Part 5

Here's Limmons of the biggest size, With Eggs and Butter too; Brave News they say is come to Day, If _Jones's_ News be true: Here's Spiggot and fine Wooden-wares, With Fossets to put in; I'll bottom all your broken Chairs, Then pray let me begin.

A Rabbit fat and plump I have, Young Maidens love the same; Come buy a Bird, I'm at a word, Or Pullet of the Game: I sell the best spice Ginger-Bread, You ever did eat before; While Madam _King_ her Dumplings, She crys from Door to Door.

Come buy a Comb, or Buckle fine, For Girdle of your Lass; My Oysters too are very new, With Trumpet sounding glass: Your Lanthorn-horns I'll make them shine, And mend them very well; There's no Jack-line so good as mine, As I have here to sell.

Come buy my Honey and my Book, For Cuckolds to peruse; Your Turnip-man is come again, To tell his Dames some News: I've Plumbs and Damsons very fine, With very good mellow Pears; Come buy a charming Dish of Fish, And give it to your Heirs.

Come buy my Figs, before they're gone, Here's Custards of the best; And Mustard too, that's very new, Tho' you may think I Jest: My Holland-socks are very strong, Here's Eels to skip and play; My hot grey-pease buy if you please, For I come no more to Day.

Old Suits or Cloaks, or Campaign Wigs, With Rusty Guns or Swords: When Whores or Pimps do buy my Shrimps, I never take their words: Your Chimney clean my Boy shall sweep, While I do him command; Card Matches cheap by lump or heap, The best in all the Land.

Come taste and buy my Brandy-Wine, 'Tis newly come from _France_: This Powder now is good I vow, Which I have got by chance; New Mackerel the best I have, Of any in the Town; Here's Cloath to sell will please you well, As soft as any Down.

Work for the Cooper, Maids give Ear, I'll hoop your Tubs and Pails: And if your sight it is not right, Here's that that never fails: Milk that is new come from the Cow, With Flounders fresh and fair; Here's Elder-buds to purge your Bloods, And Onions keen and rare.

Small-coal young Maids I've brought you here, The best that e'er you us'd; Here's Cherries round and very sound, If they are not abus'd; Here's Pippings lately come from _Kent_, Pray taste and then you'll buy; But mind my Song, and then e'er long, You'll sing it as well as I.

_The Lover's_ CHARM.

[Music]

Tell me, tell me, charming Fair, Why so cruel and severe; Is't not you, ah! you alone, Is't not you, ah! you alone, Secures my wandering Heart your own: Change, which once the most did please, Now wants the power to give me ease; You've fixt me as the Centure sure, And you who kill alone can cure, And you who kill alone can cure.

If refusing what was granted, Be to raise my Passion higher; Nymph believe me, I ne'er wanted, Art for to inflame desire: Calm my Thoughts, serene my Mind, Still increasing was my Joy, Till _Lavinia_ prov'd unkind, Nothing could my Peace destroy.

_A_ SONG _in the_ Royal Mischief. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles. _Sung by Mr._ Leveridge.

[Music]

Unguarded lies the wishing Maid, Distrusting not to be betray'd; Ready to fall with all her Charms, A shining Treasure to your Arms: Who hears this Story must believe, No Heart can truer Joy receive; Since to take Love and give it too, Is all that Love for hearts can do.

_A Ligg of good Noses set forth in a Jest. Most fitly compared to whom you think best._

[Music: _First Nose._]

[Music: _CHO. of all._]

[Music: _1 N._, _2d._ _3d._ _4th._]

[Music: _All shake Hands._]

_The LARGEST._

My Nose is the largest of all in this place, Mark how it becometh the midst of my Face; By measure I take it from the end to the Brow, Four Inches by compass, the same doth allow.

Likewise it is forged of passing good Metal, All of right Copper, the best in the Kettle; For redness and Goodness the virtue is such, That all other Metal it serveth to touch.

Old smug, nor the Tinker that made us so merry, With their brave Noses more red than a Cherry; None here to my Challenge can make a denial, When my Nose cometh thus bravely to Tryal.

_All Sing._

Room for good Noses the best in our Town, Come fill the Pot Hostess, your Ale it is brown; For his Nose, and thy Nose, and mine shall not quarrel, So long as one Gallon remains in the Barrel.

