There's old Father _Peters_ with his Romish Creatures, There was an old Woman sold Pudding and Pies, Cannons with Thunder shall fill them with Wonder, I once lov'd a Lass that had bright rowling Eyes: There's my Maid _Mary_, she does mind her Dairy, I took to my Heels and away I did run; And bids him prepare to be happy to Morrow, Alass! I don't know the right end of a Gun. My Life and Death does lye both in your Power, And every Man to his Mind, _Shrewsbury_ for me; On the Bank of a Brook as I sat Fishing, Shall I Die a Maid and never Married be: Uds bobs let _Oliver_ now be forgotten, _Joan_ is as good as my Lady in the Dark; Cuckolds are Christians Boys all the World over, And here's a full Bumper to _Robin John Clark_. _The_ TROOPER _Watering his_ NAGG. [Music] There was an old Woman liv'd under a Hill, Sing Trolly lolly, lolly, lolly, lo; She had good Beer and Ale for to sell, Ho, ho, had she so, had she so, had she so; She had a Daughter her name was _Siss_, Sing Trolly lolly, lolly, lolly, lo; She kept her at Home for to welcome her Guest, Ho, ho, did she so, did she so, did she so. There came a Trooper riding by, Sing trolly, _&c._ He call'd for Drink most plentifully, Ho, ho, did he so, _&c._ When one Pot was out he call'd for another, Sing trolly, _&c._ He kiss'd the Daughter before the Mother, Ho, ho, did he so, _&c._ And when Night came on to Bed they went, Sing trolly, _&c._ It was with the Mother's own Consent, Ho, ho, was it so, _&c._ Quoth she what is this so stiff and warm, Sing trolly _&c._ 'Tis Ball my Nag he will do you no harm, Ho, ho, wont he so, _&c._ But what is this hangs under his Chin, Sing trolly, _&c._ 'Tis the Bag he puts his Provender in, Ho, ho, is it so, _&c._ Quoth he what is this? Quoth she 'tis a Well, Sing trolly, _&c._ Where Ball your Nag may drink his fill, Ho, ho, may he so, _&c._ But what if my Nag should chance to slip in, Sing trolly, _&c._ Then catch hold of the Grass that grows on the brim, Ho, ho, must I so, _&c._ But what if the Grass should chance to fail, Sing trolly, _&c._ Shove him in by the Head, pull him out by the Tail, Ho, ho, must I so, _&c._ _A Trip to the_ Jubilee. _The Tune by Mr._ R. Loe. [Music] Come bring us Wine in plenty, We've Money enough to spend; I hate to see the Pots empty, A Man cannot Drink to's Friend: Then drawer bring up more Wine, And merrily let it pass; We'll drink till our Faces do shine, He that wont may look like an Ass: And we'll tell him so to his Face, If he offers to baulk his Glass, For we defy all such dull Society. 'Tis drinking makes us merry, And Mirth diverts all Care; A Song of hey down derry, Is better than heavy Air: Make ready quickly my Boys, And fill up your Glasses higher; For we'll present with Huzzas, And merrily all give fire; Since drinking's our desire, And friendship we admire, For here we'll stay, ne'er call Drawer what's to pay. _The_ GOOD FELLOW.