Uds boars, quoth _Collin_, I'll new my shon, And e'er the Week pass, by the Mass it shall be done: You might have done this before, then she said, But now, O, O, _I am almost dead_. He gave her a twitch that quite turn'd her round, And said, I'm the truest that e'er trod on Ground, Come settle thy Milk-Pail fast on thy Head, No more O, O, _I am almost dead_. Why then I perceive thoul't not leave me in the Lurch, I'll don my best Cloths and streight to the Church: Jog on, merry _Collin_, jog on before, For I Faith, I Faith, _I'll dye no more_. _The_ Town-Rakes, _A_ SONG: _Set by Mr._ Daniel Purcell: _Sung by Mr._ EDWARDS. [Music] What Life can compare with the jolly Town Rakes, When in his full swing of all Pleasure he takes? At Noon he gets up for a wet and to Dine, And Wings the swift Hours with Mirth, Musick, and Wine, Then jogs to the Play-house and chats with the Masques, And thence to the _Rose_ where he takes his three Flasks, There great as a _Caesar_ he revels when drunk, And scours all he meets as he reels, as he reels to his Punk, And finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes, What Life can compare to the jolly Town-Rakes, the Jolly Town-Rakes. He like the Great Turk has his favourite She, But the Town's his _Seraglio_, and still he lives free; Sometimes she's a Lady, but as he must range, Black _Betty_, or Oyster _Moll_ serve for a Change: As he varies his Sports his whole Life is a Feast, He thinks him that is soberest is most like a Beast: All Houses of Pleasure, breaks Windows and Doors, Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Whores: Rare work for the Surgeon and Midwife he makes, What Life can Compare with the jolly Town-Rakes. Thus in _Covent-Garden_ he makes his Campaigns, And no Coffee-House haunts but to settle his Brains; He laughs at dry Mortals, and never does think, Unless 'tis to get the best Wenches and Drink: He dwells in a Tavern, and lives ev'ry where, And improving his Hour, lives an age in a Year: For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste, And thus he lives longest because he lives fast: Then leaps in the Dark, and his _Exit_ he makes, What Death can compare with the jolly Town-Rakes. _A_ SONG: _Set by Mr._ CLARKE. [Music] Young _Coridon_ and _Phillis_ Sate in a lovely Grove; Contriving Crowns of Lillies, Repeating Tales of Love: _And something else, but what I dare not_, &c. But as they were a Playing, She oagled so the Swain; It say'd her plainly saying, Let's kiss to ease our Pain: _And something else_, &c. A thousand times he kiss'd her, Laying her on the Green; But as he farther press'd her, Her pretty Leg was seen: _And something else_, &c. So many Beauties removing, His Ardour still increas'd; And greater Joys pursuing, He wander'd o'er her Breast: _And something else_, &c. A last Effort she trying, His Passion to withstand; Cry'd, but it was faintly crying, Pray take away your Hand: _And something else_, &c.