THE Caffalier was gone, and the Roundhead he was come,
Was the greatest Blessing under the Sun;
Before the Devil in Hell sally’d out, and ript the Placket of Letter,
Ay, and take her Money too,
Cot bless hur Master Roundhead, and send hur well to do.

Now hur can go to Shrewsperry her Flannel for to sell,
Hur can carry a creat sharge of Money about hur,
Thirty or Forty Groats lap’d in a Welsh Carter,
Ay, and think hur self rich too,
Cot bless, &c.

Now hur can coe to Shurch, or hur can stay at home,
Hur can say hur Lord’s Prayer, or hur can let it alone:
Hur can make a Prayer of hur own Head, lye with hur Holy Sister,
Ay, and say a long Crace too,
Cot bless, &c.

But yet for all the great Cood that you for hur have done,
Would you wou’d made Peace with our King, and let hur come home,
Put off the Military Charge, Impost, and Excise,
Ay, and free Quarter too.
Then Cot shall bless you Master Roundhead, and send hur well to do.

DIVINE Astrea hither flew,
To Cynthia’s brighter Throne;
She left the Iron World below,
To bless the Silver Moon:
She left the Iron World below,
To bless the Silver Moon.

Tho’ Phœbus with his hotter Beams,
Do’s Gold in Earth Create;
That leads those wretches to Extreams,
Of Av’rice, Lust, and Hate.

WHEN first I saw her charming Face,
Her taking Shape and moving Grace;
My Rosie Cheeks, my Rosie Cheeks did glow with heat,
My Heart and my Pulse did beat, beat, beat,
My Heart and my Pulse did beat;
I wish’d for a, I wish’d for a, do you, do you guess what,
Do you guess what makes Soldiers fight,
Soldiers Fight, and States-men Plot.

Subdues us all in every thing,
And makes, makes a Subject of a King;
Still she deny’d, and I reply’d,
Away she flew, I did pursue,
At last I catch’d her fast;
But oh! had you seen, but oh! had you seen,
Had you seen what had past between;
Oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear, I fear, oh! I fear,
I fear, I fear, I have spoil’d her Wast.

THE Devil he pull’d of his Jacket of Flame,
The Fryer he pull’d off his Cowle;
The Devil took him for a Dunce of the Game,
And the Fryer took him for a Fool:
He piqu’d, and repiqu’d so oft, that at last,
He swore by the Jolly fat Nuns;
If Cards came no better than those that are past,
Oh! oh! I shall lose all my Buns.

PRETTY Parret say, when I was away,
And in dull absence pass’d the Day;
What at home was doing;
With Chat and Play,
We are Gay,
Night and Day,
Good Chear and Mirth Renewing;
Singing, Laughing all, Singing Laughing all, like pretty pretty Poll.

Was no Fop so rude, boldly to Intrude,
And like a sawcy Lover wou’d,
Court, and Teaze my Lady:
A Thing you know,
Made for Show,
Call’d a Beau,
Near her was always ready,
Ever at her call, like pretty, pretty Poll.

Tell me with what Air, he approach’d the Fair,
And how she could with Patience bear,
All he did and utter’d;
He still address’d,
Still caress’d,
Kiss’d and press’d,
Sung, Prattl’d, Laugh’d, and Flutter’d:
Well receiv’d in all, like pretty, pretty Poll.

Did he go away, at the close of the Day,
Or did he ever use to stay
In a Corner dodging;
The want of Light,
When ’twas Night,
Spoil’d my sight,
But I believe his Lodging,
Was within her call, like pretty, pretty Poll.

AT Noon in a sultry Summer’s Day,
The brightest Lady of the May,
Young Chloris Innocent and Gay,
Sat Knotting in a shade:
Each slender Finger play’d its part,
With such activity and Art;
As wou’d inflame a Youthful Heart,
And warm the most decay’d.

Her Fav’rite Swain by chance came by;
She had him quickly in her Eye,
Yet when the bashful Boy drew nigh,
She wou’d have seem’d afraid,
She let her Iv’ry Needle fall,
And hurl’d away the twisted Ball;
Then gave her Strephon such a call,
As wou’d have wak’d the Dead.

Dear gentle Youth is’t none but thee?
With Innocence I dare be free;
By so much Trust and Modesty,
No Nymph was e’er betray’d,
Come lean thy Head upon my Lap,
While thy soft Cheeks I stroak and clap;
Thou may’st securely take a Nap,
Which he poor Fool, obey’d.

