My Brafs is in my Budget,

And my Rivets under my Apron, I pray you tell her Ladyship

I'm come to mend her Caldron.

Madam, yon is the strongest Tinker
Between this Town and London,
He pray's me tell your Ladyship
He's come to Clout your Caldron;

O go thy ways good Porter,

And let the Tinker in,

For I have work for him to doy -
And Mony he may gain.

And when he came into the Hall,
Upon him he did wink,
Says take him into the Buttery
And make the Knave to drink.

Such Meat as we do eat, fhe fays,
And fuch Drink as ufeja
For it is not any Tinker's Guize
Good Liquor to refuse.

She took the Tinker by the Hand,
Her work for him to fhew,
And down faft by the Caldron fide
Laid he the Lady low.

And gave to her a Hammer

All in her Hand to knock;

3

That her own Wedded Lord might think
The Tinker was at work.

She put her Hand into her Purse

And pluckt out five good Mark;

Here take thee this, faid the, good Tinker, And for thy good Day's work.

She took the Tinker by the Hand,
Her Wedded Lord to fhew:
Said he, here is the Jovial' ft Tinker
That ever I did know.

This is the Jovial'st Tinker,
And the dearest of his Work,
For he'll not drive a Nail to th’Head,
But he must have a Mark.

If you had been fo wife, Madam,
As I had thought y' had been,
Before you had fet him at woɛk,
You'd have agreed with him.

Pray hold your Peace, good Wedded Lord, Think not his Work too dear;

For could you do it but half fo well, 'Twould fave forty Mark a Year.

And be not thou hence too long, Tinker,
Not look for any fending,

For if thou ftay'ft too long away,
My Caldron will want mending.

I

A 'S O N

Sigh'd and I Writ,

And employ'd all my Wit,

And ftill pretty Sylvia deny'd; 'Twas Virtue I thought,

And became fuch a Sot,

I ador'd her the more for her Pride.

Till mask'd in the Pit,
My coy Lucrece I met,

II.

A croud of gay Fops held her play,

G.

So brisk and fo free,

With her fmart Repartee,

I was cur'd and went blushing away.

Poor Lovers mistake

III.

The Addreffes they make

With Vows to be Conftant and True;
Though all the Nymphs hold

For the Sport that is old,

Yet their Play-mates must ever be new.

Each pretty new Toy

IV.

They would die to enjoy,
And then for a newer they pine;

But when they perceive

Others like what they leave,

They will cry for their Bauble again,

EXPERIENCE.

Elieve me, dear Moll,

all

Thofe of Name and Eftate

That have made the Town prate
Of their many brave Deeds and great Forces ;

When they come to the Matter,

Are weaker than Water,

And have nothing that's ftrong but their Purses,

With high Jellys and Broth
They make the Blood froth,
Which creates a falfe Fire
And a fickly Defire;

They Embrace her as if they could eat her;

Such eager hot Flashes

Streight turn into Ashes,

And deceive both themselves and the Creature.

Mother Mofely gives this
For a Maxim to Mifs,

For thy Grandeur and Fame,
Keep a Cock of the Game,

But a tough brawney Dunghil to tread ye;
Let the Wealth of thy Cully

Provide for thy Bully;

Then his Weapon will always be ready.

A RANT against CUPID.

T

'HOU damn'd perpetual peevish Folly,
Curfe of a quiet Life,

Father and Child of Lafie Melancholy,
Author of publick Care and fecret Strife,
Expensive Ruin, everlasting Cheat,
Belov'd Confumption of the Great,
Plague of the Poor,

Sin of a falted frothy Whore,
Whofe emblematick Birth

Foretold her Mischiefs to the mif-believing Earth,

So rotten and fo bafe

The Embryo was,

The Gods in Heaven and Earth could find no place Impure enough for fuch vile Midwifry,

But drencht it in the wide World's fink the Sea.
There by the Rapid Motion

And the briny pickle of the Ocean,
Which like a fickly Stomach ftrove

To difembogue the Potion

On the refifting Rocks, that drove
The Poifon back again

Into the troubled Main;
Preferv'd from Diffolution,

It became.

The Queen of Beauty, Luft and Shame.

Thy lawless Sire

Compos'd of Rapine, Blood and Fire,
God of deftru&ive Rage and War,

Lean Poverty and Delulation are

[Carr,

The Blethings which do fall from his Vain-glorious

With horrid Slaughter all imbru'd,
With Curfes and with hate' purfu'd
He Venus woo'd:

The Union of this marchiefs Pair
Of Rafh and Brave, Luftful and Fair,
Produc'd this moft accomplish'd Heir,
An Off-fpring for fuch Parents fit,
Eternal Moth of Treasure, Peace and Wit.

SONG of Hey ho.

Ho confine a poor

WOW fevere is forgetful old Age,

Lover fo

That I almost Despair

To fee ev'n the Air,

Much more my dear Damon----Hey ho.

Though I whisper my Sighs out alone,
Yet I'm trac'd where-ever I go,
For fome treach❜rous Tree

Hides this old Man from me,

And there he counts every-----bey bo.

How fhall I this Argus Blind,

And fo put an end to my Woe?
But while I beguile

All his Frowns with a Smile,

I betray my self with a----hey ho.

My Reftraint then, alas, muft endure,
So that fince my fad Doom I know,