ADDITIONAL SONGS FROM THE Westminster-Drollery: Edition 1674.

1. So wretched are the sick of Love, No Herb has vertue to remove The growing ill: But still, The more we Remedies oppose The Feaver more malignant grows. Doubts do but add unto desire, Like Oyl that’s thrown upon the fire, Which serves to make the flame aspire; And not t’ extinguish it: Love has its trembling, and its burning fit. 2. Fruition which the sick propose [p. 112.] To end, and recompence their woes, But turns them o’re To more. And curing one, does but prepare A new, perhaps a greater care. Enjoyment even in the chaste, Pleases, not satisfies the taste, And licens’d Love the worst can fast. Such is the Lovers state, Pining and pleas’d, alike unfortunate. 3. Sabina and Camilla share An equal interest in care, Fear hath each brest Possest. In different Fortunes, one pure flame Makes their unhappiness the same. Love begets fear, fear grief creates, Passion still passion animates, Love will be love in all estates: His power still is one Whether in hope or in possession.

1. To Arms! to Arms! the Heroes cry, A glorious Death, or Victory. Beauty and Love, although combin’d, And each so powerful alone, Cannot prevail against a mind Bound up in resolution. Tears their weak influence vainly prove, Nothing the daring breast can move Honour is blind, and deaf, ev’n deaf to Love. 2. The Field! the Field! where Valour bleeds, Spurn’d into dust by barbed steeds, Instead of wanton Beds of Down Is now the Scene where they must try, To overthrow, or be o’rethrown; Bravely to overcome, or dye. Honour in her interest sits above What Beauty, Prayers, or tears can move: Were there no Honour, there would be no Love.

1. Beauty that it self can kill, Through the finest temper’d steel, Can those wounds she makes endure, And insult it o’re the brave, Since she knows a certain cure, When she is dispos’d to save: But when a Lover bleeding lies, Wounded by other Arms, And that she sees those harms, For which she knows no remedies; Then Beauty Sorrows livery wears, And whilst she melts away in tears, Drooping in Sorrow shews Like Roses overcharg’d with morning dews. 2. Nor do women, though they wear The most tender character, Suffer in this case alone: Hearts enclos’d with Iron Walls, In humanity must groan When a noble Hero falls. Pitiless courage would not be [p. 115.] An honour, but a shame; Nor bear the noble name Of valour, but barbarity; The generous even in success Lament their enemies distress: And scorn it should appear Who are the Conquer’d, with the Conqueror.

1. The young, the fair, the chaste, the good, The sweet Camilla, in a flood Of her own Crimson lies A bloody, bloody sacrifice To Death and man’s inhumane cruelties. Weep Virgins till your sorrow swells In tears above the Ivory Cells That guard those Globes of light; Drown, drown those beauties of your eyes. Beauty should mourn, when beauty dies; And make a general night, To pay her innocence its Funeral rite. 2. Death since his Empire first begun, [p. 116.] So foul a conquest never won, Nor yet so fair a prize: And had he had a heart, or eyes, Her beauties would have charm’d his cruelties. Even Savage Beasts will Beauty spare, Chaft Lions fawn upon the fair; [Fierce lions] Nor dare offend the chaste: But vitious man, that sees and knows The mischiefs his wild fury does, Humours his passions haste, To prove ungovern’d man the greatest beast.

