She ask'd me of my Estate, I told her a Flock of Sheep; The Grass whereon they Graze, Where she and I might Sleep: Besides a good Ten Pound, In old King _Harry's_ Groats; With Hooks and Crooks abound, And Birds of sundry Notes: _And alass poor Shepherd_, &c. _A_ SONG. I Love to Madness, rave t'enjoy, But heaps of Wealth my Progress bar; Curse on the Load that stops my way, My Love's more Rich and Brighter far: Were I prest under Hills of Gold, My furious Sighs should make my escape; I'd sigh and blow up all the Mould, And throw the Oar in _CÊlia's_ Lap. Were thou some Peasant mean and small, And all the spacious Globe were mine; I'd give the World, the Sun and all, For one kind brighter Glance of thine: This Hour let _CÊlia_ with me live, And Gods cou'd I but of you borrow, I'd give what only you can give, For that dear Hour, I'd give to morrow. _The loving Couple: Or the Merry_ WEDDING. [Music] A Jolly young _Grocer_ of _London Town_, Fell deeply in Love with his Maid: And often he courted her to lye down, But she told him she was afraid: Sometimes he would struggle, But still she would Boggle, And never consent to his wicked Will; But said he must tarry, Until he would marry, And then he should have his fill. But when that he found he could not obtain, The Blessing he thus pursu'd; For tho' he had try'd her again and again, She vow'd she would not be leud: At last he submitted, To be so outwitted, As to be catch'd in the Nuptial snare; Altho' the young Hussie, Before had been busie, With one that she lov'd more dear. The Morning after they marry'd were, The Drums and the Fiddles came; Then oh what a thumping and scraping was there, To please the new marry'd Dame: There was fiddle come fiddle, With hey diddle diddle, And all the time that the Musick play'd; There was Kissing and Loving, And Heaving and Shoving, For fear she should rise a Maid. But e'er three Months they had marry'd been, A Thumping Boy popp'd out; Ads---- says he you confounded Queen, Why what have you been about? You're a Strumpet cries he, You're a Cuckold cries she, And when he found he was thus betray'd; There was Fighting and Scratching, And Rogueing and Bitching, Because she had prov'd a Jade. _A_ SONG, _Tune of Chickens and Sparrow-grass._ What sayest thou, If one should thrust thee thro'? What sayest thou, If one shou'd Plough? I say Sir, you may do what you please, I shall scarce stir, Tho' you ne'er cease, Thro', thro', you may thrust me thro'. Such Death is a Pleasure, When Life's a Disease. _The precaution'd_ Nymph, _Set by_ L. Ramondon. [Music]