LET Ambition fire thy Mind,
Thou wert born o’er Men to Reign;
Not to follow Flocks design’d,
Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain:
Not to follow Flocks design’d,
Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain.
Crowns I’ll throw beneath thy Feet,
Thou on Necks of Kings shalt tread,
Joys in Circles, Joys shall meet,
Which way e’re thy fancy leads.
The Beau’s Character in the Comedy call’d Hampstead-Heath. Set and Sung by Mr. Ramondon.
[[Listen]]
A Whig that’s full,
An empty Scull,
A Box of Burgamot;
A Hat ne’er made
To fit his Head
No more than that to Plot.
A Hand that’s White,
A Ring that’s right,
A Sword, Knot, Patch and Feather;
A Gracious Smile,
And Grounds and Oyl,
Do very well together.
A smatch of French,
And none of Sence,
All Conquering Airs and Graces;
A Tune that Thrills,
A Lear that Kills,
Stoln Flights and borrow’d Phrases.
A Chariot Gilt,
To wait on Jilt,
An awkward Pace and Carriage;
A Foreign Tower,
Domestick Whore,
And Mercenary Marriage.
A Limber Ham,
G—— D—— ye M’am,
A Smock-Face, tho’ a Tann’d one;
A Peaceful Sword,
Not one wise Word,
But State and Prate at Random.
Duns, Bastards, Claps,
And Am’rous Scraps,
Of Cælia and Amadis;
Toss up a Beau,
That Grand Ragou,
That Hodge-Podge for the Ladies.