Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume VI Part 41

For Years, for Months, for Weeks or Days, I'll let this famous Bow'r; Nay rather than a Tennant want, I'd let it for an Hour.

There's round about a pleasant Grove, To shade it from the Sun; And underneath is Well water That pleasantly does run.

Where if you're hot you may be cool'd, If cold you may find heat; It is a well contrived Spring, Not little nor too great.

The place is very Dark by Night, And so it is by Day; But when you once are enter'd in, You cannot lose your way.

And when you're in, go boldly on, As far as e'er you can; And if you reach to the House top, You'll be where ne'er was Man.

Tune, _Draw_ Cupid _Draw_.

Here, _Chloe_ hear, And do not turn away, From my Desire, but quench my Fire.

And my Love's flames allay: And let my Song go along, Unto Compa.s.sion move; And make you kind, And bend your mind, And melt you into Love.

If _Chloe_ Loves, and Constant proves, Oh! happy, happy then am I; But if that she unconstant be, And do's delight to rove: As sure as Gun, I am undone, And shan't have power to move.

_Fashionable_ Shepherdess, _Set by Mr._ Ramondon.

[Music]

At the break of morning light, When the marbled Sky look gay; Nature self all perfect bright, Smil'd to see the G.o.d of Day: Charming prospect, verdant Trees, Azure Hill, enamell'd Sky; Birds with warbling Throats to please, Striving each which shall outvey.

_Lisbea_ then with wond'rous hast, O'er a green sword Plain she flew; Thus my Angel as she past, The Eyes of ev'ry Shepherd drew: When they had the Nymph espyed, All amazed cry'd there she goes; Thus by blooming Beauty tryed, Thought a second Sun arose.

Ev'ry Swain the Sun mistook.

Dazled by refulgent Charms; And with Joy their Flocks forsook, For to follow Love's Alarms: All 'till now were perfect Friends, Bound by Innocence and Truth; 'Till sly Love to gain his ends, Made a difference 'twixt each Youth.

Each expected which should be, Made the happy Man by Love; While for want of Liberty, None could truly happy prove: But at length they all arriv'd, To a charming easie Grove; Where the Nymph had well contriv'd, To be happy with her Love.

There in amorous folding twin'd, _Strephon_ with his _Lisbea_ lay; Both to mutual Joys enclin'd, Let their Inclinations stray: As the curling Vines embracing, Fondly of the Oak around; So the blooming Nymphs caressing, Of her Swain with pleasure crown'd.

How surpriz'd were ev'ry Swain, When they found the Nymph engaged; Disappointment heighten'd Pain, 'Till it made them more enraged: Arm your self with Resolution, Cry'd the most revengeful he; We'll contrive her Swains Confusion, Let him fall as much as we.

Several Punishments they Invented, For to Torture helpless he; All revengeful, ne'er contented, Cruel to a vast Degree: One more envious in the rear, Thus his Sentiments let slip; Make him like the Cavalier, And for the _Opera_ him Equip.

_A_ Scotch SONG _in the Play call'd_ Love at first Sight: _Set by the late Mr._ JER. CLARK.

[Music]

The Rosey Morn lukes blith and Gay, The Lads and La.s.ses on the Plain; Her bonny, bonny sports pa.s.s o'er the Day, And leave poor _Jenny_ tol complain: My _Sawndy's_ grown a faithless Loon, And given, given _Moggy_ that wild Heart; Which eance he swore was aw my own, But now weese me I've scarce a part.

Gang thy gate then perjur'd _Sawndy_, Ise nea mere will Mon believe; Wou'd Ise nere had trusted any, They faw Thieves will aw deceive: But gin ere Ise get mere Lovers, Ise Dissemble as they do; For since Lads are grown like Rovers, Pray why may na La.s.ses too.

_The_ Restauration: _Or the_ Coventry SONG.

1710.

[Music]

The Restauration now's the Word, A blessed Revolution; That has secur'd the Church, the Crown, And _England's_ Const.i.tution: May ev'ry Loyal Soul rejoice, May WHIGS and Canters mourn, Sir; Who ever thought that _Coventry_, Shou'd make a due Return, Sir.

We Rally'd the Church-Militant, And fell to work ding-dong, Sir; _Craven_ and _Gery_ are the Names, That do adorn our Song, Sir: _Beaufort_, _Ormond_, _Rochester_, And more than we can tell, Sir; Are Themes that well deserve the Pen, Of brave _Sacheverell_, Sir.

The glorious Sons of _Warwickshire_, May justly be commended; There's ne'er a Member now Elect, That ever has offended: _Denbigh_ and _Craven_ we esteem, A Loyal n.o.ble pair, Sir; And hope to see our worthy Friend, Great _Bromly_ in the Chair, Sir.

_A_ SONG.

Such an happy, happy Life, Ne'er had any other Wife; As the loose _Corinna_ knows, Between her Spark, Her Spark and Spouse: The Husband lies and winks his Eyes, The valiant makes Addresses, The wanton Lady soon complies, With tenderest Caresses.

The Wife is pleas'd, The Husband eas'd, The Lover made a drudge, His Body's drain'd, his Pocket's squeez'd; And who'll his Pleasure grudge, _Such an happy_, &c.

_Corinna's_ gay, As Flow'rs in _May_, And struts with slanting Ayre; The Lovers for her Pride doth pay, The Cuckold's free from Care, _Such an happy_, &c.

COLLIN's _Complaint_.

[Music]

Despairing besides a clear stream, A Shepherd forsaken was laid; And whilst a false Nymph was his Theme, A Willow supported his Head: The Winds that blew over the Plain, To his Sighs with a Sigh did reply; And the Brook in return of his Pain, Ran mournfully murmuring by.

Alas silly Swain that I was, Thus sadly complaining he cry'd; When first I beheld that fair Face, 'Twere better by far I had dy'd: She talk'd, and I blest the dear Tongue, When she smil'd 'twas a Pleasure too great; I listned, and cry'd when she Sung, Was Nightingale ever so sweet.

How foolish was I to believe, She cou'd doat on so lowly a Clown; Or that a fond Heart wou'd not grieve, To forsake the fine Folk of the Town: To think that a Beauty so gay, So kind and so constant wou'd prove; Or go clad like our Maidens in Gray, Or live in a Cottage on Love.

What tho' I have skill to complain, Tho' the Muses my Temples have crown'd; What tho' when they hear my soft Strains, The Virgins sit weeping around: Ah _Collin_ thy Hopes are in vain, Thy Pipe and thy Lawrel resign; Thy false one inclines to a Swain, Whose Musick is sweeter than thine.