No Creature in Nature,

Be late here, but wait here,
From Vulcan's hot Bellows,
Air, Neptune and Tellus,
The Thrushes from Bushes,
And Prickets from Thickets,
Come whisk it and frisk it,
And skip it and trip it,
In Honour of Love and the Muses.

SONG LXVIII. The old Wife, &c.

HE old Wife fhe fent to the Miller her
Daughter,

TH

To grind her Grift quickly, and fo return back, The Miller fo work'd it, that in eight Months after

Her Belly was fill'd as full as her Sack;

Young Robin fo pleas'd her, that when the came home,

She gap'd like a stuck Pig, and star'd like a Mome,

She hoyden'd, the fcamper'd, the halloo'd and whoop'd,

And all the Day long,

This, this was her Song,

Was ever Maiden fo lericompoop'd?

Oh Nelly, cry'd Celie, thy Clothes are all mealy, Both Backfide and Belly are rumpled all o'er, You moap now and flabber, why what a pox ails ye?

I'll go to the Miller, and know all, ye Whore: She went, and the Miller did grinding fo ply, She came cutting Capers a Foot and half high, She waddled, the ftraddled, fhe halloo'd and whoop'd,

And all the Day long
This, this was her Song,

Hoy, were ever two Sifters fo lericompoop'

Then Mary o'th' Dairy, a third of the Number, Wou'd fain know the Cause they so jigg'd it

about,

The Miller her Wishes long would not incumber,

But in the old manner the Secret found out. Thus Gelie and Nelly, and Mary the mild, Were just about Harveft-Time all big with Child. They danc'd in the Hay, they halloo'd and whoop'd,

And all the Day long,

This, this was her Song,

Hoy, were ever three Sifters fo lericompoop'd? And when they were hig they did stare at each other,

And crying, Oh Sifters! what shall we now do? For all our young Bantlings we have but one Fa

ther,

And they in one Month will all come to Town

too:

O why did we run in fuch hafte to the Mill,
To Robin, who always the Toll Difh would fill,
He bump'd up our Bellies, then halloo'd and
whoop'd,

And all the Day long,

This, this was their Song,

Hoy, were ever three Sifters fo lericompoop'd ?

SONG LXIX. Mufing I late.

Ufing I late

MR

On Windfor Tarras fat ;

And hot, and weary,

Heard a merry

Am'rous Couple chat;

Words as they go,

The Nymph foon made me know

And t'other was,

Tho' gay in Dress,

A blund'ring Country Beau

He had shown her all

The Lodgings, great and small,;
The Tower, the Bower,
The Green, the Queen,
And fam'd St. George's Hall:
Laftly brought her here,
To court her for his Dear;
To wed and bed,

And swore he had
A thoufand Pound a Year.
Money, the Crew

Of Sots, think all must do
And now this Fool,
Unlearn'd at School,

It seems believes fo too:
But the rare Girl,

More worth than Gold or Pearl,
Was nobly got,

And brought, and taught,
To flight the fordid World.

She then brisk and gay,
That lov'd a tuneful Lay,
In hafte pull'd out
Her little Flute,
And bad him fing or play;
He both Arts defy'd,
And fhe as quickly cry'd ;
Who learnt no way

To fing nor fay,

Shou'd ne'er make her a Bride.

SONG LXX. Hark the,' &c.

Ark the thund'ring Cannons roar,

H Echoing from the German Shore,

And the joyful News comes o'er;

The Turks are all confounded?

Lorrain comes, they run, they run,

Charge your Horfe thro' the grand half Moon,

We'll Quarter give to none,

Since Staremberg is wounded.

Close your Rank, and each brave Soul
Take a lufty flowing Bowl,
A grand Caroufe to the Royal-Pole,
The Empire's brave Defender;
No Man leave his Poft by Stealth;
To plunder the Grand Vifier's Wealth,
But drink a Helmet full to th' Health
Of the fecond Alexander.
Mahomet was a fober Dog,

A Small-beer, drowzy, fenfelefs Rogue,
The Juice of the Grape fo much in vogue,
To forbid to those adore him;
Had he but allow'd the Vine,
Given 'em leave to caroufe in Wine,
The Turk had fafely paft the Rhine,
And conquer'd all before him.
With dull Tea they fought in vain,
Hopeless Vict'ry to obtain,

Where fprightly Wine fills ev'ry Vein,
Succefs muft needs attend him;
Our Brains (like our Cannons) warm,
With often firing feel no harm,
While the fober Sot flies the Alarm,
No Laurel can befriend him.、
Chriftians thus with Conqueft crown'd,
Conqueft with the Glass goes round,
Weak Coffee can't keep its Ground
Against the Force of Claret :
Whilft we give them thus the Foil,
And the Pagan Troops recoil,
The valiant Poles divide the Spoil,
And in brifk Nectar fhare it.

Infidels are now o'ercome,

But the moft Chriftian Turk's at home,
Watching the Fate of Christendom,
But all his Hopes are fhallow;
Since the Poles have led the Dance,
Let English Cafar now advance,
And if he fends a Fleet to France,
He's a Whig that will not follow.

SONG LXXI. In January last, &c.

I

N January laft, on Munnonday at Morn,
As I along the Fields did pafs to view the
Winter's Corn;

I looked me behind, and I faw come over the
Knough,

Yan glenting in an Apron with a bonny brent Brow.

I bid gud Morrow fair Maid, and she right courteouflie

Bekt low and fine, kind Sir, fhe faid, gud Day agan to ye;

I fpear'd o' her, fair Maid quo' I, how far intend ye now?

Quo' fhe, I mean a Mile or twa, to yonder bonny Brow.

Fair Maid, I'm weel contented to have fike Com→

pany,

For I am ganging out the Gate that ya intend

ta be;

When we had walk'd a Mile or twa, Ize faid to her, my Doe,

May I not dight your Apron fine, kiss your bonny Brow.

Nea, gud Sir, you are far mifteen, for I am mean o' those,

I hope ya ha more Breeding than to dight a Woman's Clothes;,

For I've a better chofen than any fike as you, Who boldly may my Apron dight, and kiss ma bonny Brow.

Na, if ya are contracted, I have ne mair to say, Rather than be rejected, I will give o'er the Play; And I will chofe yan o' me own that shall not on

me rew,

Will boldly let me dight her Apron, kiss her bonny Brow,