_We will rob, we will steal For our own Common-weal. Let the Miser be damn’d with his treasure: Our designs we will shape For the juyce of the grape, Thus spin out our lives in our pleasure._ _We think it more fit To live by our wit, And hazard our lives on adventure; We are Sons of the blade Never bred to a trade, We scorn’d to be bound by Indenture._ Not for flattery, but due merit, we could give her no less then applause: Which though that word may savour of something of a complement, yet I will assure you there was no such thing past between us; we knew how to improve our time to a far greater advantage, leaving such empty vain expressions to such, who have little else to do then to play with a Ladies Fan, or to consume their times in combing their Perriwigs, not only in the Streets and Play-houses, but even (irreverently) in the holy places of Divine Worship. The pertinency of this Song to the practice of our lives, did as much please us all, as the sweet harmony of that voice did ravish our delighted ears. And lest our satisfaction should any wayes cool or abate, more Musical fewel was laid on, to warm our benumbed spirits, if any such unlikely thing should happen. Whereupon her Sister (not making use of any instrument to assist her voice, being sensible it was good and natural) frankly, and with a becoming freedom, sang to this purpose. _’Tis liberty which we adore, It is our wealth and only store; Having her we all are free, Who so merry then as we? ’Tis she that makes us now to sing, And only She can pleasure bring._ Chorus. _Since we then such freedome have, Wee’ll purchase pleasure, or a grave; ’Tis better so, then live a slave._ _As I am free, so will be still, For no man shall abridge my will: I’ll pass my life in choicest pleasure, On various objects spend my treasure: That Woman sure no joy can find, Who to one man is only joyn’d._ Chorus. _Since we then such freedom have, Wee’l purchase pleasure or a grave: ’Tis better so, then live a slave._ _What pleasure is in full cram’d bags? No more then is in Beggars rags: Vnless made use of, what is Cash? A fine new Nothing, glittering trash: Being well employ’d, it is a thing Which doth delight and honour bring._ Chorus.