Yo

Oung Philander woo'd me long,
I was peevish and forbid him;
Nor would hear his loving Song,
And yet now I wish, I wish I had him:
For each Morn I view my Glass,

I perceive the Whim is going;
For when Wrinkles streak the Face,
We may bid farewel to Wooing.
For when Wrinkles streak the Face,
We may bid farewel to Wooing.

Use your time ye Virgins fair,
Choose before your days are Evil;
Fifteen is a Season rare,

Five and Forty is the Devil :
Just when Ripe consent to do't,

Hug no more the lonely Pillow;

Women like some other Fruit,

Loose their relish when too Mellow,

The

The Fisherman's SONG, In the First Part, of Massaniello. Set by Mr. Leveridge.

сно.

Of

F all the World's Enjoyments,
That ever valu'd were ;

OF

There's none of our Employments,
With Fishing can Compare:
Some Preach, some Write,
Some Swear, some Fight,

All Golden Lucre courting,

But Fishing still bears off the Bell; For Profit or for Sporting.

Then who a Folly Fisherman, a Fisherman will be? His Throat must wet,

Fust like his Net,

To keep out Cold at Sea.

The Country Squire loves Running,
A Pack of well-mouth'd Hounds;
Another fancies Gunning

For wild Ducks in his Grounds :
This Hunts, that Fowls,
This Hawks, Dick Bowls,

No greater Pleasure wishing,

But Tom that tells what Sport excells,

Gives all the Praise to Fishing,

Then who, &c.

A good Westphalia Gammon,
Is counted dainty Fare;
But what is't to a Salmon,
Just taken from the Ware:
Wheat Ears and Quailes,
Cocks, Snipes, and Rayles;

Are priz'd while Season's lasting,

But all must stoop to Crawfish Soop, Or I've no skill in tasting.

Then who, &c.

Keen Hunters always take too

Their prey with too much pains;

Nay often break a Neck too,

A Pennance for no Brains:

They

They Run, they Leap,

Now high, now deep,

Whilst he that Fishing chooses;

With ease may do't, nay more to boot,
May entertain the Muses.

Then who, &c.

And tho' some envious wranglers,
To jeer us will make bold;
And Laugh at Patient Anglers,
Who stand so long i' th' Cold:
They wait on Miss,

We wait on this,
And think it easie Labour;

And if you'd know, Fish profits too,
Consult our Holland Neighbour.
Then who, &c.

A New SONG, Made in honour of his Grace the Duke of Marlborough, and the General Officers, upon the Glorious success of this last Campaign. Set by Mr. J. Weldon. Eat the Drum, Beat, beat the Drum,

B

Let Martial Trumpets sound;

The jolly Bowl prepare,

With fragrant Roses Crown'd:

The Grand Leviathan of France is Tumbling down,
Tumbling down, is tumbling, tumbling down;

Lawrel wreaths for Glorious pains,

Once more great Marlborough, great Marlborough Gains: Thus whilst Conquer'd, whilst conquer'd Flanders falls, Proud Orleans, from Turin's Walls,

Is like a Vapour gone.

The Mounsieur's mawl'd by Sea and Land,
Then take six Bumpers in a Hand;

To each brave Brittish Son,

They, they the Work have done,

They, they the Work have done.

A DIALOGUE between a Town Sharper and his Hostess, Sung by Mr. Leveridge and Mr. Pate; in the first Part.

Mr. Daniel Purcell.

Sharp.

Set by