Nature the best Instructeress cry'd, Her Ivory Pillows to divide, That Love might Sail with Wind and Tide; She rais'd the Mast and sail'd by it, That Day two Tides together met, Drove him on Shore soon dropping wet. _A_ SONG. [Music] Ah! _Caelia_ how can you be Cruel and Fair? Since removing, The Charms that are loving, 'Twould make a poor Lover Despair; 'Tis true, I have lov'd you these seven long Years & more, Too long for a Man that ne'er was in Love before: And if longer you my Caresses deny, I then am resolv'd to give over my Flames and die. Love fires the Heart of him that is Brave, Charms the Spirit Of him that is merit, And makes the poor Lover a Slave; Dull sordid Souls that never knew how to Love, Where Nature is plung'd, 'tis a shame to the best above: And if any longer you my Caresses deny, I then am resolv'd to give over my Flames and die. _A_ SONG. [Music] There was a Knight and he was Young, A riding along the way, Sir; And there he met a Lady fair, Among the Cocks of Hay, Sir: Quoth he, shall you and I Lady, Among the Grass lye down a; And I will have a special Care, Of rumpling of your Gown a. If you will go along with me, Unto my Father's Hall, Sir; You shall enjoy my Maiden-head, And my Estate and all, Sir: So he mounted her on a milk-white Steed, Himself upon another; And then they rid upon the Road, Like Sister and like Brother. And when she came to her Father's House, Which was moated round about, Sir; She stepped streight within the Gate, And shut this Young Knight out, Sir, Here is a Purse of Gold, she said, Take it for your Pains, Sir; And I will send my Father's Man, To go home with you again, Sir. And if you meet a Lady fair, As you go thro' the next Town, Sir; You must not fear the Dew of the Grass, Nor the rumpling of her Gown, Sir: And if you meet a Lady Gay, As you go by the Hill, Sir; If you will not when you may, You shall not when you will, Sir. There is a Dew upon the Grass, Will spoil your Damask Gown a; Which has cost your Father dear, Many Shilling and a Crown a: There is a Wind blows from the _West_, Soon will dry the Ground a; And I will have a special Care, Of the rumpling of my Gown a. _A_ SONG. [Music] Slaves to _London_ I'll deceive you, For the Country now I leave you: Who can bear, and not be Mad, Wine so dear, and yet so bad: Such a Noise and Air so smoaky, That to stun, this to choak ye; Men so selfish, false and rude, Nymphs so young and yet so lew'd. Quiet harmless Country Pleasure, Shall at home engross my Leisure; Farewel _London_, I'll repair, To my Native Country Air: I leave all thy Pleasures behind me, But at home my Wife will find me; Oh the Gods! 'tis ten times worse, _London_ is a milder Curse. _The Duke of_ ORMOND'S _March._ _Set by Mr._ CHURCH. [Music]