She saw him Yawn, and heard him Snore,
And found him fast a sleep all o’re;
She sigh’d —— and cou’d no more,
But starting up she said,
Such Vertue shou’d rewarded be,
For this thy dull Fidelity;
I’ll trust thee with my Flocks, not me,
Pursue thy Grazing Trade.

Go milk thy Goats, and Sheer thy Sheep,
And watch all Night thy Flocks, to keep;
Thou shalt no more be lull’d asleep,
By me mistaken Maid.

WHILE the Lover is thinking,
With my Friend I’ll be Drinking
And with Vigour pursue my Delight;
While the Fool is designing,
His fatal confining,
With Bacchus I’ll spend the whole Night:
With the God I’ll be Jolly,
Without Madness or Folly.
Fickle Woman to Marry Implore,
Leave my Bottle and Friend,
For so Foolish an end,
When I do, may I never Drink more.

HERE’s a Health to the Tackers, my Boys,
But mine A——se for the Tackers about;
May the brave English Spirits come in,
And the Knaves and Fanaticks turn out:
Since the Magpyes of late, are confounding the State,
And wou’d pull our Establishments down;
Let us make ’em a Jest, for they Shit in their Nest,
And be true to the Church and the Crown.

Let us chuse such Parliament Men
As have stuck to their Principles tight;
And wou’d not their Country betray
In the Story of Ashby and White:
Who care not a T——d, for a Whig, or a Lord,
That won’t see our Accounts fairly stated;
For C——ll ne’er fears, the Address of those Peers,
Who the Nation of Millions have Cheated.

The next thing adviseable is,
Since Schism so strangely abounds;
To oppose e’ery Man that’s set up
By Dissenters, in Corporate Towns:
For High-Church, and Low-Church, has brought us to no Church,
And Conscience so bubbl’d the Nation;
For who is not still for Conformity Bill,
Will be surely a R—— on Occasion.

SINCE Cælia only has the Art,
And only she can Captivate,
And wanton in my Breast;
All other Pleasure I despise,
Than what are from my Cælia’s Eyes,
In her alone I’m blest.

Whene’er she Smiles, new Life she gives,
And happy, happy who receives,
From her Inchanting Breath;
Then prithee Cælia smile once more,
Since I no longer must adore,
For when you frown ’tis Death.

AH! how lovely sweet and dear,
Is the kind relenting Fair,
Who Reprieve us in Despair;
Oh! that thus my Nymph wou’d say,
Come, come my Dear thy Cares repay,
Be Blest my Love, be mine to Day:
Come, come my dear, thy Cares repay,
Be blest my Love, be mine to Day.

ADvance, advance, advance gay Tenants of the Plain,
Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain,
Loud Eccho spread my Voice,
Loud Eccho spread my Voice,
Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, loud Eccho,
Loud Eccho, loud Eccho, spread my Voice,
Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain,
Advance, advance, advance, gay Tenants of the Plain.

IN Elder Time, there was of Yore,
When Guides of churlish Glee;
Were us’d among our Country Earls,
Though no such thing now be.

The which King Alfred liking well,
Forsook his stately Court;
And in Disguise unknown went forth,
To see that jovial Sport.

How Dick and Tom, in clouted Shoon,
And Coats of russet Grey,
Esteem’d themselves more brave than them,
That went in Golden ray.

In Garments fit for such a Life,
The good King Alfred went,
All ragg’d and torn, as from his Back
The Beggar his Cloaths had rent.

A Sword and Buckler good and strong,
To give Jack Sauce a rap;
And on his Head, instead of Crown,
He wore a Monmouth Cap.

Thus coasting through Somersetshire,
Near Newton Court he met
A Shepherd Swain of lusty Limb,
That up and down did jet.

He wore a Bonnet of good Grey,
Close buttoned to his Chin;
And at his Back a leather Scrip,
With much good Meat therein.

God speed, good Shepherd, quoth the King,
I come to be thy Guest;
To taste of thy good Victuals here,
And drink that’s of the best.

Thy Scrip I know, hath Cheer good store,
What then the Shepherd said?
Thou seem’st to be some sturdy Thief,
And mak’st me sore afraid.

Yet if thou wilt thy Dinner win,
The Sword and Buckler take;
And if thou canst into my Scrip,
Therewith an entrance make.

I tell thee, Roister, it hath store
Of Beef, and Bacon fat;
With sheafs of Barly-bread to make
Thy Mouth to water at.

Here stands my Bottle, here my Bag,
If thou canst win them Roister;
Against the Sword and Buckler here,
My Sheep-hook is my Master.

