Love has in store for me one happy Minute, And she will end my Pain who did begin it; Then no Day void of Bliss and Pleasures leaving, Ages shall slide away without perceiving: _Cupid_ shall guard the Door, the more to please us, And keep out Time and Death when they would seaze us; Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying; Love has found out a way to Live by Dying. _The Jolly Trades-men._ [Music] Sometimes I am a Tapster new, And skilful in my Trade Sir, I fill my Pots most duly, Without deceit or froth Sir: A Spicket of two Handfuls long, I use to Occupy Sir: And when I set a Butt abroach, Then shall no Beer run by Sir. Sometimes I am a Butcher, And then I feel fat Ware Sir; And if the Flank be fleshed well, I take no farther care Sir: But in I thrust my Slaughtering-Knife, Up to the Haft with speed Sir; For all that ever I can do, I cannot make it bleed Sir. Sometimes I am a Baker, And Bake both white and brown Sir; I have as fine a Wrigling-Pole, As any is in all this Town Sir: But if my Oven be over-hot, I dare not thrust in it Sir; For burning of my Wrigling-Pole, My Skill's not worth a Pin Sir. Sometimes I am a Glover, And can do passing well Sir; In dressing of a Doe-skin, I know I do excel Sir: But if by chance a Flaw I find, In dressing of the Leather; I straightway whip my Needle out, And I tack 'em close together. Sometimes I am a Cook, And in _Fleet-Street_ I do dwell Sir: At the sign of the Sugar-loaf, As it is known full well Sir: And if a dainty Lass comes by, And wants a dainty bit Sir; I take four Quarters in my Arms, And put them on my Spit Sir. In Weavering and in Fulling, I have such passing Skill Sir; And underneath my Weavering-Beam, There stands a Fulling-Mill Sir: To have good Wives displeasure, I would be very loath Sir; The Water runs so near my Hand, It over-thicks my Cloath Sir. Sometimes I am a Shoe-maker, And work with silly Bones Sir: To make my Leather soft and moist, I use a pair of Stones Sir: My Lasts for and my lasting Sticks, Are fit for every size Sir; I know the length of Lasses Feet, By handling of their Thighs Sir. The Tanner's Trade I practice, Sometimes amongst the rest Sir; Yet I could never get a Hair, Of any Hide I dress'd Sir; For I have been tanning of a Hide, This long seven Years and more Sir; And yet it is as hairy still, As ever it was before Sir. Sometimes I am a Taylor, And work with Thread that's strong Sir; I have a fine great Needle, About two handfulls long Sir: The finest Sempster in this Town, That works by line or leisure; May use my Needle at a pinch, And do themselves great Pleasure. _The slow Men of_ LONDON: _Or, the Widow_ BROWN. _To the same Tune._