Live _Drunkard_, sober _Drunkard_ live, I know thou no offence wilt give, Thou art a harmless Dumb thing; And for thy love I'll freely grant, Rather than thou shouldst ever want, Each Day to give thee something. Thou shalt be _Stellifide_ by me, I'll make the _Dog-star_ wait on thee, And in his room I'll seat thee: When _Sol_ doth in his Progress swing, And in the Dog-days hotly sing, He shall not over- heat thee. I lov'd thy Master, so did all That knew him, great and small, And he did well deserve it: For he was Honest, Valiant, Good, And one that Manhood understood, And did till Death preserve it. For whose sake, I'll his Dog prefer, And at the Dog at _Westminster_, Shall _Drunkard_ be a Bencher; Where I will set a work his Chops, Not with bare Bones, or broken scraps, But Victuals from my Trencher. So honest _Drunkard_ now adieu, Thy Praise no longer I'll pursue, But still my Love is to thee: And when thy Life is gone and spent, These Lines shall be thy Monument, And shall much Service do thee. _A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ AYLIFF _in the Play call'd_ Love Triumphant: _Or_, Nature will Prevail, _Sett by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL. [Music] How happy's the Husband, how happy's the Husband, Whose Wife has been try'd, has been try'd, Not damn'd to the Bed, not damn'd to the Bed of an ignorant Bride; Secure of what's left, secure of what's left, he ne'er misses the rest, But where there's enough, enough, enough, but where there's enough, supposes a Feast: So foreknowing the Cheat, He escapes the Deceit; And in spight of the Curse he resolves, he resolves to be blest. And in spight of the Curse he resolves, he resolves to be blest. He resolves to be blest, he resolves, he resolves to be blest. If Children are blessings, his comfort's the more, Whose Spouse has been known to be fruitful before; And the Boy that she brings ready made to his Hand, May stand him in stead for an Heir to his Land: Shou'd his own prove a Sot, When 'tis lawfully got As when e'er it is so, if it won't I'll be hang'd. _A New_ SONG, _to the Tune of the Old Batchelor._ [Music] If ever you mean to be kind, To me the Favour, the Favour allow; For fear that to Morrow should alter my Mind, Oh! let me now, now, now, If in Hand then a Guinea you'll give, And swear by this kind Embrace; That another to Morrow, as you hope to live, Oh! then I will strait unlace: For why should we two disagree, Since we have, we have opportunity. _A_ SONG, _Set to Musick by Mr._ Will. Richardson. [Music]