Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume V Part 7

Likewise he judg'd the Master-Cook, In boyling Lead to stand; He made the simple Scullion Boy, The Heir to all his Land.

_A_ BALLAD

_In Praise of a certain Commander in the City._

[Music]

A Heroe of no small Renown, But noted for a Man of Mettle; Thro' all the Parts of _London_ Town, No Gentleman, nor yet a Clown, No grave wise man, nor stupid Beetle.

By many Deeds of Prowess done, He's gain'd a matchless Reputation; Perform'd by neither Sword nor Gun, But by what means you'll know anon, And how he work'd his Preservation.

Well mounted on a n.o.ble Steed, With Sword and Pistol charg'd before him; Altho' we must confess indeed, Of either Arms there was no need, His Conduct did alone secure him.

With's Wife upon a single Horse, T'wards _Eppin_ both rid out together; But what than ill Luck can be worse, A High-way-Man of equal Force, Ala.s.s, obstructed both their Pleasure.

With Pistol c.o.c.k'd he made demand, And told them he must have their Money; The Major wisely would not stand, Nor on his Pistols clap a Hand, He was not such a Fighting Tony.

But spur'd away as swift as Wind, No Elk or Tyger could run faster; Was ever Man so stout and kind, To leave his frighted Wife behind, Expos'd to such a sad Disaster.

Her Necklace, Cloaths and Diamond Ring, The greedy Robber quickly fell to; One Petticoat he let her bring Away with Smock, and t'other Thing, To let her n.o.ble Heroe smell to.

This Slight bred sad domestick Strife, Altho' the Man's to be commended; For what's a loving handsome Wife, To a Man's Money or his Life, For all is lost when that is ended.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

As the Fryer he went along, and a poring in his Book, At last he spy'd a Jolly brown Wench a washing of her Buck,

Sing, _Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer_ _Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go_.

The Fryer he pull'd out and a Jolly brown T----d as much as he could handle, Fair Maid, quoth he, if thou earnest Fire in thy A---- come light me this same Candle.

Sing, _Stow the Fryer_, &c.

The Maid she sh---- and a Jolly brown T---- out of her Jolly brown Hole, Good Sir, quoth she, if you will a Candle light come blow me this same Cole.

Sing, _Stow the Fryer_, &c.

Part of the Sparks flew into the _North_, and part into the _South_, And part of this jolly brown T---- flew into the Fryer's Mouth.

Sing, _Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer_ _Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go_.

_The La.s.s of_ LYNN'S _sorrowful Lamentation for the Loss of her Maiden-Head._

[Music]

I am a young La.s.s of _Lynn_, Who often said thank you too; My Belly's now almost to my Chin, _I cannot tell what to do_.

My being so free and kind, Does make my Heart to rue; The sad Effects of this I find, _And cannot tell what to do_.

My Petticoats which I wore, And likewise my Ap.r.o.ns too; Ala.s.s, they are all too short before, _I cannot_, &c.

Was ever young Maid so crost, As I who thank'd him too: For why, my Maiden-head is lost, _I cannot tell what to do_.

In sorrowful sort I cry'd, And may now for ever rue; The Pain lies in my Back and Side, _I cannot tell what to do_.

Ala.s.s I was kind and mild, But now the same I rue; Having no Father for my Child, _I cannot_, &c.

I took but a Touch in jest, Believe me this is true; Yet I have proved, I protest, _And cannot_, &c.

He crav'd my Virginity, And gave me his own in lieu; In this I find I was too kind, _And cannot_, &c.

Each Damsel will me degrade, And so will the young Men too; I'm neither Widow, Wife, nor Maid, _I cannot_, &c.

A Cradle I must provide, A Chair and Posset too; Nay, likewise twenty Things beside, _I cannot_, &c.

When I was a Maiden fair, Such Sorrows I never knew; But now my Heart is full of Care, _I cannot_, &c.

Oh what will become of me, My Belly's as big as two; 'Tis with a Two-legg'd Tympany, _I cannot tell what to do_.

You La.s.ses that hear my Moan, If you will your Joys renew; Besure, while Married, lye alone, _Or else you at length may rue_.

I came of as good a Race, As most is in _Lynn_'s fair Town; And cost a great deal bringing up, _But a little Thing laid me down_.

_The Jovial Tinker._

[Music]

There was a Jovial Tinker, Which was a good Ale drinker; He never was a Shrinker, Believe me this is true; And he came from the wild of _Kent_, When all his Money was gone and spent, Which made him look like a _Jack-a-Lent_, _And Joan's Ale is new,_ _And Joan's Ale is new Boys,_ _And Joan's Ale is new._

The Tinker he did settle, Most like a Man of Mettle, And vow'd to p.a.w.n his Kettle, Now mark what did ensue; His Neighbours they flock'd in apace, To see _Tom Tinker's_ comely Face, Where they drank soundly for a s.p.a.ce, _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

The Cobler and the Broom Man, Came next into the Room, Man, And said they would drink for boon Man, Let each one take his due; But when good Liquor they had found, They cast their Caps upon the Ground, And so the Tinker he drank round, _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.