Benedicit now, quoth our good King,
It never shall be said;
That Alfred of the Shepherd’s Hook,
Will stand a whit afraid.

So soundly thus they both fell to’t,
And giving Bang for Bang;
At every Blow the Shepherd gave,
King Alfred’s Sword cry’d twang.

His Buckler prov’d his chiefest Fence,
For still the Shepherd’s Hook;
Was that the which King Alfred could,
In no good manner brook.

At last when they had fought four Hours,
And it grew just Mid-day;
And wearied both, with right good Will,
Desir’d each others stay.

King, Truce I cry, quoth Alfred then,
Good Shepherd hold thy Hand:
A sturdier Fellow than thy self,
Lives not within this Land.

Nor a lustier Roister than thou art,
The churlish Shepherd said,
To tell thee plain, thy Thievish looks,
Now makes my Heart afraid.

Else sure thou art some Prodigal,
Which hast consum’d thy store;
And now com’st wand’ring in this place,
To rob and steal for more.

Deem not of me, then quoth our King,
Good Shepherd in this sort;
A Gentleman well known I am,
In good King Alfred’s Court.

The Devil thou art, the Shepherd said,
Thou goest in Rags all torn;
Thou rather seem’st, I think to be,
Some Beggar basely born.

But if thou wilt mend thy Estate,
And here a Shepherd be;
At Night to Gillian my sweet Wife,
Thou shalt go home with me.

For she’s as good a Toothless Dame,
As mumbleth on Brown Bread;
Where thou shalt lie on hurden Sheets,
Upon a fresh Straw Bed.

Of Whig and Whey, we have good store,
And keep good Pease-straw Fires;
And now and then good Barly Cakes,
As better Days requires.

But for my Master which is Chief,
And Lord of Newton Court;
He keeps I say, his Shepherds Swains,
In far more braver sort.

We there have Curds, and clouted Cream,
Of Red Cows morning Milk;
And now and then fine Buttered Cakes,
As soft as any Silk.

Of Beef and reised Bacon store,
That is most Fat and Greasy;
We have likewise to feast our Chaps,
And make them glib and easie.

Thus if thou wilt my Man become,
This usage thou shalt have;
If not, adieu, go hang thy self,
And so farewel Sir Knave.

King Alfred hearing of this Glee,
The churlish Shepherd said;
Was well content to be his Man,
So they a Bargain made.

A Penny round, the Shepherd gave,
In earnest of this Match;
To keep his Sheep in Field and fold,
As Shepherds use to watch.

His Wages shall be full Ten Groats,
For Service of a Year;
Yet was it not his use, old Lad,
To hire a Man so dear.

For did the King himself (quoth he)
Unto my Cottage come;
He should not for a Twelvemonths Pay,
Receive a greater Sum.

Hereat the bonny King grew blith,
To hear the clownish Jest;
How silly sots, as custom is,
Do discant at the best.

But not to spoil the Foolish sport,
He was content good King;
To fit the Shepherd’s humour right,
In every kind of thing.

A Sheep-hook then, with Patch his Dog,
And Tar-box by his side;
He with his Master, jig by jowl,
Unto old Gillian hy’d.

Into whose sight no sooner came,
Whom have you here (quoth she)
A Fellow I doubt, will cut our Throats,
So like a Knave looks he.

Not so old Dame, quoth Alfred strait,
Of me you need not fear;
My Master hir’d me for Ten Groats,
To serve you one whole Year.

So good Dame Gillian grant me leave,
Within your House to stay;
For by St. Ann, do what you can,
I will not yet away.

Her churlish usage pleas’d him still,
Put him to such a Proof,
That he at Night was almost choak’d,
Within that smoaky Roof.

But as he sat with smiling cheer,
The event of all to see;
His Dame brought forth a piece of Dow,
Which in the Fire throws she.

Where lying on the Hearth to bake,
By chance the Cake did burn;
What can’st thou not, thou Lout (quoth she)
Take Pains the same to turn:

Thou art more quick to take it out,
And eat it up half Dow,
Than thus to stay till’t be enough,
And so thy Manners show.

But serve me such another Trick,
I’ll thwack thee on the Snout;
Which made the patient King, good Man,
Of her to stand in Doubt:

But to be brief, to bed they went,
The good old Man and’s Wife;
But never such a Lodging had
King Alfred in his Life:

For he was laid in white Sheeps Wool,
New pull’d from tanned Fells,
And o’er his Head hang’d Spiders Webbs,
As if they had been Bells.

