COME Beaus, Virtuoso’s, rich Heirs and Musicians
Away, and in Troops to the Jubile jog;
Leave Discord and Death, to the College Physicians,
Let the Vig’rous whore on, and the impotent Flog:
Already Rome opens her Arms to receive ye,
And ev’ry Transgression her Lord will forgive ye.
Indulgences, Pardons, and such Holy Lumber,
As cheap there is now as our Cabbages grown;
While musty old Relicks of Saints without number,
For barely the looking upon, shall be shown:
These, were you an Atheist, must needs overcome ye,
That first were made Martyrs, and afterwards Mummy.
They’ll shew ye the River, so Sung by the Poets,
With the Rock from whence, Mortals were knockt o’th’ Head;
They’ll shew ye the place too, as some will avow it,
Where once a She Pope was brought fairly to Bed:
For which, ever since, to prevent Interloping,
In a Chair her Successors still suffer a Groping.
What a sight ’tis to see the gay Idol accoutred,
With Mitre and Cap, and two Keys by his side;
Be his inside what ’twill, yet the Pomp of his outward,
Shows Servus servorum, no hater of Pride,
These Keys into Heav’n will as surely admit ye,
As Clerks of a Parish to a Pew in the City.
What a sight ’tis to see the old Man in Procession,
Through Rome in such Pomp as here Cæsar did ride,
Now scattering of Pardons, here Crossing, there Blessing,
With all his shav’d Spiritual Train’d-bans by his side;
As, Confessors, Cardinals, Monks fat as Bacons,
From Rev’rend Arch-Bishops, to Rosie Arch-Deacons.
Then for your Diversion the more to regale ye,
Fine Music you’ll hear, and high Dancing you’ll see;
Men who much shall out-warble your Famous Fideli,
And make ye meer Fools, of Balloon and L’Abbe:
And to shew ye how fond they’re to Kiss Vostre Manos,
Each Padre turns Pimp, all Nuns Courtezana’s.
And when you’ve some Months at old Babylon been-a,
And on Pardons, and Punks, all your Rhino is spent;
And when you have seen all, that there is to be seen-a,
You’ll return not so Rich, tho’ as Wise as you went:
And ’twill be but small Comfort after so much Expence-a,
That your Heirs will do just so an Hundred Years hence-a.
A Young Man’s WILL.
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A Young Man sick and like to die,
His last Will being written found;
I give my Soul to God on high,
And my Body to the Ground:
Unto some Church-men do I give,
Base Minds to greedy Lucre bent;
Pride and Ambition whilst they live,
By this my Will and Testament.
Item. Poor folks brown Bread I give,
And eke bare Bones, with hungry Cheeks;
Toil and Travel whilst they live,
And to feed on Roots and Leeks:
Item. To Rich Men I bestow,
High Looks, low Deeds, and Hearts of Flint;
And that themselves they seldom know,
By this, &c.
Proud stately Courtiers do I Will,
Two Faces in one Head to wear,
For Great Men Bribes, I think most fit,
Pride and Oppression through the Year:
Tenants I give them leave to lose,
And Landlords for to raise their Rent;
Rogues to Fawn, Collogue and glose,
By this, &c.
Item. To Soldiers for their Fees,
I give them Wounds their Bodies full;
And for to beg on bended Knees,
With Cap in Hand to every Gull:
Item. I will poor Scholars have,
For all their Pains and Travel spent:
Raggs, Jaggs, and Taunts of every Knave,
By this my Will and Testament.
To Shoemakers I grant this Boon,
Which Mercury gave them once before;
Altho’ they earn two Pence by Noon,
To spend e’er Night two Groats and more:
And Blacksmiths when the Work is done,
I give to them incontinent,
To drink two Barrels with a Bun,
By this my Will and Testament.
To Weavers swift, this do I leave,
Against that may beseem them well:
That they their good Wives do deceive,
Bring home a Yard and steal an Ell:
And Taylors too must be set down,
A Gift to give them I am bent;
To cut four Sleeves to every Gown,
By this, &c.
To Tavern haunters grant I more,
Red Eyes, Red Nose, and Stinking Breath;
And Doublets foul with drops before,
And foul Shame until their Death:
And Gamesters that will never leave,
Before their Substance be all spent;
The Wooden Dagger I bequeath,
By this, &c.
To common Fidlers I Will that they,
Shall go in poor and thread-bare Coats;
And at most places where they Play,
To carry away more Tunes than Groats:
To wand’ring Players I do give,
Before their Substance be all spent;
Proud Silk’n Beggars for to live,
By this, &c.
To Wenching Smell-smocks give I these,
Dead looks, gaunt purrs, and crasy Back;
And now and then the foul Disease,
Such as Gill gave to Jack;
To Parretors I give them clear,
For all their Toil and Travel spent;
The Devil away such Knaves to bear,
By this my Will and Testament.
I Will that Cutpurses haunt all Fairs,
And thrust among the thickest Throng;
That neither Purse nor Pocket spare,
But what they get to bear along:
But if they Falter in their Trade,
And so betray their bad intent;
I give them Tyburn for their share,
By this my Will and Testament.
To serving Men I give this Gift,
That when their Strength is once decay’d;
The Master of such Men do shift,
As Horsemen do a toothless Jade:
Item. I give them leave to Pine,
For all their Service so ill spent:
And with Duke Humphry for to Dine,
By this, &c.
Item. To Millers I Grant withal,
That they Spare, nor Poke, nor Sack;
But with Grist, so e’er befal,
They Grind a Strike, and steal a Peck:
I Will that Butchers Huff their Meat,
And sell a lump of Ramish scent;
For Weather Mutton good and sweet,
By this, &c.
I Will Ale Wives punish their Guests,
With hungry Cakes and little Canns;
And Barm their Drink with new found Yeest,
Such as is made of Pispot Grounds:
And she that meaneth for to Gain,
And in her House have Money spent,
I Will she keep a pretty Punck,
By this my Will and Testament.
To jealous Husbands I do grant,
Lack of Pleasure, want of Sleep;
That Lanthorn Horns they never want,
Tho’ ne’er so close their Wives they keep:
And for their Wives, I Will that they,
The closer up that they are pent;
The closer still they seek to Play,
By this my Will and Testament.
For Swearing Swaggerers nought is left,
To give them for a parting Blow;
But leaving off of damned Oaths,
And that of them I will bestow:
Item. I give them for their Pain,
That when all Hope and Livelihood’s spent,
A Wallet or a Hempen Chain,
By this &c.
Time and longest Livers do I make,
The Supervisor of my Will:
My Gold and Silver let them take,
That will dig for’t in Malvein Hill.
A New Song, Sung at the Playhouse. By
Mr. Dogget.
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