| First Line |
Page |
Verses |
| Of all comforts I miscarry'd |
94-96 |
|
| Why should marriage be dispised |
96-97 |
2 |
| Morning fresh, the sun in East, The |
97-98 |
|
| O Cupid, gentle Cupid! |
98 |
2 |
| Go rose, my Chloe's bosom grace |
98-99 |
2 |
| If love's a sweet passion, why does it torment? |
99 |
|
| O fie! what mean I foolish maid |
99-100 |
|
| State and ambition, all joy to great Caesar |
100-101 |
|
| How lovely's a woman before she's enjoy'd |
102 |
4 |
| Here is a health to jolly Bacchus |
102-103 |
6 |
| Slaves to London, I'll deceive you |
103-104 |
|
| Here's a health to Washington |
104 |
|
| One long Whitsun holiday, holiday, holiday, 'twas a jolly day |
104-105 |
|
| Whilst I gaze on Chloe trembling |
105-106 |
|
| To arms, to arms, to arms, to arms, |
106-108 |
|
| In the merry month of June |
108-109 |
|
| Come fill us a bumper of red my brave boys |
109-110 |
|
| Why are my eyes still flowing? |
110 |
|
| I saw the lass whom dear I lov'd |
110-111 |
|
| O generous Bacchus, when by thee we're filled |
111-112 |
|
| All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd |
112-113 |
|
| Where is my sweet William, where is my dear |
113-115 |
|
| |
115-116 |
|
| Forgive me if your looks I thought |
116 |
|
| Happy is the man that takes delight |
116-117 |
|
| Joy to the bridegroom fill the sky |
117 |
|
| I am a lusty lovely lad |
117-118 |
|
| How happy's the mortal |
118-119 |
|
| Let monarchs for for power and fame |
119 |
|
| Spare, mighty Jove, oh spare a slave |
119-120 |
|
| Soldier and a sailor, A |
120-121 |
|
| Ye nymphs and sylvan gods |
121-122 |
|
| Danger is over, is over, the danger is over, The |
122-123 |
|
| Caelia, that once I was blest |
123 |
|
| Where do I chuse the greatest bliss |
124 |
|
| In the fields in frost and snows |
124-126 |
|
| I am come to lock all fast |
126-127 |
|
| Twas within a furlong of Edinburg town |
127 |
|
| Ye beaux of pleasure |
128-129 |
5 |
| Wine, wine in the morning |
129 |
3 |
| Of all the recreations which |
130 |
|
| Young I am, and yet unskill'd |
130-131 |
|
| Ianthe the lovely, the joy of a swain |
131-132 |
|
| Ianthe the ugly, of Rosemary lane |
132 |
|
| Jolly, jolly breeze, The |
132-133 |
|
| Would you have a young virgin of fifteen years |
133-134 |
|
| Ye woods and groves, and purling streams |
134 |
|
| See sirs, see here, a doctor rare |
135 |
|
| Blow Boreas blow, and let the surly winds |
136 |
|
| Pretty Poll say, when I was away |
137 |
|
| Diogenes, surly and proud |
138-139 |
|