Is this the Country Guise, thought he,
Then here I will not stay;
But hence be gone as soon as breaks
The peeping of the Day.

The cackling Hens and Geese kept roost,
And perched at his side;
Whereat the last the watchful Cock,
Made known the Morning Tide.

Then up got Alfred with his Horn,
And blew so long a Blast,
That made Gillian and her Groom,
In Bed full sore agast.

Arise, quoth she, we are undone,
This Night, we lodged have,
At unawares within our House,
A false dissembling Knave;

Rise Husband, rise, he’ll cut our Throats,
He calleth for his Mates,
I’d give old Will our good Cade Lamb,
He would depart our Gates.

But still King Alfred blew his Horn
before them, more and more,
’Till that a hundred Lords and Knights,
All lighted at the Door:

Which cry’d all hail, all hail good King,
Long have we look’d your Grace;
And here you find (my merry Men all)
Your Sovereign in this place.

We shall surely be hang’d up both,
Old Gillian I much fear,
The Shepherd said, for using thus
Our good King Alfred here:

O pardon, my Liege, quoth Gillian then,
For my Husband and for me,
By these ten Bones I never thought
The same that now I see:

And by my Hook, the Shepherd said,
An Oath both good and true,
Before this time, O noble King,
I never your Highness knew:

Then pardon me and my old Wife,
That we may after say,
When first you came into our House,
It was a happy Day.

It shall be done, said Alfred streight,
And Gillian thy old Dame,
For this thy churlish using me,
Deserveth not much Blame.

For this thy Country Guise I see,
To be thus bluntish still,
And where the plainest Meaning is,
Remains the smallest Ill.

And Master, lo I tell thee now,
For thy low Manhood shown,
A Thousand Weathers I’ll bestow
Upon thee for thy own.

And pasture Ground, as much as will
Suffice to feed them all,
And this thy Cottage I will change
Into a stately Hall.

As for the same, as Duty binds,
The Shepherd said, good King,
A milk white Lamb once every Year,
I’ll to your Highness bring.

And Gillian my Wife likewise,
Of Wool to make you Coats,
Will give you as much at New Year’s Tide,
As shall be worth ten Groats:

And in your Praise my Bagpipe shall
Sound sweetly once a Year,
How Alfred our renowned King,
Most kindly hath been here.

Thanks Shepherd, thanks, quoth he again
The next time I come hither,
My Lords with me here in this House,
Will all be merry together.

CEASE, cease of Cupid to complain,
Love, Love’s a Joy even while a Pain;
Oh! then think! oh! then think;
Oh! then think how great his Blisses,
Moving Glances, balmy Kisses,
Charming Raptures, matchless Sweets,
Love, Love alone, Love, Love alone,
Love, Love alone, all Joys compleats.

COME, come ye Nymphs,
Come ye Nymphs and ev’ry Swain,
Come ye Nymphs and ev’ry Swain,
Galatea leaves the Main,
To revive us on the Plain,
To revive us, to revive us, to revive us on the Plain;
Come, come, come, come ye Nymphs,
Come ye Nymphs and ev’ry Swain,
Come ye Nymphs and ev’ry Swain,
Galatea leaves the Main,
To revive us on the Plain,
To revive us on the Plain,
Come ye Nymphs and ev’ry Swain.

IAnthia the lovely, the Joy of her Swain,
By Iphis was lov’d, and lov’d Iphis again;
She liv’d in the Youth, and the Youth in the Fair,
Their Pleasure was equal, and equal their Care;
No Time, no Enjoyment their Dotage withdrew;
But the longer they liv’d, but the longer they liv’d,
Still the fonder they grew.

A Passion so happy alarm’d all the Plain,
Some envy’d the Nymph, but more envy’d the Swain;
Some swore ’twould be pity their Loves to invade,
That the Lovers alone for each other was made:
But all, all consented, that none ever knew,
A Nymph yet so kind, a Nymph yet so kind,
Or a Shepherd so true.

Love saw ’em with Pleasure, and vow’d to take care
Of the faithful, the tender, the innocent Pair;
What either did want, he bid either to move,
But they wanted nothing, but ever to love:
Said, ’twas all that to bless him his God-head cou’d do,
That they still might be kind, that they still might be kind,
And they still might be true.

