When as the Prieft Clarinda fees, And if the Spirit did not move, Each Sinner in the Place. With mickle Stir he join'd their Hands, Where still methinks, methinks I hear, Once Love, remember me. Which done, the Cook he knockt amain, Came fmoking, two and two: With that they wip'd their Mouths and fat, In Pairs they thus impail'd the Meat, Ralph and Befs, Andrew and Maudlin, And Valentine, eke with Sybil fo fweet, Whofe Cheeks on each Side of her Snuffers did meet, As round and as plump as a Codling. When at the last they had fetched their Frees, And mired their Stomachs quite up to their Knees In Claret and good Cheer; Then, then began the merry Din, For as it was they were all on the Pin, O! what kiffing and clipping was there. But as Luck would have it, the Parfon faid Grace, And to frisking and dancing they fhuffled apace, Each Lad took his Lafs by the Fift, And when he had fqueez'd her, and gam'd her, until The Fat of her Face ran down like a Mill, He toll'd for the reft of the Grift. I In Sweat and in Duft having wafted the Day, And in feeking the Garter much Pleasure was found; 'Twould have made a Man's Arm have ftray'd. This Clutter o'er, Clarinda lay Whilft at her Head each twittering Girl The Bridegroom in at last did ruftle, The Maidens had fhav'd his Breeches : But let us not complain, 'tis well, He fav'd his other Stitches. And now he bounc'd into the Bed, Where twifted at the Hug they lay, Oh! who wou'd fear the Fall? They could not wait the reft; But out the Folk and Candles fled, And to't they went, and what they did, SONG XC. My Father was born before me. F all the Recreations which OF There's none that is of fo high a Pitch, Or is of fuch a Stature: As is the subtle Angler's Life, Whilft Eve and Adam liv'd in Love, Upon the Exchange 'twixt twelve and one, For like the Fishes in the Brook, A Shopkeeper I next prefer, He's a formal Man in black, Sir; But there's no fuch angling as a Wench, She'll make you leave both Trout and Tench, Your Hook and Line fhe will confine, But if you'll trowl for a Scriv'ner's Soul, But yet I fear the Draught will ne'er For like the Mathematick Art, If with my angling Song I can To Mirth and Pleafure feize you; I'll bait my Hook with Wit again, And angle ftill to please you. SONG XCI. In a Humour, &c. Na Humour I was late, I' As many good Fellows be, To think of no Matters of State, I travell'd up and down, No Company I could find,.. Till I came to the Sign of the Crozen: My Hoftefs was fick of the Mumps, The Maid was ill at ease; The Tapfter was drunk in his Dumps ; Says Old Simon the King F Confidering in my Mind, He may hang himself for Shame; If a Man fhould be drunk to Night, And laid in his Grave to morrow; Will you or any Man fay, That he dy'd of Care or Sorrow? Then hang up Sorrow and Care, 'Tis able to kill a Cat, And he that will drink all Night, For drinking will make a Man quaff, If a Puritan Skinker cry, To drink unless you be dry, Then ftrait this Tale I begin. A Puritan left his Can, And took him to his Jug, And there he play'd the Man, As long as he could tug; But when that he was spy'd, What did he fwear or rail No, no truly, dear Brother, he cry'd Indeed all Flesh is frail, Says Old Simon the King, |