She vex'd in her Mind to hear this Lad's reply, To _Venus_ she went, in great Discontent, To desire her Boy with his Bow ready bent, To take a nimble Dart, and strike him to the Heart, For disobeying her Commandment: _Cupid_ then gave the Swain such a Bang, As made him to gang with this bonny Lass along, Still she cry'd, come away, come away bonny Lad, come hither, I come, I come, I come, I come, I come, I come, So they gang'd along together. _Good Honest Trooper take warning by_ DONALD COOPER. _To the Tune of_ Daniel Cooper. [Music] A Bonny Lad came to the Court, His Name was _Donald Cooper_, And he Petition'd to the King, That he might be a Trooper: He said that he, By Land and Sea, Had fought to Admiration, And with _Montross_ Had many blows, Both for his King and Nation. The King did his Petition grant, And said he lik'd him dearly, Which gave to _Donald_ more content, Than Twenty Shillings yearly: This wily Leard Rode in the Guard, And lov'd a strong Beer Barrel; Yet stout enough, To Fight and Cuff, But was not given to Quarrel. Till on a _Saturday_ at Night, He walked in the Park, Sir; And there he kenn'd a well fair Lass, When it was almost dark, Sir; Poor _Donald_ he Drew near to see, And kist her bonny Mow, Sir; He laid her flat Upon her back, And bang'd her side Weam too, Sir. He took her by the Lilly white Hand, And kiss'd his bonny _Mary_, Then they did to the Tavern go, Where they did drink Canary; When he was Drunk, In came a Punck, And ask'd gan he would Mow her; Then he again, With Might and Main, Did bravely lay her o'er, Sir. Poor _Donald_ he rose up again, As nothing did him ail, Sir; But little kenn'd this bonny Lass, Had Fire about her Tail, Sir: When Night was spent Then Home he went, And told it with a Hark, Sir; How he did Kiss A dainty Miss, And lifted up the Sark, Sir. But e'er a Month had gone about, Poor _Donald_ walked sadly: And every yean enquir'd of him, What gar'd him leuk so badly: A Wench, quoth he, Gave Snuff to me, Out of her Placket box, Sir; And I am sure, She prov'd a Whore, And given to me the Pox, Sir. Poor _Donald_ he being almost Dead, Was turn'd out of the Guard, Sir; And never could get in again, Although he was a Leard, Sir: When _Mars_ doth meet, With _Venus_ sweet, And struggles to surrender; The Triumph's lost, Then never trust A Feminine Commander. Poor _Donald_ he went home again, Because he lost his Place, Sir; For playing of a Game at Whisk, And turning up an Ace, Sir; Ye Soldiers all, Both great and small, A Foot-man or a Trooper; When you behold, A Wench that's bold Remember _Donald Cooper_. _The Jovial Drinker._ [Music]