ripp'd to a Bower.

She stopp'd at the Wicket, he cry'd let me in,
She answer'd, I wou'd if it were not a sin;
Heav'n sees, and the Gods will chastise the poor Head
Of _Philander_ for this; straight Trembling he said,
Heav'n sees, I confess, but no Tell-tales are there,
She kiss'd him and cry'd, you're an Atheist my Dear;
And shou'd you prove false I should never endure:
How never? he cry'd, and straight down he threw her.

Her delicate Body he clasp'd in his Arms,
He kiss'd her, he press'd her, heap'd charms upon charms;
He cry'd shall I now? no never, she said,
Your Will you shall never enjoy till I'm dead:
Then as if she were dead, she slept and lay still,
Yet even in Death bequeath'd him a smile:
Which embolden'd the Youth his Charms to apply,
Which he bore still about him to cure those that die.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Your Hay it is mow'd, and your Corn is reap'd,
Your Barns will be full, and your Hovels heap'd;
Come, my Boys come,
Come, my Boys come,
And merrily roar our Harvest home:
Harvest home,
Harvest home,
And merrily roar our Harvest home.
_Come, my Boys come_, &c.

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._

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

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.

[Music