Part 8

[Music: _Troy_ had a breed of brave stout Men, yet _Greece_ made shift to rout her; cause each Man Drank as much as Ten, and thence grew ten times stouter: Tho' _Hector_ was a _Trojan_ true as ever pist 'gain wall Sir, _Achilles_ bang'd him black and blue, for he Drank more than all Sir, for he Drank more, for he drank more, for he drank more than all Sir, for he drank more, for he drank more, for he drank more than all Sir.]

Let _Bacchus_ be our God of War, We shall fear nothing then Boys; We'll Drink all dead, and lay 'em to Bed, And if they wake not Conquered, We'll Drink 'em dead again Boys: Nor were the _Grecians_ only fam'd, For Drinking and for fighting; For he that Drank and wan't asham'd, Was ne'er asham'd on's Writing.

He that will be a Souldier then, Or Wit, must drink good Liquor; It makes base Cowards Fight like Men, And roving Thoughts fly quicker: Let _Bacchus_ be both God of War, And God of Wit, and then Boys, We'll Drink and fight, and Drink and write, And if the Sun set with his Light, We'll Drink him up again Boys.

_Young_ STREPHON _and_ PHILLIS.

[Music]

Young _Strephon_ and _Phillis_, They sat on a Hill; But the Shepherd was wanton, And wou'd not sit still: His Head on her Bosom, And Arms round her Wast; He hugg'd her, and kiss'd her, And clasp'd her so fast: 'Till playing and jumbling, At last they fell tumbling; And down they got 'em, But oh! they fell soft on the Grass at the Bottom.

As the Shepherdess tumbled, The rude Wind got in, And blew up her Cloaths, And her Smock to her Chin: The Shepherd he saw The bright _Venus_, he swore, For he knew her own Dove, By the Feathers she wore: 'Till furious Love sallying, At last he fell dallying, And down, down he got him, But oh! oh how sweet, and how soft at the Bottom.

The Shepherdess blushing, To think what she'd done; Away from the Shepherd, She fain wou'd have run: Which _Strephon_ perceiving, The wand'rer did seize; And cry'd do be angry, Fair Nymph if you please: 'Tis too late to be cruel, Thy Frowns my dear Jewel, Now no more Stings have got 'em, For oh! Thou'rt all kind, and all soft at the Bottom.

_The Yielding_ LASS.

[Music]

There's none so Pretty, As my sweet _Betty_, She bears away the Bell; For sweetness and neatness, And all Compleatness, All other Girls doth excell.

Whenever we meet, She'll lovingly greet, Me still, with a how d'ye do; Well I thank you, quoth I, Then she will reply, So am I Sir, the better for you.

Then I ask'd her how, She told me, not now, For Walls, and Ears, and Eyes; Nay, she bid me take heed, What ever I did, 'Tis good to be merry and Wise.

I took her by th' Hand, She did not withstand, And I gave her a smirking Kiss; She gave me another, Just like the tother, Quoth I, what a Comfort is this?

This put me in Heart, To play o'er my part, That I had intended before; She bid me to hold, And not be too bold, Until she had fastned the Door.

She went to the Hatch, To see that the Latch, And Cranies were all cock-sure; And when she had done, She bid me come on, For now we were both secure.

And what we did there, I dare not declare, But think that silence is best; And if you will know, Why I Kiss'd her, or so, I'll leave you to guess at the rest.

_The Praise of_ HULL _Ale_.

[Music]

Let's wet the whistle of the Muse, That sings the praise of every Juice, This House affords for Mortal use, _Which no Body can deny_.

Here's Ale of _Hull_, which 'tis well known, Kept _King_ and _Keyser_ out of Town, Now in, will never hurt the Crown, _Which no Body_, &c.

Here's _Lambeth_ Ale to cool the Maw, And Beer as spruce as e'er you saw, But Mum as good as Man can draw, _Which no Body_, &c.

If Reins be loose as some Mens Lives, Whereat the Purling Female grieves, Here's stitch-Back that will please your Wives, _Which no Body_, &c.

