Then we'll drink like our Betters, and laugh, fing and love,
And when fick of one Place, to another we'll move, For with little and great, the beft Joy is to rove. Both high and low in this do agree, &c.
Sung by Mifs BRENT in the Jovial Crew.
Set by Dr. ARNE.
EE how the Lambs are sporting;
Hear how the Warblers fing:
See how the Doves are courting;
All Nature hails the Spring.
Let us embrace the Blefing,.
Beggars alone are free:
Free from Employment,
Their Life is Enjoyment,
Beyond expreffing:
Happy they wander,
And happy fleep under
The Greenwood Tree.
Sung by Mifs BRENT in the Jovial Crew.
Set by Dr. ARNE.
OW few like you, would dare advise
To truft the Town's deluding Arts;.
Where Love in daily Ambush lies,
And triumphs over heedlefs Hearts!
How few, like us, would thus deny
T'indulge the tempting dear Delight,
Where daily Pleafures charm the Eye,
And Joys fuperior crown the Night.
SONG IX.
PEGGY WYNNE.
Set by Dr. ARNE.
HE Poets in Confcience have teazed us too
long,
With Phillis and Chloe in every Song;
Quite tired of fuch Nonfenfe, new Themes I begin,
And fing of the Beauties of fweet Peggy Wynne.
They tell of Venus, and Juno of old,
But one was a Jilt, and 'tother a Scold;
To fuch naughty Goddeffes nothing a-kin,
Is gentle and modeft and fweet Peggy Wynne.
A thousand times Cupid has ftrove to enfnare,
And make me an amorous Slave to the Fair;
But never could get me entrapt in his Gin,
"Till baited at laft with my dear Peggy Wynne.
That Zephyrs are soft, and are sweet I muft own,
And Lillies are Rofes are pretty when blown;
But match'd with her Breath, or compar'd with her
Skin,
Believe me they're nothing to dear Peggy Wyne.
Should Fortune think proper to better my Fate,
And make me a Lord, with a noble Estate;
For all her fine Favours I'd not give a Pin,
Unless she'd bestow on me fweet Peggy Wynne,
All Charms fhe poffeffes; Shape, Feature and Size,
And then fuch a tempting dear Look with her Eyes,
Well, Heav'n forgive us, if withing's a Sin,
When we gaze on the Beauties of sweet Peggy
Wynne.
SONG X..
KITTY the NONPAREILLE.
Set by Dr. Arne.
F Wars let other Rhymers talk,
With Fredrick, Ferdinand and Hawk,
Fill each heroic Ditty;
Fill each heroic Ditty;
At Distance from the bluft'ring Throng,
All, all the Burthen of my Song,
Shall be the Name of Kitty..
Shall be the Name of Kitty.
When firft I faw her on the Plain,-
Igaz'd, I lov'd, and told my Pain,
She figh'd and feem'd to pitty;
She figh'd &c.
'Tis well the Nymph that wounds can cure,
Yes, my poor Heart, or elfe I'm fure
'Twere Death to look on Kitty.
"Twere Death, &c.
Ye taftelefs. Slaves of Paffion dwell
On Lady Di, and Lady Bell
The great, the rich, the witty;
The great, &c.
But I'll be hang'd, at Play, at Ball,
If they, or any of them all,
Can cope with blooming Kitty.
Çan cope, &c.
When match'd with Nature's Dye, how faint
The fickly red and white of Paint!
Can varnish'd Dolls be pretty?
Can varnish'd Dolls, &c.
Here Art would Nature but disguise;
Ah! what are Diamonds to thine Eyes,
My dear, my charming Kitty.
My dear, &c.
Go Fortune, with your Favours fport,
Throw Titles to the Dogs at Court,
Give Money in the City;
Give Money, &c.
But think not fo to couzen to me,
I'm wifer, and will never be
Content with less than Kitty.
Content with less than Kitty.
SONG XI.
A BALLAD in the modern Tafte.
Set by Dr. ARNE.
NE Morning young Roger accofted me thus,
Come here, pretty Maiden, and give me a
bufs.
Lord, Fellow, fays I, mind your Plough and your
Yes, I thank you for nothing, thank you for nothing, thank you for nothing with all my Heart.
Well, then to be fure, he grew civil enough,
He gave me a Box with a Paper of Snuff;
I took it, I own, yet had ftill fo much Art,
To cry, thank you for nothing, with all my IIcart,
He faid, if fo be, he might make me his Wife,
Good Lord, I was never so dash'd in my Life ;
Yet could not help laughing to fee the Fool ftart,
When I thank'd him for nothing with all my Heart,
Soon after, however, he gain'd my Confent,
And with him one Sunday to Chapel I went;
But faid 'twas my Goodnefs, more than his defert,
Not to thank him for nothing with all my heart.
The Parfon cry'd Child, you must after me fay,
And then talk'd of Honour, and Love and obey;
But faith, when his Reverence came to that Part,
There I thank'd him for nothing with all my Heart.
At Night our brisk Neighbours the Stocking would
throw,
I must not tell Tales, but I know what I know;
Young Roger confeffes I cur'd all his Smart,
And I thank'd him for fomething with all my Heart.
A BACCHANALIAN Song.
ACCHUS, God of Mirth and Wine,
Lo! I bend before thy Shrine,
Lo! I bend, lo! I bend, lo! I bend before thy
Fill the Goblet, fill it up, let me drain the juicy Cup.
Fit Libations let me pour, Affes fpill it on the FloorAffes fpill it, Affes fpill it, Affes fpill it on the floor. What avails the marble Fane,
Impotent and idle vain ?
With the frantic Dotard there,
Sputt'ring out his frothy Prayer 5
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