But he was almost fent to his own Purgatory
By this old Soldier, &c.

With an Old Ned Norris that kept Oftend,
A Terror to Foe, and a Refuge to Friend,
And left it impregnable to his laft End;
Like, &c.

That in the old unfortunate Voyage of all, March'd o'er the old Bridge, and knock'd at the Wall

Of Lisbon, the Mistress of Portugal;

Like, &c.

With an Old Tim Norris, by the old Queen fent, Of Munfer in Ireland, Lord Prefident,

Where his Days and his Blood in her Service he fpent ;

Like, &c.

With an Old Harry Norris in Battle wounded
In his Knee, whofe Leg was cut off, and he faid,
You have spoil'd my Dancing, and dy'd in his Bed,
Like, &c.

With an Old Will Norris, the oldest of all,
Who went voluntary, without any Call,
To th'old Irish Wars, to's Fame immortal;
Like, &c.

With an Old Dick Wenman, the first in his Prime,
"That over the Walls of old Cales did climb;
And there was knighted, and liv'd all his Time;
Like, &c.

Like an Old Nando Wenman, when Breft was o'erthrown,

Into the Air, into the Seas, with Gunpowder blown,

Yet bravely recov'ring, long after was known
For an old, &c.

With an Old Tom Wenman, whofe braveft Delight
Was in a good Caufe for his Country to fight,
And dy'd in Ireland, a good old Knight,

And an old, &c.

With a Young Ned Wenman, fo valiant and bold In the Wars of Bobemia, as with the Old, Deferves for his Valour to be enroll'd

An old, &c.

And thus of old Soldiers ye hear the Fame,
But ne'er fo many of one House and Name,
And all of Old John Lord Vifcount of Thame,
An old Soldier of the Queen's,
And the Queen's old Soldier.

SONG LVI. Virgins fo fair, &c,

Virgins fo fair, at length may it prove

Your Destiny to be in Love,

Pray grant me fuch a Fate;

May Prudence always be my Guide,
With a little, little Decency and Pride,
My Actions to regulate.

When firft in Love I do commence,
May it be with à Man of Senfe,
And learned Education;
May all his Courtship be to me]
Neither too formal nor too free
But wifely fhow his Paffion.
May his Estate agree with mine,
That it may look like no Design
To bring us both to Sorrow:
Grant me this that I have faid,
And willingly I'd live a Maid
No longer than to Morrow.
When we are wed, may we agree
And neither of us angry be,

But live free from all Sorrow;
If one be crofs, may the other fay,
My Dear, we wont fall out to Day,
Whate'er we do to Morrow.

SONG LVII. Good your Worship, &

Ood your Worship, caft an Eye

G Upon a Soldier's Mifery;

Let not these lean Cheeks, I pray,
Your Worship's Bounty from me stay
But like a noble Friend,
Some Silver lend,

And Jove fhall pay you in the End;
And I will pray that Fate
May make you fortunate

In Heaven, or in fome Earthly State.

To beg I ne'er was bred, kind Sir,
Which makes me blush to keep this Stir;
Nor do I rove from Place to Place,
For to make known my woful Cafe.
For I am none of those

That a Roving goes,

And in Rambling fhew their drunken Blows; For all that they have got,

Is by banging of the Pot,

In wrangling who fhould pay their Shota

Olympick Games I oft have feen,
And in brave Battles have I been;
The Cannons there aloud did roar,
My Proffer high was evermore:
For, out of a Bravado,
When in a Barricado,

By toffing of a Hand-Grenado,
Death then was very near,

When it took away this Ear;

But yet, thank God, I'm here, I'm here.

And at the Siege of Buda, there,

I was blown up into the Air,
From whence I tumbled down again,

And lay awhile among the Slain;
Yet rather than be beat,

I got upon my Feet,

And made the Enemy retreat;

Myself and seven more

We fought eleven Score,

The Rogues were ne'er fo thrash'd before.

I have, at least a dozen times
Been blown up by the roguish Mines:
Twice through the Scull have I been shot,
That my Brains do boil like any Pot:
Such Dangers have I past,

At first and at last,

As would make your Worfhip fore aghast And there I lay for dead,

Till the Enemy was fled,

And then they carry'd me home to Bed.
At Push of Pike I loft this Eye,
And at Bergam Siege I broke this Thigh;
At Oftend, like a warlike Lad,

I laid about as I were mad:

But little would you think,

That e'er I had been,

Such a good old Soldier of the Queen:

But if Sir Francis Vere

Were living now, and here,

He would tell you how I flash'd 'em there,

The Hollanders my Fury know,

For oft with them I've dealt a Blow:
Then did I take a warlike Dance

Quite through Spain, and into France i
And there I spent a Flood

Of very noble Blood,

Yet all would do but little good;

For now I home am come,

With my Rags upon my Bum,

And crave of your Worship one fmall Sum,

And now my Cafe you understand,
Pray lend to me your helping Hand;
A little Thing would pleasure me,
It is not Bread and Cheese,
Nor Barley-Lees,

Or any fuch like Scraps as thefe s
But what I beg of you,

Is a Shilling one or two,

Kind Sir, your Purfe-ftrings pray undo.

SONG LVIII. Andrew, &t.

NDREW and Maudlin, Rebecca and Will,

A Margaret and Thomas, and Jockey and

Mary;

Kate o'th'Kitchen, and Kit of the Mill,

Dick the Plow-man, and Joan of the Dairy, To folace their Lives, and to sweeten their Labour,

All met on a Time with a Pipe and a Tabor.
Andrew was cloathed in Shepherd's Grey;
And Will had put on his Holiday Jacket;
Beck had a Coat of Popin-jay,

And Madge had a Ribbon hung down to her
Placket;

Meg and Moll in Frize, Tom and Jockey in Leather,

And fo they began all to Foot it together.

Their Heads and their Arms about them they flung,

With all the Might and Force they had; Their Legs went like Flails, and as loofely hung,

They cudgell'd their Arfes as if they were

mad;

Their Faces did fhine, and their Fires did kindle;
While the Maids they did trip and turn like a
Spindle.

Andrew chuck'd Maudlin under the Chin,
Simper fhe did like a Furmety-Kettle;
The Twang of whofe Blubber-Lips made fuch
a Din,

As if her Chaps had been made of Bell

métal :

Kate laugh'd heartily at the fame Smack,
And loud fhe did anfwer it with a Bum-crack.
At no Whitfon-Ale there e'er yet had been
Such Frayfters and Frifkers as thefe Lads and
Laffes;