_Your Hay it is mow'd, and your_, 142 _You happy Youths, whose Hearts_, 191 _Young Ladies that live in the_, 262 _You I love by all that's true_, 336 _You've been with dull Prologues_, 349 SONGS Compleat, Pleasant and Divertive, &c. VOL. V. _The_ FOUR-LEGG'D ELDER: _Or a Horrible Relation of a_ DOG _and an_ Elder's MAID. _By Sir_ John Burtonhead. [Music] All Christians and _Lay-Elders_ too, For Shame amend your Lives; I'll tell you of a Dog-trick now, Which much concerns you Wives: An _Elder's_ Maid near _Temple-Bar_, (Ah! what a Quean was she?) Did take an ugly Mastiff Cur, Where Christians use to be. _Help House of Commons, House of Peers,_ _Oh now or never help!_ _Th' Assembly hath not sat Four Years,_ _Yet hath brought forth a Whelp._ One Evening late she stept aside, Pretending to fetch Eggs; And there she made her self a Bride, To one that had four Legs: Her Master heard a Rumblement, And wonder she did tarry; Not dreaming (without his consent) His Dog would ever Marry. _Help House of Commons_, &c. He went to peep, but was afraid, And hastily did run, To fetch a Staff to help his Maid, Not knowing what was done: He took his _Ruling Elders_ Cane, And cry'd out _help, help, here_; For _Swash_ our Mastiff, and poor _Jane_, Are now fight Dog, fight Bear. _Help House of Commons_, &c. But when he came he was full sorry, For he perceiv'd their Strife; That according to the _Directory_, They Two were Dog and Wife: Ah! (then said he) thou cruel Quean, Why hast thou me beguil'd? I wonder _Swash_ was grown so lean, Poor Dog he's almost spoil'd. _Help House of Commons_, &c. I thought thou hadst no Carnal Sense, But what's in our Lasses: And could have quench'd thy Cupiscence, According to the _Classes_: But all the Parish see it plain, Since thou art in this pickle; Thou art an INDEPENDENT Quean, And lov'st a CONVENTICLE. _Help House of Commons_, &c. Alas now each _Malignant_ Rogue, Will all the World perswade; That she that's Spouse unto a Dog, May be an _Elder's_ Maid: They'll jeer us if abroad we stir, Good Master _Elder_ stay; Sir, of what _Classis_ is your Cur? And then what can we say? _Help House of Commons_, &c. They'll many graceless Ballads sing, Of a PRESBYTERIAN; That a _Lay Elder_ is a thing Made up half Dog, half Man: Out, out, said he, (and smote her down) Was Mankind grown so scant? There's scarce another Dog in Town, Had took the COVENANT. _Help House of Commons_, &c. Then _Swash_ began to look full grim, And _Jane_ did thus reply; Sir, you thought nought too good for him, You fed your Dog too high: 'Tis true he took me in the lurch, And leap'd into my Arms; But (as I hope to come at Church) I did your Dog no harm. _Help House of Commons_, &c.