Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume V Part 13

Amongst the pure ones all, Which Conscience doth profess; And yet that sort of Conscience, Doth practice nothing less: I mean the Sect of those Elect, That loath to live by Merit; That leads their Lives with other Mens Wives, According unto the Spirit.

One met with a Holy Sister of ours, A Saint who dearly lov'd him: And fain he would have kiss'd her, Because the Spirit mov'd him: But she deny'd, and he reply'd, You're d.a.m.n'd unless you do it; Therefore consent, do not repent, For the Spirit doth move me to it.

She not willing to offend, poor Soul, Yielded unto his Motion; And what these two did intend, Was out of pure Devotion: To lye with a Friend and a Brother, She thought she shou'd die no Sinner, But e'er five Months were past, The Spirit was quick within her.

But what will the Wicked say, When they shall here of this Rumour; They'd laugh at us every Day, And Scoff us in every Corner: Let 'em do so still if that they will, We mean not to follow their Fashion, They're none of our Sect, nor of our Elect, Nor none of our Congregation.

But when the time was come, That she was to be laid; It was no very great Crime, Committed by her they said: 'Cause they did know, and she did show, 'Twas done by a Friend and a Brother, But a very great Sin they said it had been, If it had been done by another.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

As Oyster _Nan_ stood by her Tub, To shew her vicious Inclination; She gave her n.o.blest Parts a Scrub, And sigh'd for want of Copulation: A Vintner of no little Fame, Who excellent Red and White can sell ye, Beheld the little dirty Dame, As she stood scratching of her Belly.

Come in, says he, you silly s.l.u.t, 'Tis now a rare convenient Minute; I'll lay the Itching of your Scut, Except some greedy Devil be in it: With that the Flat-capt Fusby smil'd, And would have blush'd, but that she cou'd not; Ala.s.s! says she, we're soon beguil'd, By Men to do those things we shou'd not.

From Door they went behind the Bar, As it's by common Fame reported; And there upon a Turkey Chair, Unseen the loving Couple sported: But being call'd by Company, As he was taking pains to please her; I'm coming, coming Sir, says he, My Dear, and so am I, says she, Sir.

Her Mole-hill Belly swell'd about, Into a Mountain quickly after; And when the pretty Mouse crept out, The Creature caus'd a mighty Laughter: And now she has learnt the pleasing Game, Altho' much Pain and Shame it cost her; She daily ventures at the same, And shuts and opens like an Oyster.

_The_ IRISH _Jigg: Or, the Night Ramble._

[Music]

One Night in my Ramble I chanc'd to see, A thing like a Spirit, it frightened me; I c.o.c.k'd up my Hat and resolv'd to look big, And streight fell a Tuning the _Irish Jigg_.

The Devil drew nearer and nearer in short, I found it was one of the Petticoat sort; My Fears being over, I car'd not a Fig, But still I kept tuning the _Irish Jigg_.

And then I went to her, resolving to try her; I put her agog of a longing desire; I told her I'd give her a Whip for her Gig, And a Scourge to the Tune of the _Irish Jigg_.

Then nothing but Dancing our Fancy could please, We lay on the Gra.s.s and Danc'd at our ease; I down'd with my Breeches and off with my Whigg, And we fell a Dancing the _Irish Jigg_.

I thank you, kind Sir, for your kindness, said she, The Scholar's as Wise as the Master can be; For if you should chance to get me with Kid, I'll lay the poor Brat to the _Irish Jigg_.

The Dance being ended as you may see, We rose by Consent and we both went away; I put on my Cloaths and left her to grow big, And so I went Roaring the _Irish Jigg_.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

It was a happy Golden Day, When fair _Althea_ Kind and Gay, Put all but Love and me away; I arm'd with soft Words did Address, Sweet and kind Kisses far express, A greater Joy and Happiness.

Nature the best Instructeress cry'd, Her Ivory Pillows to divide, That Love might Sail with Wind and Tide; She rais'd the Mast and sail'd by it, That Day two Tides together met, Drove him on Sh.o.r.e soon dropping wet.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Ah! _Caelia_ how can you be Cruel and Fair?

Since removing, The Charms that are loving, 'Twould make a poor Lover Despair; 'Tis true, I have lov'd you these seven long Years & more, Too long for a Man that ne'er was in Love before: And if longer you my Caresses deny, I then am resolv'd to give over my Flames and die.

Love fires the Heart of him that is Brave, Charms the Spirit Of him that is merit, And makes the poor Lover a Slave; Dull sordid Souls that never knew how to Love, Where Nature is plung'd, 'tis a shame to the best above: And if any longer you my Caresses deny, I then am resolv'd to give over my Flames and die.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

There was a Knight and he was Young, A riding along the way, Sir; And there he met a Lady fair, Among the c.o.c.ks of Hay, Sir: Quoth he, shall you and I Lady, Among the Gra.s.s lye down a; And I will have a special Care, Of rumpling of your Gown a.

If you will go along with me, Unto my Father's Hall, Sir; You shall enjoy my Maiden-head, And my Estate and all, Sir: So he mounted her on a milk-white Steed, Himself upon another; And then they rid upon the Road, Like Sister and like Brother.

And when she came to her Father's House, Which was moated round about, Sir; She stepped streight within the Gate, And shut this Young Knight out, Sir, Here is a Purse of Gold, she said, Take it for your Pains, Sir; And I will send my Father's Man, To go home with you again, Sir.

And if you meet a Lady fair, As you go thro' the next Town, Sir; You must not fear the Dew of the Gra.s.s, Nor the rumpling of her Gown, Sir: And if you meet a Lady Gay, As you go by the Hill, Sir; If you will not when you may, You shall not when you will, Sir.

There is a Dew upon the Gra.s.s, Will spoil your Damask Gown a; Which has cost your Father dear, Many Shilling and a Crown a: There is a Wind blows from the _West_, Soon will dry the Ground a; And I will have a special Care, Of the rumpling of my Gown a.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Slaves to _London_ I'll deceive you, For the Country now I leave you: Who can bear, and not be Mad, Wine so dear, and yet so bad: Such a Noise and Air so smoaky, That to stun, this to choak ye; Men so selfish, false and rude, Nymphs so young and yet so lew'd.