_The LONGEST._

My Nose is the Longest no Man can deny, For 'tis a just handful right, mark from mine Eye; Most seemly down hanging full low to my Chin, As into my Belly it fain would look in.

It serves for a Weapon my Mouth to defend, My Teeth it preserveth still like a good Friend; Where if so I happen to fall on the Ground, My Nose takes the burthen and keeps my Face sound.

It likewise delighteth to peep in the Cup, Searching there deeply 'till all be drank up; Then let my Nose challenge of Noses the best, The longest with Ladies are still in request.

_All Sing._

Room for, _&c._

_The THICKEST._

My Nose it is Thickest and Roundest of all, Inriched with Rubies the great with the small; No Goldsmith of Jewels can make the like show, See how they are planted here all on a row.

How like a round Bottle it also doth hang, Well stuffed with Liquor will make it cry twang; With all, it is sweating in the midst of the Cold, More worth to the honour than ransoms of Gold.

You see it is gilded with Claret and Sack, A Food and fit cloathing for belly and back: Then let my Nose challenge of all that be here, To sit at this Table as chiefest in cheer.

_All Sing._

Room for, _&c._

_The Second Part._

_We have the best Noses that be in our Town, If any bring better come let him sit down._

_The FLATEST._

My Nose is the Flatest of all that be here, Devoid of all Danger and bodily fear; When other long Noses let fly at a Post, My Nose hath the advantage, well known to my Host.

For 'tis of the making of _Dunstable_ way, Plain without turning as Travellers say, Though no Nose but approveth to some disgrace, It bringeth less trouble unto a good Face.

Then let me do homage to them that have best, For all Nose and no Nose, are both but a Jest; Yet my Nose shall Challenge although it be flat, A place with my Neighbours at whiping the Cat.

_All Sing._

Room for good Noses the best in our Town, Come fill the Pot Hostess, your Ale it is Brown: For his Nose, and thy Nose, and mine shall not quarrel, So long as one Gallon remains in the Barrel.

_The SHARPEST._

My Nose is the Sharpest good Neighbours mark well, The smoak of a Banquet three Mile I can smell; Forged and shaped so sharp at the End, Makes known that I pass not what others do spend.

Yet must my Nose spiced most orderly be, With Nutmegs and Ginger, or else 'tis not for me; And so to the bottom the same I commit, Of every Man's cup whereas I do sit.

My Nose is the foremost you see at each Feast, Of all other Noses the principal Guest: Then let my Nose challenge as sharp as it shows, The chiefest of every good and bad Nose.

_All Sing._

Room for, _&c._

_The BROADEST._

My Nose is the Broadest how like you Sir, that, It feeds on good Liquor and grows very fat; For like to a Panack it covers my Face, To make other Noses the more in disgrace.

And look how it glisters like Copper-smith's Hall, To which our good Noses are summoned all; When if that the Colours hold out not good red, A Fine must be levied and set on their Head.

For having the Broadest and fairest to the Eye, The Sergeant of Noses appointed am I; Then let my Nose challenge the chiefest from the rest, Of all other Noses the Broadest is best. _All Sing._

Room for good Noses the best in our Town, Come fill the Pot Hostess, your Ale it is Brown; For his Nose, and thy Nose, and mine shall not quarrel, So long as one Gallon remains in the Barrel.

_The_ LUDGATE _Prisoners._

[Music]

Noble King _Lud_, Full long hast thou stood, Not framed of Wood, but of Stone Of Stone sure thou art, Like our Creditors Heart, That regards not our sorrowful Moan.

Within the Gate, They cry at the Grate, Pray Remember our Fate and shew Pity; The poor and distress'd, Who in Bonds are oppress'd, Entreat the relief of the City

In Threadbare Coats, We tear our Throats, With pitiful Notes that would move All Creatures, but Brutes, To give ear to our Suits, And themselves like true Christians approve.

But in vain we cry, With a Box hanging by, Good Sirs cast an Eye on our Case; No Beau nor Town Mistress, Are touched with our Distress, But hold up their Nose at the Place.

