So Fellows, if you'll be drunk,
Of Frailty it is a Sin,
Or for to keep a Punk,
Or play at In and In:
For Drink and Dice and Drabs,
Are all of one Condition,
And will breed Want and Scabs,
In fpite of the Physician :
Whofo fears every Grafs,
Muft never pifs in a Meadow:
And he that loves a Pot and a Lafs,
Muft never cry oh! my Head oh!
Says Old Simon the King.
SONG XCII. Now liften a while, &c.
WOW liften a while, and I will tell,
Of the Gelding of the Devil of Hell;
And Dick the Baker of Mansfield Town,
To Manchefter Market he was bound,
And under a Grove of Willows clear,
This Baker rode on with a merry Cheer:
Beneath the Willows there was a Hill,
And there he met the Devil of Hell.
Baker, quoth the Devil, tell me that,
How came thy Horse so fair and fat ?
In troth, quoth the Baker, and by my fay,
Because his Stones were cut away:
For he that will have a Gelding free,
Both fair and lufty he must be:
Oh! quoth the Devil, and faift thou fo,
Thou shalt geld me before thou do'it go.
Go tie thy Horse unto a Tree,
And with thy Knife come and geld me;
The Baker had a Knife of Iron and Steel,
With which he gelded the Devil of Hell;
It was fharp pointed for the Nonce,
Fit for to cut any manner of Stones.
The Baker being lighted from his Horfe,
Cut the Devil's Stones from his Arte.
Oh! quoth the Devil, befhrew thy Heart,
Thou doft not feel how I do fmart;
For gelding of me thou art not quit,
For I mean to geld thee this fame Day fevennight.
The Baker hearing the Words he faid,
Within his Heart was fore afraid,
He hied him to the next Market Town,
To fell his Bread both white and brown.
And when the Market was done that Day,
The Baker went home another Way,
Unto his Wife he then did tell,
How he had gelded the Devil of Hell:
Nay, a wond'rous Word I heard him say,
He would geld me the next Market-Day;
Therefore, Wife, I ftand in doubt.
I'd rather, quoth fhe, thy Knave's Eyes were out.
I'd rather thou should break thy Neck-bone,
Than for to lofe any Manner of Stone,
For why, 'twill be a loathfome Thing,
When ev'ry Woman fhall call thee Gelding.
Thus they continu'd both in Fear,
Until the next Market-Day drew near;'
Well, quoth the good Wife, well I wot,
Go fetch me thy Doublet and thy Coat:
Thy Hofe, thy Shoon, and Cap also,
And I like a Man to the Market will go;
Then up fhe got her all in hafte,
With all her Bread upon her Beast:
And when the came to the Hill-fide,
There fhe faw two Devils abide,
A little Devil, and another,
Lay playing under the Hill-fide together.
Oh! quoth the Devil, without any feign,
Yonder comes the Baker again;
Beeft thou well, Baker, or beeft thou woe,
I mean to geld thee before thou doft go:
These were the Words the Woman did say,
Good Sir, I was gelded but Yesterday;
Oh! quoth the Devil, that I will fee,
And he pluckt her Cloaths above her Knee.
And looking upwards from the Ground,
There he spy'd a grievous Wound
Oh! (quoth the Devil) what might he be ?
For he was not cunning that gelded thee.
For when he had cut away the Stones clean,
He fhould have fowed up the Hole again;
He called the little Devil to him anon,
And bid him look to that fame Man.
Whilft he went into fome private Place,
To fetch fome Salve in a little Space;
The great Devil was gone but a little Way,
But upon her Belly there crept a Flea
The little Devil he foon efpy'd that,
He up with his Paw, and gave her a Pat
With that the Woman began to fart,
And out the thruft a moft horrible Fart.
Whoop! whoop! quoth the little Devil, come again I pray,
For here's another Hole broke, by my fay;
The great Devil he came running in hafte,
Wherein his Heart was fore aghaft:
Fough, quoth the Devil, thou art not found,
Thou ftinkeft fo fore above the Ground,
Thy Life Days fure cannot be long,
Thy Breath it fumes so wond'rous ftrong.
The Hole is cut fo near the Bone,
There is no Salve can stick thereon,
And therefore, Baker, I ftand in doubt
That all thy Bowels will fall out;
Therefore, Baker, hie thee away,
And in this Place no longer ftay.
SONG XCIII. Chloris, now, &c,
HLORIS, now thou art fled away,
Amyntor's Sheep are gone aftray;
And all the Joy he took to fee
His pretty Lambs run after thee,
Is gone, is gone, and he alone,
Sings nothing now but well-a-day, well-a-day.
His Oaten Pipe that in thy Praise,
Was wont to play fuch Roundelays,
Is thrown away, and not a Swain
Dares pipe or fing, within his Plain
"Tis Death for any one to fay
One Word to him, but well-a-day.
The May-pole where thy little Feet
So roundly did in Measures meet,
Is broken down, and no Content
Comes near Amyntor fince you went.
All that I ever heard him fay,
Was Chloris, Chloris, well-a-day.
Upon thofe Banks you us'd to tread,
He ever fince hath lain his Head:
And whifper'd there fuch pining Woe,
As not a Blade of Grafs will grow.;
Chloris! Chloris! come away,
And hear Amyntor's well-a-day.
SONG XCIV. Have you e'er, ̈TM &c.
Ave you e'er feen the Morning Sun
HFrom fair Aurora's Bofom run?
Or have you feen on Flora's Bed
The Effences of white and red?
Then you may boast, for you have seen
My fairer Chloris, Beauty's Queen.
Have you e'er pleas'd your skilful Ears
With the fweet Mufick of the Spheres?
Have you e'er heard the Sprens fing,
Or Orpheus play to Heil's black King!
If fo, be happy, and rejoice,
For thou hast heard my Chloris Voice,"
Have you e'er fmelt what Chymick Skill
From Rofe or Amber doth diftill?
Have you been near that Sacrifice
The Pherin makes before the diès ?
Then you can tell, (I do prefume)
My Chloris is the World's Perfume.
Have you e'er tafted what the Bee
Steals from each fragrant Flow'r or Tree?
Or did you ever tafte that Meat,
Which Poets fay the Gods did eat?
O then I will no longer doubt
But you have found my Chloris out.
SONG XCV. Thus all our, &c.
Hus all our Lives long we're frolick and
And inftcad of Court Revels we merrily play
At Trap, and Kertles, and Barley-break run,
At Gouff, and at Stool-ball, and when we have
done
Thefe innocent Sports, we laugh and lie down,
And to each pretty Lafs we give a green Gown.
We teach our little Dogs to fetch and to carry,
The Patridge, Hare, the Pheasant our Quarry,
The nimble Squirrels, with Cudgel we chafe,
And the little pretty Lark, betray with a Glass:
And when we have done, we laugh and lie
down,
And to each pretty Lafs we give a green Gown. About the May-pole we dance all around,
And with Garlands of Pinks and Rofes are
Our little kind Tribute we merrily pay,
To the gay Lad, and bright Lady o't
o'th May:
And when que bave done, & &c.
With our delicate Nymphs we, kifs and we toy,
What others but dream of, we daily enjoy;
With our Sweet-hearts we dally fo long till we
find
Their pretty Eyes fay their Hearts are grown kind:
Ard when we have done, &c,
|