I Am one in whom Nature has fix’d a Decree,
Ordaining my Life to happy and free;
With no Cares of the World I am never perplex’d,
And never depending, I never am vex’d:
I’m neither of so high nor so low a degree,
But Ambition and Want are both strangers to me;
My life is a compound of Freedom and Ease,
I go where I will, and I work when I please:
I live above Envy, and yet above Spight,
And have Judgment enough for to do my self right;
Some greater and richer I own there may be,
Yet as many live worse, as live better than me,
And few that from Cares live so quiet and free.

When Money comes in I live well ’till it’s gone,
So with it I’m happy, Content when I’ve none:
I spend it Genteelly, and never repent,
If I lose it at Play, why I count it but Lent:
For that which at one time I Lose among Friends,
Another Night’s Winnings still makes me amends:
And though I’m without the first Day of the Week,
I still make it out by Shift or by Tick:
In Mirth at my Work the swift Hours do pass,
And by Saturday Night, I’m as rich as I was.

Then let Masters drudge on, and be Slaves to their Trade,
Let their Hours of Pleasure by Business be stay’d;
Let them venture their Stocks to be ruin’d by Trust,
Let Clickers bark on the whole Day at their Post:
Let ’em tire all that pass with their rotified Cant,
“Will you buy any Shoes, pray see what you want”;
Let the rest of the World still contend to be great,
Let some by their Losses repine at their Fate:
Let others that Thrive, not content with their store,
Be plagu’d with the Trouble and Thoughts to get more.

Let wise Men invent, ’till the World be deceived,
Let Fools thrive thro’ Fortune, and Knaves be believed;
Let such as are rich know no Want, but Content,
Let others be plagu’d to pay Taxes and Rent:
With more Freedom and Pleasure my Time I’ll employ,
And covet no Blessings but what we enjoy.

Then let’s celebrate Crispin with Bumpers and Songs,
And they that drink Foul, may it blister their Tongues,
Here’s two in a Hand, and let no one deny ’em,
Since Crispin in Youth was a Seat’s-man as I am.

OF late in the Park a fair Fancy was seen,
Betwixt an old Baud and a lusty young Quean;
Their parting of Money began the uproar,
I’ll have half says the Baud, but you shan’t says the Whore:
Why ’tis my own House,
I care not a Louse,
I’ll ha’ three parts in four, or you get not a Souse.

’Tis I, says the Whore, must take all the Pains,
And you shall be damn’d e’er you get all the Gains;
The Baud being vex’d, straight to her did say,
Come off wi’ your Duds, and I pray pack away,
And likewise your Ribbonds, your Gloves, and your Hair,
For naked you came, and so out you go bare;
Then Buttocks so bold,
Began for to Scold,
Hurrydan was not able her Clack for to hold.

Both Pell-Mell fell to’t, and made this uproar,
With these Compliments, th’art a Baud, th’art a Whore:
The Bauds and the Buttocks that liv’d there around,
Came all to the Case, both Pockey and Sound,
To see what the reason was of this same Fray,
That did so disturb them before it was Day;
If I tell you amiss,
Let me never more Piss,
This Buttocks so bold she named was Siss.

By Quiffing with Cullies three Pound she had got,
And but one part of four must fall to her Lot;
Yet all the Bauds cry’d, let us turn her out bare,
Unless she will yield to return her half share;
If she will not, we’ll help to strip off her Cloaths,
And turn her abroad with a slit o’ the Nose:
Who when she did see,
There was no Remedy,
For her from the Tyranous Bauds to get free;
The Whore from the Money was forced to yield,
And in the Conclusion the Baud got the Field.

POOR Mountfort is gone, and the Ladies do all
Break their Hearts for this Beau, as they did for Duvall;
And they the two Brats for this Tragedy damn
At Kensington Court, and the Court of Bantam,
They all vow and Swear,
That if any Peer,
Should acquit this young Lord, he shou’d pay very dear;
Nor will they be pleased with him who on the Throne is,
If he do’s not his part to revenge their Adonis.

