HQJGHEST SYRA

The Happy LOVERS.

OCKEY and Jenny together were laid;

Joc

Jockey was happy, no lefs was the maid;
He often did figh, and cry'd, Jenny, with thee,
My life, tho' in bondage, wou'd feem to be free.
Jenny, who greatly for Jockey did burn,
Wou'd figh to his figh, and kind language, return,
There's no pair fo happy, fo much of one mind,
As Fotkey to Jenny, fo Jenny's inclin❜d.

Content with each other in humble retreat,
They court not new beauties, nor envy the great;
He'll not quit his nymph, nor the nymph quit her fwain,
For pleasures yet thought of, or riches to gain.
Come, all ye gay courtiers, who greatnefs admire,
And shine in gilt coaches, with pompous attire,
Regard the true pleasure this couple enjoy,
For pleasures with Jockey and Jenny ne'er cloy.

While you quit your Sylvia for Cloe's bright eyes, Aminta purfue, you fair Cloe defpife,

When one nymph's undone, you another undo,
And rambling, the fair does the fame thing by you:
Till nature grows weary, decrepid, and poor,
Not aged, but quite has exhausted her store;
Tis Jockey and Jenny enjoy the true tafte:

Be conftant like them, and your pleasures will laft. .

VOL. IV.

ROGER

ROGER and CICELY. A Dialogue.

R. OME, love, let us join,

C

Come, pr'ythee be mine,

Mine only, my dear pretty creature;

More Cicely I prize,

Than I do both my eyes,

And than honey to me she is sweeter.

C. You think to perfuade

A poor filly maid,

Unskill'd in the bus'nefs of wooing:
If you hold on your jeft,

I'll be gone, I protest,

For fear it fhou'd prove my undoing.

R. I'm in fuch a fever,

The like it was never,
So dreadfully fore is my smart,

That Cupid, I weet,

Were you but to fee't,

Has bor'd a great hole in my heart.

C. Yes, yes, the plain case is,

You know all your paces,

Whene'er you wou'd compafs your pleasure;

And if filly wenches

Believe your pretences,

They're left to repent at their leisure.

R. In pity forbear

To infult me, my dear;

Oh fpare, while fo forely I languish!

What room, dear unkind,

For deceit can you find,

In a breast that is brim-full of anguish?

C. Nay, nay, Roger, now,
You wrong me, I vow,

I wou'd not be reckon'd hard-hearted;
But, alas! I have known,

For believing too foon,

Poor maids that have wofully smarted.

R. Pray do not suppose,

That I'm one of those

Who can leave their sweet-hearts in the lurch;
I mean, in good footh,

To plight you my troth,

When the bans have been ask'd in the church.

C. But then, fhou'd you foon,

With the first honey-moon,

Shou'd you forfeit the troth which you plighted;
Shou'd you, cool to your spouse,

Laugh at all your past vows,

And Cicely, poor Cicely! be flighted?

R. Come, fweet! be not fhy,

On your true-love rely;

Come, with hearty good-will let's agree;
You may quit every fear,

When, without you, I swear,
All the world wou'd be nothing to me.

C. Well, I can't but approve

Of fo honeft a love;

Nor dread to be fuch a one's wife.
R. And a love, my dear Cis,
That's as honeft as this,
Is as long and as lasting as life.

W

HEN perfect beauty is by heav'n defign'd,
It forms the body as it forms the mind;
The shape without is like the shape within,
And glorious fouls make every feature shine.

Such compofition does Amanda grace,
Divine's her thought, feraphic is her face;
The pow'rs of musick thro' the fabrick roll,
And tuneful parts make up th' harmonious whole;
For when in face and voice she's pleas'd t' appear,
Her charms fo ftrike the eye, so strike the ear,
We cou'd for ever look, we cou'd for ever hear.

}

The

The LONDON Ditty.

H London is a fine town, and a gallant city,

'Tis govern'd by the scarlet gown, come listen to This city has a mayor, this mayor is a lord, [my ditty i He governeth the citizens all by his own accord.

Oh London is, &c.

He boasteth his gentility, and how nobly he was born, His arms they are three ox heads, and his creft a rampant

horn:

The first journey his lordship takes, is to Westminster-hall,
Attended by twelve companies, for he must have
them all.
Oh London is, &c.

The barges are made fine and gay for his lordship and the best,

And dung-boats and lighters provided for the reft. Then at the Exchequer he's fworn upon a fhoe fole, That he will be no wifer man than was his brother Oh London is, &c.

jobernole.

The sword is born before 'em up and down the stairs,
To fright away the little boys that laugh at our lord
And when that is ended, home again he comes, [mayors;
With joyful noife upon the Thames of trumpets and of
ah London is, &c.

drums.