Here's Cyder too, ye little wot, How oft 'twill make ye go to Pot, 'Tis Red-streak all, or it is not, _Which no Body_, &c.

Here's Scholar that has doft his Gown, And donn'd his Cloak and come to Town, 'Till all's up drink his College down, _Which no Body_, &c.

Here's _North_-down, which in many a Case, Pulls all the Blood into the Face, Which blushing is a sign of Grace, _Which no Body_, &c.

If Belly full of Ale doth grow, And Women runs in Head you know, Old _Pharoah_ will not let you go, _Which no Body can deny._

Here's that by some bold Brandy hight, Which _Dutch-men_ use in Case of fright, Will make a Coward for to Fight, _Which no Body_, &c.

Here's _China_ Ale surpasseth far, What _Munden_ vents at _Temple-bar_, 'Tis good for Lords and Ladies Ware, _Which no Body_, &c.

Here's of _Epsom_ will not Fox You, more than what's drawn out of Cocks Of _Middleton_, yet cures the Pox, _Which no Body_, &c.

For ease of Heart, here's that will do't, A Liquor you may have to boot, Invites you or the Devil to't, _Which no Body_, &c.

For Bottle Ale, though it be windy, Whereof I cannot chuse but mind ye, I would not have it left behind ye, _Which no Body_, &c.

Take Scurvy-Grass, or Radish Ale, 'Twill make you like a Horse to Stale, And cures whatsoever you Ail, _Which no Body_, &c.

For Country Ales, as that of _Chess_, Or of _Darby_ you'll confess, The more you Drink, you'll need the less, _Which no Body_, &c.

But one thing must be thought upon, for Morning-Draught when all is done, A Pot of Purl for _Harrison_, _Which no Body can deny_.

_The_ NEWS _Monger. To the same Tune._

Let's Sing as one may say the Fate Of those that meddle with this and that, And more than comes to their shares do Prate, _Which no Body can deny._

Such, who their Wine and Coffee Sip, And let fall Words 'twixt Cup and Lip, To scandal of good Fellowship, _Which no Body_, &c.

Those Clubbers who when met and sate, Where every Seat is Chair of State, As if they only knew what's what, _Which no Body_, &c.

D---- me says one, were I so and so, Or as the King, I know what I know, The Devil to wood with the _French_ should go, _Which no Body_, &c.

Would the King Commission grant To me, were _Lewis_, _John_ of _Gaunt_, I'd beat him, or know why I shant, _Which no Body_, &c.

I'd undertake bring Scores to Ten, Of mine at Hours-warning-Men, To make _France_ tremble once again, _Which no Body_, &c.

The Claret takes, yet e'er he Drinks, Cries Pox o'th' _French-men_, but methinks It must go round to my Brother, _Which no Body_, &c.

He's the only Citizen of Sence, And Liberty is his Pretence, And has enough of Conscience, _Which no Body_, &c.

The Bully that next to him sat, With a Green Livery in his Hat, Cry'd what a Plague would the _French_ be at, _Which no Body_, &c.

Z---- had the King without Offence, Been rul'd by me, you'd seen long since, Chastisement for their Insolence, _Which no Body_, &c.

They take our Ships, do what they please, Were ever play'd such Pranks as these, As if we were not Lord o'th' Seas, _Which no Body_, &c.

I told the King on't th' other Day, And how th' Intrigues o'th' matter lay, But Princes will have their own way, _Which no Body_, &c.

The next Man that did widen Throat, Was wight in half pil'd Velvet Coat, But he, and that not worth a Groat, _Which no Body_, &c.

Who being planted next the Door, (Pox on him for a Son of Whore) Inveighs against the Embassador, _Which no Body_, &c.

Had the King (quoth he) put me upon't, You should have found how I had don't, But now you see what has come on't, _Which no Body_, &c.

Quoth he if such an Act had stood, That was designed for Publick good, 'Thad pass'd more than is understood, _Which no Body_, &c.

But now forsooth our strictest Laws, Are 'gainst the Friends o'th' good old Cause, And if one Hangs, the other Draws, _Which no Body_, &c.

