Quiet the Raging of the Sea, And fill the Madness of the Crowd. But never fhall our Ifle have Rest, And headlong in the Waters drown. The Nation then too late will find, South-Sea at beft a mighty Bubble. Apparent rari nantes in Gurgite vafto, Arma virum, tabulæque, & Troia gaza per undas. Virg. *A BALLAD on QUADRILLE. WHEN as Corruption hence did go, And left the Nation free; Wheen Ay faid Ay, and No faid No, Then Satan, thinking Things went ill, VOL. IV. Quadrille, Quadrille, &c. M II. Kings, II. Kings, Queens, and Knaves made up his Pack, And four fair Suits he wore; His Troops they are with red and black And ev'ry Houfe, go where you will, III. Sure Cards he has for ev'ry Thing, But if the Parties manage ill, IV. When two and two were met of old, But now meet when and where you will, V. The Commoner, and Knight, the Peer, Men of all Ranks and Fame, Leave to their Wives the only Care And And well that Duty they fulfil, When the good Husband's at Quadrille, &c. VI. When Patients lie in piteous Cafe, In comes the Apothecary And to the Doctor cries, Alas! Non debes Quadrillare : The Patient dies without a Pill, For why the Doctor's at Quadrille, &c. VII. Should France and Spain again grow loud, Britain to curb her Neighbours proud, VIII. The King of late drew forth his Sword, What are their Feats of Arms and Skill? IX. A Party late at Cambray met, M 2 'Twas 'Twas call'd in Poft-Boy and Gazette The Quadruple Allies; But fomebody took fomething ill, So broke this Party at Quadrille, &c. X. And now, God fave this noble Realm, And God fave eke Hanover; And God fave those who hold the Helm, *MOLLY MOGG: Or, the Fair Maid of the Inn. SAYS my Uncle, I pray you discover What hath been the Caufe of your Woes, Why you pine, and you whine, like a Lover O Nephew! your Grief is but Folly, I know that by Wits 'tis recited, From loving of sweet Molly Mog. The School-Boy's Defire is a Play-Day, Will-a-wifp leads the Traveller a gadding Thro' Ditch, and thro' Quagmire and Bog; But no Light can fet me a madding, Like the Eyes of my fweet Molly Mog. For Guineas in other Mens Breeches The Heart, when half wounded, is changing, Who follows all Ladies of Pleasure, In Pleasure is thought but a Hog; All the Sex cannot give fo good Measure Of Joys, as my fweet Molly Mog. |