In order next enters, _Bevis_ so brave; After Adventures, And Policy grave: To see whom he desired, His _Josian_ so gay, For whom his Heart was fired, Love found out the way.

_The Second Part, To the same Tune._

The gordian Knot, Which true Lovers knit; Undo you cannot, Nor yet break it: Make use of your Inventions, Their Fancies to betray; To frustrate your intentions, Love will find out the way.

From Court to Cottage, In Bower and in Hall; From the King unto the Beggar, Love conquers all: Tho' ne'er so stout and Lordly, Strive do what you may; Yet be you ne'er so hardy, Love will find out the way.

Love hath power over Princes, Or greatest Emperor; In any Provinces, Such is Love's Power: There is no resisting, But him to obey; In spight of all contesting, Love will find out the way.

If that he were hidden, And all Men that are; Were strictly forbidden, That place to declare: Winds that have no abiding, Pitying their delay; Will come and bring him tydings, And direct him the way.

If the Earth should part him.

He would gallop it o're: If the Seas should overthwart him, He would swim to the Sh.o.r.e: Should his Love become a Swallow, Thro' the Air to stray; Love would lend Wings to follow, And would find out the way.

There is no striving, To cross his intent: There is no contriving, His Plots to prevent: But if once the Message greet him, That his true Love doth stay; If Death should come and meet him, Love will find out the way.

_A_ SONG, _in the Play call'd the Tragedy of_ CLEOMENES _the Spartan Heroe: Sung by Mrs._ BUTLER, _Set by Mr._ H. PURCELL.

[Music]

No, no, poor suffering Heart, no change endeavour; Chuse to sustain the smart rather than leave her: My ravish'd Eyes behold such Charms about her, I can Dye with her, but not live without her, One tender Sigh of her to see me Languish: Will more than pay the price of my past Anguish, Beware, oh cruel Fair how you smile on me, 'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.

Love has in store for me one happy Minute, And she will end my Pain who did begin it; Then no Day void of Bliss and Pleasures leaving, Ages shall slide away without perceiving: _Cupid_ shall guard the Door, the more to please us, And keep out Time and Death when they would seaze us; Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying; Love has found out a way to Live by Dying.

_The Jolly Trades-men._

[Music]

Sometimes I am a Tapster new, And skilful in my Trade Sir, I fill my Pots most duly, Without deceit or froth Sir: A Spicket of two Handfuls long, I use to Occupy Sir: And when I set a b.u.t.t abroach, Then shall no Beer run by Sir.

Sometimes I am a Butcher, And then I feel fat Ware Sir; And if the Flank be fleshed well, I take no farther care Sir: But in I thrust my Slaughtering-Knife, Up to the Haft with speed Sir; For all that ever I can do, I cannot make it bleed Sir.

Sometimes I am a Baker, And Bake both white and brown Sir; I have as fine a Wrigling-Pole, As any is in all this Town Sir: But if my Oven be over-hot, I dare not thrust in it Sir; For burning of my Wrigling-Pole, My Skill's not worth a Pin Sir.

Sometimes I am a Glover, And can do pa.s.sing well Sir; In dressing of a Doe-skin, I know I do excel Sir: But if by chance a Flaw I find, In dressing of the Leather; I straightway whip my Needle out, And I tack 'em close together.

Sometimes I am a Cook, And in _Fleet-Street_ I do dwell Sir: At the sign of the Sugar-loaf, As it is known full well Sir: And if a dainty La.s.s comes by, And wants a dainty bit Sir; I take four Quarters in my Arms, And put them on my Spit Sir.

In Weavering and in Fulling, I have such pa.s.sing Skill Sir; And underneath my Weavering-Beam, There stands a Fulling-Mill Sir: To have good Wives displeasure, I would be very loath Sir; The Water runs so near my Hand, It over-thicks my Cloath Sir.

Sometimes I am a Shoe-maker, And work with silly Bones Sir: To make my Leather soft and moist, I use a pair of Stones Sir: My Lasts for and my lasting Sticks, Are fit for every size Sir; I know the length of La.s.ses Feet, By handling of their Thighs Sir.

