Volume 5 — A SONG. Set by Mr. Motley.

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DRAW Cupid draw, and make fair Sylvia know; The mighty Pain her suff’ring Swain does for her undergo; Convey this Dart into her Heart, and when she’s set on Fire, Do thou return and let her burn, like me in chast desire; That by Experience she, may learn to pity me, Whene’er her Eyes do tyrannize o’er my Captivity: But when in Love we jointly move, and tenderly imbrace, Like Angels shine, and sweetly join to one another’s Face.

A SONG; The Words by a Person of a Quality. Set to Musick by Mr. Robert Cary.

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SOme brag of their Chloris, and some of their Phillis, Some cry up their Cælia, and bright Amaryllis: Thus Poets and Lovers their Mistresses dub, And Goddesses fram’d from the Wash-bowl and Tub; But away with these Fictions, and Counterfeit Folly: There’s a thousand more Charms in the Name of my Dolly. I cannot describe you her Beauty and Wit, Like Manna to each she’s a relishing Bit; She alone by Enjoyment, the more does prevail, And still with fresh Pleasures does hoist up your Sail: Nay, had you a Surfeit, but took of all others, One Look from my Dolly your Stomach recovers.

The Mountebank Song. Sung by Dr. Leverigo, and his merry Andrew Pinkanello, in Farewel to Folly. Set by Mr. Leveridge.

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HEre are People and Sports of all sizes and sorts, Coach’d Damsel with Squire, and Mob in the Mire, Tarpaulins, Trugmallions, Lords, Ladys, Sows, Babies, and Loobys in Scores. Some howling, some Bawling, some Leering, some Fleering, some Loving, some Shoving, with Legions of Furbelow’d Whores. To the Tavern, some go, and some to a Show, see Poppets for Moppets, Jack-puddings, for Cuddens, Rope Dancing, Mares Prancing, Boats flying, Quacks lying, Pick-pockets, pick Plackets, Beasts, Butchers, and Beaus. Fops prat’ling, Dies rat’ling, Rooks shaming, Puts Daming, Whores Painted, Mask’s tainted, in Tallymans Furbelow’d Cloaths. The Mobs Joys would you know to yon Musick-house go, see Tailors, and Saylors, Whores Oily in Doily, hear Musick, makes you sick: Cows Skipping, Clowns tripping, some Joaking, some Smoaking, like Spiggit and Tap; short Measure, strange Pleasure thus Billing, and Swilling, some yearly, get fairly, for Fairings Pig, Pork, and a Clap.

The Mountebank Song. Set and Sung by Mr. Leveridge, in a New Play call’d, Farewel to Folly.

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SEE, Sirs, see here! a Doctor rare, who travels much at home! Here take my Bills, take my Bills, I cure all Ills, past, present, and to come; the Cramp, the Stitch, the Squirt, the Itch, the Gout, the Stone, the Pox, the Mulligrubs, the Bonny Scrubs, and all, all, all, all, all, Pandora’s Box; Thousands I’ve Dissected, Thousands new erected, and such Cures effected, as none e’er can tell. Let the Palsie shake ye, let the Chollick rack ye, let the Crinkums break ye, let the Murrain take ye; Take this, take this and you are well. Thousands, &c. Come Wits so keen, devour’d with Spleen; come Beaus who sprain’d your Backs, Great-belly’d Maids, old founder’d Jades, and Pepper’d Vizard Cracks. I soon remove the pains of Love, and cure the Love-sick Maid; the Hot, the Cold, the Young, the Old, the Living and the Dead. I clear the Lass with Wainscot Face, and from Pim-ginets free, Plump Ladies Red, like Saracen’s-head, with toaping Rattafe. This with a Jirk, will do your work, and scour you o’re and o’re, Read, Judge and Try, and if you die, never believe me more, never, never, never, never, never believe me more.

A Song in the Mock Marriage. Sung by Mrs. Knight. Set by Mr. Henry Purcell.

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OH! how you protest and solemnly swear, Look humble, and fawn like an Ass; I’m pleas’d, I must own, when ever I see A Lover that’s brought to this pass. Keep, keep further off, you’re naughty I fear, I vow I will never, will never, will never yield to’t; You ask me in vain; for never I swear, I never, no never, I never, no never, I never, no never will do’t. For when the Deed’s done, how quickly you go, No more of the Lover remains, In hast you depart, whate’er we can do, And stubbornly throw off your Chains: Desist then in time, let’s hear on’t no more, I vow I will never yield to’t; You promise in vain, in vain you adore, For I will never, no never will do’t.