But had I but so Worthy been, To sit in Place that some are in, I better had advis'd therein, _Which no Body_, &c.

I am one that firm doth stand, For Manufactures of the Land, Then Cyder takes in, out of hand, _Which no Body_, &c.

This _English_ Wine (quoth he) and Ale, Our Fathers drank before the Sale Of Sack on Pothecarys Stall _Which no Body_, &c.

These Outlandish drinks, quoth he, The _French_, and _Spanish_ Foppery, They tast too much of Popery, _Which no Body_, &c.

And having thus their Verdicts spent, Concerning King and Parliament, They Scandalize a Government, _Which no Body_, &c.

An Hierarchy by such a Prince, As may be said without Offence, None e'er could boast more Excellence, _Which no Body_, &c.

God bless the King, the Queen and Peers, Our Parliament and Overseers, And rid us of such Mutineers, _Which no Body can deny_.

_A_ SATYR _on the Times. To the foregoing Tune._

A World that's full of Fools and Mad-men, Of over-glad, and over-sad Men, With a few good, but many bad Men, _Which no Body can deny_.

So many Cheats and close Disguises, So many Down for one that Rises, So many Fops for one that Wise is, _Which no Body_, &c.

So many Women ugly Fine, Their inside Foul, their outside shine, So many Preachers few Divines, _Which no Body_, &c.

So many of Religious Sect, Who quite do mis-expound the Text, About ye know not what perplext, _Which no Body_, &c.

Many Diseases that do fill ye, Many Doctors that do kill ye, Few Physicians that do heal ye, _Which no Body_, &c.

Many Lawyers that undo ye, But few Friends who will stick to ye, And other Ills that do pursue ye, _Which no Body_, &c.

So many Tradesmen Lyars, So many cheated Buyers, As even Numeration tyers, _Which no Body_, &c.

So many loose ones and high-flying, Who live as if there were no dying, Heaven and Hell, and all defying, _Which no Body_, &c.

So many under Scanty Fates, Who yet do live at lofty rates, And make show of great Estates, _Which no Body_, &c.

And if they will not take Offence, Many great Men of little Sense, Who yet to Politicks make Pretence, _Which no Body_, &c.

Many meriting lower Fate, Have Title, Office, and Estate, Their Betters waiting at their Gate, _Which no Body_, &c.

The Worthless meet with higher Advances, As the Wise bestower Fancies, To the Worthy nothing chances, _Which no Body_, &c.

The Worthy and the Worthless Train, Modest, silent, nothing gain, Impudent begging all obtain, _Which no Body_, &c.

A World wherein is Plenteous store, Of Foppish, Rich, Ingenious Poor, Neglected beg from Door to Door, _Which no Body_, &c.

A World compos'd, 'tis strange to tell, Of seeming Paradise, yet real Hell, Yet all agree to lov't too well, _Which no Body_, &c.

Where Pious, Lew'd, the Fool, the Wise, The one like to the other dies, And leaves a World of Vanities, _Which no Body_, &c.

Proud and Covetous, Beaus and Bullies, Like one o'your musing Melanchollies, I cry for their Ill's, and laugh at their Follies, _Which no Body can deny_.

LUCINDA _has the Devil and all. By Mr._ H. Hall.

[Music]

_Lucinda_ has the de'el and all, the de'el and all, the de'el and all, Of that bright Thing we Beauty call; But if she won't come to my Arms, What care I, why, what care I, what, what care I for all her Charms? Beauty's the Sauce to Love's high Meat, But who minds Sauce that must not Eat: It is indeed a mighty Treasure, But in using lies the Pleasure; Bullies thus, that only see't, Damn all the Gold, damn all the Gold, all, all the Gold in _Lombard-street_.

_Queen_ ELIZABETH'S _Farewel_.

[Music]

I'll tell you all, both great and small, I tell you all truly; That we have cause, and very great cause, For to lament and cry, Fye, Oh! fye, oh! fye, oh! fye! Fye on thee cruel Death! For thou hast ta'en away from us! Our Queen _Elizabeth_.

