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A BALLAD ON QUADRILLE *,
WRITTEN BY MR. CONGREYE.
When, as Corruption hence did go,
And left the nation free;
Without a place or fee :
Quadrille, Quadrille, &'c.
And four fair suits he wore :
All blotch'd and spotted o'er :
Sure cards he has for ev'ry thing,
Which well court-cards they name :
To help out a bad game:
* On the subject of this ballad, see a letter from Dr. Arbuthnot to Dean Swift, dáted Nov. 8, 1726. N.
Though they ne'er meant to marry,
And call'd a party quarree:
The commoner, and knight, the peer,
Men of all ranks and fame,
To propagate their name;
When patients lie in piteous case,
In comes th' apothecary ;
Non debes quadrillare.
Sould France and Spain again grow loud,
The Muscovite grow louder ;
Would want both ball and powder ;
The king of late drew forth his sword
(Thank God 'twas not in wrath) And made of many a 'squire and lord
An unwash'd knight of Bath:
What are their feats of arms and skill ? They're but nine parties at Quadrille, &c.
Which drew all Europe's eyes ;
The quadruple Allies;
And now, God save this noble realm,
And God save eke Hanover;
When as the king goes over :
Quadrille, Quadrille, c.
OR, THE FAIR MAID OF THE INN *,
Says my uncle, I pray you discover
What hath been the cause of your woes, Why you pine and you whine like a lover :
I've seen Molly Mog of the Rose.
* The Rose inn, at Ockingham in Berkshire. H.
O nephewl your grief is but folly;
In town you may find better prog; Half a crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mog. I know that by wits 'tis recited,
That women at best are' a clog : But I'm not so easily frighted;
From loving my sweet Molly Mog. The schoolboy's delight is a play-day ;
The schoolmaster's joy is to flog; The milkmaid's delight is on Mayday ;
But mine is on sweet Molly Mog. Will-o'-wisp leads the traveller a gadding
Thro' ditch, and thro' quagmire and bog: But no light can set me a madding,
Like the eyes of my sweet Molly Mog. For guineas in other men's breeches
Your gamesters will palm and will cog: But I envy them none of their riches,
So I may win sweet Molly Mog. The heart, when half wounded, is changing,
It here and there leaps like a frog : But my heart can never be ranging,
'Tis so fix'd upon sweet Molly Mog. Who follows all ladies of pleasure,
In pleasure is thought but a hog:
Of joys, as my sweet Molly Mog.
My senses all lost in a fog ; And nothing can give satisfaction
But thinking of sweet Molly Mog.
A letter when I am inditing,
Comes Cupid, and gives me a jog ;
Of nothing but sweet Molly Mog.
I wish I were hang'd like a dog,
For a glance of my sweet Molly Mog.
Those faces want nature and spirit,
And seem as cut out of a log : Juno, Venus, and Pallas's merit
Unite in my sweet Molly Mog.
In bumpers of hogan and nog,
Than mine to my sweet Molly Mog.
And writing another eclogue: Both his Phyllis and fair Amaryllis
He'd give up for sweet Molly Mog.
Then jealousy sets me agog;
And so I shall lose Molly Mog.