Then in came a Damsel as fresh as a Rose, He gave her a Kiss, and began for to close, In Courting, and said, canst love an honest Tar, Who for this Six or Seven Years has travell'd far, Far, far, Who for this Six or Seven Years has travell'd far. His offer was noble, his Guineas was good, And therefore the innocent Maid never stood To make a Denial, but granted his Request, And now she's with a jolly Sailor, Sailor blest. Blest, blest, And now she's with a jolly Sailor, Sailor blest. CUPID'S _Courtesie._ [Music] Through the cold shady Woods, As I was ranging, I heard the pretty Birds, Notes sweetly changing: Down by the Meadow's side, There runs a River A little Boy I spy'd With Bow and Quiver. Little Boy tell me why Thou art here diving? Art thou some Run-away; And hast no abiding? I am no Run-away, _Venus_ my Mother, She gave me leave to play, When I came hither. Little Boy go with me, And be my servant, I will take care to see For thy preferment: If I with thee should go, _Venus_ would chide me, And take away my Bow, And never abide me. Little Boy let me know, What's thy Name termed, That thou dost wear a Bow, And go so arm'd: You may perceive the same, With often changing; _Cupid_ it is my Name, I live by ranging. If _Cupid_ be thy Name, That shoot at Rovers; I have heard of thy Fame, By wounded Lovers: Should any languish that Are set on fire; By such a naked Brat, I much admire. If thou dost but the least, At my Laws grumble; I'll pierce thy stubborn breast, And make thee humble, If I with Golden Dart, Wound thee but surely, There's no Physitians Art, That e're can cure thee. Little Boy with thy Bow, Why dost thou threaten; It is not long ago Since thou wast beaten: Thy wanton Mother, fair _Venus_ will chide thee; When all thy Arrows are gone, Thou may'st go hide thee. Of powerful shafts you see, I am well stored; Which makes my Deity, So much adored: With one poor Arrow now, I'll make thee shiver; And bend unto my Bow, And fear my Quiver. Dear little _Cupid_ be, Courteous and kindly; I know thou can'st not see, But shootest blindly: Altho' thou call'st me blind, Surely I'll hit thee; That thou shalt quickly find, I'll not forget thee. Then little _Cupid_ caught, His Bow so nimble; And shot a fatal shaft, Which made him tremble: Go tell thy Mistress dear, Thou canst discover; What all the Passions are, Of a dying Lover. And now this gallant Heart Sorely lies bleeding; He felt the greatest smart, From Love proceeding; He did her help implore, Whom he affected, But found that more and more, Him she rejected.