When Swains to an Alehouse by Force do me,

Jug,

Instead of a Pitcher, I call for a Jugi'

And sure you can't chide at repeating! your Name,

When the Nightingale every Night does the fame. Sweet Jug he a hundred times o'er does repeat, Which makes People fay, that his Voice is fo fweet.

Ah! why doft thou laugh at my forrowful Tale, Too well I'm affur'd that my Words won't pre1708 vail: les

For Reger, the Thatcher, poffeffes thy Breast
As he at our laft Harveft Supper confeff, cow buA
I own it, faye Jug, he has gotten my Heart,A
His long curling Hair looks fo pretty and fmart..
His Eyes are fo black, and his Cheeks are so red,
They prevail more with me than all you have ×
faid;

Tho' you court me, and kifs me, and do what

you can,

"Twill fignify nothing, for Roger's the Man..

SONG CLXXXI. See Phillis, &.
SEE Phillis, yonder Bower

With e'ery beauteous Flower,
And twining Green array'd:
Sweet Jonquils, Daffadillies,
Carnations, Rofes, Lilies,
Invite us to the Shade.

There clafping thee, my Treasure,
In Extafy 'bove Measure,
I'll on your Bofom lye,

While you're with Looks expiring,
My blissful Death defiring,
My Soul with Joy shall fly.
With balmy melting Kiffes
I'll crown my dying Bliffes,
Whilft you in Pity cry 3.

།

My Love, I'll not be cruel, aby s
But in this am'rous Duel

We'll both together die,

SONG CLXXXII. O greedy, &c. Greedy Midas I've been told,

what you touch'd, you turn'd to

9534 Gold:

O had I but a Pow'r like thine,

I'd turn whate'er I touch to Wine,

I'd turn,

Each purling Stream fhou'd feel my Force;
Each Fish my fatal Power mourn,

Each Fish, &c.

And wond'ring at the mighty Change,
And wond'ring, &c.

Shou'd in their native Regions burn,

Shou'd in, &c.

Nor thou'd there any dare t'approach
Unto my mantling, fparkling Shrine,
Unto my,
&c.

But first thou'd pay their Votes to me,
But first, &c.

And file me only God of Wine,

And file,

.

SONG CLXXXIII. As Chloe, &c.

S Chloe o'er the Meadow paft,

I view'd the lovely Maid;

She turn'd and blush'd, renew'd her Hafte,
And fear'd by me to be embrac'd:
My Eyes my With betray'd.

I trembling felt the rifing Flame,
The charming Nymph purfu'd;
Daphne was not fo bright a Game,
Tho' Great Apollo's darling Dame,
Nor with fuch Charms endu’d.
I follow'd clofe, the Fair ftill flew
Along the graffy Plain;

The Grafs, at length, my Rival grew,
And catch'd my Chloe by the Shoe,
Her Speed was then in vain.
But oh! as tott'ring down the fell,
What did the Fall reveal!

Such Limbs Defcription cannot tell,
Such Charms were never in the Mall,
Nor Smock did e'er conceal.
She fhriek'd; I turn'd my ravish'd Eyes,
And burning with Defire,

I help'd the Queen of Love to rife,
She check'd her Anger and Surprize,
And faid, Rafh Youth, retire.
Be gone, and boast what you have seen,
It fhan't avail you much;

I know you like my Form and Mien
Yet fince fo infolent they've been,

Thofe Parts you ne'er shall touch.
Too lovely fair one, I confefs,

The Swain whom you will deign to blefs,
Might figh an Age away,

In Expectation of the Joy,

When you no longer cold or coy,
Shall all his Pains allay.

Indulgent Heav'n has made thy Form
So foft, fo perfect, and so warm,
Who gazes must adore:
But I fo long in vain have try'd,
To move thy Heart, that Seat of Pride
That here I give it o'er,

But now, proud Fair, a Cure I've found
I'll be no longer tamely bound

In hopeless Flames to burn.
Vain Maid, I've fhaken off my Chain
By Wine a Conqueft I obtain,

And triumph in my Turn.

SONG CLXXXIV, The Coquete Rowds of Coxcombs that deluding, Cringing, chatt'ring,

Ogling, flatt'ring,

By Coquetting, and by Pruding,
All are Victims to my Art.

While at Will the Fools I'm leading,
They for Favours interceding,
With vain Hopes and Fancies feeding,
Still untouch'd I keep my Heart.

Each imagines he shall gain me,
Thinks I prize him,

Who defpife him;

All their Wiles fhall ne'er obtain me,
Born to baffle all Mankind.

Like the Winds and Waves ftill changing,
Never conftant, ever ranging,

Cupid from

my Heart eftranging

That's as cold as he is blind.
That's, &c.

SONG CLXXXV. Beneath, &c.

B

Eneath a Myrtle Shade,

Which Love for gone but Lovers made, i lept, and ftraight my Love before me brought Phillis the Object of flames to meet, waking Thought:25 A

Undreft the came, my

Whilft Love strew'd Flow'rs beneath her Feet,
So preft by her, became, became more fweet.
From the bright Vision's Head,

A carelefs Veil of Lawn was loosely spread;
From her white Temples, fell her fhaded Hair,
Like cloudy Sun-fhine, not too brown or fair :i
Her Hands, her Lips, did Love inspire,
Her ev'ry Grace my Heart did fire,

But moft her Eyes, which languifh'd with Defire,
Ah! charming Fair, faid I,

How long can you my Blifs and yours deny
By Nature and by Love, this lovely Shade,
Was for Revenge of fuff 'ring Lovers made:
Silence and Shades with Love agree,.

Both fhelter you, and favour me,

od won 118

ESH ILA

You cannot blush, becaufe I cannot fee.

No, let me
Rather than lofe the

ipotlefs Name of Maid A Faintly the poke me-thought, for all the while She bid me with a Smile and

Then die,

not

deny'd,

And is it thus, thus, thus the cry'd, Kredone You ufe a harmlets Maid? and fo the dy'

I wak'd, and straight I knew,

tea, July 14 I lov'd fo well, it made my Dream prove true; Fancy the kinder Miftrefs of the two,

Fancy had done what Phillis would not dog o
Ah! cruel Nymph, ceafe your Difdain,
While I can dream, you fcorn in vain,
Asleep, or waking, you must cafe my Fain.

SONG CLXXXVI. Methinks, &c.

Methinks the poor Town has been troublok

long,

With Phillis and Chloris in every Song,

By Fools who at once can both Love and De

fpair,

And will never leave calling them cruel and fair:

Which justly provokes me in Rhime to exprefs The Truth that I know of my bonny black Bes This Befs of my Heart, this Befs of my Soul, Has a Skin white as Milk, but Hair black as a Coal;

She's plump, yet with Eafe you may span round her Waift,

But her round fwelling Thighs can scarce be embrac'd:

"

Her Belly is foft, not a Word of the reft,
But I know what I mean, when I drink to the

best.

ཏཾ ཀརཱ! The Plowman, and 'Squire, the erranter Clown, At home the fubdu'd in her Paragon Gown;