L'ACCORREUROPOSE

WHILST I, difengag'd from all amorous cares,

Sweet liberty tasting,

On calmest peace feasting,

Employing my reafon to dry up my tears,
In hopes of heaven's bliffes I'll spend my few years.

Ye powers that prefide over vertuous love,
Come aid me with patience,

To bear my vexations;

With equal defires my flutt'ring heart move,
With fentiments pureft my notions improve.

If love in his fetters e'er catch me again,
May courage protect me,

And prudence direct me;

Prepar'd for all fates, rememb'ring the swain,
Who grew happily wife, after loving in vain.

SUM

S

UM up all the delights the world does produce
The darling allurements now chiefly in ufe;
You'll find, when compar'd, there's none can contend,
With the folid enjoyments of bottle and friend:

For honour, or wealth, or beauty may wafte,.
Those joys often fade, and but rarely do last,
They're fo hard to attain, and so easily loft,

That the pleasure ne'er anfwers the trouble and cost,
None like wine and true friendship are lafting and fure,
From jealousy free, and from envy secure;

Then fill up the glaffes until they run o'er,

A friend and good wine are the charms we adore.

ALE faces ftand by, and our bright ones adore,

PALE

7

We look like our wine, you worse than our score; Come light up our pimples, all art we out-fhine, When the plump god does paint, each ftreak is divine: Clean glaffes are pencils, old claret is oil,

He that fits for his picture must fit a good while.

THE +

When tedding of the hay,

Bare-headed on the green,

Love 'midst her locks did play,
And wanton'd in her eyn.

Her arms, white, round and smooth,
Breasts rifing in their dawn,
To age it wou'd give youth

To prefs 'em with his hand.
Thro' all my fpirits ran
An extafy of blifs

When I much sweetness fand,

Wrapt in a balmy kifs.

Without the help of art,

Like flow'rs which grace the wild,

She did her sweets impart,

Whene'er the spoke or fmil'd:
Her looks they were fo mild,
Free from affected pride,

She me to love beguil'd,
I wish'd her for my bride.

had

But wine, and good chear,
Will, in fpite of our fear,
Inspire our hearts with mirth, boys;.
The time we live

To wine let us give,

Since all must turn to earth, boys.

Hand about the bowl,

The delight of my foul,

And to my hand commend it;

A fig for chink,

'Twas made to buy drink,

And before we go hence we'll spend it.