With the Widow their amorous Bowels do yearn,
There are divers pretend to an equal Concern;
And by her Perswasion their Hearts they reveal,
In case if not guilty, to bring an Appeal:
They all will unite,
The young Blade to indite,
And in Prosecution will joyn Day and Night;
In the mean time full many a Tear and a Groan is,
Wherever they meet, for their departed Adonis.

With the Ladies foul Murther’s a horrible Sin
Of one Handsome without, tho’ a Coxcomb within;
For not being a Beau, the sad Fate of poor Crab,
Tho’ himself hang’d for Love, was a Jest to each Drab;
Then may Jering live long,
And may Risby among
The Fair with Jack Barkley, and Culpepper throng:
May no Ruffin whose Heart as hard as a Stone is,
Kill any of those for a Brother Adonis.

No Lady henceforth can be safe with her Beau,
They think if this Slaughter unpunish’d should go;
Their Gallants, for whose Persons they most are in Pain,
Must no sooner be envy’d, but strait must be Slain:
For all B—— shape,
None car’d for the Rape,
Nor whether the Virtuous their Lust did escape;
Their Trouble of Mind, and their anguish alone is,
For the too sudden Fate of departed Adonis.

Let not every vain Spark think that he can engage,
The Heart of a Female, like one on the Stage;
His Flute, and his Voice, and his Dancing are rare,
And wherever they meet, they prevail with the Fair:
But no quality Fop,
Charms like Mr. Hop,
Adorn’d on the Stage, and in East-India Shop;
So that each from Miss Felton, to ancient Drake Joan is,
Bemoaning the Death of the Player Adonis.

Yet Adonis in spight of this new Abjuration,
Did banter the lawful King of this great Nation:
Who call’d God’s anointed a foolish old Prig,
Was both a base and unmannerly Whigg:
But since he is Dead
No more shall be said,
For he in Repentance has laid down his Head;
So I wish each Lady, who in mournful Tone is,
In Charity Grieve for the Death of Adonis.

FLY Damon fly, ’tis Death to stay,
Nor listen to the Syren’s Song;
Nor hear her warbling Fingers play,
That kills in Consort with her Tongue:
Oft to despairing Shepherds Verse,
Unmov’d she tunes the trembling Strings;
Oft does some pitying Words rehearse,
But little means the thing she Sings.

Cease on her lovely Looks to gaze,
Nor court your Ruin in her Eyes;
Her Looks too ’s dangerous as her Face,
At once engages and Destroys:
Speak not if you’d avoid your Fate,
For then she darts Resentment home;
But fly, fly Damon e’er too late,
Or else be Deaf, be Blind, be Dumb.

FEAR not Mortal, none shall harm thee,
With this Sacred Rod I’ll Charm thee;
Freely gaze, and view all over,
Thou mayst every Grace discover:
Though a thousand Darts fly round thee,
Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee;
Though a thousand Darts fly round thee,
Fear not Mortal, none can Wound thee.

BORN to surprize the World,
Born to surprize the World, and teach the Great,
The slippery Danger of exalted State;
Victorious Marlborough, Victorious Marlborough, to Battle flies,
Arm’d, Arm’d with new Lightning from bright Anna’s Eyes:
Wonders, Wonders like these no former Age has seen,
The Subjects Heroes, the Subjects Heroes, and a Saint the Queen.

IN vain, in vain, in vain, in vain, in vain,
In vain the God I ask,
He’ll ne’er remove the Dart;
And still I love the pretty, pretty Boy,
Altho’, altho’ he wound my Heart:
Henceforth I’ll be contented then,
No more will I desire;
No, no, no more, no, no, no more will I desire,
To slight her whom I love so much,
That but creates the Fire:
Well might I expect the Fate,
As well as any other;
Since he ne’er spares the Gods themselves,
Nor does he spare his Mother.

SEE how fair and fine she lies,
Upon her Bridal Bed;
No Lady at the Court,
So fit for the Sport,
Oh she look’d so curiously White and Red:
After the first and second time,
The weary Bridegroom slacks his Pace;
But Oh! she cries, come, come my Joy,
And cling thy Cheek close to my Face:
Tinkle, tinkle, goes the Bell under the Bed,
Whilst Time and Touch they keep;
Then with a Kiss,
They end their Bliss,
And so fall fast asleep.

