Joane Molton's Crofs is of no force,

1

Though many a Cuckold go by; Let many a. Man do all that he can, Yet a Cuckold he fhall die.

The good Wife o' the Swan has a Leg like a Man,
Full well it becomes her Hofe;

She jets it apace with a very good Grace,
But falls back at the firft Close,

The Prior of Cour-tree made a great Pudding-pie,
His Monks cry'd Meat for a King;
If the Abbot of Chefter do die before Eafter,
Then Banbury Bells muft Ring.

He that will a Welch Man catch,

Muft watch when the Wind's i' the South,

And put in a Net a good piece of Roaft Cheese, And hang it close to his Mouth.

And Lancashire, if thou be true,

As ever thou hast been;

Go fell thy old Whittle, and buy a new Fiddle,
And cry God fave the Queen.

The LEATHER BOTTEL.

N

OW God alone that made all things,
Heaven and Earth and all therein,

The Ships that in the sea do fwim
To keep our Fues from coming in,
Then every one does what he can..
All for the good Use of Man.

And I wifh in Heaven his Soul may dwell
That fire invented the Leather Bottel

Now what d'ye fay of Cans of Wood?
Faith they are naught, they cannot be good;
For when a Man for Beer doth fend,
To have them full he doth intend;
;
The Bearer ftumbles by the way,
And on the Ground the Beer doth lay;
Then doth the Man begin to Ban,
And fwears 'twas long o'th' Wooden Gan,
But had it been a Leather Bottel

It had not been fo, for all had been well,
And fafe therein the Drink would remain,
Until the Man got up again.

Then I wish, &c.

What do you fay to Glaffes fine?
Faith they shall have no Praise of mine;
For when a Man's at Table set,
And by him feveral forts of Meat,
The one loves Flesh the other Fish;
Then with your Hand remove a Dish,
Touch but the Glafs upon the brim,
The Glass is broke and naught left in,
The Table-Cloath, though ne'er fo fine,
Is foil'd with Beer, or Ale, or Wine,
And doubtlefs for fo fmall abufe
A Servant may his Mafter lofe.
Then I wish, &c,

What fay you to the handled Pot?
No Praife of mine shall be his Lot,
For when a Man and Wife's at ftrife,
(As many have been in their Life,)
They lay their Hands upon it both,
And break the fame, although they're loth;
But woe to them shall bear the guilt,
Between them both the Liquor's spilt;
For which they fhall answer another Day;
For cafting their Liquor fo vainly away;

But if it had been Leather-bottell'd,

One might have tugg'd, the other have held,
Both might have tugg'd till their Hearts should break,
No harm the Leather-Bottel could take.

Then I wish, &c.

What fay you to Flagons of Silver fine!
Why faith, they fhall have no Praise of mine;
For when a Lord for Sack doth fend,
To have them fill'd he doth intend;
The Man with the Flagon runs away,
And never is seen after that Day;
The Lord then begins to Swear and Ban,
For having loft both Flagon and Man;
But had it been either Page or Groom,
With a 'Leather-Bottet it had come home.
Then I wish, &c.

And when this Bottel is grown old,
And that it will no longer hold,
Out of the fide you may cut a Clout
To mend your Shoes when they're worn out;
Then hang the rest upon a Pin,

Twill ferve to put odd Trifles in;

As Candles ends, and Awls and Rings,

For young Beginners have such things.

Then I with his Soul in Heaven may dwell,
That firft devifed the Leather Bottel,

The MAIDEN's Longing.

Maiden of late,

A whole Name was fweet Kate,

She dwelt in London near Alderfgate ;
Now lift to my Ditty, declare it I can,

She wou'd have a child, without help of a Man.

To a Doctor fhe came,

A Man of great Fame,

Whofe deep Skill in Phyfick Report did proclaim, Quoth fhe, Mr. Doctor, fhew me, if you can, How I may Conceive without help of a Man,

Then liften, quoth He,
Since fo it must be,

This wondrous ftrange Med'cin I'll fhew prefently, Take nine Pound of Thunder, fix Legs of a Swan And you fhall Conceive without help of a Man,

The Wood of a Frog,
The Juice of a Log,

Well parboyl'd together in the Skin of a Hog, With the Egg of a Moon-Calf, if get it you can And you shall Conceive without help of a Man,

The Love of falfe Harlots,
The Faith of falfe Varlets,

With the truth of Decoys that walk in their Scarlets,
And the Feathers of a Lobfter well fry'd in a Pan
And you shall Conceive without help of a Man.

Nine drops of Rain

Brought hither from Spain,

With the Blaft of a Bellows quite over the Main, With eight Quarts of Brimftone brew'd in a Beer Can, And you fhall Conceive without help of a Man,

Six Pottles of Lard

Squeez'd from a Rock hard,

With nine Turkey Eggs, each as long as a Yard,
With a Pudding of Hail-ftones well bak'd in a Pan,
And you fhall Conceive without help of a Man.

Thefe Med'cins are good,
And approved have stood,

Well temper'd together with a Pottle of Blood

Squeez'd from a Grafhopper and the Nail of a

Swan,

V

To make Maids Conceive without help of a Man.

The HOB GOBLIN.

A Young Man lately in our Town,

He went to Bed one Night,

He had no fooner faid him down,
But was troubled with a Sprite;
So vigorously the Spirit ftood,
Let him do what he can.
Sure then, he faid,

It must be laid

By Woman, not by Man.

A handfome Maid did undertake,
And into the Bed the leap'd,
And to allay the Spirit's Power
Full close to him the crept;
She having fuch a Guardian care,

Her Office to discharge,

She open'd wide her Conjuring Book,

And laid the Leaves at large.

Her Office fhe did well perform,

Within a little space;

Then up the rofe, and down he lay,

And durft not fhew his Face.

She took her leave, and away fhe went

When he had done the Deed;

Saying, ift chance to come again,

Then fend for me with speed.