II.

But fhe tells me the cannot

With claret agree,

That the thinks of a hogfhead

Whene'er she sees me : That I smell like a beast,

And therefore that I

Muft refolve to forsake her,

Or claret, good claret deny.

III.

Ye gods! was e'er it known
That beasts smell'd of wine?

They brutishly abhor

A liquor fo divine:

'Tis when we are most beasts,

When like them in common,

We eagerly go a-hunting

For the next lewd woman.

IV.

Muft I leave my dear bottle,
That has been ever my friend,
Which prolongs all my joys,
To my grief puts an end?
Which inspires me with wit,

And makes me so sublime,
That there's none are like us
That drink the best wine?

V.

But Sylvia, whom nature
So perfect has made,
Has no room left for wishes,
New beauties to add.
Muft I leave her, I'm sorry,
It is too hard a task;
Yet she may go to the devil,
Bring me the other flask.

Love, Drink, and Debt.

I.

HAVE been in love, and in debt, and in drink,

These many and many a year;

And these are plagues enough I fhou'd think
For any poor mortal to bear.

'Twas love made me fall into drink,

And drink made me fall into debt; And tho' I have struggled and strove, I cannot get out of them yet.

II.

There's nothing but money can cure me,
And rid me of all my pain:

"Twill pay all my debts,

And remove all my lets;

And my mistress, that cannot endure me,
Will love me, and love me again :

Then, then I shall fall to my loving and drinking again.

The Farmer's Son.

I.

WEET Nelly, my heart's delight,

SWE

Be loving and do not flight

The proffer I make, for modesty's fake,

I honour your beauty bright;
For love I profefs, I can do no less,
Thou haft my favour won :
And fince I fee your modefty,
I pray agree and fancy me,
Tho' I'm but a farmer's fon.

II.

No; I am a lady gay,

'Tis very well known I may

Have men of renown in country and town,
Sir Roger without delay.

Court Bridget, or Sue, Kate, Nanny, or Prue,

Their loves will foon be won;

But don't ye dare to speak me fair,

As tho' I were at my last pray'r,

To marry a farmer's fon.

III.

My father has riches in store,

Two hundred a-year and more,

Besides sheep and cows, carts, harrows, and plows, His age is above threescore:

And when he gives way, then merrily I

Shall have what he has won ;

Both land and kine, and all shall be thine,
If thou'lt incline, and wilt be mine,
And marry a farmer's fon.

IV.

A fig for your cattle and corn,
Your proffer'd love I scorn;
'Tis known very well, my name is Nell,

And you're but a bumpkin born.
Well, fince it is fo, away I will go,
And I hope no harm is done :
Farewel, adieu, I hope to woo
As good as you, and win her too,
Tho' I'm but a farmer's fon.

V.

Be not in fuch hafte, quoth fhe,
Perhaps we may still agree:

For, man, I proteft, I was but in jeft,
Come prithee fit down by me ;

For thou art the man that verily can
Perform what must be done,
Both straight and tall, genteel withal;
Therefore I fhall be at your call
To marry a farmer's fon.

VI.

Dear Nelly, believe me now,

I folemnly fwear and vow,

No lords in their lives take pleasure in their wives
Like fellows that drive the plow.

For whatever they gain with labour and pain,
They don't to harlots run,

As courtiers do: I never knew
A London beau that cou'd outdo
A country farmer's fon.

The Angel Woman.

WHEN

I.

WHEN thy beauty appears
With its graces and airs,

All bright as an angel

New dropt from the sky;

At a distance I gaze,

And am aw'd by my fears!

So ftrangely you dazzle mine eye!

II.

But when without art

Your thoughts you impart,

When your love runs in blushes

Through every vein,

When it darts from your eyes,

When it pants from your heart,

Then I know you are a woman again.

YOUNG Roger came tapping
At Dolly's window,

Tumpaty, Tumpaty, Tump.

He begg'd for admittance,
She answer'd him, No;

Glumpaty, Glumpaty, Glump.

My Dolly, my dear,

Your true love is here,

Dumpaty, Dumpaty, Dump.

No, no, Roger, no,

As you came you may go,
Slumpaty, Slumpaty, Slump.

II.

Oh! what is the reason,
Dear Dolly he cry'd:
Humpaty, &c.

That thus I am caft off,
And unkindly deny'd?
Trumpaty, &c,

Some rival more dear

I guess has been here :
Crumpaty, &c.