!

I know that by wits 'tis recited,
That women at beft are a clog :
But I'm not so easily frighted
From loving my fweet Molly Mog.

The school-boy's defire is a play-day;
The school-master's joy is to flog;
The milk-maid's delight is on May-day;
But mine is on sweet Molly Mog.

Will-o'-wifp leads the traveller a gadding
Through ditch, and through quagmire
and bog:

But no light can fet me a madding,
Like the eyes of my fweet Molly Mog.

For guineas in other mens breeches
Your gamesters will palm and will cog:
But I envy them none of their riches,
So I may win fweet Molly Mog.

The heart, when half wounded, is changing,
It here and there leaps like a frog:
But my heart can never be ranging,
'Tis fo fix'd upon fweet Molly Mog.

Who follows all ladies of pleasure,
In pleasure is thought but a hog:
All the sex cannot give fo good measure
Of joys, as my sweet Molly Mog. I feel

I feel I'm in love to diftraction,

My senses all loft in a fog;
And nothing can give fatisfaction
But thinking of sweet Molly Mog.

A letter when I am inditing,
Comes Cupid, and gives me jog;
And I fill all the paper
with writing

Of nothing but sweet Molly Mog.

If I would not give up the three Graces,
I wish I were hang'd like a dog,
And at court all the drawing-room faces,
For a glance of my fweet Molly Mog,

Those faces want nature and fpirit,
And seem as cut out of a log:
Juno, Venus, and Pallas's merit
Unite in my sweet Molly Mog.

Those who toast all the family royal
In bumpers of bogan and nog,
Have hearts not more true or more loyal
Than mine to my fweet Molly Mog.

Were Virgil alive with his Phillis,
And writing another eclogue;
Both his Phillis and fair Amaryllis
He'd give up for fweet Molly Mog.

When

When she smiles on each guest, like her

liquor,

Then jealousy fets me agog;

To be fure fhe's a bit for the vicar,
And fo I. fhall lofe Molly Mog.

* A New Song of New Similies.

MY Y paffion is as mustard strong;

I fit all fober fad,

Drunk as a piper all day long,

Or like a March hare mad.

Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;
I drink, yet can't forget her;
For, though as drunk as David's fow,
I love her ftill the better.

Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber could fee
The reft of woman-kind.

Like a stuck pig I gaping ftare,

And eye her o'er and o'er;

Lean as a rake with fighs and care,

Sleek as a moufe before.

Plump

Plump as partridge was I known,
And foft as filk my fkin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown;
But as a groat now thin!

I melancholy as a cat

Am kept awake to weep;
But fhe, infenfible of that,
Sound as top can fleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or ftone;
She laughs to fee me pale,
And merry as a grig is grown,
And brifk as bottled ale.

The God of love at her approach
Is bufy as a bee!

Hearts found as any bell or roach
Are fmit, and figh like me.

Ay me! as thick hops or hail,

The fine men crowd about her:

But foon as dead as a door-nail
Shall I be, if without her.

Strait as my leg her shape appears;
O were we join'd together!

My heart would be fcot-free from cares,
And lighter than a feather.

As

As fine as five-pence is her mien;
No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen,
And not the fun is brighter.

As foft as pap her kisses are ;
Methinks I tafte them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair,
Her eyes as black as jet.

As fmooth as glafs, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites ;
Sharp as a needle are her words;

Her wit like pepper bites.

Brifk as a body-loufe fhe trips,
Clean as a penny dreft;
Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,
Round as the globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee,
And happy as a king:

Good lord! how all men envy'd me!
She lov'd like any thing.

But falfe as hell, fhe, like the wind, Chang'd, as her fex must do; Though feeming as the turtle kind, And like the gospel true.