That will dig for't in _Malvein_ Hill.

_A New_ SONG, _Sung at the Playhouse. By Mr._ DOGGET.

[Music]

In the Devil's Country there lately did dwell,
A crew of such Whores as was ne'er bred in Hell,
The Devil himself he knows it full well,
_Which no Body can deny, deny;_
_Which no Body can deny._

There were Six of the Gang, and all of a Bud,
Which open'd as soon as got into the Blood,
There are five to be hang'd, when the other proves good,
_Which no Body_, &c.

But it seems they have hitherto sav'd all their Lives,
Since they cou'd not live honest, there's four made Wives,
The other two they are not Marry'd but Sw----s,
_Which no Body_, &c.

The Eldest the Matron of t'other Five Imps,
Though as Chast as _Diana_, or any o'th' Nymphs,
Yet rather than Daughter shall want it, she Pimps,
_Which no Body_, &c.

Damn'd Proud and Ambitious both Old and the Young,
And not fit for honest Men to come among,
A damn'd Itch in their Tail, and a sting in their Tongue,
_Sing tantara rara Whores all, Whores all,_
_Sing tantara rara Whores all._

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Marriage it seems is for Better for Worse,
Some count it a Blessing and others a Curse;
The Cuckolds are Blest if the Proverb prove true,
And then there's no doubt but in Heav'n there's enough:
Of honest rich Rogues who ne'er had got there,
If their Wives had not sent them thro' trembling and fear.

Some Women are Honest, tho' rare in a Wife,
Yet with Scolding and Brawling they'll shorten your Life,
You ne'er can enjoy your Bottle and Friend;
But your Wife like an Imp, is at your Elbow's end:
Crying fie, fie you Sot, come, come, come, come,
So these are Unhappy abroad and at home.

We find the Batchelor liveth best,
Tho' Drunk or Sober he takes his rest;
He never is troubl'd with Scolding or Strife,
'Tis the best can be said of a very good Wife:
But merrily Day and Night does spend,
Enjoying his Mistress, Bottle, and Friend.

A Woman out-wits us, do what we can,
She'll make a Fool of ev'ry Wise Man;
Old Mother _Eve_ did the _Serpent_ obey,
And has taught all her Sex that damnable way:
Of Cheating and Couzening all Mankind,
'Twere better if _Adam_ had still been Blind.

The poor Man that Marries he thinks he does well,
I pity's Condition, for sure he's in Hell;
The Fool is a Sotting and spends all he gets,
The Child is a Bawling, the Wife daily Frets:
That Marriage is pleasant we all must agree,
Consider it wel