Part 7

Lay by your Pleading, The Law lies a Bleeding, Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your Reading; Small Power the World has, And doth afford us, Not half so many Privileges as the Sword does; It fosters our Masters, It plaisters Disasters, And makes the Servants quickly greater than their Masters; It ventures, it enters, It circles, it Centres, And sets a Prentice free despite of his Indenters.

This takes up all things, And sets up small things, This masters Money, tho' Money masters all things. It's not in Season, To talk of Reason, Or count it Loyalty, when the Sword will have it Treason: This conquers a Crown too, The Cloak and the Gown too, This sets up a Presbyter, and this doth pull him down too; This subtile deceiver, Turn'd Bonnet into Beaver, Down drops a Bishop, and up steps a Weaver.

It's this makes a Lay-man, To Preach and to Pray Man, And this made a Lord of him, which was before a Drayman; For from this dull-pit, Of _Saxbey's_ Pulpit, This brought a holy Iron-monger to the Pulpit: No Gospel can guide it, No Law can decide it, No Church or State can debate it, 'Till the Sword hath Sanctify'd it; Such pitiful things be, Happier than Kings be, This brought in the Heraldry of _Thimblesby_ and _Slingsby_.

Down goes the Law-trix, For from this Matrix, Sprang holy _Hewson's_ power, and tumbl'd down St. _Patrick's_. It batter'd the Gun-kirk, So did it the Dum-kirk, That he is fled and gone to the Devil in _Dunkirk_; In _Scotland_ this waster, Did work such disaster, This brought the Money back for which they sold their Master: This frighted the _Flemming_, And made him so beseeming, That he doth never think of his lost Lands redeeming.

But he that can tower, Over him that is lower, Would be counted but a Fool to give away his Power: Take Books and rent them, Who would invent them, When as the Sword replys _Negatur Argumentur_: The grand College Butlers, Must vail to the Sutlers, There's not a Library like to the Cutlers; The Blood that is spilt, Sir, Hath gain'd all the Guilt, Sir, Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the Hilt, Sir.

_Queen_ DIDO.

[Music]

When _Dido_ was a _Carthage_ Queen, She lov'd a _Trojan_ Knight; Who sail'd about from Coast to Coast, Of Metal brave in Fight:

As they Hunting rid, a Shower, Did on their Heads with fury pour, Drove 'em to a lonely Cave, Where _∆neas_ with his Charms, Caught fair _Dido_ in his Arms, And got what he would have.

Then _Dido Hymen's_ Rites forgot, Her Love was won in hast; Her Honour she consider'd not, But in her Breast him plac'd; Now when their Loves were just began, Great _Jove_ sent down his winged Son, To fright _∆neas'_ sleep: Make him by the break of Day, From Queen _Dido_ steal away, Which caus'd her wail and weep.

Poor _Dido_ wept, but what of that? The Gods would have it so; _∆neas_ nothing did amiss, When he was forc'd to go: Cease Lovers, cease your Vows to keep, With your true Loves, but let 'em weep, 'Tis folly to be true; Let this comfort serve your turn, That tho' wretched _Dido's_ mourn, You'll daily Court anew.

_False_ PHILLIS, _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.

[Music]

Since _Phillis_ swears Inconstancy, Then I'll e'en do so too; I careless am as well as she, She values not her Vow.

To sigh, to languish, and protest, Let feeble Fops approve; The Women's way I like the best, Enjoyment is their Love.

When I my _Phillis_ do embrace, There's none can happier be; But when she's gone, the next fair Face, Is _Phillis_ then to me.

I find her Absence cools Desire, As well as her Disdain; When Hope denys to feed my Fire, Despair shall ease my Pain.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Blush not redder than the Morning, Though the Virgins give you Warning; Sigh not at the chance befel you, Though they smile, and dare not tell you; _Sigh not at_, &c.

Maids like Turtles, love the Cooing, Bill and Murmur in their Wooing; Thus like you they start and tremble, And their troubled Joys dissemble: _Thus like you_, &c.

Grasp the Pleasure while 'tis coming, Though your Beauty's now a blooming; Lest old time our Joys should sever, Ah! ah! they part, they part for ever: _Lest old time_, &c.

_The Power of_ BEAUTY.

[Music]

In a Flowry Myrtle _Grove_, The solitary Scene of Love, On Beds of Vi'lets, all the Day, The Charming _Floriana_ lay; The little _Cupids_ hover'd in the Air, They peep'd and smil'd, and thought their Mother there.

