ate Dishonesty;
We are not like your City Dames,
In sport of Venery:
We scorn to Punk, or to be drunk,
But this we dare to do;
To sit and chat, laugh and be fat,
But yet be Honest too.

But should you know we _Windsor_ Dames,
Are free from haughty Pride:
And hate the tricks you Wenches have,
In _London_ and _Bankside_:
But we can spend, and Money lend,
And more than that we'll do,
We'll sit and chat, laugh and be fat,
And yet be Honest too.

It grieves us much to see your wants,
Of things that we have store,
In Forests wide and Parks beside,
And other places more:
Pray do not scorn the _Windsor_ Horn,
That is both fair and new;
Altho' you scold, we'll sing and laugh,
And yet be honest too.

And now farewel unto you all,
We have no more to say;
Be sure you imitate us right,
In acting of your Play:
If that you miss, we'll at you hiss,
As others us'd to do;
And at you scoff, and sing and laugh,
And yet be Honest too.

_The_ BATTLE-ROYAL.

[Music]

A Dean and Prebendary,
Had once a new vagary,
And were at doubtful strife Sir,
Who led the better life Sir,
And was the better Man:
The Dean he said that truly,
Since Bluff was so unruly,
He'd prove it to his Face, Sir,
That he had the more Grace, Sir,
And so the Fight began.

When Preb. reply'd like Thunder,
And roar'd out, 'twas no wonder,
For Gods the Dean had three, Sir,
And more by two than he, Sir,
Since he had got but one;
Now while these two were raging,
And in Disputes engaging,
The Master of the Charter,
Said both had got a Tartar,
For Gods that there were none.

For all the Books of _Moses_,
Were nothing but supposes,
And he deserv'd rebuke, Sir,
Who wrote the Pentateuch, Sir,
'Twas nothing but a Sham;
And as for Father _Adam_,
With Mrs. _Eve_ his Madam,
And what the Serpent spoke, Sir,
Was nothing but a Joke, Sir,
And well invented flam.

Thus in this Battle Royal,
As none would take denial,
The Dame for which they strove, Sir,
Could neither of them love, Sir,
For all had giv'n Offence;
She therefore slily waiting,
Left all three Fools a Prating,
And being in a Fright, Sir,
Religion took her flight, Sir,
And ne'er was heard on since.

_The Saint turn'd Sinner, Or the Dissenting Parson's Text under the_
QUAKER'S _Petticoats. To th