Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume V Part 15

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What Life can compare with the jolly Town Rakes, When in his full swing of all Pleasure he takes?

At Noon he gets up for a wet and to Dine, And Wings the swift Hours with Mirth, Musick, and Wine, Then jogs to the Play-house and chats with the Masques, And thence to the _Rose_ where he takes his three Flasks, There great as a _Caesar_ he revels when drunk, And scours all he meets as he reels, as he reels to his Punk, And finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes, What Life can compare to the jolly Town-Rakes, the Jolly Town-Rakes.

He like the Great Turk has his favourite She, But the Town's his _Seraglio_, and still he lives free; Sometimes she's a Lady, but as he must range, Black _Betty_, or Oyster _Moll_ serve for a Change: As he varies his Sports his whole Life is a Feast, He thinks him that is soberest is most like a Beast: All Houses of Pleasure, breaks Windows and Doors, Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Wh.o.r.es: Rare work for the Surgeon and Midwife he makes, What Life can Compare with the jolly Town-Rakes.

Thus in _Covent-Garden_ he makes his Campaigns, And no Coffee-House haunts but to settle his Brains; He laughs at dry Mortals, and never does think, Unless 'tis to get the best Wenches and Drink: He dwells in a Tavern, and lives ev'ry where, And improving his Hour, lives an age in a Year: For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste, And thus he lives longest because he lives fast: Then leaps in the Dark, and his _Exit_ he makes, What Death can compare with the jolly Town-Rakes.

_A_ SONG: _Set by Mr._ CLARKE.

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Young _Coridon_ and _Phillis_ Sate in a lovely Grove; Contriving Crowns of Lillies, Repeating Tales of Love: _And something else, but what I dare not_, &c.

But as they were a Playing, She oagled so the Swain; It say'd her plainly saying, Let's kiss to ease our Pain: _And something else_, &c.

A thousand times he kiss'd her, Laying her on the Green; But as he farther press'd her, Her pretty Leg was seen: _And something else_, &c.

So many Beauties removing, His Ardour still increas'd; And greater Joys pursuing, He wander'd o'er her Breast: _And something else_, &c.

A last Effort she trying, His Pa.s.sion to withstand; Cry'd, but it was faintly crying, Pray take away your Hand: _And something else_, &c.

Young _Coridon_ grown bolder, The Minute would improve; This is the Time he told her, To shew you how I love; _And something else_, &c.

The Nymph seem'd almost dying, Dissolv'd in amorous Heat; She kiss'd, and told him sighing, My Dear your Love is great: _And something else_, &c.

But _Phillis_ did recover Much sooner than the Swain; She blus.h.i.+ng ask'd her Lover, Shall we not Kiss again: _And something else_, &c.

Thus Love his Revels keeping, 'Till Nature at a stand; From talk they fell to Sleeping, Holding each others Hand; _And something else_, &c.

_The Amorous_ BARBER'S _Pa.s.sion of Love for his Dear_ BRIDGET.

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With my Strings of small Wire lo I come, And a Cittern made of Wood; And a Song altho' you are Deaf and Dumb, May be heard and understood.

_Dumb, dumb_----

Oh! take Pity on me, my Dear, Me thy Slave, and me thy Va.s.sal, And be not Cruel, as it were, Like to some strong and well built old Castle.

_Dumb, dumb_----

Lest as thou pa.s.sest along the Street, Braver every Day and braver; Every one that does thee meet, Will say there goes a Woman-shaver.

_Dumb, dumb_----

And again will think fit, And to say they will determine; There goes she that with Tongue killed Clip-Chops, As a Man with his Thumbs kill Vermine.

_Dumb, dumb_----

For if thou dost then, farewel Pelf, Farewel _Bridget_, for I vow I'll: Either in my Bason hang my self, Or drown me in my Towel, _Dumb, dumb_----

_A_ BALLAD, _made by a Gentleman in_ Ireland, _who could not have Access to a Lady whom he went to visit, because the Maid the Night before had over-laid her pretty b.i.t.c.h. To the Tune of_, O Hone, O Hone.

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Oh! let no Eyes be dry, _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_, But let's lament and cry, _Oh Hone, O Hone_, We're quite undone almost, For _Daphne_ on this Coast, Has yielded up the Ghost, _Oh Hone, O Hone_.

_Daphne_ my dearest b.i.t.c.h, _Oh Hone, O Hone_, Who did all Dogs bewitch, _Oh Hone_, &c.

Was by a careless Maid, Pox take her for a Jade, In the Night over-laid, _Oh Hone_, &c.

Oh may she never more _Oh Hone_, &c.

Sleep quietly, but snore, _Oh Hone_, &c.

May never Irish Lad, Sue for her Maiden-head, Until it stinks I Gad, _Oh Hone_, &c.

Oh may she never keep _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_; Her Water in her Sleep, _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_: May never Pence nor Pounds, Come more within the Bounds, Of her Pocket Ad-sounds, _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_.

DAMON _forsaken. Set by Mr._ WROTH.

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When that young _Damon_ bless'd my Heart, And in soft Words did move; How did I hug the pleasing Dart, And thank'd the G.o.d of Love: _Cupid_, said I, my best lov'd Lamb, That in my Bosom lives: To thee, for kindling this dear Flame, To thee, kind G.o.d, I'll give.

But prying Friends o'er-heard my Vow, And murmur'd in my Ear; _Damon_ hath neither Flocks nor Plough, Girl what thou dost beware: They us'd so long their cursed Art, And d.a.m.n'd deluding sham; That I agreed with them to part, Nor offer'd up my Lamb.

_Cupid_ ask'd for his Offering, 'Cause I refus'd to pay; He took my _Damon_ on his Wing, And carry'd him quite away: Pitch'd him before _Olinda's_ Charms, Those Wonders of the Plain; Commanding her into her Arms, To take the dearest Swain.

The envy'd Nymph, soon, soon obey'd, And bore away the Prize; 'Tis well she did, for had she stay'd, I'd s.n.a.t.c.h'd him from her Eyes: My Lamb was with gay Garlands dress'd, The Pile prepar'd to burn; Hoping that if the G.o.d appeas'd, My _Damon_ might return.

But oh! in vain he's gone, he's gone, _Phillis_ he can't be thine; I by Obedience am undone, Was ever Fate like mine: _Olinda_ do, try all thy Charms, Yet I will have a part; For whilst you have him in your Arms, I'll have him in my Heart.

_The Apparition to the Jilted Lover. Set by Mr._ WROTH.