Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume VI Part 20

As they Hunting rid, a Shower, Did on their Heads with fury pour, Drove 'em to a lonely Cave, Where _aeneas_ 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 _aeneas'_ 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 G.o.ds would have it so; _aeneas_ 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 b.u.t.t, 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 p.r.o.ne; 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 b.u.mpers 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._