_Ph[oe]bus_ delay'd his Course a while, Charm'd with the spell of such a Smile, Whilst weary _Plough-men_ curs'd the stay, Of the too _Uxorious_ Day: The little _Cupids_ hover'd in the Air, They peep'd and smil'd, and thought their Mother there.

But thus the _Nymph_ began to chide, "That Eye, you owe the World beside, You fix on me", then with a Frown She sent her drooping Lover down; With modest Blushes from the _Grove_ she fled, Painting the Evening with unusual Red.

_The_ HUNT.

[Music]

Some in the Town go betimes to the _Downs_, To pursue the fearful Hare; Some in the Dark love to hunt in a _Park_, For to chace all the Deer that are there: Some love to see the Faulcon to flee, With a joyful rise against the Air; But all my delight is a Cunny in the Night, When she turns up her silver Hair.

When she is beset, with a Bow, Gun, or Net, And finding no shelter for to cover her; She falls down flat, or in a Tuft does squat, 'Till she lets the Hunter get over her: With her breast she does butt, and she bubs up her Scut, When the Bullets fly close by her Ear; She strives not to escape, but she mumps like an Ape, And she turns up, _&c._

The Ferret he goes in, through flaggs thick and thin, Whilst Mettle pursueth his Chace; The Cunny she shows play, and in the best of her way, Like a Cat she does spit in his Face: Tho' she lies in the Dust, she fears not his Nest, With her full bound up Sir, career; With the strength that she shows, she gapes at the Nose, And she turns up, _&c._

The sport is so good, that in Town or in Wood, In a Hedge, or a Ditch you may do it; In Kitchen or in Hall, in a Barn or in a Stall, Or wherever you please you may go to it: So pleasing it is that you can hardly miss, Of so rich Game in all our Shire; For they love so to play, that by Night or by Day, They will turn up their Silver Hair.

BRIDAL _Night. To the foregoing Tune._

Come from the Temple, away to the Bed, As the Merchant transports home his Treasure; Be not so coy Lady, since we are wed, 'Tis no Sin to taste of the Pleasure: Then come let us be blith, merry and free, Upon my life all the waiters are gone; And 'tis so, that they know where you go, say not so, For I mean to make bold with my own.

What is it to me, if our Hands joyned be, If our Bodies are still kept asunder: It shall not be said, there goes a married Maid, Indeed we will have no such wonder: Therefore let's Embrace, there's none sees thy Face, The Bride-Maids that waited are gone; None can spy how you lye, ne'er deny, but say Ay, For I mean to make bold with my own.

Sweet Love do not frown, but pull off thy Gown, 'Tis a Garment unfit for the Night; Some say that Black, hath a relishing smack, I had rather be dealing with White: Then be not afraid, for you are not betray'd, Since we two are together alone; I invite you this Night, to do me right in my delight, For I mean to make bold with my own.

Then come let us Kiss, and tast of our Bliss, Which brave Lords and Ladies enjoy'd; If all Maids should be of the humour of thee, Generations would soon be destroy'd: Then where were the Joys, the Girls and the Boys, Would'st live in the World all alone; Don't destroy, but enjoy, seem not Coy for a Toy, For indeed I'll make bold with my own.

Prithee begin, don't delay but unpin, For my Humour I cannot prevent it; You are so streight lac'd, and your Top-knot so fast, Undo it, or I straitway will rent it: Or to end all the strife, I'll cut it with a Knife, 'Tis too long to stay 'till it's undone; Let thy Wast be unlac'd, and in hast be embrac'd, For I long to make bold with my own.

As thou art fair, and sweeter than the Air, That dallies on _July's_ brave Roses; Now let me be to thy Garden a Key, That the Flowers of Virgins incloses: And I will not be too rough unto thee, For my Nature to mildness is prone; Do no less than undress, and unlace all apace, For this Night I'll make bold with my own.

_A TOPING_ SONG.

[Music]

I Am a Jolly Toper, I am a raged Soph, Known by the Pimples in my Face, with taking Bumpers off,

And a Toping we will go, we'll go, we'll go, And a Toping we will go.

