Telling him, rather than he should begone,
She'd nurse and keep him as her own;
And if he'd vow ne'er to depart,
She'd find him lodging next her heart.
FROM BRISTOL DROLLERY, 1674
AFTER long service, and a thousand vows
To her glad Lover, she more kindness shows:
Oft had Amyntas with her tresses played,
When the Sun's vigour drove 'em to a shade;
And many a time he had given her a green Gown;
And oft he kist her when he had her down.
With signs and motions he to her made known
What fain he wou'd have done, then with a frown
She would forbid him till the minute came
That she no longer could conceal her flame.
The Amorous Shepherd forward to espie
Love's yielding motions triumph in her eye.
With eager transport, strait himself addrest,
To taste the pleasure of so rich a feast,
When with resistance, and a seeming flight,
As 'twere to increase her Lover's appetite;
Unto a place where flowers thicker grew.
Out of his arms, as swift as air she flew:
Daphne ne'er run so light and fast as she,
When from the God's she fled, and turn'd to a Tree.
The Youth pursu'd, nor needs he run amain,
Since she intended to be overta'en,
He drop't no Apple, nor no golden ball,
To stay her flight, for she herself did fall.
Where, 'mongst the Flowers, like Flora's self she lay,
To gain more breath, that she might lose it in play:
She pluckt a Flower, and at Amyntas threw,
When he addrest to crop a flower too.
Then a faint strife she seemed to renew,
She smil'd, she frown'd, she wou'd, and wou'd not do.
At length o'ercome, she suffers with a sigh,
Her ravish'd Lover use his Victory:
And gave him leave to punish her delay,
With double vigour in the Amorous fray.
And then, alas! soon ended the delight,
For too much Love had hast'ned its flight;
And ev'ry ravisht sense too soon awake,
Rap't up in bliss it did but now partake:
Which left the lovers in a state to prove,
Long were the pains, but short the joys of Love.
As I Walked in the Woods
BY T. SHADWELL in the miser, 1672
As I walked in the woods one evening of late,
A Lass was deploring her hapless estate,
She sighed, and she sobbed, Ah, wretched, she said;
Will no youth come to succour a languishing Maid?
Shall I still sigh and cry, and look pale and wan,
And languish for ever for want of a man?
At first when I saw a young man in the place,
My color would fade, and then flush in my face,
My breath would grow short, and I shivered all o'er;
I thought 'twas an Ague, but Alas it was more,
For e'er since I've sighed, and do what I can,
I find I must languish for want of a man.
When in bed all the night I weep on my Pillow,
To see others happy, while I wear the Willow;
I revenge myself on the innocent sheet,
Where in rage I have often times made my Teeth meet:
But all this won't serve, let me do what I can,
I find I must languish for want of a man.
Now all my fresh colour deserted my face,
And let a pale greenness succeed in the place,
I pine and grow faint, and refuse all my meat,
And nothing but Chalk, Lime, or Oatmeal, can eat:
But in my despair I'll die if I can,
And languish no longer for want of a man.
"Come Phillis, Let's Play"
FROM WINDSOR DROLLERY
COME Phillis, let's play,
What though it be day,
There's something we have yet to do,
Shall make thee confess
There's no end to our bliss,
But ever our pleasures renew.
Thou hast so much treasure
Exceeding all measure.
And here I've been so long a stranger,
On this Snowy white hill
I shall ne'er have my fill,
But o'er it cou'd still be a ranger.
Oh, here's such a Waste
A smock that is lac’d.
And a Bosom much whiter is seen;
Below which there lies
Such delicate Thighs,
And that shall be nameless between.
But above all a Face,
And a Head in a Lace
O'er which such a glory does shine;
That in pleasure I swim
On a bright Cherubim,
For my Phillis is sure as divine.
Ere all thy sweets be enjoyed,
Or I shall be cloyed,
An age will be past, and time shall away;
Whil'st our Play does go on
With the rise of each Sun,
And night shall begin but the sports of the Day.
"Alas How Long Shall I and My
Maidenhead Lie"
FROM WINDSOR DROLLERY, 1672
ALAS how long shall I and my maidenhead lie:
In a cold bed all the night long!