BRing out your Coney-Skins
Bring out your Coney-Skins Maids to me,
And hold them fair that I may see,
Grey, Black and Blue, for the smaller Skins
I’ll give you Bracelets, Laces, Pins,
And for your whole Coney
Here’s ready Money,
Come gentle Joan, do thou begin
With thy black Coney, thy black Coney-Skin,
And Mary and Joan will follow,
With their Silver-hair’d Skins and yellow;
The White Coney-Skin I will not lay by,
For tho’ it be faint, it is fair to the Eye:
The Grey it is worn, but yet for my Money,
Give me the bonny, bonny black Coney;
Come away fair Maids, your Skins will decay,
Come and take Money Maids, put your Wares away:
Ha’ye any Coney-Skins, ha’ye any Coney-Skins,
Ha’ye any Coney-Skins here to sell?

NAY pish, nay pish, nay pish Sir, what ails you;
Lord! What is’t you do?
I ne’er met with one so uncivil as you;
You may think as you please, but if Evil it be,
I wou’d have you to know, you’re mistaken in me.
You Men now so rude, and so boistrous are grown,
A Woman can’t trust her self with you alone:
I cannot but wonder what ’tis that shou’d move ye;
If you do so again, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear,
I swear I won’t love ye.

DRAW Cupid draw, and make fair Sylvia know;
The mighty Pain her suff’ring Swain does for her undergo;
Convey this Dart into her Heart, and when she’s set on Fire,
Do thou return and let her burn, like me in chast desire;
That by Experience she, may learn to pity me,
Whene’er her Eyes do tyrannize o’er my Captivity:
But when in Love we jointly move, and tenderly imbrace,
Like Angels shine, and sweetly join to one another’s Face.

SOme brag of their Chloris, and some of their Phillis,
Some cry up their Cælia, and bright Amaryllis:
Thus Poets and Lovers their Mistresses dub,
And Goddesses fram’d from the Wash-bowl and Tub;
But away with these Fictions, and Counterfeit Folly:
There’s a thousand more Charms in the Name of my Dolly.

I cannot describe you her Beauty and Wit,
Like Manna to each she’s a relishing Bit;
She alone by Enjoyment, the more does prevail,
And still with fresh Pleasures does hoist up your Sail:
Nay, had you a Surfeit, but took of all others,
One Look from my Dolly your Stomach recovers.

HEre are People and Sports
of all sizes and sorts,
Coach’d Damsel with Squire,
and Mob in the Mire,
Tarpaulins, Trugmallions,
Lords, Ladys, Sows,
Babies, and Loobys in Scores.
Some howling, some Bawling,
some Leering, some Fleering,
some Loving, some Shoving,
with Legions of Furbelow’d Whores.

To the Tavern, some go,
and some to a Show,
see Poppets for Moppets,
Jack-puddings, for Cuddens,
Rope Dancing, Mares Prancing,
Boats flying, Quacks lying,
Pick-pockets, pick Plackets,
Beasts, Butchers, and Beaus.

Fops prat’ling, Dies rat’ling,
Rooks shaming, Puts Daming,
Whores Painted, Mask’s tainted,
in Tallymans Furbelow’d Cloaths.

The Mobs Joys would you know
to yon Musick-house go,
see Tailors, and Saylors,
Whores Oily in Doily,
hear Musick, makes you sick:
Cows Skipping, Clowns tripping,
some Joaking, some Smoaking, like Spiggit and Tap;
short Measure, strange Pleasure
thus Billing, and Swilling,
some yearly, get fairly,
for Fairings Pig, Pork, and a Clap.

SEE, Sirs, see here! a Doctor rare, who travels much at home!
Here take my Bills, take my Bills,
I cure all Ills, past, present, and to come;
the Cramp, the Stitch, the Squirt, the Itch,
the Gout, the Stone, the Pox,
the Mulligrubs, the Bonny Scrubs,
and all, all, all, all, all, Pandora’s Box;
Thousands I’ve Dissected, Thousands new erected,
and such Cures effected, as none e’er can tell.

Let the Palsie shake ye, let the Chollick rack ye,
let the Crinkums break ye, let the Murrain take ye;
Take this, take this and you are well.
Thousands, &c.

Come Wits so keen, devour’d with Spleen;
come Beaus who sprain’d your Backs,
Great-belly’d Maids, old founder’d Jades,
and Pepper’d Vizard Cracks.

I soon remove the pains of Love,
and cure the Love-sick Maid;
the Hot, the Cold, the Young,
the Old, the Living and the Dead.

I clear the Lass with Wainscot Face,
and from Pim-ginets free,
Plump Ladies Red, like Saracen’s-head,
with toaping Rattafe.

This with a Jirk, will do your work,
and scour you o’re and o’re,
Read, Judge and Try, and if you die,
never believe me more,
never, never, never, never, never believe me more.