Come let's sit down together, and take our fill of Beer, Away with all disputes, for we'll have no Wrangling here, And a Toping, _&c._

With clouds of Tobacco we'll make our Noddles clear, We'll be as great as Princes, when our Heads are full of Beer, And a Toping, _&c._

With Juggs, Muggs, and Pitchers, and Bellarmines of Stale, Dash'd lightly with a little, a very little Ale, And a Toping, _&c._

A Fig for the _Spaniard_, and for the King of _France_, And Heaven preserve our Juggs, and Muggs, and Q----n from all mischance, And a Toping, _&c._

Against the Presbyterians, pray give me leave to rail, Who ne'er had thirsted for Kings Blood, had they been Drunk with stale, And a Toping, _&c._

And against the Low-church Saints, who slily play their part, Who rail at the Dissenters, yet love them in their Heart, And a toping, _&c._

Here's a Health to the Queen, let's Bumpers take in hand, And may Prince _G----'s_ Roger grow stiff again and stand, And a Toping, _&c._

Oh how we toss about the never-failing Cann, We drink and piss, and piss and drink, and drink to piss again And a Toping, _&c._

Oh that my Belly it were a Tun of stall, My Cock were turn'd into a Tap, to run when I did call, And a Toping, _&c._

Of all sorts of Topers, a Soph is far the best, For 'till he can neither go nor stand, by _Jove_ he's ne'er at rest, And a Toping, _&c._

We fear no Wind or Weather, when good Liquor dwells within, And since a Soph does live so well, then who would be a King, And a Toping, _&c._

Then dead Drunk We'll march Boys, and reel into our Tombs, That Jollier Sophs (if such their be) may come and take our rooms, Sir And a Toping may they go, _&c._

_Sir_ JOHN JOHNSON'S _Farewell, by_ JO. HAINS.

[Music]

All Christians that have Ears to hear, And Hearts inclin'd to pity; Some of you all bestow one Tear, Upon my mournful Ditty: In _Queen-street_ did an Heiress live, Whose downfall when I sing; 'Twill make the very Stones to grieve, God prosper long our King.

For her a _Scotish_ Knight did die, Was ever the like seen; I shame to tell place, how, or why, And so God bless the Queen: Some say indeed she swore a Rape, But God knows who was wrong'd; For he that did it did escape, And he did not was Hang'd.

Some say another thing beside, If true? it was a Vice; That _Campbell_ when she was his Bride, Did trouble her but thrice: 'Twas this the young Girls Choler mov'd, And in a Rage she swore; E'er she'd be a Wife but three times lov'd, She'd sooner be a Whore.

But don't you pity now her Case, Was forc'd to send for Surgeon, To show the Man that very place, Where once she was a Virgin. Parents take warning by her fall, When Girls are in their Teens; To marry them soon, or they will all, Know what the Business means.

For Girls like Nuts (Excuse my Rhimes) At bottom growing brown; If you don't gather them betimes, Will of themselves fall down: God bless King _William_, and Queen _Mary_, And Plenty and Peace advance; And hang up those wish the contrary, And then a Fig for _France_.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ KING.

Banish my _Lydia_ these sad Thoughts, Why sets thou musing so; To hear the Ugly rail at faults, They wou'd, they wou'd, but cannot do: For let the Guilt be what it will. So small, so small Account they bear; That none yet thought it worth their while, On such, on such to be severe, On such, on such to be severe.

With far more reason thou may'st pine, Thy self for being Fair; For hadst thou but less Glorious been, Thou of no Faults wou'dst hear: So the great light that shines from far, Has had its Spots set down; While many a little useless Star, Has not been tax'd with one.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

[Music]

Love's Pow'r in my Heart shall find no Compliance, I'll stand to my Guard, and bid open Defiance: To Arms I will muster my Reason and Senses, _Ta ra ra ra, Ta ra ra ra_, a War now commences.

Keep, keep a strict Watch, and observe ev'ry Motion, Your Care to his Cunning exactly proportion; Fall on, he gives ground, let him never recover, _Victoria! Victoria!_ the Battle is over.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JAMES HART.

[Music]

Honest Shepher'd, since you're poor, Think of loving me no more, Take Advice in time, Give o're your Solicitations: Nature does in vain dispense, To your Vertue, Courage, Sense, Wealth can only influence, A Woman's Inclinations.

What fond Nymph can e'er be kind, To a Swain, but rich in Mind, If as well she does not find Gold within his Coffers? Gold alone does Scorn remove, Gold alone incites to Love, Gold can most perswasive prove, And make the fairest offers.

_The_ SHEPHERD'S _Wooing of Fair_ DULCINA.

[Music]

As at Noon _Dulcina_ rested, In her sweet and shady Bow'r, Came a Shepherd and requested, In her Lap to sleep an Hour; But from her look a Wound he took, So deep that for a further Boon, The Swain he prays, whereto she says, Forgo me now, come to me soon.

