When as the Prieft Clarinda fees,
He ftar'd, as't had been half his Fees
To gaze upon her Face:

And if the Spirit did not move,
His Countenance was far above!

Each Sinner in the Place.

With mickle Stir he join'd their Hands,
And hamper'd them in Marriage-Bands,
As faft as faft may be :

Where still methinks, methinks I hear,
That fecret Sigh in ev'ry Ear,

Once Love, remember me.

Which done, the Cook he knockt amain,
And up the Dishes in a Train

Came fmoking, two and two:

With that they wip'd their Mouths and fat,
Some fell to quaffing, fome to prate,
Ay, marry, and welcome too.

In Pairs they thus impail'd the Meat,
Roger and Margaret, and Thomas and Kate,

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,
They enter'd upon the last Act of the Play,
The Bride to her Bed was convey'd,
Where Knee-deep each Hand fell down to the
Ground,

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
Half bedded, like the peeping Day,
Behind Olympus Cap:

Whilft at her Head each twittering Girl
The fatal Stocking quick did whirl,
To know the lucky Hap.

The Bridegroom in at last did ruftle,
All difappointed in the Buftle,

The Maidens had fhav'd his Breeches :

But let us not complain, 'tis well,
In fuch a Storm, I can you tell,

He fav'd his other Stitches.

And now he bounc'd into the Bed,
Even juft as if a Man had faid,
Fair Lady have at all;

Where twifted at the Hug they lay,
Like Venus and the fprightly Boy,

Oh! who wou'd fear the Fall?
Thus both with Love's fweet Taper fired,
And thousand balmy Kiffes tired,

They could not wait the reft;

But out the Folk and Candles fled,

And to't they went, and what they did,
There lies the Cream o'th' Jeft.

SONG XC. My Father was born

before me.

F all the Recreations which
Attend on human Nature ;

OF

There's none that is of fo high a Pitch,

Or is of fuch a Stature:

As is the subtle Angler's Life,
In all Mens Approbation:
For Anglers Tricks do daily mix
In every Corporation.

Whilft Eve and Adam liv'd in Love,
And had no cause of jangling;
The Devil did the Waters move,
The Serpent went to angling :
He baits his Hook,with Godlike Look,
Thought he this will entangle her;
By this all ye may plainly fee,
That the Devil was firft an Angler,
Phyficians, Lawyers, and Divines,
Are all moft neat Entanglers;
And he that looks fine, will find,
That most of them are Anglers:
Whilft grave Divines do fish for Souls,
Phyficians like Curmudgeons;
They bait with Health, we fish for Wealth,
And Lawyers fish for Gudgeons.

Upon the Exchange 'twixt twelve and one,
Meets many a neat Entangler ;
'Mongft Merchantmen, there's not one in ten,
But what is a cunning Angler:

For like the Fishes in the Brook,
Brother doth fwallow Brother;
There's a golden Bait hangs at the Hook,
And they fish for one another.

A Shopkeeper I next prefer,

He's a formal Man in black, Sir;
He throws his Angle ev'ry where,
And cries, what is't you lack, Sir:
Fine Silk, or Stuffs, Cravats, or Cuffs,
But if a Courtier prove th' Entangler,
My Citizen he must look to't then,
Or the Fish will catch the Angler,

But there's no fuch angling as a Wench,
Stark naked in the Water;

She'll make you leave both Trout and Tench,
And throw yourself in after:

Your Hook and Line fhe will confine,
Thus tangled is th' Entangler;
And this I fear hath fpoil'd the Gear
Of many a jovial Angler.

But if you'll trowl for a Scriv'ner's Soul,
Caft in a rich young Gallant;
To take a Courtier by, the Pole,
Throw in a golden Talent:

But

yet I fear the Draught will ne'er
Compound for half the Charge on't ;
But if you ll catch the Devil at stretch,
You must bait him with a Serjeant.
Thus I have made my Angler's Trade
To ftand above Defiance;

For like the Mathematick Art,
It runs through every Science:

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,
But feek for good Company;
That beft contented me.

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 ;
They were all of one Difeafe,

Says Old Simon the King

F

Confidering in my Mind,
And thus I began to think;
If a Man be full to the Throat,
And cannot take off his Drink;
And if his Drink will not down,

He may hang himself for Shame;
So may the Tapfter at the Crown,
Whereupon this Reason I frame;
Drink will make a Man drunk,
And drunk will make a Man dry;
Dry will make a Man fick,
And fick will make a Man die,
Says Old Simon the King.

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,
Is never afraid of that!

For drinking will make a Man quaff,
Quaffing will make a Man fing;
Singing will make a Man laugh,
And laughing long Life doth bring,
Says Old Simon the King.

If a Puritan Skinker cry,
Dear Brother it is a Sin,

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,