do toss_, &c.

When you hear of Deeds in War,
Acted by your faithful Swain;
Think, oh think, that from afar,
'Twas you conquer'd all were slain:
For by calling on your Name,
I Conquer'd whereso'er I came;
Shou'd my Fate not be,
To keep my Body free,
From Wounds and Bruises too,
Whilst Honour I pursue;
'Twou'd raise my Reputation,
My Pain I'd lose in Passion,
And glory that 'twas done for you.

Shou'd grim Death once assail me,
It cou'd never fright your Slave,
Fortune self cou'd never fail me,
Only you can make my Grave:
My Destiny shou'd grant reprieve,
I cou'd not Die, if you said live:
Were it to be found,
In all the World around,
An instance of such Love,
As you in me may prove:
I'd never ask return,
But patiently wou'd burn,
Nor more your generous pity move.

O my guardian Angel say,
Can such proofs your Passion gain;
If it can I'll bless the Day,
That I venture on the Main:
Then with Joy cry Billows rowl,
And convey me to my Soul:
Return with glory Crown'd,
Upon the lowly Ground,
Kneel at your Feet a while,
And there my Fears beguile:
And think my Toyl repaid,
If you'd vouchsafe dear Maid,
To crown my Labours with a Smile.

_The true Use of the_ BOTTLE.

[Music]

Love, the sweets of Love, are the Joys I most admire,
Kind and active Fire,
Of a fierce Desire,
Indulge my Soul, compleat my Bliss;
But th' affected coldness
Of _Caelia_ damps my boldness,
I must bow, protest and Vow,
And swear aloud, I wou'd be Proud,
When she with equal Ardour longs to Kiss:
Bring a Bowl, then bring a Jolly Bowl,
I'll quench fond Love within it;
With flowing Cups I'll raise my Soul,
And here's to the happy Minute:
For flush'd with brisk Wine,
When she's panting and warm;
And Nature unguarded lets loose her Mind,
In the Amorous moment the Gipsie I'll find,
Oblige her and take her by Storm.

_A_ SONG _in the_ Farce _call'd the_ Younger _the_ Wiser: _Set by Mr._
DANIEL PURCELL. _Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.

[Music]

How happy's he who weds a Wife,
Well practis'd, well practis'd in the _London_ Life;
Dull Country Brides a Sense may want,
To hide the Favours which they grant.

How happy's he who weds a Wife,
We'll practis'd, well practis'd in the _London_