Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume VI Part 35

When Beauty such as yours has mov'd desires, A kind return, a kind return, Should raise the glowing Fires; But tho' you hate me, I am still Devoted wholly to your Will: Not all your Frowns can quench my Flame, My Love is something more than Name, And as it ought, will ever, ever be the same.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

See bleeding at your Feet there lies, One murder'd by Disdain; That Heart you wounded with your Eyes, Is by your Rigour slain: Expiring now I cannot live, Death no delay will brook, Unless some pitying word you give, Or kind relenting Look, Or kind relenting Look.

For then from Fate by Rapture born, And taken from your Arms; The Heart thus rescued from your Scorn, I'll offer to your Charms: Love's eager Rites, I'll then pursue, And Sacrificing dye; Altar and Beauteous G.o.ddess you, And Priest, and Victim I.

_The good Fellow's Resolve_: _Tune_ as _May_ was in her youthful Dress. _Vol._ 3. _P._ 199.

Now I'm resolv'd to Love no more, But Sleep by Night, and Drink by Day; Your Coyness _Chloris_ pray give o'er, And turn your tempting Eyes away: I'll place no happiness of mine, On fading Beauty still to court; And say she's glorious and divine, When there's in Drinking better sport.

Love has no more Prerogative, To make me desperate Courses take; Nor me of _Bacchus_ Joys deprive, For them I _Venus_ will forsake: Despise the feeble Nets she lays, And scorn the Man she can o'ercome; In Drinking we see happy Days, But in a fruitless Pa.s.sion none.

'Tis Wine alone that cheers the Soul, But Love and Women make us sad; I'm merry while I court the Bowl, Whilst he that Courts his Madam's mad.

Then fill it up Boys to the brim, Since in it we refreshment find; Come here's a b.u.mper unto him, That courts good Wine, not Woman-kind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

When crafty Fowlers would surprize, The harmonious Lark that soars on high It is by glancing in his Eyes, The Sun-s.h.i.+ne Rays which draws him nigh: _It is by_, &c.

Charm'd with Reflections from the Glase, He flies with eager hasty speed; Ceasing the Musick of his Lays, Into the Nets the Fowler spread.

So when _Clemelia_ would obtain, The Prey her Fancy most desires; She spreads her Dress like Nets in vain, And all her Youthful gay attires.

'Till watching Opportunity, She throws an Amorous charming Glance, Then to her Net the Youth does flie, And lies entangled in a Trance.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ BLOW.

[Music]

Boasting Fops who court the Fair, For the Fame of being lov'd; You who daily prating are Of the Hearts your Charms have mov'd, Still be vain in talk and dress, But while Shadows you pursue; Own that some who boast it less, May be blest as much as you.

Love and Birding are Ally'd, Baits and Nets alike they have; The same Arts in both are try'd, The unwary to inslave; If in each you'd happy prove, Without Noise still watch your way; For in Birding and in Love, While we talk it flies away.

_A_ SONG.

Must Love, that Tyrant of the Breast, Have all our Songs, have all our Hours; Whilst he alone disturbs our Rest, And with his Cares our Hearts devours, And with his Cares our Hearts devours: No more let's blame ign.o.ble Souls, Who doat on Arbitrary Powers; Since cruel Love our Wills controuls, Yet all the World, yet all the World the Toy adores.

For shame let's break the feeble Bonds, And our old Liberty regain; Love against Reason seldom stands, Whenever that sways, its Power is vain: When Man the prize of Freedom knows, _Cupid_ is easily out-brav'd; The Bug-bear only conquers those, Who fondly seek to be enslav'd.

_The Woman's Complaint to her Neighbour._

[Music]

Good morrow Gossip _Joan_, Where have you been a Walking?

I have for you at Home, A Budget full of Talking, Gossip _Joan_.

My Sparrow's flown away, And will no more come to me; I've broke a Gla.s.s to Day, The Price will quite undo me, Gossip _Joan_.

I've lost a _Harry_ Groat, Was left me by my Granny; I cannot find it out, I've search'd in every Cranny, Gossip _Joan_.

My Goose has laid away, I know not what's the Reason; My Hen has hatch'd to Day, A Week before the Season, Gossip _Joan_.

I've lost my Wedding-Ring, That was made of Silver gilt; I had Drink would please a King, And the whorish Cat has spill'd it, Gossip _Joan_.

My Duck has eat a Snail, And is not that a Wonder; The HORNS bud out at Tail, And have split her Rump asunder, Gossip _Joan_.

My Pocket is cut off, That was full of Sugar-candy; I cannot stop my Cough, Without a Gill of Brandy, Gossip _Joan_.

O I am sick at Heart, Therefore pray give me some Ginger; I cannot Sneeze or Fart, Therefore pray put in Finger, Gossip _Joan_.

O pitty, pitty me, Or I shall go Distracted; I have cry'd 'till I can't see, To think how things are acted, Gossip _Joan_.

Let's to the Ale-house go, And wash down all my Sorrow; My Griefs you there shall know, And we'll meet again to morrow, Gossip _Joan_.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ Jer. Clark.