But in vain she did conjure him, For to leave her Presence so; Having a thousand means to allure him, And but one to let him go: Where Lips invite, and Eyes delight, And Cheeks as fresh as Rose in _June_, Perswades to stay, what boot to say, Forgo me now, come to me soon.

Words whose Hoops have now injoyned, Him to let _Dulcina_ sleep; Could a Man's Love be confined, Or a Maid her promise keep? No, for her Wast he held her fast, As she was constant to her Tune; And she speaks, for _Cupid's_ sake Forgo me, _&c._

He demands what time and leisure, Can there be more fit than now; She says Men may say their Pleasure, Yet I of it do not allow: The Sun's clear light shineth more bright, Quoth he, more fairer than the Moon: For her to praise, she loves, she says, Forgo me, _&c._

But no Promise, nor Profession, From his Hands could Purchase scope; Who would sell the sweet Possession, Of such Beauty for a hope; Or for the sight of lingring Night, Forgo the pleasant Joys of Noon, Tho' none so fair, her Speeches were, Forgo me, _&c._

Now at last agreed these Lovers, She was Fair, and he was Young, If you'll believe me I will tell you, True love fixed lasteth long: He said my dear and only Phear, Bright Ph[oe]bus Beams out-shin'd the Moon; _Dulcina_ prays, and to him says, Forgo me now, come to me soon.

_The Second Part._

Day was spent and Night approached, _Venus_ fair was Lovers Friend, She intreated bright _Apollo_, That his Steeds their Race should end: He could not say the Goddess nay, But granted Love's fair Queen her boon; The Shepherd came to his fair Dame, Forgo me now, come to me soon.

Sweet (he said) as I did promise, I am now return'd again; Long delay you know breeds danger, And to Lovers breadeth pain: The Nymph said then, above all Men, Still welcome Shepherd Morn and Noon, The Shepherd prays, _Dulcina_ says, Shepherd I doubt thou'rt come too soon.

When that bright _Aurora_ blushed, Came the Shepherd to his dear; Pretty Birds most sweetly warbled, And the Noon approached near: Yet still away the Nymph did say, The Shepherd he fell in a Swoon; At length she said, be not afraid, Forgo me, _&c._

With grief of Heart the Shepherd hasted Up the Mountains to his Flocks; Then he took a Reed and piped, Eccho sounded thro' the Rocks: Thus did he play, and wish'd the Day, Were spent, and Night were come e'er Noon; The silent Night, Love's delight, I'll go to Fair _Dulcina_ soon.

Beauties darling, fair _Dulcina_, Like to _Venus_ for her Love, Spent away the Day in Passion, Mourning like the Turtle-Dove: Melodiously, Notes low and high, She warbled forth this doleful Tune; Oh come again sweet Shepherd Swain, Thou can'st not be with us too soon.

When as _Thetis_ in her place, Had receiv'd the Prince of light; Came in _Coridon_ the Shepherd, To his Love and Heart's delight: Then _Pan_ did play, the Wood-Nymphs they Did skip and dance to hear the Tune; _Hymen_ did say 'tis Holy-day, Forgo me now, come to me soon.

_The Scolding Wife._

[Music]

Suppose a Man does all he can, To unslave himself from a scolding Wife; He can't get out, but hops about, Like a Marry'd bird in the Cage of Life: She on Mischief bent is ne'er content, Which makes the poor Man cry out, Rigid fate, Marriage State, No reprieve but the Grave, oh 'tis hard Condition.

Come I'll tell you how this Wife to bow, And quickly bring her to her last; Your Senses please, indulge your ease, But resist no joy and each humour taste, Then let her squal, and tear and bawl, And with whining cry her Eyes out, Take a Flask, double Flask, Whip it up, sip it up, that's your Physician.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

We merry Wives of _Windsor_, Whereof you make your Play, And act us on your Stages, In _London_ Day by Day: Alass it doth not hurt us, We care not what you do; For all you scoff, we'll sing and laugh, And yet be Honest too.

Alass we are good Fellows, We hate Dishonesty; We are not like your City Dames, In sport of Venery: We scorn to Punk, or to be drunk, But this we dare to do; To sit and chat, laugh and be fat, But yet be Honest too.

But should you know we _Windsor_ Dames, Are free from haughty Pride: And hate the tricks you Wenches have, In _London_ and _Bankside_: But we can spend, and Money lend, And more than that we'll do, We'll sit and chat, laugh and be fat, And yet be Honest too.

It grieves us much to see your wants, Of things that we have store, In Forests wide and Parks beside, And other places more: Pray do not scorn the _Windsor_ Horn, That is both fair and new; Altho' you scold, we'll sing and laugh, And yet be honest too.

