Dear Mother to see them mounted, 'Twou'd tickle your Heart with Joy; By me they all shall be counted, Heroical Sons of _Troy_: The Bells in the Steeples shall ring, _We'll stick all our Houses with Holly_, _We'll broach a Tub of humming Bub_, _To treat those that comes with a rub a dub dub_, _For dear Mother they'll make us Jolly_. I'll dress me as fine as a Lady, Against they come into the Town; My Ribbonds are all bought ready, My Furbelow-Scarf and Gown; To pleasure the Warlike Boys, _We'll dress up our Houses_, &c. They are delicate brisk and Brawny, Troth neither too lean nor fat; No matter for being Tawny, They're never the worse for that; We'll give them a welcome Home, _And dress up our Houses_, &c. They come from the Field of Battle, To quarter in Ladies Arms; 'Tis pretty to hear them Prattle, And tell of their loud Alarms: We'll Crown them with Garlands gay, _And dress up our Houses_, &c. Those boys are the Pride of _Britain_, They love us and so they may; Dear Mother it is but fitting, We shou'd be as kind as they: The Conduits shall run with Wine, _We'll dress up our Houses_, &c. Those battling Sons of Thunder, Now at their returning back; I know they will be for Plunder, Virginities go to wrack: But let them do what they please, _We'll dress up our Houses_, &c. _A_ SONG. _Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE _at the_ Theatre. [Music] Fill the Glass, fill, fill, fill the Glass, Let Hautboys sound, whilst bright _Celinda_, Bright _Celinda's_ Health go round. Fill the Glass, fill, fill, fill the Glass, Let Hautboys sound, whilst bright _Celinda_, Bright _Celinda's_ Health goes round. With eternal Beauty blest, ever blooming, Ever blooming still be best; Drink your Glass, drink your glass, Drink your Glass and think, Think, think the rest, Drink your Glass and think, Think, think the rest. _An_ IRISH SONG. Hub ub, ub, boo; Hub ub, ub, boo; Dish can't be true, De War dees cease, But der's no Peash, I know and find, 'Tis Sheal'd and Sign'd, But won't believe 'tis true, Hub, ub, ub, boo, Hub ub, ub, boo. _A hone, a hone_, Poor _Teague's_ undone, I dare not be, A Rapparee, I ne'er shall see, _Magraw Macree_, Nor my more dear Garone, _A hone, a hone._ Awa, awa, I must huzza, 'Twill hide my Fears, And save my Ears, The Mob appears, Her'sh to _Nassau_, Dear Joy 'tis _Usquebaugh_, Huzza, Huzza, Huzza. _The_ BATH _Teazers: Or a Comical Description of the Diversions at_ BATH. [Music]