Thou mayst have taken other Folks, That better might be mist; And have let our Queen alone, Who lov'd no Popish Priest: In Peace she rul'd all this Land, Beholding unto no Man, And did the Pope of _Rome_ withstand, And yet was but a Woman.

A Woman said I? nay, that is more, Than any one can tell; So Fair she was, so Chast she was, That no one knew it well! With that, from _France_ came _Monsieur_ o'er, A purpose for to Wooe her; Yet still she liv'd and Dy'd a Maid, Do what they could unto her.

She never acted any Ill thing, Which made her Conscience prick her; Nor never would submit to him, That call'd is Christ's Vicar: But rather chose couragiously, To fight under Christ's Banner; 'Gainst _Pope_ and _Turk_, and King of _Spain_, And all that durst withstand her.

But if that I had _Argus's_ Eyes, They were too few to Weep; For our Queen _Elizabeth_, That now is fall'n asleep: Asleep indeed, where she shall rest, Until the Day of Doom: And then she shall rise unto the Shame Of the great Pope of _Rome_.

_The same in_ LATIN.

_Vobis magnis parvis dicam, Et sum veredicus; Offerri causam maximam, Esse in tristibus, VÊ tibi mors! malum tibi! Pro mortem tetricam! Tu enim nobis dempsisti, Reginam_ Elizam.

_Poteras plures capere, Citra injuriam; Reginamq; non rapere, Anti-sacri-colam:_ _QuietË gentem hÊc Rexit, Nulliq; devincta, Papamque_ RomÊ _despexit, Et tandem FÊmella_.

_Ah, ah, quid dixi FÊmella? De hoc fama silet; Adeo fuit casta-Bella, Ut nemini liquet: En Dux_ Andinus _adiit, Illam petiturus; Virgo vixit & obiit, HÊc nihilominus_.

_Nec mali quid hÊc effecit, ConscientiÊ stimulo; Nec semet ipsam subjecit, Christi-vicario: At maluit magnamimis, Sub Christi vexellis, Pugnare cum_ Pap‚, Turcis, _Ac multis aliis_.

_Sin mihi_ Argi _oculi, Deessent LachrymÊ_; ElizabethÊ _fletui, Nuper demortuÊ, De nata hic obdormiet, Die novissimo: Et tunc expergefaciet, Pap‚ propudio_.

_The Pressing Constable. Set by Mr._ Leveridge.

[Music]

I Am a cunning Constable, And a Bag of Warrants I have here, To Press sufficient Men, and able, At _Horn-castle_ to appear: But now-a-days they're grown so cunning, That hearing of this Martial strife; They all away from hence are running, _Where I miss the Man, I'll press the Wife._

Ho, who's at Home? Lo, here am I, Good-morrow Neighbour. Welcome, Sir; Where is your Husband? Why truly He's gone abroad, a Journey far: Do you not know when he comes back? See how these Cowards fly for Life! The King for Soldiers must not lack, _If I miss the Man, I'll take the Wife._

Shew me by what Authority You do it? Pray Sir, let me know; It is sufficient for to see, The Warrant hangs in Bag below: Then pull it out, if it be strong, With you I will not stand at strife: My Warrant is as broad as long, _If I miss the Man, I'll Press the Wife._

Now you have Prest me and are gone, Please you but let me know your Name; That when my Husband he comes home, I may declare to him the same: My Name is Captain _Ward_, I say, I ne'er fear'd Man in all my life: The King for Soldiers must not stay, _Missing the Man, I'll Press the Wife._

_The same in_ LATIN.

_Astutus Constabularius, Mandata gero in tergore: Cincturos evocaturus_, Cornu-Castello _affore: At hodiË adeÚ sapiunt, Audit‚ lite Bellic‚, Omnes abhinc profugiunt_, Virum supplebit F[oe]mina.

_Ecquisnam domi En ego Salve. Sis salvus, Domine: Ubinam Vir est? Haud nego, Procul abest in itinere: N‡m es ignara redit˚s? Ut fugiunt pro tutamine! Non egeat Rex Militibus_, Viros supplebunt F[oe]minÊ.