The Lawyer jogs on, Without looking upon Th' afflicted, whose Moans he gives being; Nor thinks on us Cits, But Breviates and Writs, And demurrs on Exorbitant Feeing,

The _Serjeants_ and _Yeomen_, Who seek to undo Men, Though Good-men and True-men ne'er mind us; But rejoyce they get, By our being in Debt, And that where they have brought us, they find us.

The Merchant alone, Makes our sorrows his own, And allows there is none but may fail; Since that is free, By losses at Sea, May be immurr'd in a Gaol.

His Purse and his Board, With Plenty are stor'd, Due Relief to afford to the Needy; While the Priest in his Coach, Joggs on to Debauch, To cloath us or feed us too Greedy.

Others go by, And hearing our cry, They cast up their Eye in Disdain; Affirming that we, If once get free, Should quickly be Prisoners again,

But let 'em take heed, That reproach us indeed, And thus at our need go by grinning; Since it is so Man, That there is no Man, Knows his End, that may know his Beginning.

_Room for Gentlemen._

[Music]

Room for Gentlemen, here comes a Company, Room for Gentlemen, here comes my Lord-Mayor; You Barons, you Knights, and also you 'Squires, Give Room for Gentlemen, here comes my Lord Mayor.

First comes the Worshipful Company, Of Gallant _Mercers_ into this Place; With their worthy Caps of Maintenance, Upon their Shoulders to their great grace: Side by side do they go as you see here, _Room for_, &c.

Next to them here comes the _Grocers_, A Company of Gallants bold; Who willingly do give Attendance, As all the People may behold: In their Gowns and their Caps with gallant Cheer. Room for, _&c._

Then the _Drapers_ they come next, With their Streamers flying so fair; And their Trumpets sounding most loudly, Attending still upon my Lord Mayor: Their Whifflers, their Batchelors, and all they have there, Give Room, _&c._

Then comes the Company of gallant _Fishmongers_, Attending his Lordship's coming here; As duty bindeth they do still wait, Until his Lordship doth appear: Then they rise, and go with lusty cheer, With Loving Hearts before the Lord Mayor.

The _Goldsmiths_ they are next to them, A braver Company there cannot be; All in their Liveries going most bravely, And Colours spread most gallantly: They do wait, they attend, and then they stay there, Until the coming of my Lord Mayor.

The _Merchant-Taylors_ now they come in, A Company both stout and bold; Most willing to perform their Duties, Scorning of any to be controul'd: In their Gowns and their Caps, and ancient Affairs, All attend, _&c._

The _Haberdashers_ a Company be, Of Gentlemen both Grave and Wise; To all good Orders they do agree, For the City's good they still devise: They set to their helping as you may hear, Still to the comfort of City and Mayor.

The _Skinners_ they a Company be, As gallant Men as be the rest; Their Duties they perform truly, As honestly as do the best: Their Antients, then Drums, then Trumpets be there, Attending still, _&c._

Truly the _Salters_ a Company Grave, Of Understanding be good and Wise; And to perform all godly Orders, Within the City they devise: When occasion doth serve they present themselves there, With all the Company, _&c._

The _Iron-mongers_ a Company be, Who know their Duties every one; And willingly they do Obey, And wait his Lordship still upon: From the Morning they rise they still do stay there, Until the departing of, _&c._

The Company of worthy _Vintners_, His Lordship still do wait upon; With all their Furniture along most gallantly, In order they go every one: Until the Companys do appear, And then they go before, _&c._

A Company there is of worthy _Cloth-workers_, Who wait and give Attendance still: When his Lordship hath any occasion, They ready are to obey his Will; For fear any Service should be wanting there, They will present themselves before the Lord Mayor.

God bless our King and Counsel all, And all his true Subjects in this Land; And cut down all those false Hereticks, That would the Gospel still withstand: God prosper this City, and all that are here, And I wish you to say God bless my Lord-Mayor.

