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Or else at serious Ombre play;

But why shou'd we in vain
Each others Ruin thus pursue?.;
We were undone when we left you.
With a Fa, &c.

But now our Fears tempestuous grow,

And cast our Hopes away,
Whilst you regardless of our Woe

Sit careless at a Play;
Perhaps permit some happier Man
To kiss

your Hand, or flirt
With a Fa, &c.

your Fan,


When any mournful Tune you hear,

That dies in ev'ry Note,
As if it figh'd with each Man's Care,

For being so remote;

Think Think then how often Love we've made To you,

when all those Tunes were play'd. With a Fa, &c.


In Justice you cannot refuse

To think of our Distress,
When we for hopes of Honour lose

Our certain Happiness;
All those Designs are but to prove
Our selves more worthy of your Love.

With a Fa, &c.



And now we've told you all our Loves,

And likewise all our Fears
In hope this Declaration moves,

Some Pity for our Tears,
Let's hear of no Inconstancy,
We have too much of that at Sea.

With a Fa la, la, la, la.



MWhile thus Imparadis'd I lye.

Y better self, my Heav'n, my Joy!

While thus Įmparadis'd I lye, Transported in thy circling Arms With fresh Variety of Charms, From Fate I scarce can think to cráve A Bliss, but what in theé I have. Twelve Months, my Dear, have past, since thou Didft plight to me thy Virgin Vow; Twelve Months in Rapture spent! for they Seem shorter than St. Lucy's Day: A bright Example we shall provę Of lasting matrimonial Love,

Mean while, I beg the Gods to grant (The only Favour that I want)

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That I may not survive, to see
My Happiness expire with thee.
O! shọu'd I lose my dearest Dear,
By thee, and all that's good I swear,
I'd give my self the fatal Blow,
And wait thee to the World below.

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When W HEADLE thus to Spouse in Bed
Spoke the best things he e'er had read,
Madam (surpriz'd, you must suppose it,)
Had lock'd a Templer in the Closet;
A Youth of pregnant Parts, and Worth,
To play at Picquet, and so forth
This Wag, when he had heard the whole,
Demurely to the Curtains stole;
And peeping in, with solemn Tone
Cry'd out, O Man! Thy Days are done:

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The Gods are fearful of the worst,

And send me, Death, to fetch thee first;
To save their Fav’rite from Self-murder :
LO! thus 1 execute their Order.
Hold, Sir, for second Thoughts are best,
The Husband cry'd; 'tis my Request
With Pleasure to prolong my Life.
Torir Meaning? --Pray, Sir, take my Wife.



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