_HÊc quo Guaranto factitas, AmbÚ dicas, Domine? Sufficiat ut videas, Quod pendet abdomine; Educas, si vim habeat, Tecum nolam certamina, Pro ratione, voluntas stat_, Virum supplebit F[oe]minÊ.

_Compress‚ me, ituro te, Si placet, reddas nomina. Sic ut reverso conjuge, Illi declarem omnia_, Ward _ducor Capitaneus, Sat notus pro magnanime Non egeat Rex milibus_, Viros supplebunt F[oe]minÊ.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.

[Music]

Love is a Bauble, No Man is able, To say, it is this, or 'tis that; An idle Passion, Of such a Fashion, 'Tis like I cannot tell what.

Fair in the Cradle, Foul in the Saddle, Always too cold, or too hot; An errant Lyar, Fed by Desire, It is, and yet it is not.

Love is a Fellow, Clad all in Yellow, The Canker-worm of the Mind; A privy Mischief, And such a sly Thief, No Man knows where him to find.

Love is a Wonder, 'Tis here, and 'tis yonder, 'Tis common to all Men, we know; A very Cheater, Ev'ry ones better, Then hang him, and let him go.

_The same in_ LATIN.

_Amor est Pegma, Merum ∆nigma, Quid sit nemo detegat: Vesana Passio, Cui nulla ratio, Parem natura negat_.

_Cunis formosus, Sell‚ C[oe]nosus, Calor, aut frigiditas: Furens Libido, Dicta cupido, Est, & non est entitas_.

_Amor amasius, Totus silaceus, Est Eruca animi; Deditus malis, Ac prÊdo qualis, Non inventus ullibi_.

_Hic & ubiq; Compar utriq; Ad stuporem agitat: Nullus deterior, Quovis superior, In malam rem abeat._

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

[Music]

Young _Strephon_ he has Woo'd me long, And Courted me with Pipe and Song; But I a silly, silly peevish Twit, For want of Sense, for want of Wit, Have phoo'd, and cry'd, Have pish'd, and fy'd, And play'd the fool, and lost my Time, And almost slipp'd, and almost slipp'd, And almost slipp'd my Maiden Prime.

But now I thank my gracious Heav'n, I hope my faults are all forgiven; I've struck the Bargain, eas'd my pain, And am resolv'd to take my Swain: To phoo, and cry, And pish, and fye, And make a Virgin's coy Pretence, Is all, all, all, is all, all, all, is all, all, all, For want of Sense.

_A_ SONG. Tune, _How happy's the Lover_.

How happy's that Husband who after few Years, Of railing and brawling, Confusion and Folly, Shall see his Lantipley drown'd in her Tears, Then prithee _Alexis_ be Jolly, be Jolly, Then prithee _Alexis_ be Jolly.

_A_ Song. _Set by Mr._ Leveridge.

[Music: Fortune is blind and Beauty unkind, the Devil take 'em both, one is a witch, & tothere's a bitch in neither's Faith or Troth: There's hazard in hap, deceit in a Lap, But no fraud in a Brimmer; If truth in the bottom lye, thence to redeem her we'll drain, we'll drain, we'll drain, we'll drain the whole Ocean dry.]

Honour's a Toy, For Fools a Decoy, Beset with Care and Fear; And that (I wuss) Kills many a Puss, Before her clymacht Year: But freedom and mirth, Create a new Birth, While Sack's the _Aqua VitÊ_, That Vigour and Spirit gives, Liquor Almighty! Whereby the poor Mortal lives.

Let us be blith, In spight of Death's Syth, And with an Heart and half, Drink to our Friends, And think of no Ends, But keep us sound and safe: While Healths do go round, No Malady's found, The Maw-sick in the Morning, For want of his wonted strain; Is as a Warning, To double it over again.

Let us maintain Our Traffique with _Spain_, And both the _Indies_ slight; Give us their Wines, Let them keep their Mines, We'll pardon Eighty Eight: There's more certain Wealth Secur'd from stealth, In one Pipe of Canary, Than in an unfortunate Isle; Let us be wary, We do not our selves beguile.