_The Batchelor's Choice._

[Music]

I Fain wou'd find a passing good Wife, That I may live merry all Days of my Life, But that I do fear much sorrow and strife, Then I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry a Maid that is Fair, With her round cherry Cheeks and her flaxen Hair, Many close Meetings I must forbear, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that is Foul, The best of my Pleasure will be but a Scoul. She'll sit in a corner like to an Owl, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry a Maid that's a Slut, My Diet a dressing abroad I must put, For fear of Distempers to trouble my Gut, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry a Maid that's a Fool, To learn her more Wit I must put her to School, Or else fool-hardy keep in good rule, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that's a Scold, My Freedom at home is evermore sold, Her Mouth is too little her Tongue for to hold, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that's a Whore, I must keep open for her my back Door, And so a kind Wittal be called therefore, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that is Proud, She'll look for much more than can be allow'd, No Wife of that making I'll have I have vow'd, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry a Maid that is meek, The rule of my Household I might go seek, For such a kind Soul I care not a Leek, And I'll, _&c._

I would have a Wife to come at a Call, Too fat, nor too lean, too low, nor too tall, But such a good Wife as may please all, Else I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet, Else I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

_The Second Part._

If I should go seek the whole World about, To find a kind and loving Wife out, That labour were lost, I am in great doubt, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I Marry with one that is Young, With a false Heart and flattering Tongue, Sorrow and Care may be my Song, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Old, I never should have the Pleasures I would, But Arm full of Bones frozen with Cold, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Poor, By me my best Friends will set little store And so go a Begging from door to door, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Rich, She'll ever upbraid me she brought me too much, And make me her Drudge, but I'll have none such, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Blind, All for to seek and worse for to find, I then should have nothing to please my Mind, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Dumb, How could she welcome my Friends that come, For her best language is to say Mum, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

If I should Marry with one that is Deaf, Hard of Belief, and Jealous 'till death, To the Jawm of a Chimney spend I my Breath, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Fine, She will spend all in Ale and in Wine, Spend she her own, she shall not spend mine, And I'll, _&c._

If I should Marry with one that is Tall, I having but little she would have it all, Then will I live single, whate'er it befal, And I'll, _&c._

For when I am Married I must be glad, To please my Wife though never so bad, Then farewel the Joys that lately I had, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet, And I'll not be Married yet, yet, yet.

_Maids that will not when you may, When you would, you shall have nay._

_The Power of Verse._

[Music]

Tho' thou'rt ugly and Old, A damn'd Slut and a Scold, Yet if you will tip me a Guinea; By the help of my Rhimes, To the latest of Times, Thou shalt have thy Adorers dear _Jenny_.

We Bards have a knack, To turn White into Black, And make Vice seem Vertue, which odd is; True Poetical Cant, Dubbs a Rebel a Saint, And refines a Jilt into a Goddess.

These trick Rhiming Sages, Observ'd in all Ages, To dress naked Truth in a Fable; And tho' ev'ry story, Out-did Purgatory, They still were believ'd by the Rabble.

Pray what was _Acteon_, Whom Dogs made a Prey on, But a Sportsman undone by his Chasing; Or the fam'd _Diomede_, Of whom his Nags fled, But a Jockey quite ruin'd by racing?

_MedÊa_, 'tis sung, Could make old Women Young. Tho' she nought but a true waiting-Maid is; Who with Comb of black Lead, With Paint white and Red, With Patch and wash, vamps up grey Ladies.

_Vulcan_ left the Bellows, And Sooty left good Fellows, That he might take of _Nectar_ a Cann full; _Venus_ was a gay Trull, To the Cuckoldly Fool, _Mars_ a Bully that beat on her Anvil.

_Neptune_ was a Tarpawling, And _Ph[oe]bus_ by calling, A Mountebank, Wizard, and Harper; Jolly _Bacchus_ a Lad, Of the Wine-drawing Trade, And _Mercury_ a Pimp and a Sharper.

_Pallas_ was a stale Maid, With a grim _Gorgon's_ head, Whose ugliness made her the Chaster, A Scold great was _Juno_, As I know, or you know, And _Jove_ was as great a Whore-master.

Then prithee dear Creature, Now show thy good nature, This once be my Female _Mac[oe]nas_; And Times yet unknown, My _Jenny_ shall own, Chast as _Pallas_, but fairer than _Venus_.

_The Bonny Lass: Or, the Button'd_ SMOCK.

[Music]

Sit you merry Gallants, For I can tell you News, Of a Fashion call'd the Button'd Smock, The which our Wenches use: Because that in the City, In troth it is great pity; Our Gallants hold it much in scorn. They should put down the City: But is not this a bouncing Wench, And is not this a Bonny; In troth she wears a _Holland_ Smock, If that she weareth any.