CORINNA if my Fate’s to love you,
Corinna if my Fate’s to love you,
Where’s the harm in saying so?
Corinna if my Fate’s to love you,
Where’s the harm in saying so?
Why shou’d my Sighs, why shou’d my Sighs,
Why shou’d my Sighs and Fondness move you?
To encrease, to encrease your Shepherd’s Woe:
Flame pent in still burns and scorches,
’Till it burns a Lover’s Heart:
Love declar’d like lighted Torches,
Wastes it self and gives less Pain:
Love declar’d like lighted Torches,
Wastes it self, wastes it self,
Wastes it self, and gives less Smart.

CÆLIA’s Charms are past expressing,
Were she kind as she is Fair;
Cælia’s Charms are past expressing,
Were she kind as she is Fair:
Heav’ns cou’d grant no greater Blessing,
Nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care;
Heav’ns cou’d grant no greater Blessing,
Nor Earth a Nymph, nor Earth a Nymph more worth our Care.

But Unkindness, Unkindness mars her Beauty,
And useless makes that Heav’nly,
That Heav’nly, that Heav’nly frame;
But Unkindness mars her Beauty,
And useless makes that Heav’nly, Heav’nly frame:
While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
Which ill Nature others name:
While she mistakes and calls that Duty,
Which ill Nature others name.

THERE lives an Ale-draper near New-palace-yard,
Who used to Jerk the Bum of his Wife;
And she was forced to stand on her Guard,
To keep his Clutches from her Quoiff:
She poor Soul the weaker Vessel,
To be reconcil’d was easily won;
He held her in scorn,
But she Crown’d him with Horn,
Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run.

He for a Shilling sold his Spouse,
And she was very willing to go;
And left the poor Cuckold alone in the House,
That he by himself his Horn might blow:
A Hackney Coachman he did buy her,
And was not this a very good Fun;
With a dirty Pinner,
As I am a Sinner,
Without Hood or Scarff, but rough as she run.

The Woman gladly did depart,
Between three Men was handed away;
He for her Husband did care not a Fart,
He kept her one whole Night and Day:
Then honest Judge the Coachman bought her,
And was not this most cunningly done?
Gave for her five Shilling,
To take her was willing,
Without Hood or Scarff, &c.

The Cuckold to Judge, a Letter did send,
Wherein he did most humbly crave;
Quoth he, I prithee, my Rival Friend,
My Spouse again I fain would have:
And if you will but let me have her,
I’ll pardon what she e’er has done;
I swear by my Maker,
Again I will take her,
Without Hood and Scarff, &c.

He sent an old Baud to interceed,
And to perswade her to come back;
That he might have one of her delicate breed,
And he would give her a ha’p’uth of Sack:
Therefore prithee now come to me,
Or else poor I shall be undone:
Then do not forgo me,
But prithee come to me,
Without Hood or Scarff, tho’ rough, &c.

The Coachman then with much ado,
Did suffer the Baud to take her out;
Upon the Condition that she would be true,
And let him have now and then a Bout:
But he took from her forty Shillings,
And gave her a parting Glass at the Sun;
And then with good buyt’ ye,
Discharged his Duty,
And turn’d her a grazing, rough as she run.

The Cuckold invited the Coachman to dine,
And gave him a Treat at his own Expence;
They drown’d all Cares in full brimmers of Wine,
He made him as welcome as any Prince:
There was all the Hungregation,
Which from Cuckolds-Point was come;
They kissed and fumbled,
They touzed and tumbled,
He was glad to take her rough as she run.

Judge does enjoy her where he list,
He values not the old Cuckold’s Pouts;
And she is as good for the Game as e’er pist,
Fudge on his Horns sits drying of Clouts:
She rants and revels when she pleases,
And to end as I begun,
The Horned Wise-acre,
Is forced to take her
Without Hood or Scarff, and rough as she run.