_The_ LATIN _to the foregoing_ SONG.

_Sors sine visu, Form·q; Risu, Sint pro DÊmone; HÊc malefica, Ita venefica, Fallax utraque; Sors mea est fors, Sin˘sque vecors, Sed fraus nulla; tu toto In fundo si veritas sit, Potu Epoto, Oceanus situs fit._

_Honor & lusus, Stultis illusus, Car‚ catenat‚, H‚cque (ut fatur) Catus necatur, Morte non parat‚: Dum vero GrÊcamur, Non Renovamur, Nam Aqua VitÊ vinum, Vires spirit˙sque dat, Idque dicunum, A morte nos Elevat._

_Fam simus lÊti, Spret‚ vi lethi, Cordatissime: Ut Combibones (non ut gnathones) Saxti-rectique: Dum proculÊ Spument, Morbi absument: Ac manË Corpus Onustum, PrÊ alienatione, Acuit gustum, Pro Iteratione_.

_Prestet quotannis, Merks cum_ Hispanis, India _sit sola; Vinum prÊbeant, Aurum teneant, Absit spinola: Sunt opes, pro certo, Magis ‡ furto, In Vini potione, Quam Terra Incognit‚; Pro cautione, Ne nobis fit subdola._

_The Raree-show, from Father_ HOPKINS.

[Music]

From Father _Hopkins_, whose Vein did inspire him, _Bays_ sends this Raree-show publick to view; Prentices, Fops and their Footmen admire him, Thanks Patron, Painter, and Monsieur _Grabeau_.

Each Actor on the Stage his luck bewailing, Finds that his loss is Infallibly true; _Smith_, _Nokes_, and _Leigh_ in a Feaver with railing, Curse Poet, Painter, and Monsieur _Grabeau_.

_Betterton_, _Betterton_, thy Decorations, And the Machines were well written we knew; But all the Words were such stuff we want Patience, And little better is Monsieur _Grabeu_.

D---- me says _Underhill_, I'm out two hundred, Hoping that Rain-bows and Peacocks would do; Who thought infallible _Tom_ could have blunder'd, A Plague upon him and Monsieur _Grabeu_.

_Lane_ thou hast no Applause for thy Capers, Tho' all without thee would make a Man spew; And a Month hence will not pay for the Tapers, Spite of _Jack Laureat_ and Monsieur _Grabeu_.

_Bays_ thou wouldst have thy Skill thought universal, Tho' thy dull Ear be to Musick untrue; Then whilst we strive to confute the _Rehearsal_, Prithee learn thrashing of Monsieur _Grabeu_.

With thy dull Prefaces still thou wouldst treat us, Striving to make thy dull Bauble look fair; So the horn'd Herd of the City do cheat us, Still most commending the worst of their Ware.

Leave making _Opera's_, and Writing _Lyricks_, 'Till thou hast Ears and canst alter thy strain; Stick to thy Talent of bold Panegyricks, And still remember the breathing the Vein.

Yet if thou thinkest the Town will extol 'em, Print thy dull Notes, but be thrifty and Wise; Instead of Angels subscrib'd for the Volume, Take a round Shilling, and thank my Advice.

In imitating thee this may be charming, Gleaning from Laureats is no shame at all; And let this Song be sung the next performing, Else ten to one but the Prices will fall.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Abroad as I was walking, I spy'd two Maids a wrestling, The one threw the other unto the Ground; One Maid she let a Fart, struck the other to the Heart, Was not this a grievous Wound?

This Fart it was heard into Mr. _Bowman's_ Yard, With a great and a mighty Power; For ought that I can tell, it blew down _Bridwell_, And so overcame the _Tower_.

It blew down _Paul's_ Steeple, and knock'd down many People, Alack was the more the pity; It blew down _Leaden-hall_, and the Meal-sacks and all, And the Meal flew about the City.

It blew down the _Exchange_, was not this very strange, And the Merchants of the City did wound; This Maid she like a Beast, turn'd her fugo to the _East_, And it roar'd in the Air like Thunder.

_The Jolly_ PEDLAR's _Pretty Thing_.

[Music]