_A_ SONG.

[Music]

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 s.e.x that d.a.m.nable 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 h.e.l.l; 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.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

The _Caffalier_ was gone, and the _Roundhead_ he was come, Was the greatest Blessing under the Sun; Before the Devil in h.e.l.l 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._

_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ CROSS. _Set by Mr._ JEREMIAH CLARK.

[Music]

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' _Phoebus_ with his hotter Beams, Do's Gold in Earth Create; That leads those wretches to Extreams, Of Av'rice, l.u.s.t, and Hate.

_A_ SONG _in the_ Surpriz'd Lovers. _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by Mr._ BOWMAN.

[Music]

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.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYD.

[Music]

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_.

_A New_ SONG. _Translated from the_ FRENCH.

[Music]

Pretty Parret say, when I was away, And in dull absence pa.s.s'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.

_A_ SONG _by a Person of Honour. Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.

[Music]

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.