ON THE

BIRTH-DAY

OF

I

The Late QUEEN.

L

A SONG.

Ove's Goddess fure was blind this Day,
Thus to adorn her greatest Foe,

And Love's Artillery betray,

To one that wou'd her Realm o'erthrow.

Thofe Eyes, that form that lofty Meen,
Who could for Vertue's Camp defign?
Defenfive Arms fhou'd there be feen
No Sharp, no pointed Weapons Shine.

Sweetnefs of Nature, and true Wit,
High Power, with equal Goodness joyn'd,
In this fair Paradife are met,

The Joy and Wonder of Mankind.

May her bleft Example chafe
Vice in Troops out of the Land,
Flying from her awful Face,

Like pale Ghofts when Day's at Hand.

Long may fhe Reign over this Isle
Lov'd and ador'd in foreign Parts;
But gentle Pallas Shield the while
From her bright Charms our fingle Hearts.

May her Heroe bring home Peace,
Won with Honour in the Field,
And all home-bred Factions cease ;
He our Sword, and She our Shield.

Many fuch Days may She behold,
Like the glad Sun without decay;
May Time, that tears where he lays hold,
Only falute her in his way.

Late, late, may She to Heaven return,
And Quires of Angels their rejoyce,
As much as we below fhall mourn
Our Short, but their Eternal Choice.

ΤΟ

ΤΟ

CLORIS.

C

Loris, I juftly am betray'd,
By a design my self had laid;
Like an old Rook, whom in his Cheat,
A run of Fortune does defeat.

I thought at firft with a fmall Sum
Of Love, thy Heap to overcome;
Prefuming on thy want of Art,
Thy gentle and unpractis'd Heart ;
But naked Beauty can prevail,
Like open force, when all things fail.
Inftead of that, thou haft all mine,
And I have not onę Stake of thine
;
And, like all Winners, doft discover
A Willingness to give me over.
And though I beg, thou wilt not now;
'Twere better thou fhoud'ft do so too;
For I fo far in debt fhall run,
Even thee I fhall be forc'd to fhun.
My Hand, alas, is no more mine,
Elfe it had long ago been thine;
My Heart I give thee, and we call
No Man unjuft that parts with all.
D 3

THE

R

THE

Soldiers Catch.

Oom, Boys, room; room, Boys, room;
For from Ireland we come

We have mawl'd the original Tories;
We have baffled the League,

Between Monfieur and Teague,

And eclips'd the Grand Lewis his Glories.

They all fly in the Field,

Their beft Garrifons yield,

They ftand trembling while we take their Paffes:

Our brave King at our Head,

We fear no Steel nor Lead,

But laugh at their Beads and their Maffes.

If fome Blood we have fpilt,
To compound for the Guilt,

In Love's Camp we will do double Duty,
Mankind we'll repair,

With the leave of the Fair,

And pay our Arrears to true Beauty.

Our

Our worst Noise in the Pit,
Shall pass all for good Wit,

While the Cits and the Bumkins adore uẩ
We will pay the Rogues well

Their Wives Bellies fhall fwell,

And the Cuckolds at random fhall fcore us.

The next Summer for France,
We will boldly advance,

Our noble Redeemer fhall lead us;
We will break the Slaves Chains,

And drink off their Champains,

To the Health of that Heroe that freed us,

He hates Lewis le Grand,
Like a true English Man,
And ne'er will confent to a Treaty,

Till each neighbouring Crown

Have what's juftly their own,

And the French ftrike Sail when they meet ye.

Since Elizabeth's Reign:

No Proteftant Queen

We have had, but the prefent God bless her; Since our Edward the Fourth,

No brave Prince of fuch Worth,
But William his valiant Succeffor,

With a Queen fo devout,
And a People fo ftout,

A Parliament that will fupply 'em,
A Caufe that is right,

And a King that will fight,
Our Enemies all we defie 'em.