Quoth he, my dear P Philli, I'll give unto thee did fee. Such a Pudding you never Said I, honeft Man, I thank thee moft kind, He gave me me indeede lo agree, a Lump One Bit was worth all my Mother gave me.. SONG CCLXXXVIII. A Taylor, &c. A in the of When Cabbage was fcarce, and when For the Sale of good Liquor pretended a Paffion Here a Scratch, there a Stitch, And fing Cucumber, Cucumber bo. medi na One Day the came up, when at Work in his Garret yollarda To tell what he ow'd, that his Score he might know Says he, it is all very right I declare it ; . Says the, then I hope you will pay ere I go? Now a Loufe, &c. Says Prick-Loufe, my Jewel, I love you moft dearly, My Breaft every Minute ftill hotter does glow, Ay, only says she, for the Juice of my Barley, And other good Drink in my Cellar below. Now a Loufe, &c. Y'I Says he, you miftake, 'tis for fomething that's better, Which I dare not name, and you care not to fhow; Says fhe, I'm afraid you are given to flatter, What is it you mean, and pray where does i grow? Now a Loufe, &c. ཅ། Says he, 'tis a Thing that has never a Handle 'Tis hid in the dark, and it lies pretty low Said the, then I fear that you must have á Candle, Or elfe the wrong Way you may happen to go: Now a Loufe, &c. Says he, was it darker than ever was Charcoal, Tho' I never was there, yet the Way do I know... Says fhe, if it be fuch a terrible dark Hole, Says he, you fhall fee I will quickly be at it, Now a Kifs, then a Firk, And fing Cucumber, Cucumber bo. The Taylor arofe when the Bufiness was over, Says he, you will rub out the Score ere you go Says the, I fhall not pay fo dear for a Lover, I'm not fuch a Fool I would have you know: Now a Loufe made him Itch Here a Scratch, there a Stitch, ng Cucumber, Cucumber ho.. And fing SONG CCLXXXIX. Dear Catholick, &c. D Ear Catbolick Brother, are you come from the Wars, So lame & of your Face, and your Foots full of Scars; To fee your poor Shela, who with great Grief was fill'd, For you my dear Joy, when I think you were kill'd. With a Fa, la, la. my Shoul, my dear Shela! I'm glad you fee me, 1 For if I were dead now, I could not fee thee; The Cuts in my Body, and the Scars in my Face, And we shall be marry'd to morrow just now, And I have a Guinea of yellow red Gold; And tho' he be dead, he'll be glad to be told, Coft, But fend him fome Letter upon the laft Poft. SONG CCXC. Poor Sawney, & And he knew not what to do with her For fhe'd eat more Barley-bread, Than he knew how to give her : We'll all fup together, we'll all fap togethery We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together, And we will make Broth of that, We'll all fup together, &c. The Wool hall thicken the Broth, By this you may understand The Vertue that's in a Sheep's-head : T Some fhall lig at the e Head, And fome fhall lig at the Feet, vir bed 37 Mifs Cuddy wou'd lig in the middle, We'll all lig together, &c. Mifs Cuddy got up in the Loft, And Sawney wou'd fain have been at her, Mifs Cuddy fell down in her Smock, 1975 And made the Glafs Windows to clatter to We'll all lig together, &c. The Bride The Bridegroom followed after, Loos went adī The Fidler crept in at the Feet, And they all ligg'd together, We'll all lig together, &C. SONG CCXCI There's my Thumb,&c. a Y fweeteft May, let Love incline thee, Maccept a Heart which he defigns thee; And, as your conftant Slave, regard it,. O my dear Laffie, Daffin, To had thy Woer un niff naffin.. That na, na, na, I hate it molt vilely, J SONG CCXCII. For the Love of Jean. ye be. my fell. SONG CCXCIII. Peggy, I muß love thee. B Eneath a Beech's grateful Shade He figh'd, and feem'd to love a Maid, For thus the Swain indulg'd his Grief, |