He had such a Trade that he turn'd me away, Yet as I was going he caus'd me to stay; So as towards him I was going to pa.s.s, He gave me a slap in the Face with his ---- _This way_, &c.

I thought in my Heart he had struck off my Nose, I gave him as good as he brought I suppose; My Words they were ready and wonderful blunt, Quoth I, I had rather been s...o...b..d in my ---- _This way_, &c.

I met with a Butcher a killing a Calf, I then stepp'd to him and cryed out half: At his first denial I fell very sick, And he said it was all for a touch of his ---- _This way_, &c.

I met with a Fencer a going to School, I told him at Fencing he was but a Fool; He had but three Rapiers and they were all blunt, And told him he should no more play at my ---- _This way_, &c.

I met with a Barber with Razor and b.a.l.l.s, He fligger'd and told me for all my brave alls; He would have a stroke, and his words they were blunt, I could not deny him the use of my ---- _This way_, &c.

I met with a Fidler a Fidling aloud, He told me he had lost the Case of his Croud; I being good natur'd as I was wont, Told him he should make a Case of my ---- _This way, and that way, and which way you can, For the Fairest of Women will lye with a Man._

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ KING.

When on her Eyes, When on her Eyes, My happy Stars I gaze, A strange Commotion seizes every part.

Fain would I speak, fain would I speak, The cause of my Disease; But fear to tell the Story of my Heart.

Her look severe, Her look severe, Yet O endearing awes, Yet O endearing awes, The Women's Envy, The Women's Envy, But Mankind's applause, But Mankind's applause.

_Miss_ CUDDY.

[Music]

Poor _Sawney_ had marry'd a Wife, And he knew not what to do with her; For she'd eat more Barly-bread, Then he knew how to give her: We'll all sup together, we'll all sup, _&c._ We'll make no more Beds than one, 'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather.

We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together, We'll make no more Beds than one, 'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather.

We'll put the Sheep's-head in the Pot, The Wool and the Horns together; And we will make Broth of that, And we'll all sup together, We'll all sup together, we'll all sup together, We'll make no more Beds than one, 'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather, We'll all lig together, _&c._

The Wool shall thicken the Broth, The Horns shall serve for Bread, By this you may understand, The Virtue that's in a Sheep's-head: And we'll all sup together, we'll all sup together, We'll make no more Beds than one, 'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather, And we'll all lig together, _&c._

Some shall lig at the Head, And some shall lig at the Feet, Miss _Cuddy_ wou'd lig in the middle, Because she'd have all the Sheet: We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together, We'll make no more Beds than one, 'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather, And we'll all lig together, _&c._

Miss _Cuddy_ got up in the Loft, And _Sawney_ wou'd fain have been at her, Miss _Cuddy_ fell down in her Smock, And made the gla.s.s Windows to clatter: We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together, We'll make no more Beds than one, 'Till _Jove_ sends warmer Weather, We'll all lig together, _&c._

The Bride she went to Bed, The Bridegroom followed after, The Fidler crepp'd in at the Feet, And they all lig'd together, We'll all lig together, _&c._

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.

[Music]

Beneath a cool Shade _Amaryllis_ was sate, Complaining of Love and bemoaning her Fate; Ah! she cry'd, why must Maids be so formal and Coy, To deny what they think is their only true Joy?

And Custom impose on us so much ado, When our Hearts are on fire, and Love bids us fall too; And Custom impose on us so much ado, When our hearts are on fire, and Love bids us fall too.

Young _Strephon_ was near her, and heard the Complaint, He easily guest what the Damsel did want; He rush'd in upon her, in Kisses reply'd, Caught her fast in his Arms, she faintly deny'd: What they did without study, we soon may divine, 'Twas _Strephon's_ Luck then, the next Minute be mine.

CLARINDA'S _Complaint_. _Tune of_ Ianthe _the Lovely_.

With sighing and wishing, and Green-sickness Diet, With nothing of Pleasure, and little of Quiet; With a Granum's Inspection, and Doctor's Direction, But not the Specifick, that suits my Complexion: The Flower of my Age is full blown in my Face, Yet no Man considers, yet no Man considers My comfortless Case.

Young Women were valued, as I have been told, In the late times of Peace, above Mountains of Gold; But now there is Fighting, we are nothing but sliting, Few Gallants in Conjugal Matters delighting: 'Tis a shame that Mankind, should love killing and slaying And mind not supplying the stock that's decaying.

Unlucky _Clarinda_, to love in a Season, When _Mars_ has forgotten to do _Venus_ Reason; Had I any Hand in Rule and Command, I'd certainly make it a Law of the Land: That killers of Men, to replenish the Store, Be bound to the Wedlock, and made to get more.

Enacted moreover for better dispatch, That where a good Captain meets with an o'ermatch, His honest Lieutenant with Soldier-like Grace, Shall relieve him on Duty, and serve in his Place: Thus killers and slayers of able good Men, Without beat of Drum may recruit 'em agen.

_A_ BALLAD _by the late Lord_ DORSET, _when at Sea_.

[Music]

To you fair Ladies now at Land, We Men at Sea indite; But first wou'd have you understand, How hard it is to write: The Muses now, and _Neptune_ too, We must implore to write to you; _With a Fa la, la, la, la_, The Muses now, _&c._

But tho' the Muses should be kind, And fill our empty Brain; Yet if rough _Neptune_ cause the Wind, To rouse the _Azure_ Main: Our Paper, Pens, and Ink and we, Rowl up and down our Ships at Sea, _With a Fa la_, &c.

Then if we write not by each Post, Think not that we're unkind; Nor yet conclude that we are lost, By _Dutch_, by _French_, or Wind, Our grief will find a speedier way, The Tide shall bring them twice a day, _With a Fa la_, &c.

The King with wonder and surprize, Will think the Seas grown bold; For that the Tide does higher rise, Then e'er it did of old: But let him know that 'tis our Tears, Sends floods of Grief to _White-Hall_ Stairs, _With a Fa la_, &c.

Shou'd Count _Thoulouse_ but come to know, Our sad and dismal Story; The _French_ wou'd scorn so weak a Foe, Where they can get no Glory: For what resistance can they find, From Men as left their Hearts behind, _With a Fa la_, &c.

To pa.s.s our tedious time away, We throw the merry Main; Or else at serious _Ombra_ play, But why shou'd we in vain, Each others ruin thus pursue, We were undone when we left you, _With a Fa la_, &c.

When any mournful Tune you hear, That dyes in e'ery Note; As if it sigh'd for each Man's care, For being so remote: Think then how often Love we've made, To you while all those Tunes were play'd, _With a Fa la._, &c.

Let Wind and Weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind; Let _French-men_ Vapour, _Dutch-men_ Curse, No Sorrows we shall find: 'Tis then no matter how things go, Nor who's our Friend, nor who our Foe, _With a Fa la._, &c.

Thus having told you all our Loves, And likewise all our Fears; In hopes this Declaration moves, Some Pity to our Tears: Let's hear of no Inconstancy, We have too much of that at Sea, _With a Fa, la, la, la, la._

_Bonny_ KATHERN LOGGY. _A_ Scotch SONG.