And now farewel unto you all, We have no more to say; Be sure you imitate us right, In acting of your Play: If that you miss, we'll at you hiss, As others us'd to do; And at you scoff, and sing and laugh, And yet be Honest too.

_The_ BATTLE-ROYAL.

[Music]

A Dean and Prebendary, Had once a new vagary, And were at doubtful strife Sir, Who led the better life Sir, And was the better Man: The Dean he said that truly, Since Bluff was so unruly, He'd prove it to his Face, Sir, That he had the more Grace, Sir, And so the Fight began.

When Preb. reply'd like Thunder, And roar'd out, 'twas no wonder, For Gods the Dean had three, Sir, And more by two than he, Sir, Since he had got but one; Now while these two were raging, And in Disputes engaging, The Master of the Charter, Said both had got a Tartar, For Gods that there were none.

For all the Books of _Moses_, Were nothing but supposes, And he deserv'd rebuke, Sir, Who wrote the Pentateuch, Sir, 'Twas nothing but a Sham; And as for Father _Adam_, With Mrs. _Eve_ his Madam, And what the Serpent spoke, Sir, Was nothing but a Joke, Sir, And well invented flam.

Thus in this Battle Royal, As none would take denial, The Dame for which they strove, Sir, Could neither of them love, Sir, For all had giv'n Offence; She therefore slily waiting, Left all three Fools a Prating, And being in a Fright, Sir, Religion took her flight, Sir, And ne'er was heard on since.

_The Saint turn'd Sinner, Or the Dissenting Parson's Text under the_ QUAKER'S _Petticoats. To the foregoing Tune._

You Friends to Reformation, Give Ear to my Relation, For I shall now declare, Sir, Before you are aware, Sir, The matter very plain, The matter very plain; A Gospel Cushion Thumper, Who dearly lov'd a Bumper, And something else beside, Sir, If he is not bely'd, Sir, This was a Holy Guide, Sir, For the Dissenting Train.

And for to tell you truly, His Flesh was so unruly, He could not for his Life, Sir, Pass by the Draper's Wife, Sir, The Spirit was so faint, _&c._ This Jolly handsome Quaker, As he did overtake her, She made his Mouth to water, And thought long to be at her, Such Sin is no great matter, Accounted by a Saint.

Says he _my pretty Creature_, _Your Charming Handsome Feature_, _Has set me all on Fire_, _You know what I desire_, _There is no harm to Love_; Quoth she if that's your Notion, To Preach up such Devotion, Such hopeful Guides as you, Sir, Will half the World undo, Sir, A Halter is your due, Sir, If you such Tricks approve.

The Parson still more eager, Than lustful _Turk_ or _Neger_, Took up her Lower Garment, And said there was no harm in't, According to the Text; For _Solomon_ more wiser, Than any dull adviser, Had many Hundred Misses, To Crown his Royal Wishes, And why shou'd such as this is, Make you so sadly vext.

The frighted female Quaker, Perceiv'd what he would make her, Was forc'd to call the Watch in, And stop what he was hatching, To spoil the Light within, _&c._ They came to her Assistance, And she did make resistance, Against the Priest and Devil, The Actors of all Evil, Who were so Grand uncivil, To tempt a Saint to Sin.

The Parson then confounded, To see himself surrounded, With Mob and sturdy Watch-men, Whose Business 'tis to catch Men, In Lewdness with a Punk, _&c._ He made some faint Excuses, And all to hide Abuses, In taking up the Linnen, Against the Saints Opinion, Within her soft Dominion, Alledging he was Drunk.

But tho' he feigned Reeling, They made him Pay for feeling, And Lugg'd him to a Prison, To bring him to his Reason, Which he had lost before; And thus we see how Preachers, That should be Gospel-Teachers, How they are strangely blinded, And are so Fleshly minded, Like Carnal Men inclined, To lye with any Whore.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ DAMASCENE.

Beauty, like Kingdoms not for one, Was made to be possest alone; By bounteous Nature 'twas design'd, To be the Joy of Human-kind.

So the bright Planet of the Day, Doth unconfin'd his Beams display; And generous heat to all dispence, Which else would dye without that Influence.

Nor is your mighty Empire less, On you depends Man's Happiness; If you but frown, we cease to be, And only live by your Decree.

But sure a Tyrant cannot rest, Nor harbour in so fair a Breast; In Monsters Cruelty we find, An Angel's Face, must have an Angel's Mind.

_The_ BALLAD _of the True_ TROJAN.