m most fine,
At first sight I thought him some Angel divine;
But viewing his crab Face I fell to my Trade,
I made him forswear ever acting a Maid:
Meaw, quoth the Devil, and so ran away,
Hid himself in a Fryer's old Weeds as they say.

I walked along and it was my good chance,
To meet with a Black-coat that was in a Trance;
I speedily grip'd him and whip'd off his Cods,
'Twixt his Head and his Breech, I left little odds:
O, quoth the Devil, and so away ran,
Thou oft will be curst by many a Woman.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

When _Jemmy_ first began to love,
He was the finest Swain;
That ever yet a Flock had drove,
Or Danc'd upon the Plain:
'Twas then that I, woe's me poor heart,
My Freedom threw away;
And finding sweets in every part,
I could not say him nay.

For ever when he spake of Love,
He wou'd his Eyes decline;
Each Sigh he gave a Heart wou'd move,
Good faith, and why not mine:
He'd press my Hand, and Kiss it oft,
His silence spoke his Flame;
And whilst he treated me thus soft,
I wish'd him more to blame.

Sometimes to feed my Flock with his,
_Jemmy_ wou'd me invite;
Where he the finest Songs would Sing,
Me only to Delight:
Then all his Graces he display'd,
Which were enough I trow;
To conquer any Princely Maid,
So did he me I trow.

But now for _Jemmy_ I must Mourn,
He to the Wars must go;
His Sheephook to a Sword must turn,
Alack what shall I do?
His Bagpipes into Warlike sounds,
Must now converted be;
His Garlands into fearful Wounds,
Oh! what becomes of me?

_A_ SONG; _to the Tune of_ Woobourn _Fair._

Vol. 4. Pag. 330.

Jilting is in such a Fashion,
And such a Fame,
Runs o'er the Nation,
There's never a Dame
Of highest Rank, or of Fame,
Sir, but will stoop to your Caresses,
If you do but put home your Addresses:
It's for that she Paints, and she Patches,
All she hopes to secure is her Name, Sir.

But when you find the Love fit comes upon her,
Never trust much to her Honour;
Tho' she may very high stand on't,
Yet when her love is Ascendant,
Her Vertue's quite out of Doors
High Breeding, rank Feeding,
With lazy Lives leading,
In Ease and soft Pleasures,
And taking loose Measures,
With Play-house Diversions,
And Midnight Excursions,
With Balls Masquerading,
And Nights Serenading,
Debauch the Sex into Whores, Sir.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ PACK.

[Music]

Farewel ungrate