Now my Freedom's regain'd, and by _Bacchus_ I swear, All whining dull whimsys of Love I'll cashire: The Charm's more engaging in Bumpers of Wine, Then let _Chloe_ be Damn'd, but let this be Divine: Whilst Youth warms thy Veins, Boy embrace thy full Glasses, Damn _Cupid_ and all his poor Proselyte Asses; Let this be thy rule _Tom_, to square out thy Life, And when Old in a Friend, thou'lt live free from all Strife, Only envied by him that is plagu'd with a Wife. _A_ Scotch SONG, _the Words by Mr._ Peter Noble, _Set by Mr._ John Wilford. [Music] Bonny _Scottish_ Lads that keens me weel, Lith ye what, ye what good Luck Ise fun; _Moggey_ is mine own in spight o'th' De'el, I alone her Heart has won: Near St. _Andrew's_ Kirk in _London_ Town, There Ise, Ise met my Dearest Joy; Shinening in her Silken Hued and Gown, But ne'er ack, ne'er ack she prov'd not Coy. Then after many Compliments, Streight we gang'd into the Kirk; There full weel she tuck the documents, And flang me many pleasing Smirk: Weel I weat that I have gear enough, She's have a Yode to ride ont; She's neither drive the Swine, nor the Plough, Whatever does betide ont. _A New_ SONG _in the Play call'd_, a DUKE and no DUKE. _Sung by Mrs._ CIBBER. [Music] _Damon_ if you will believe me, 'Tis not sighing o'er the Plain; Songs nor Sonnets can't relieve ye, Faint Attempts in Love are vain: Urge but home the fair Occasion, And be Master of the Field; To a powerful kind Invasion, 'Twere a Madness not to yield. Tho' she vow's she'll ne'er permit ye, Says you're rude, and much to blame; And with Tears implores your pity, Be not merciful for shame: When the first assault is over, _Chloris_ time enough will find; This so fierce and Cruel Lover, Much more gentle, not so kind. _A_ SONG. _The Words made to a Tune of the late Mr._ Henry Purcell's. [Music] Drunk I was last Night that's poss, My Wife began to Scold; Say what I cou'd for my Heart's Blood, Her Clack she wou'd not hold: Thus her Chat she did begin, Is this your time of coming in; The Clock strikes One, you'll be undone, If thus you lead your Life: My Dear said I, I can't deny, But what you say is true; I do intend, my Life to mend, Pray lends the Pot to Spew. Fye, you Sot, I ne'er can bear, To rise thus e'ery Night; Tho' like a Beast you never care, What consequence comes by't: The Child and I may starve for you, We neither can have half our due; With grief I find, you're so unkind, In time you'll break my Heart: At that I smil'd, and said dear Child, I believe your in the wrong; But if't shou'd be you're destiny, I'll sing a merry Song. _The Gelding the Devil. Set by Mr._ Tho. Wroth. [Music]