1. How frailty makes us to our wrong Fear, and be loth to dye, When Life is only dying long And Death the remedy! We shun eternity, And still would gravel her beneath, [Scil., grovel] Though still in woe and strife, When Life’s the path that leads to Death, And Death the door to Life. 2. The Fear of Death is the disease [p. 117.] Makes the poor patient smart; Vain apprehensions often freeze The vitals in the heart, Without the dreaded Dart. When fury rides on pointed steel Death’s fear the heart doth seize, Whilst in that very fear we feel A greater sting than his. 3. But chaste Camilla’s vertuous fear Was of a noble kind, Not of her end approaching near But to be left behind, From her dear Love disjoyn’d; When Death in courtesie decreed, To make the fair his prize, And by one cruelty her freed From humane cruelties. CHORUS. Thus heav’n does his will disguise, To scourge our curiosities, When too inquisitive we grow Of what we are forbid to know. Fond humane nature that will try [p. 118.] To sound th’ Abiss of Destiny! Alas! what profit can arise From those forbidden scrutinies, When Oracles what they foretel In such Ænigma’s still conceal, That self indulging man still makes Of deepest truths most sad mistakes! Or could our frailty comprehend The reach those riddles do intend: What boots it us when we have done, To foresee ills we cannot shun? But ’tis in man a vain pretence, To know or prophesie events, Which only execute, and move, By a dependence from above. ’Tis all imposture to deceive The foolish and inquisitive, Since none foresee what shall befal, But providence that governs all. Reason wherewith kind Heav’n has blest His creature man above the rest, Will teach humanity to know All that it should aspire unto; And whatsoever fool relies On false deceiving prophesies, Striving by conduct to evade The harms they threaten, or perswade, Too frequently himself does run [p. 119.] Into the danger he would shun, And pulls upon himself the woe Fate meant he should much later know. By such delusions vertue strays Out of those honourable ways That lead unto that glorious end, To which the noble ever bend. Whereas if vertue were the guide, Mens minds would then be fortified With constancy, that would declare Against supineness, and despair. We should events with patience wait, And not despise, nor fear our Fate.

The Quaker and his Brats, Are born with their Hats, Which a point with two Taggs, Ty’s fast to their Craggs, Nor King nor Kesar, To such Knaves as these are, Do signifie more than a Tinker. His rudeness and pride So puffs up his hide That He’s drunk though he be no drinker. Chorus. Now since Mayor and Justice Are assured that thus ’tis To abate their encrease and redundance Let us send them to WICKHAM For there’s one will kick ’um Into much better manners by abundance. Once the Clown at his entry [p. 121.] Kist his golls to the Gentry: When the Lady took upon her, ’Twas God save your Honor: But now Lord and Pesant, Do make but one messe on’t Then farewel distinction ’twixt Plowman and Knight. If the world be thus tost The old Proverb is crost, For Joan’s as good as my Lady in th’ Light. Chorus. Now since Mayor and Justice, &c. ’Tis the Gentry that Lulls ’um While the Quaker begulls ’um: They dandle ’um in their Lapps, Who should strike of[f] their Capps; And make ’um stand bare Both to Justice and Mayor, Till when ’twill nere be faire weather; For now the proud Devel Hath brought forth this Level None Knows who and who is together. Now since Mayor and Justice, &c. Now silence and listen [p. 122.] Thou shalt hear how they Christen: Mother Midnight comes out With the Babe in a Clout, Tis Rachell you must know tis, Good friends all take notice, Tis a name from the Scripture arising. And thus the dry dipper (Twere a good deed to whip her) Makes a Christning without a Baptizing. Now since Mayor and Justice, &c. Their wedlocks are many, But Marriages not any, For they and their dull Sows, Like the Bulls and the mull Cows, Do couple in brutify’d fashion: But still the Official, Declares that it is all Matrimoniall Fornication. Now since Mayor and Justice, &c. Their Lands and their Houses W’ont fall to their Spouses: They cannot appoint her One Turff for a Joynter. His son and his daughter, [p. 123.] Will repent it hereafter; For when the Estate is divided; For the Parents demerit Some Kinsman will inherit; Why then let them marry as I did. But since Mayor and Justice, &c. Now since these mad Nations Do cheat their relations, Pray what better hap then Can we that are Chap men, Expect from their Canting, The sighing and panting? We are they use the house with a steeple, And then they may Cozen All us by the Dozen; For Israel may spoyle Pharaohs people. Now since Mayor and Justice, &c. The Quaker who before Did rant and did roare; Great thrift will now tell yee on. But it tends to Rebellion: For his tipling being don, He hath bought him a gun Which hee saves from his former vain spending. O be drunk agen Quaker, [p. 124.] Take thy Canniken and shake her, For thou art the worse for the mending. Now since Mayor and Justice, &c. Then looke we about, And give them a Rout, Before they Encumber The Land with their number: There can be no peace in These Vermins encreasing; For tis plaine to all prudent beholders, That while we neglect, They do but expect A new head to their old mans Shoulders. Now since Mayor and Justice Are assured that thus ’tis: To abate their encrease and redundance Let us send them to WICKHAM For there’s one will Kick ’um Into much better manners by abundance.