YOUNG Ladies that live in the City,
Sweet beautiful proper and Tall;
And Country Maids who dabling wades,
Here’s happy good News for you all:
A Lottery now out of hand,
Erected will be in the Strand;
Young Husbands with Treasure, and Wealth out of measure
Will fairly be at your Command:
Of her that shall light of a Fortunate Lot,
There’s Six of three Thousand a Year to be got.

I tell you the Price of each Ticket,
It is but a Guinea, I’ll vow;
Then hasten away, and make no delay,
And fill up the Lottery now:
If Gillian that lodges in Straw,
Shall have the good Fortune to draw
A Knight or a ’Squire, he’ll never deny her,
’Tis fair and according to Law;
Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,
There’s Ten of two Thousand a Year to be got.

The number is Seventy Thousand,
When all the whole Lot is compleat;
Five Hundred of which, are Prizes most rich,
Believe me for this is no Cheat:
There’s Drapers and Taylors likewise,
Brave Men that you cannot despise;
Come Bridget and Jenny, and throw in your Guinea,
A Husband’s a delicate Prize:
Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,
There’s Ten of one Thousand a Year to be got.

Suppose you should win for your Guinea,
A Man of three Thousand a Year;
Would this not be brave; what more would you have?
You soon might in Glory appear:
In glittering Coach you may ride,
With Lackeys to run by your side;
For why should you spare it? Faith win Gold and wear it;
Now who would not be such a Bride?
Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,
There’s Sixty, Five Hundreds a Year to be got.

Old Widows, and Maids above Forty,
Shall not be admitted to draw:
There’s five Hundred and Ten, as proper young Men,
Indeed, as your Eyes ever saw:
Who scorns for one Guinea of Gold,
To lodge with a Woman that’s Old;
Young Maids are admitted, in hopes to be fitted,
With Husbands couragious and bold:
Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,
There are wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got.

Kind Men that are full of good Nature,
The flaxen, the black, and the brown;
Both lusty and stout, and fit to hold out,
The prime and the top of the Town:
So clever in every part,
They’ll please a young Girl to the Heart;
Nay, kiss you, and squeese you, and tenderly please you,
For Love has a conquering Dart:
Then come pretty Lasses and purchase a Lot,
There are Wealthy kind Husbands now, now to be got.

Then never be fearful to venture,
But Girls bring you Guineas away;
Come merrily in, for we shall begin,
To draw upon Valentine’s Day:
The Prizes are many and great,
Each Man with a worthy Estate;
Then come away Mary, Sib, Susan, and Sarah,
Joan, Nancy, and pretty fac’d Kate:
For now is the time if you’ll purchase a Lot,
While Wealthy kind Husbands they are to be got.

Amongst you I know there is many,
Will miss of a Capital Prize:
Yet nevertheless, no Sorrows express,
But dry up your watry Eyes:
Young Lasses it is but in vain,
In sorrowful Sighs to complain;
Then ne’er be faint hearted, tho’ Luck be departed,
For all cannot reckon to gain:
Yet venture young Lasses, your Guineas bring in,
The Lucky will have the good Fortune to win.

COME Beaus, Virtuoso’s, rich Heirs and Musicians
Away, and in Troops to the Jubile jog;
Leave Discord and Death, to the College Physicians,
Let the Vig’rous whore on, and the impotent Flog:
Already Rome opens her Arms to receive ye,
And ev’ry Transgression her Lord will forgive ye.

Indulgences, Pardons, and such Holy Lumber,
As cheap there is now as our Cabbages grown;
While musty old Relicks of Saints without number,
For barely the looking upon, shall be shown:
These, were you an Atheist, must needs overcome ye,
That first were made Martyrs, and afterwards Mummy.

They’ll shew ye the River, so Sung by the Poets,
With the Rock from whence, Mortals were knockt o’th’ Head;
They’ll shew ye the place too, as some will avow it,
Where once a She Pope was brought fairly to Bed:
For which, ever since, to prevent Interloping,
In a Chair her Successors still suffer a Groping.