A bonny Lass in a Country Town, Unto her Commendation; She scorns a _Holland_ Smock, Made after the old Fashion: But she will have it _Holland_ fine, As fine as may be wore; Hem'd and stitch'd with _Naples_ Silk, And button'd down before: But is not, _&c._

Our Gallants of the City, New Fashions do devise; And wear such new found fangle things, Which country Folk despise: As for the Button'd Smock, None can hold it in scorn; Nor none can think the Fashion ill, It is so closely worn: Although it may be felt, It's seldom to be seen; It passeth all the Fashions yet, That heretofore hath been. But is not, _&c._

Our Wenches of the City, That gains the Silver rare; Sometimes they wear a Canvass Smock, That's torn or worn Thread-bare: Perhaps a Smock of Lockrum, That dirty, foul, or black: Or else a Smock of Canvass course, As hard as any Sack. But is not, _&c._

But she that wears the _Holland_ Smock, I commend her still that did it; To wear her under Parts so fine, The more 'tis for her Credit: For some will have the out-side fine, To make the braver show; But she will have her _Holland_ Smock That's Button'd down below. But is not, _&c._

But if that I should take in hand, Her Person to commend; I should vouchsafe a long Discourse, The which I could not end: For her Vertues they are many, Her person likewise such; But only in particular, Some part of them I'll touch. But is not, _&c._

Those Fools that still are doing, With none but costly Dames; With tediousness of wooing, Makes cold their hottest flames: Give me the Country Lass, That trips it o'er the Field; And ope's her Forest at the first. And is not Coy to yield.

Who when she dons her Vesture, She makes the Spring her Glass; And with her Comely gesture, Doth all the Meadows pass: Who knows no other cunning, But when she feels it come; To gripe your Back, if you be slack, And thrust your Weapon home.

'Tis not their boasting humour, Their painted looks nor state; Nor smells of the Perfumer, The Creature doth create: Shall make me unto these, Such slavish service owe; Give me the Wench that freely takes, And freely doth bestow.

Who far from all beguiling, Doth not her Beauty Mask; But all the while lye smiling, While you are at your task: Who in the midst of Pleasure, Will beyond active strain; And for your Pranks, will con you thanks, And cursey for your pain.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ACKEROYD.

Z----ds Madam return me my Heart, Or by the Lord _Harry_ I'll make ye; Tho' you sleep when I talk of my smart, As I hope to be Knighted I'll wake ye; If you rant, why by _Jove_, Then I'll rant as well as you; There's no body cares for your puffing, You're mistaken in me; Nay prithee, prithee, prithee pish, We'll try who's the best at a huffing.

But if you will your Heart surrender, And confess yourself uncivil; 'Tis probable I may grow tender, And recal what I purpos'd of evil, But if you persist in rigour, 'Tis a thousand to one but I teeze you; For you'll find so much heat and such vigour, As may trouble you forsooth or please you.

_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ The Maid's last Prayer: _Or_, Any thing rather than fail.

[Music]

Tho' you make no return to my Passion, Still, still I presume to adore; 'Tis in Love but an odd Reputation, When faintly repuls'd to give o'er: When you talk of your duty, I gaze at your Beauty; Nor mind the dull Maxim at all, Let it reign in _Cheapside_, With the Citizens Bride: It will ne'er be receiv'd, it will ne'er, ne'er, it will ne'er be receiv'd at _White-hall_.

What Apochryphal Tales are you told, By one who wou'd make you believe; That because of _to have_ and _to hold_, You still must be pinn'd to his Sleeve: 'Twere apparent high-Treason, 'Gainst Love and 'gainst Reason, Shou'd one such a Treasure engross; He who knows not the Joys, That attend such a choice, Shou'd resign to another that does.

_The Cruel Fair requited, Written by_ J. R. _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.

[Music]

When Wit and Beauty meet in one, That acts an Amorous part; What Nymph its mighty Power can shun, Or 'scape a wounded Heart: Those Potent, wondrous Potent charms, Where-e'er they bless a Swain; He needs not sleep with empty Arms, He needs not sleep with empty Arms, Nor dread severe disdain.