.

Where if you're hot you may be cool'd, If cold you may find heat; It is a well contrived Spring, Not little nor too great.

The place is very Dark by Night, And so it is by Day; But when you once are enter'd in, You cannot lose your way.

And when you're in, go boldly on, As far as e'er you can; And if you reach to the House top, You'll be where ne'er was Man.

Tune, _Draw_ Cupid _Draw_.

Here, _Chloe_ hear, And do not turn away, From my Desire, but quench my Fire. And my Love's flames allay: And let my Song go along, Unto Compassion move; And make you kind, And bend your mind, And melt you into Love.

If _Chloe_ Loves, and Constant proves, Oh! happy, happy then am I; But if that she unconstant be, And do's delight to rove: As sure as Gun, I am undone, And shan't have power to move.

_Fashionable_ Shepherdess, _Set by Mr._ Ramondon.

[Music]

At the break of morning light, When the marbled Sky look gay; Nature self all perfect bright, Smil'd to see the God of Day: Charming prospect, verdant Trees, Azure Hill, enamell'd Sky; Birds with warbling Throats to please, Striving each which shall outvey.

_Lisbea_ then with wond'rous hast, O'er a green sword Plain she flew; Thus my Angel as she past, The Eyes of ev'ry Shepherd drew: When they had the Nymph espyed, All amazed cry'd there she goes; Thus by blooming Beauty tryed, Thought a second Sun arose.

Ev'ry Swain the Sun mistook. Dazled by refulgent Charms; And with Joy their Flocks forsook, For to follow Love's Alarms: All 'till now were perfect Friends, Bound by Innocence and Truth; 'Till sly Love to gain his ends, Made a difference 'twixt each Youth.

Each expected which should be, Made the happy Man by Love; While for want of Liberty, None could truly happy prove: But at length they all arriv'd, To a charming easie Grove; Where the Nymph had well contriv'd, To be happy with her Love.

There in amorous folding twin'd, _Strephon_ with his _Lisbea_ lay; Both to mutual Joys enclin'd, Let their Inclinations stray: As the curling Vines embracing, Fondly of the Oak around; So the blooming Nymphs caressing, Of her Swain with pleasure crown'd.

How surpriz'd were ev'ry Swain, When they found the Nymph engaged; Disappointment heighten'd Pain, 'Till it made them more enraged: Arm your self with Resolution, Cry'd the most revengeful he; We'll contrive her Swains Confusion, Let him fall as much as we.

Several Punishments they Invented, For to Torture helpless he; All revengeful, ne'er contented, Cruel to a vast Degree: One more envious in the rear, Thus his Sentiments let slip; Make him like the Cavalier, And for the _Opera_ him Equip.

_A_ Scotch SONG _in the Play call'd_ Love at first Sight: _Set by the late Mr._ JER. CLARK.

[Music]

The Rosey Morn lukes blith and Gay, The Lads and Lasses on the Plain; Her bonny, bonny sports pass o'er the Day, And leave poor _Jenny_ tol complain: My _Sawndy's_ grown a faithless Loon, And given, given _Moggy_ that wild Heart; Which eance he swore was aw my own, But now weese me I've scarce a part.

Gang thy gate then perjur'd _Sawndy_, Ise nea mere will Mon believe; Wou'd Ise nere had trusted any, They faw Thieves will aw deceive: But gin ere Ise get mere Lovers, Ise Dissemble as they do; For since Lads are grown like Rovers, Pray why may na Lasses too.

_The_ Restauration: _Or the_ Coventry SONG.

1710.

[Music]

The Restauration now's the Word, A blessed Revolution; That has secur'd the Church, the Crown, And _England's_ Constitution: May ev'ry Loyal Soul rejoice, May WHIGS and Canters mourn, Sir; Who ever thought that _Coventry_, Shou'd make a due Return, Sir.

We Rally'd the Church-Militant, And fell to work ding-dong, Sir; _Craven_ and _Gery_ are the Names, That do adorn our Song, Sir: _Beaufort_, _Ormond_, _Rochester_, And more than we can tell, Sir; Are Themes that well deserve the Pen, Of brave _Sacheverell_, Sir.

The glorious Sons of _Warwickshire_, May justly be commended; There's ne'er a Member now Elect, That ever has offended: _Denbigh_ and _Craven_ we esteem, A Loyal Noble pair, Sir; And hope to see our worthy Friend, Great _Bromly_ in the Chair, Sir.

_A_ SONG.