Ounsieur looks pale, and Anjou quakes,

MWeakly stands the Thrones they sit on,

Dull is Versailles, th' Escurial shakes,
Hearing of the Bank of Britain.

Lewis storms to think the Foe,

Instead of sinking down grows stronger,
Morbleu, says he, their Millions grow,
'Tis in vain to fight 'em longer.

When K. of Spain, I crown'd young Phill,
And to fix him made such Offers,
Fernie, thought I, the Bullion will

All be cram'd now in my Coffers:
But these Bougers drink and whore,
And riot on each small Occasion,
And yet begar will ne'er be poor,
Le Grand Diable's in de Nation,

The Spanish Indies I possess,
Yet they bear a Purse above me,
And that I no Bank can raise,
Shews how well my People love me :
Former grand Success is gone,
Bruges, Ghent, and Lisle is taken,
Then whilst my Capital's my own,
I'll make Peace, and save my Bacon.

VOL. I.

M

The

The fond Keeper's RELAPSE :

A New SONG.

Inscrib'd to all whom it may concern: The Words made to a pretty Play-house Tune, call'd, Pretty Poll.

C

Eladon the gay,

In the merry, merry Month of May,
When the gawdy Flowers enamell'd lay,
Was with Calia walking,

She to move

Talk'd of Love,

What could prove

Fitter for the Season, or the Theam of talking;
Celadon was angry, you may guess,

He return'd no amorous Look nor Kiss,
But thus teas'd pretty Miss,

But thus, &c.

Go Seducer, go

Let the World no more my folly know,
Nor let odious Names of Miss and Beau
Shame succeeding Ages;

Hast away,
Nothing say,

I'll go pray,

Reason now at Folly past my Soul enrages:
I have been your Cully, Slave and Beast,
Thrown away ten Thousand Pound at least,
On pretty, pretty Miss,

On pretty, &c.

Rich Brocadoes so fine,

Phœbus never did so gayly shine,

And luxurious Flasks of Cyprus Wine
Swallow'd at our feasting;
Curse on Pride,

Lets divide,

I a Bride

Now resolve on chusing, thus a Joy more lasting: You have drain'd my Purse, and rais'd my Sins, I have given Five Hundred Pound for Pins, For pretty, pretty Miss,

For pretty, &c.

Farewel Venus Joys,

That my Heart so long did vainly prise,
Welcome Wedlock now to close my Eyes,
Never loud nor craving;
Skin like Snow,

Eyes like Sloe,

And will go

In Callicoe, or lowly Chinse, to be more saving:
Can there any Life compare with this?
Yet methinks I long for one more Kiss
From pretty, pretty Miss,

From pretty Miss, &c.

She t' improve the Mood,

Seeing like a Fool he gazing stood,
Peeping first, then turning up her Hood,
Runs in t' embrace him;

Young and sly,

Had by th' By,

I'en scay quoy,

An Artifice that never, never fails caressing:
Soon was now forgot the Wedlock Bliss,
He that was subdu'd with one false Kiss
Went home with pretty Miss,

With pretty, pretty Miss.

The first SONG to a Minuet of Don Quixote, in the first Act.

I'

F you will love me, be free in expressing it,
And henceforth give me no cause to complain;
Or if you hate me, be plain in confessing it,

And in few Words put me out of my Pain.
This long delaying, with sighing and praying,
Breeds only decaying in Life and Amour,
Cooing and wooing,
And daily pursuing,

Is damn'd silly doing, therefore I'll give o'er.

If you'll propose a kind Method of ruling me,
I may return to my Duty again;

But if you stick to your old way of fooling me,
I must be plain, I'm none of your Men;
Passion for Passion on each kind Occasion,
With free Inclination does kindle Love's Fire,
But tedious prating,

Coy folly debating,

And new Doubts creating still make it expire.

The Lady's Answer.

The second Song to a

Minuet, at the Duke's Entertainment of Don Quixote in the first Act.

You

[To the same Tune.

love, and yet when I ask you to marry me, Still have recourse to the Tricks of your Art, Then like a Fencer you cunningly parry me, Yet the same time make a Pass at my Heart. Fye, fye deceiver,

No longer endeavour,

Or think this way ever the Fort will be won;
No fond caressing

Must be, nor unlacing,

Or tender embracing, 'till th' Parson has done.

Some say that Marriage a Dog with a Bottle is,
Pleasing their Humours to rail at their Wives;
Others declare it an Ape with a Rattle is,
Comfort's Destroyer, and Plague of their Lives:
Some are affirming,

A Trap 'tis for Vermin,

And yet with the Bait tho' not Prison agree,

If e'er

my

Ventring that chouse you

Must let me espouse you,

dear Mouse you will nibble at me.