We ha' cheated the Parson, we'll cheat him agen, For why should a Blockhead ha' One in Ten: One in Ten, One in Ten, For why should a Blockhead ha' One in Ten, _One in Ten_, &c.
For prating too long, like a Book learnt Sot, 'Till Pudding and Dumpling are burnt to Pot: Burnt to Pot, Burnt to Pot, 'Till Pudding and Dumpling are burnt to Pot. _Burnt to Pot_, &c.
We'll toss off our Ale till we cannot stand, And hey for the Honour of old _England_; Old _England_, Old _England_, And hey for the Honour of old _England_, _Old_ England, _&c._
I prithee send me back my Heart, Since I cannot have thine: For if from yours you will not part, Why then should you have mine.
Yet now I think on't, let it be, To send it me is vain; Thou hast a Thief in either Eye, Will steal it back again.
Why should two Hearts in one Breast be, And yet not be together; Or Love, where is thy Sympathy, If thou our Hearts do sever?
But Love is such a Mystery, I cannot find it out; For when I think I am best resolv'd, Then I am most in Doubt.
Then farewel Care, then farewel Woe, I will no longer pine; But I'll believe I have her Heart, As well as she hath mine.
BACCHUS _turn'd Doctor. The Words by_ BEN. JOHNSON.
Let Soldiers fight for Pay and Praise, And Money be Misers wish; Poor Scholars study all their Days, And Gluttons glory in their Dish: _'Tis Wine, pure Wine, revives sad Souls,_ _Therefore give us chearing Bowls._
Let Minions marshal in their Hair, And in a Lover's lock delight; And artificial Colours wear, We have the Native Red and White. _'Tis Wine_, &c.
Your Pheasant, Pout, and Culver Salmon, And how to please your Palates think: Give us a salt _Westphalia-Gammon_, Not Meat to eat, but Meat to drink. _'Tis Wine_, &c.
It makes the backward Spirits brave, That lively, that before was dull; Those grow good Fellows that are grave, And kindness flows from Cups brim full, _'Tis Wine_, &c.
Some have the Ptysick, some the Rhume, Some have the Palsie, some the Gout; Some swell with Fat, and some consume, But they are sound that drink all out. _'Tis Wine_, &c.
Some Men want Youth, and some want Health, Some want a Wife, and some a Punk; Some Men want Wit, and some want Wealth, But he wants nothing that is drunk. _'Tis Wine, pure Wine, revives sad Souls,_ _Therefore give us chearing Bowls._