The Tanner's Trade I practice, Sometimes amongst the rest Sir; Yet I could never get a Hair, Of any Hide I dress'd Sir; For I have been tanning of a Hide, This long seven Years and more Sir; And yet it is as hairy still, As ever it was before Sir.

Sometimes I am a Taylor, And work with Thread that's strong Sir; I have a fine great Needle, About two handfulls long Sir: The finest Sempster in this Town, That works by line or leisure; May use my Needle at a pinch, And do themselves great Pleasure.

_The slow Men of_ LONDON: _Or, the Widow_ BROWN. _To the same Tune._

There dwelt a Widow in this Town, That was both Fair and Lovely; Her Face was comely neat and brown, To Pleasure she would move thee: Her lovely Tresses shin'd like Gold, Most neat is her Behaviour; For truth it has of late been told, There's many strove to have her.

There were three Young Men of this Town; Slow Men of _London_; And they'd go Wooe the Widow _Brown_, Because they would be undone.

The one a Taylor was by Trade, An excellent Occupation; But Widows Love doth waste and fade, I find by observation: The second was a Farrier bold, A Man of excellent Metal; His Love to her was never cold, So firm his Thoughts did settle, There were, _&c._

The third a Weaver was that came, a Suitor to this Widow; Her Beauty did his Heart inflame, Her Thoughts deceit doth shadow, Widows can dissemble still, When Young Men come a Wooing; Yet they were guided by her Will, That prov'd to their undoing.

There were three, _&c._

This Widow had a dainty Tongue, And Words as sweet as Honey; Which made her Suitors to her throng, Till they had spent their Money: The Taylor spent an Hundred Pound, That he took up on Credit; But now her Knavery he hath found, Repents that are he did it.

These were three, _&c._

Threescore Pounds the Farrier had, Left him by his Father; To spend this Money he was mad, His Dad so long did gather: This Widow often did protest, She lov'd him best of any; Thus would she swear, when she did least, To make them spend their Money.

These were three, _&c._

The Weaver spent his daily gains, That he got by his Labour; Some thirty Pounds he spent in vain, He borrow'd of his Neighbour: She must have Sack and Muscadine, And Claret brew'd with Sugar: Each Day they feed her chops with Wine, For which they all might hug her.

These were three, _&c._

_The Second Part, To the same Tune._

She went Apparell'd neat and fine, People well might wonder; To see how she in Gold did shine, Her fame abroad did thunder: A water'd Camlet Gown she had, A Scarlet Coat belaced With Gold, which made her Suitors glad, To see how she was graced.

These were, _&c._

The Taylor was the neatest Lad, His Cloaths were oft Perfum'd; Kind Entertainment still he had, Till he his 'state consum'd: The Farrier likewise spent his 'state, The Weaver often kiss'd her: But when that they in 'state were Poor, They sought but still they miss'd her.

These were, _&c._

The Farrier and the Weaver too, Were fain to fly the City: The Widow did them quite undoe, In faith more was the pity: She of her Suitors being rid, A Welchman came unto her: By Night and Day his suit he ply'd, Most roughly he did Woo her; For wooing tricks he quite put down, The Slow-men of _London_; He over-reach'd the Widow _Brown_, That had so many undone.

He swore he was a Gentleman, Well landed in the Country: And liv'd in Reputation there, His Name Sir _Rowland Humphry_.

The Widow did believe him then, And Love unto him granted; Thus he her Favour did obtain, Welchmen will not be daunted.

By cunning tricks he quite put down, The Slow-men of _London_: That came to Woo this Widow _Brown_, Because they would be undone.

The Welchman ply'd her Night and Day, Till to his Bow he brought her; And bore away the Widow quite, From all that ever sought her: She thought to be a Lady gay, But she was sore deceiv'd: Thus the Welchman did put down, The Slow-men of _London_: For they would Wooe the Widow _Brown_, Because they would be undone.

Thus she was fitted in her kind, For all her former Knavery; The Welchman did deceive her Mind, And took down all her Bravery: It had been better she had ta'en, The Weaver, Smith, or Taylor; For when she sought for State and Pomp, The Welchman quite did fail her: Then learn you Young Men of this Town, You Slow-men of _London_: Which way to take the Widow _Brown_, For least you all be undone.