[A song follows, beginning “There were three birds that built very low.” With other four, commencing respectively on pp. 146, 153, 161, and 168, it is degraded from position here; for substantial reasons; and (with a few others, afterwards to be specified,) given separately. Nothing but the absolute necessity of making this a genuine Antiquarian Reprint, worthy of the confidence of all mature students of our Early Literature, compels the Editor to admit such prurient and imbecile pieces at all. They are tokens of a debased taste that would be inconceivable, did we not remember that, not more than twenty years ago, crowds of MP.s, Lawyers, and Baronets listened with applause, and encored tumultuously, songs far more objectionable than these (if possible) in London Music Halls, and Supper Rooms. Those who recollect what R...s sang (such as “The Lock of Hair,” “My name it is Sam Hall, Chimbley Sweep,” &c.), and what “Judge N——” said at his Jury Court, need not be astonished at anything which was sung or written in the days of the Commonwealth and at the Restoration. A few words we suppress into dots in _Supplement_, &c.] [p. 148.] _The Maid a bathing._ Upon a Summers day, ’Bout middle of the morn, I spy’d a Lass that lay Stark nak’d as she was born; ’Twas by a running Pool, Within a meddow green, And there she lay to cool, Not thinking to be seen. Then did she by degrees Wash every part in rank, Her Arms, her breasts, her thighs, Her Belly, and her Flank; Her legs she opened wide, My eyes I let down steal, Untill that I espy’d Dame natures privy Seal. I stript me to the skin, And boldly stept unto her, Thinking her love to win, I thus began to wooe her: Sweet heart be not so coy, Time’s sweet in pleasure spent, She frown’d, and cry’d, away, Yet, smiling, gave consent. Then blushing, down she slid, [p. 149.] Seeming to be amazed, But heaving up her head, Again she on me gazed; I seeing that, lay down, And boldly ’gan to kiss, And she did smile, and frown, And so fell to our bliss. Then lay she on the ground As though she had been sped, As women in a swoon, Yield up, and yet not dead: So did this lively maid, When hot bloud fill’d her vein, And coming to her self she said, I thank you for your pain.