Young _Coridon_ grown bolder, The Minute would improve; This is the Time he told her, To shew you how I love; _And something else_, &c. The Nymph seem'd almost dying, Dissolv'd in amorous Heat; She kiss'd, and told him sighing, My Dear your Love is great: _And something else_, &c. But _Phillis_ did recover Much sooner than the Swain; She blushing ask'd her Lover, Shall we not Kiss again: _And something else_, &c. Thus Love his Revels keeping, 'Till Nature at a stand; From talk they fell to Sleeping, Holding each others Hand; _And something else_, &c. _The Amorous_ BARBER'S _Passion of Love for his Dear_ BRIDGET. [Music] With my Strings of small Wire lo I come, And a Cittern made of Wood; And a Song altho' you are Deaf and Dumb, May be heard and understood. _Dumb, dumb_---- Oh! take Pity on me, my Dear, Me thy Slave, and me thy Vassal, And be not Cruel, as it were, Like to some strong and well built old Castle. _Dumb, dumb_---- Lest as thou passest along the Street, Braver every Day and braver; Every one that does thee meet, Will say there goes a Woman-shaver. _Dumb, dumb_---- And again will think fit, And to say they will determine; There goes she that with Tongue killed Clip-Chops, As a Man with his Thumbs kill Vermine. _Dumb, dumb_---- For if thou dost then, farewel Pelf, Farewel _Bridget_, for I vow I'll: Either in my Bason hang my self, Or drown me in my Towel, _Dumb, dumb_---- _A_ BALLAD, _made by a Gentleman in_ Ireland, _who could not have Access to a Lady whom he went to visit, because the Maid the Night before had over-laid her pretty Bitch. To the Tune of_, O Hone, O Hone. [Music] Oh! let no Eyes be dry, _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_, But let's lament and cry, _Oh Hone, O Hone_, We're quite undone almost, For _Daphne_ on this Coast, Has yielded up the Ghost, _Oh Hone, O Hone_. _Daphne_ my dearest Bitch, _Oh Hone, O Hone_, Who did all Dogs bewitch, _Oh Hone_, &c. Was by a careless Maid, Pox take her for a Jade, In the Night over-laid, _Oh Hone_, &c. Oh may she never more _Oh Hone_, &c. Sleep quietly, but snore, _Oh Hone_, &c. May never Irish Lad, Sue for her Maiden-head, Until it stinks I Gad, _Oh Hone_, &c. Oh may she never keep _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_; Her Water in her Sleep, _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_: May never Pence nor Pounds, Come more within the Bounds, Of her Pocket Ad-sounds, _Oh Hone, Oh Hone_. DAMON _forsaken. Set by Mr._ WROTH. [Music] When that young _Damon_ bless'd my Heart, And in soft Words did move; How did I hug the pleasing Dart, And thank'd the God of Love: _Cupid_, said I, my best lov'd Lamb, That in my Bosom lives: To thee, for kindling this dear Flame, To thee, kind God, I'll give.