Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume VI Part 39

_A new_ BALLAD, _Sung at_ Messieurs Brook _and_ h.e.l.lier's _Club, at the_ Temple-_Tavern in_ Fleet-Street.

[Music]

Since _Tom's_ in the Chair, and e'ery one here Appears in Gay humour and easie; Say, why shou'd not I, a new Ballad try, Bright Brethren o'th' Bottle to please ye.

This Wine is my Theme, this is all on's Esteem, For _Brook_ and _h.e.l.lier_ cannot wrong us; Let them get Wealth, who keeps us in Health, By bringing neat Liquors among us, _Let them get Wealth_, &c.

Each Vintner of late, has got an Estate, By Brewing and Sophistication: With Syder and Sloes, they've made a d.a.m.n'd Dose, Has Poisoned one half of the Nation: But _h.e.l.lier_ and _Brook_, a Method have took, To prove them all Scoundrels and Noddys; And shew'd us a way which (if we don't stray) Will save both our Pockets and Bodies.

This generous Juice, brisk Blood will produce, And stupid ones raise to the bonny'st: Make Poets and Wits, of you that are Cits, And Lawyers (if possible) honest: If any are Sick, or find themselves Weak, With Symptoms of Gout or the Scurvy; This will alone, the Doctor must own, _Probatum est_ Healthy preserve ye.

Have any here Wives, that lead 'em sad lives, For you know what pouting and storming; Then drink of this Wine, and it will incline, The weakest to vig'rous performing: Each Spouse will say then, pray go there agen, Tho' Money for the reck'ning you borrow; Nay, for so much Bub, here I'll pay your Club, So go there agen Dear to morrow.

Tho' one drinks red Port, another's not for't, But chuses _Vienna_ or White-Wine; Each takes what suits best, his Stomach or Tast, Yet e'ery one's sure he drinks right Wine; Thus pledg'd we all sit, and thus we are knit, In Friends.h.i.+p together the longer; As Musick in Parts, enlivens our Hearts, And renders the Harmony stronger.

Now G.o.d bless the Queen, Peers, Parliament Men, And keep 'em like us in true Concord; And grant that all those, who dare be her Foes, At _Tyburn_ may swing in a strong Cord; We'll Loyalists be, and bravely agree, With Lives and Estates to defend Her; So then she'll not care, come Peace or come War, For _Lewis_, the _Pope_, or _Pretender_.

_The_ LONDON PRENTICE.

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A Worthy _London_ Prentice, Came to his Love by Night; The Candles were lighted, The Moon did s.h.i.+ne so bright: He knocked at the Door, To ease him of his Pain; She rose and let him in Love, And went to Bed again.

He went into the Chamber, Where his true Love did lye; She quickly gave consent, For to have his Company: She quickly gave consent, The Neighbours peeping out; So take away your Hand, Love let's blow the Candle out.

I would not for a Crown Love, My Mistress should it know; I'll in my Smock step down Love, And I'll out the Candle blow; The Streets they are so nigh, And the People walk about; Some may peep in and spy Love, Let's blow the Candle out.

My Master and my Mistress, Upon the Bed do lye; Injoying one another, Why should not you and I: My Master kiss'd my Mistress, Without any fear or doubt; And we'll kiss one another, Let's blow the Candle out.

I prithee speak more softly, Of what we have to do; Least that our noise of Talking, Should make our Pleasure rue: For kissing one another, Will make no evil rout; Then let us now be silent, And blow the Candle out.

But yet he must be doing, He could no longer stay; She strove to blow the Candle out, And push'd his Hand away: The young Man was so hasty, To lay his Arms about; But she cryed I pray Love, Let's blow the Candle out.

As this young Couple sported, The Maiden she did blow; But how the Candle went out, Alas I do not know: Said she I fear not now, Sir, My Master nor my Dame; And what this Couple did, Sir, Alas I dare not Name.

_A_ SONG _out of the_ GUARDIAN.

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Oh the Charming Month of _May_, When the Breezes fan the Trees, is Full of Blossoms fresh and gay, Full of Blossoms fresh and gay: Oh the Charming Month of _May_, Charming, Charming Month of _May_.

Oh what Joys our Prospect yields, In a new Livery when we see every, Bush and Meadow, Tree and Field, _&c._ Oh what Joys, _&c._ Charming Joys, _&c._

Oh how fresh the Morning Air, When the Zephirs and the Hephirs, Their Odoriferous Breaths compare, Oh how fresh, _&c._ Charming fresh, _&c._

Oh how fine our Evenings walk, When the Nightingale delighting, With her Songs suspends our Talk, Oh how fine, _&c._ Charming fine, _&c._

Oh how sweet at Night to Dream, On mossy Pillows by the trillows, Of a gentle Purling Stream, Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._

Oh how kind the Country La.s.s, Who her Cows bilking, leaves her Milking, For a green Gown upon the Gra.s.s, Oh how kind, _&c._ Charming kind, _&c._

Oh how sweet it is to spy, At the Conclusion, her deep confusion, Blus.h.i.+ng Cheeks and down cast Eye, Oh how sweet, _&c._ Charming sweet, _&c._

Oh the Charming Curds and Cream, When all is over she gives her Lover, Who on her Skimming-dish carves her Name, Oh the Charming Curds and Cream, Charming, Charming Curds and Cream.

Tune, _Hopes farewel_.

Fates I defie, I defie your Advances, Since _Caelia_ has crown'd My true Love with a Smile; I'll laugh at your Darts, Your Arrows and Lances, Since her Bosom abounds, With the Pleasures of Nile.

You shall never, Me from her sever, Since that my _Caelia_ has thrown by her Scorn: Then forbear, To come so near, For I from _Caelia_ can never be torn.

_The Country_ FARMER'S _Campaign_: _By the Author of_ Banter'd and Bubbl'd, _&c._

[Music]

Oh _Roger_ I've been to see _Eugene_, By _Villars_ over-reach'd; And that _Dutch_ Earl, great _Albermarle_, So foolishly Detach'd: For _Phil_ of _Spain_, saw _Doway_ tain, And _Quesnoy_ close beset; Saw _Frenchmen_ grin, at Count _Rechstrin_, And _Dutchmen_ in a Sweat.

With both my Eyes _Auxiliaries_, I saw desert our Cause; Old _Zinzendorf_ did buy 'em off, But never stopp'd their Maws: Whilst ORMOND he most orderly, Did march them towards _Ghent_; The _German_ Dogs, with great _Dutch_ Hogs, Their towns against him Pent.

Were not we mad to spend our Blood, And weighty Treasure so; Do they deserve, that we should serve, Adad we'll make them know: They'll be afraid, of Peace and Trade, And downfal of the WHIGS; Our glorious ANN, with _France_ and _Spain_, Will dance then many a Jigg.

If they have a mind, 'fore Peace be Sign'd, To own Great ANNA'S Power; Such Terms she'll get, as she thinks fit, And they shall have no more: Great _Oxford's_ Earl, that weighty Pearl, And Minister of State: With _Bollingbrook_, I swear adzooks, Old _England_ will be great.

We Farmers then, shall be fine Men, And Money have good store; Their WHIGISH Tax they'll have with a Pox, When Monarchy's no more: My Son I'm sure, will ne'er endure, To pay their plaguy Funds; 'Tis with reproach, they ride in Coach, It makes me mad Ads--

For twenty Years, with Popish fears, We have been Banter'd much; With Liberty, and Property, And our very good Friends the _Dutch_: But now I hope, our Eyes are ope, And _France_ is more Sincere; Then _Emperor_ with all his stir, _Or Dounders Divil myn Heir._