The patient dies without a pill;
For why? the doctor's at Quadrille, etc.

VII.

Should France and Spain again grow loud,
The Muscovite grow louder;
Britain to curb her neighbours proud
Wou'd want both ball and powder;
Muft want both fword and gun to kill;
For why? the gen'ral's at Quadrille, etc.

VIII.

The king of late drew forth his fword,
(Thank God 'twas not in wrath)
And made of many a squire and lord
An unwash'd knight of Bath:

What are their feats of arms and skill?
They're but nine parties at Quadrille, etc.

IX.

A party late at Cambray met,
Which drew all Europe's eyes;
'Twas call'd in Poft-boy and Gazette
The quadruple allies:

But fomebody took fomething ill,

So broke this party at Quadrille, etc.

X.

And now, God fave this noble realm,
And God fave eke Hanover;

And God fave those who hold the helm,
When as the king goes over :
But let the king go where he will,
His fubjects must play at Quadrille,
Quadrille, Quadrille, etc.

* MOLLY MOG:

OR, THE

The Fair Maid of the Inn

SAYS my uncle, I pray you discover
What hath been the caufe of your woes,
Why you pine, and you whine, like a lover?
I've feen Molly Mog of the Rofe.

O nephew! your grief is but folly;
In town you may find better prog ;
Half a crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mog.

* The Rose Inn at Ockingham in Berkshire.

I know

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-mafter's joy is to flog;
The milk-maid's delight is on May-day;
But mine is on fweet 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 sweet Molly Mog.

For guineas in other mens breeches
Your gamefters 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:
heart can never be ranging,
'Tis fo fix'd upon fweet Molly Mog.

But my

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

I feel I'm in love to diftraction,

My fenfes all loft in a fog;
And nothing can give fatisfaction
But thinking of fweet 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 fweet 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.

Thofe faces want nature and spirit,
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 the fmiles on each gueft, 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 paffion is as muftard ftrong;

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 ftuck pig I gaping ftare,
And eye her o'er and o'er;

Lean as a rake with fighs and care,

Sleek as a mouse before.

Plump