What a sight ’tis to see the gay Idol accoutred,
With Mitre and Cap, and two Keys by his side;
Be his inside what ’twill, yet the Pomp of his outward,
Shows Servus servorum, no hater of Pride,
These Keys into Heav’n will as surely admit ye,
As Clerks of a Parish to a Pew in the City.

What a sight ’tis to see the old Man in Procession,
Through Rome in such Pomp as here Cæsar did ride,
Now scattering of Pardons, here Crossing, there Blessing,
With all his shav’d Spiritual Train’d-bans by his side;
As, Confessors, Cardinals, Monks fat as Bacons,
From Rev’rend Arch-Bishops, to Rosie Arch-Deacons.

Then for your Diversion the more to regale ye,
Fine Music you’ll hear, and high Dancing you’ll see;
Men who much shall out-warble your Famous Fideli,
And make ye meer Fools, of Balloon and L’Abbe:
And to shew ye how fond they’re to Kiss Vostre Manos,
Each Padre turns Pimp, all Nuns Courtezana’s.

And when you’ve some Months at old Babylon been-a,
And on Pardons, and Punks, all your Rhino is spent;
And when you have seen all, that there is to be seen-a,
You’ll return not so Rich, tho’ as Wise as you went:
And ’twill be but small Comfort after so much Expence-a,
That your Heirs will do just so an Hundred Years hence-a.

A Young Man sick and like to die,
His last Will being written found;
I give my Soul to God on high,
And my Body to the Ground:
Unto some Church-men do I give,
Base Minds to greedy Lucre bent;
Pride and Ambition whilst they live,
By this my Will and Testament.

Item. Poor folks brown Bread I give,
And eke bare Bones, with hungry Cheeks;
Toil and Travel whilst they live,
And to feed on Roots and Leeks:
Item. To Rich Men I bestow,
High Looks, low Deeds, and Hearts of Flint;
And that themselves they seldom know,
By this, &c.

Proud stately Courtiers do I Will,
Two Faces in one Head to wear,
For Great Men Bribes, I think most fit,
Pride and Oppression through the Year:
Tenants I give them leave to lose,
And Landlords for to raise their Rent;
Rogues to Fawn, Collogue and glose,
By this, &c.

Item. To Soldiers for their Fees,
I give them Wounds their Bodies full;
And for to beg on bended Knees,
With Cap in Hand to every Gull:
Item. I will poor Scholars have,
For all their Pains and Travel spent:
Raggs, Jaggs, and Taunts of every Knave,
By this my Will and Testament.

To Shoemakers I grant this Boon,
Which Mercury gave them once before;
Altho’ they earn two Pence by Noon,
To spend e’er Night two Groats and more:
And Blacksmiths when the Work is done,
I give to them incontinent,
To drink two Barrels with a Bun,
By this my Will and Testament.

To Weavers swift, this do I leave,
Against that may beseem them well:
That they their good Wives do deceive,
Bring home a Yard and steal an Ell:
And Taylors too must be set down,
A Gift to give them I am bent;
To cut four Sleeves to every Gown,
By this, &c.

To Tavern haunters grant I more,
Red Eyes, Red Nose, and Stinking Breath;
And Doublets foul with drops before,
And foul Shame until their Death:
And Gamesters that will never leave,
Before their Substance be all spent;
The Wooden Dagger I bequeath,
By this, &c.

To common Fidlers I Will that they,
Shall go in poor and thread-bare Coats;
And at most places where they Play,
To carry away more Tunes than Groats:
To wand’ring Players I do give,
Before their Substance be all spent;
Proud Silk’n Beggars for to live,
By this, &c.

To Wenching Smell-smocks give I these,
Dead looks, gaunt purrs, and crasy Back;
And now and then the foul Disease,
Such as Gill gave to Jack;
To Parretors I give them clear,
For all their Toil and Travel spent;
The Devil away such Knaves to bear,
By this my Will and Testament.

I Will that Cutpurses haunt all Fairs,
And thrust among the thickest Throng;
That neither Purse nor Pocket spare,
But what they get to bear along:
But if they Falter in their Trade,
And so betray their bad intent;
I give them Tyburn for their share,
By this my Will and Testament.

