Melpomene, lend me the Aid of thy Art,
Whilft I the fad Fate of this Fiddle impart,
For never had Fiddle a Fortune fo bad;

Which fhews the best things the worft Fortune have had.

Sing Down, &c.

IV.

a T•

Y

This. Fiddle of Fiddles, when't came to bestry'd;
Was as fweet as a, Lark, and as soft as a Bride; /
This Fiddle to fee, and its Musick to hear,boog Las
Gave Delight to the Eye, while it ravish'd the Earner W
Sing Down, &c.

to ive I 'sai boog ó. Ena 11979 62

But first I muft fing of this Fiddle's Country, 'Twas born and 'twas bred in fair Italy;

In a Town, where a Marshal of France had the Hap T (Fortune de la Guerre) to be caught in a Trap; s oviɔ

And now having: fung of this Fiddle's high Birth,

I should fing of the Fingers, which made fo much Mirth;

But Fingers fo ftrait, fo fwift, and fo fmall

Should be fung by a Poer, or not fung at all

Sing Down, &c.dod anɔ ɔnitá, Jild and 710 daro?

Tho I am, God wot, but a poor Country Swain,,

And cannot indite in fo lofty a Straing

So all I can fay, is to tell you once more, I sinn bloc ef Such Hands and fuch Fingers were ne'er feen before.

Having fung of the Fingers and Fiddle, I trow,

You'll hold it but
out meet, I fhould fing of the Bows T
The Bow it was. Ebon, whofe Vertue was fuchen ei tar
It wounded hillM 520i 6 ni 965 91ONT TROTIN 11 W
Heart, if your. Ear it did touch,

ແ

Sing Down, &c.

XL

CUPID fain would have chang'd with this Bow for a while,

To which the Coy Nymph thus reply'd with a Smiles
My Bow is far better than your's, F'll appeal,

Your's only can kill, Mine can both kill and heal,
Sing Down, &c.

This Fiddle and Bow, and its Mufick together,"
Would make heavy Hearts as light as a Feather:
But, alas! when I fhall its Catastrophe fing,

Your Heart it will bleed, and your Hands you will wring.

This Fiddle was laid on a soft eafy Chair,

Taking all for its Friends, its fweet Mufick did hear;
When ftraît there came in a Huge Masculine Bum,
I wish the De'il had it to make him a Drum-

Sing Down, &c,

XIL New

XII.

Now Woe to the Bum that this Fiddle demolish'd,
That has all our Musick and Pastime abolish'd;

May it never want Birch to be fwitch'd and be lafh'd,
May it ever be itching and never be feratch'd.

Sing Down, &c.

XIII.

May it never break Wind in the Cholick fo grievous, (A Pennance too fmall for a Crime so Mischievous) Ne'er find a foft Cushion its Anguish to ease,

While all is too little my Wrath to appease.

Sing Down,

XIV.

Of other Bum-fcapes may it ftill bear the Blame,

Ne'er fhew its bare Face without Sorrow or Shame;

May it ne'er mount on Horfeback, without lofs of Lea ther,

Which brings me almoft to the end of the Tether,

Sing Down, &c1

XV. And

XY.

And now left some Critick of deep Penetration, ́
Should attack our poor Ballad with grave Annotation;
The Fop must be told without speaking in Riddle,
He must first make a better, or kifs my Bum-Fiddle.
Sing Down, &c.