he Main,
To revive us on the Plain,
To revive us on the Plain,
Come ye Nymphs and ev'ry Swain.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ John Barret.

[Music]

_Ianthia_ the lovely, the Joy of her Swain,
By _Iphis_ was lov'd, and lov'd _Iphis_ again;
She liv'd in the Youth, and the Youth in the Fair,
Their Pleasure was equal, and equal their Care;
No Time, no Enjoyment their Dotage withdrew;
But the longer they liv'd, but the longer they liv'd,
Still the fonder they grew.

A Passion so happy alarm'd all the Plain,
Some envy'd the Nymph, but more envy'd the Swain;
Some swore 'twould be pity their Loves to invade,
That the Lovers alone for each other was made:
But all, all consented, that none ever knew,
A Nymph yet so kind, a Nymph yet so kind,
Or a Shepherd so true.

Love saw 'em with Pleasure, and vow'd to take care
Of the faithful, the tender, the innocent Pair;
What either did want, he bid either to move,
But they wanted nothing, but ever to love:
Said, 'twas all that to bless him his God-head cou'd do,
That they still might be kind, that they still might be kind,
And they still might be true.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Bring out your Coney-Skins
Bring out your Coney-Skins Maids to me,
And hold them fair that I may see,
Grey, Black and Blue, for the smaller Skins
I'll give you Bracelets, Laces, Pins,
And for your whole Coney
Here's ready Money,
Come gentle _Joan_, do thou begin
With thy black Coney, thy black Coney-Skin,
And _Mary_ and _Joan_ will follow,
With their Silver-hair'd Skins and yellow;
The White Coney-Skin I will not lay by,
For tho' it be faint, it is fair to the Eye:
The Grey it is worn, but yet for my Money,
Give me the bonny, bonny black Coney;
Come away fair Maids, your Skins will decay,
Come and take Money Maids, put your Wares away:
Ha'ye any Coney-Skins, ha'ye any Coney-Skins,
Ha'ye any Coney-Skins here to sell?

_A_ SONG.

_The Words by Mr._ Clossold, _Set by Mr._ John WILFORD.

[Music]

Nay pish, nay pish, nay pish Sir, what ails you;
Lord! What is't you do?
I ne'er met with one so uncivil as you;
You may think as you please, but if Evil it be,
I wou'd have you to know, you're mistaken in me.
You Men now so rude, and so boistrous are grown,
A Woman can't trust her self with you alone:
I cannot but wonder what 'tis that shou'd move ye;
If you do so again, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear,
I swear I won't love ye.

_A_ SONG. _S