To serving Men I give this Gift,
That when their Strength is once decay’d;
The Master of such Men do shift,
As Horsemen do a toothless Jade:
Item. I give them leave to Pine,
For all their Service so ill spent:
And with Duke Humphry for to Dine,
By this, &c.

Item. To Millers I Grant withal,
That they Spare, nor Poke, nor Sack;
But with Grist, so e’er befal,
They Grind a Strike, and steal a Peck:
I Will that Butchers Huff their Meat,
And sell a lump of Ramish scent;
For Weather Mutton good and sweet,
By this, &c.

I Will Ale Wives punish their Guests,
With hungry Cakes and little Canns;
And Barm their Drink with new found Yeest,
Such as is made of Pispot Grounds:
And she that meaneth for to Gain,
And in her House have Money spent,
I Will she keep a pretty Punck,
By this my Will and Testament.

To jealous Husbands I do grant,
Lack of Pleasure, want of Sleep;
That Lanthorn Horns they never want,
Tho’ ne’er so close their Wives they keep:
And for their Wives, I Will that they,
The closer up that they are pent;
The closer still they seek to Play,
By this my Will and Testament.

For Swearing Swaggerers nought is left,
To give them for a parting Blow;
But leaving off of damned Oaths,
And that of them I will bestow:
Item. I give them for their Pain,
That when all Hope and Livelihood’s spent,
A Wallet or a Hempen Chain,
By this &c.

Time and longest Livers do I make,
The Supervisor of my Will:
My Gold and Silver let them take,
That will dig for’t in Malvein Hill.

IN the Devil’s Country there lately did dwell,
A crew of such Whores as was ne’er bred in Hell,
The Devil himself he knows it full well,
Which no Body can deny, deny;
Which no Body can deny.

There were Six of the Gang, and all of a Bud,
Which open’d as soon as got into the Blood,
There are five to be hang’d, when the other proves good,
Which no Body, &c.

But it seems they have hitherto sav’d all their Lives,
Since they cou’d not live honest, there’s four made Wives,
The other two they are not Marry’d but Sw——s,
Which no Body, &c.

The Eldest the Matron of t’other Five Imps,
Though as Chast as Diana, or any o’th’ Nymphs,
Yet rather than Daughter shall want it, she Pimps,
Which no Body, &c.

Damn’d Proud and Ambitious both Old and the Young,
And not fit for honest Men to come among,
A damn’d Itch in their Tail, and a sting in their Tongue,
Sing tantara rara Whores all, Whores all,
Sing tantara rara Whores all.

MARRIAGE it seems is for Better for Worse,
Some count it a Blessing and others a Curse;
The Cuckolds are Blest if the Proverb prove true,
And then there’s no doubt but in Heav’n there’s enough:
Of honest rich Rogues who ne’er had got there,
If their Wives had not sent them thro’ trembling and fear.

Some Women are Honest, tho’ rare in a Wife,
Yet with Scolding and Brawling they’ll shorten your Life,
You ne’er can enjoy your Bottle and Friend;
But your Wife like an Imp, is at your Elbow’s end:
Crying fie, fie you Sot, come, come, come, come,
So these are Unhappy abroad and at home.

We find the Batchelor liveth best,
Tho’ Drunk or Sober he takes his rest;
He never is troubl’d with Scolding or Strife,
’Tis the best can be said of a very good Wife:
But merrily Day and Night does spend,
Enjoying his Mistress, Bottle, and Friend.

A Woman out-wits us, do what we can,
She’ll make a Fool of ev’ry Wise Man;
Old Mother Eve did the Serpent obey,
And has taught all her Sex that damnable way:
Of Cheating and Couzening all Mankind,
’Twere better if Adam had still been Blind.

The poor Man that Marries he thinks he does well,
I pity’s Condition, for sure he’s in Hell;
The Fool is a Sotting and spends all he gets,
The Child is a Bawling, the Wife daily Frets:
That Marriage is pleasant we all must agree,
Consider it well, there’s none happier can be.