Sir Charles Sedley Baronet.

A

BALLA D

To the Tune of Bateman.

You Gallants all, that love good Wine,

For fhame your Lives amend;

With Strangers go to Church, or Dine,
But drink with an old Friend.

For with him tipling all the Night,
You kifs, hugg, and embrace;
Whereas a Stranger at firft fight,
May kill you on the Place.

There was a rich old Ufurer,
A gallant Son he had;
Who flew an ancient Barrister,
Like a true mettled Lad.

All in that very Houfe, where Saint
Holds Devil by the Nofe;

These Drunkards met to Roar, and Rant,
But quarrell'd in the close.

The

The Glass flew chearfully about,

And drunken Chat went on;

Which Troops had fail'd,and which were ftout, When Namur wou'd be won.

A learned Lawyer, at the laft,
No Tory, as I'm told,

Began to talk of Tyrants past,
In words both fharp and bold.

He toucht a little on our Times,
Defin'd the Power of Kings,

What were their Vertues, what their Crimes,
And many dangerous Things.

A Stranger that fat filent by,
And fcarce new what he meant,
O'ercome with Wine and Loyalty,
Did thus his Paffion vent:

I cannot bear the leaft ill Word,
That leffens any King;

And the bold Man fhall feel my Sword;
At that their Friends ftept in.

The Quarrel feem'd a while compos'd,
And many Healths there paft,

But one to Blood was ill difpos'd,
As it appear'd at last.

The

The Counsellor was walking Home,
Sober, as he was wont,

The young Man after him did come,
With Sword that was not blunt,

A Blow their past, which no Man faw,
From Cane of Lawyer bold;

The young Man did his Weapon draw,
And left the Lawyer cold.

Which Cane held up, in his Defence,
Was judg'd a Weapon drawn:
What needs there farther Evidence,
The Affault was very plain.

At Hixes's Hall, by Jury grave,
It was Man-flaughter found;
O what, wou'd it have coft to have
A Pardon from the Crown.

Then learn, my honeft Country-men,
To take your felves the Pence;
Wifely prevent the Courtier's Gain,
And fave us that Expence.

Ye Gallants all, take heed how you
Come to untimely Ends ;
Juftice has bid the World adieu,

And dead Men have no Friends.

SONG.

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SONG

Ears not my Phillis, how the Birds
Their feather'd Mates falute?

They tell their Paffion in their Words;
Muft I alone be mute?

Phillis, without Frown or Smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.

The God of Love in thy bright Eyes
Does like a Tyrant reign;

But in thy heart a Child he lyes,
Without his Dart or Flame.
Phillis, without, &c.

So many Months in Silence paft,
And yet in raging Love,

Might well deferve one word at laft
My Paffion fhou'd approve.

Phillis, without, &c.

Muft then your faithful Swain expire,
And not one look obtain,
Which he, to footh his fond Defire,

Might pleafingly explain?

Phiills, without, &c.

ADVICE

ΤΟ

The Old Beaux.

Scra

Crape no more your harmless Chins,
Old Beaux, in hope to please;

You fhou'd repent your former Sins,
Not study their Increase;

Young awkard Fops, may fhock our Sight,
But you offend by Day and Night.

In vain the Coachman turns about,
And whips the dappl d Greys;
When the old Ogler looks out,
We turn away our Face.

True Love and Youth will ever charm,
But both affected, cannot warm.

Summer-fruits we highly prife,
They kindly cool the Blood;
But Winter berries we defpife,
And leave 'em in the Wood;
On the Bulb they may look well,
But gather'd, loje both taste and fmell.

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That