Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume V Part 34

_A_ Scotch SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN BARRETT.

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Ah! foolish La.s.s, what mun I do?

My Modesty I well may rue, Which of my Joy bereft me; For full of Love he came, But out of silly shame, With pish and phoo I play'd, To muckle the coy Maid, And the raw young Loon has left me.

Wou'd _Jockey_ knew how muckle I lue, Did I less Art, or did he shew, More Nature, how bleast I'd be; I'd not have reason to complain, That I lue'd now in vain, Gen he more a Man was, I'd be less a coy La.s.s, Had the raw young Loon weel try'd me.

_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ Justice Buisy, _or the_ Gentleman Quack: _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.

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No, no ev'ry Morning my Beauties renew, Where-ever I go, I have Lovers enough; I Dress and I Dance, and I Laugh and I Sing, Am lovely and lively, and gay as the Spring: I Visit, I Game, and I cast away Care, Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air, Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ WILLIS.

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Now my Freedom's regain'd, and by _Bacchus_ I swear, All whining dull whimsys of Love I'll cas.h.i.+re: The Charm's more engaging in b.u.mpers of Wine, Then let _Chloe_ be d.a.m.n'd, but let this be Divine: Whilst Youth warms thy Veins, Boy embrace thy full Gla.s.ses, d.a.m.n _Cupid_ and all his poor Proselyte a.s.ses; Let this be thy rule _Tom_, to square out thy Life, And when Old in a Friend, thou'lt live free from all Strife, Only envied by him that is plagu'd with a Wife.

_A_ Scotch SONG, _the Words by Mr._ Peter n.o.ble, _Set by Mr._ John Wilford.

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Bonny _Scottish_ Lads that keens me weel, Lith ye what, ye what good Luck Ise fun; _Moggey_ is mine own in spight o'th' De'el, I alone her Heart has won: Near St. _Andrew's_ Kirk in _London_ Town, There Ise, Ise met my Dearest Joy; s.h.i.+nening in her Silken Hued and Gown, But ne'er ack, ne'er ack she prov'd not Coy.

Then after many Compliments, Streight we gang'd into the Kirk; There full weel she tuck the doc.u.ments, And flang me many pleasing Smirk: Weel I weat that I have gear enough, She's have a Yode to ride ont; She's neither drive the Swine, nor the Plough, Whatever does betide ont.

_A New_ SONG _in the Play call'd_, a DUKE and no DUKE. _Sung by Mrs._ CIBBER.

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_Damon_ if you will believe me, 'Tis not sighing o'er the Plain; Songs nor Sonnets can't relieve ye, Faint Attempts in Love are vain: Urge but home the fair Occasion, And be Master of the Field; To a powerful kind Invasion, 'Twere a Madness not to yield.

Tho' she vow's she'll ne'er permit ye, Says you're rude, and much to blame; And with Tears implores your pity, Be not merciful for shame: When the first a.s.sault is over, _Chloris_ time enough will find; This so fierce and Cruel Lover, Much more gentle, not so kind.

_A_ SONG. _The Words made to a Tune of the late Mr._ Henry Purcell's.

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Drunk I was last Night that's poss, My Wife began to Scold; Say what I cou'd for my Heart's Blood, Her Clack she wou'd not hold: Thus her Chat she did begin, Is this your time of coming in; The Clock strikes One, you'll be undone, If thus you lead your Life: My Dear said I, I can't deny, But what you say is true; I do intend, my Life to mend, Pray lends the Pot to Spew.

Fye, you Sot, I ne'er can bear, To rise thus e'ery Night; Tho' like a Beast you never care, What consequence comes by't: The Child and I may starve for you, We neither can have half our due; With grief I find, you're so unkind, In time you'll break my Heart: At that I smil'd, and said dear Child, I believe your in the wrong; But if't shou'd be you're destiny, I'll sing a merry Song.

_The Gelding the Devil. Set by Mr._ Tho. Wroth.

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I met with the Devil in the shape of a Ram, Then over and over the Sow-gelder came; I rose and halter'd him fast by the Horns, And pick'd out his Stones, as you would pick out Corns; Maa, quoth the Devil, with that out he slunk, And left us a Carka.s.s of Mutton that stunk.

I chanc'd to ride forth a Mile and a half, Where I heard he did live in disguise of a Calf; I bound him and Gelt him e'er he did any evil, For he was at the best but a young sucking Devil: Maa, yet he cries, and forth he did steal, And this was sold after for excellent Veal.

Some half a Year after in the Form of a Pig, I met with the Rogue, and he look'd very big; I caught at his Leg, laid him down on a Log, E'er a Man could Fart twice, I made him a Hog: Huh, huh quoth the Devil, and gave such a Jerk, That a _Jew_ was Converted and eat of that Pork.

In Woman's attire I met him most fine, At first sight I thought him some Angel divine; But viewing his crab Face I fell to my Trade, I made him forswear ever acting a Maid: Meaw, quoth the Devil, and so ran away, Hid himself in a Fryer's old Weeds as they say.

I walked along and it was my good chance, To meet with a Black-coat that was in a Trance; I speedily grip'd him and whip'd off his Cods, 'Twixt his Head and his Breech, I left little odds: O, quoth the Devil, and so away ran, Thou oft will be curst by many a Woman.

_A_ SONG.

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When _Jemmy_ first began to love, He was the finest Swain; That ever yet a Flock had drove, Or Danc'd upon the Plain: 'Twas then that I, woe's me poor heart, My Freedom threw away; And finding sweets in every part, I could not say him nay.

For ever when he spake of Love, He wou'd his Eyes decline; Each Sigh he gave a Heart wou'd move, Good faith, and why not mine: He'd press my Hand, and Kiss it oft, His silence spoke his Flame; And whilst he treated me thus soft, I wish'd him more to blame.

Sometimes to feed my Flock with his, _Jemmy_ wou'd me invite; Where he the finest Songs would Sing, Me only to Delight: Then all his Graces he display'd, Which were enough I trow; To conquer any Princely Maid, So did he me I trow.

But now for _Jemmy_ I must Mourn, He to the Wars must go; His Sheephook to a Sword must turn, Alack what shall I do?