I cannot abide it, yet away cannot chide it,
Though I find that it does me some wrong.
Can any one tell where this fine thing doth dwell,
That carries neither form nor fashion?
It both heats and cools, 'tis a Bauble for fools,
Yet catched at in every Nation.
Say a Maid were so crost, as to see this Toy lost,
Would not Hue and Cry fetch it again?
'Las no; for 'tis gone ere well thought upon;
And when found, 'tis lost even then.
"When Flora Had On Her New Gown" FROM BRISTOL DROLLERY, 1674
WHEN Flora had on her new Gown a,
And each pretty flower was blown a,
Ere the Scythe cut the grass,
I met a pretty Lass,
And I gave her a dainty green Gown a.
She got up again, and did frown a,
And call'd me both Coxcomb and Clown a,
'Cause I kiss'd lip and cheek,
T'other thing did not seek,
When I had her so featly there down a.
"Twixt anger and shame then a blush a,
Came over my face with a flush a;
But what I lost on the grass,
Like a good natur'd Lass,
She afforded me under a Bush a.
"I'd Have You, Quoth He"
FROM WINDSOR DROLLERY
I'D have you, quoth he,
Wou'd you have me, quoth she,
O where, Sir?
In my Chamber, quoth he,
In your Chamber, quoth she,
Why there, Sir?
To kiss you, quoth he,
To kiss me, quoth she,
O why, Sir?
'Cause I love it, quoth he,
Do you love it, quoth she?
So do I, Sir.
"Methinks the Poor Town Has Been
Troubled Too Long"
BY THE EARL OF DORSET. MUSIC IN PLAYFORD'S CHOICE
AYRES, 1676
METHINKS the poor Town has been troubled too long,
With Phillis and Chloris in every Song;
By Fools who at once, can both Love and Despair,
And will never leave calling them Cruel and Fair:
Which justly provokes me in Rhyme to express,
The truth that I know of my Bonny black Bess.
This Bess of my Heart, this Bess of my Soul,
Has a Skin white as Milk, but Hair black as a Coal;
She's plump, yet with ease you may span round her Waist,
But her round swelling Thighs can scarce be embraced:
Her Belly is soft, not a word of the rest,
But I know what I mean, when I drink to the Best.
The Plow-man, and Squire, the Erranter Clown,
At home she subdued in her Paragon Gown,
But now she adorns the Boxes and Pit,
And the proudest Town Gallants are forced to submit:
All Hearts fall a leaping wherever she comes,
And beat Day and Night, like my Lord's Drums;
But to those who have had my dear Bess in their Arms,
She's gentle and knows how to soften her Charms
And to every Beauty can add a new Grace,
Having learned how to Lisp, and trip in her pace:
And with Head on one side, and a languishing Eye,
To Kill us with looking, as if she would Die.
"At Noon in a Sultry Summer's Day"
BY THE EARL Of dorset, c. 1682
AT Noon in a sultry Summer's Day,
The brightest Lady of the May,
Young Chloris Innocent and Gay,
Sat Knitting in a shade:
Each slender Finger play'd its part,
With such activity and Art;
As wou'd inflame a Youthful Heart,
And warm the most decayed.
Her Fav'rite Swain by chance came by;
She had him quickly in her Eye,
Yet when the bashful Boy drew nigh,
She would have seemed afraid,
She let her Iv'ry Needle fall,
And hurled away the twisted Ball;
Then gave her Strephon such a call,
As would have waked the Dead.
Dear gentle Youth, is't none but thee?
With Innocence I dare be free;
By so much Trust and Modesty,
No nymph was e'er betrayed,
Come lean thy Head upon my lap,
While thy soft Cheeks I stroke and clap;
Thou may'st securely take a Nap,
Which he, poor Fool, obeyed.
She saw him Yawn, and heard him Snore,
And found him fast asleep all o'er;
She Sighed-and could no more,
But starting up she said,
Such Virtue should rewarded be,
For this thy dull Fidelity;
I'll trust thee with my Flocks, not me,
Pursue thy Grazing Trade.
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