WIT and MIRTH:

OR

PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY

EDITED BY

THOMAS D'URFEY

IN SIX VOLUMES

VOLUME VI

FOLKLORE LIBRARY PUBLISHERS, INC.

NEW YORK

1959

AN

Alphabetical TABLE

OF THE

SONGS

Contain'd in this

BOOK.

Pills to Purge Melancholy.

VOL. VI.

A Ballad on the Battle of Audenard.
Set by Mr. Leveridge.

E Commons and Peers,

Pray lend me your Ears,

I'll Sing you a Song if I can;

How Lewis le Grand,

Was put to a Stand,

By the Arms of our Gracious Queen ANN.

How his Army so great,

Had a total Defeat,

Not far from the River of Dender;

Where his Grand-Children twain,

For fear of being slain,

Gallop'd off with the Popish Pretender.

To a Steeple on High,

The Battle to Spy,

Up Mounted these clever young Men;

And when from the Spire

They saw so much Fire,

They cleverly came down again.

Then a Horse-back they got,

All upon the same spot,

By advice of their Cousin Vendosme;

O Lord! cry'd out he

Unto young Burgundy,

Wou'd your Brother and you were at Home.

Just so did he say

When without more delay,

Away the young Gentry fled;

Whose Heels for that Work

Were much lighter than Cork,

But their Hearts were more heavy than Lead.

Not so did behave

The young Hannover brave

In this bloody Field I assure ye;

When his War-Horse was shot,

Yet he matter'd it not,

But charg'd still on Foot like a Fury.

When Death flew about

Aloud he call'd out,

Ho! you Chevalier of St. GEORGE;

If you'll never stand

By Sea nor by Land,

Pretender, that Title you forge.

Thus boldly he stood,

As became that high Blood,

Which runs in his Veins so blue;

This Gallant young Man

Being kin to Queen ANN,

Fought as were she a Man, she wou'd do.

What a Racket was here,

(I think 'twas last Year)

For a little ill Fortune in Spain;

When by letting 'em Win,

We have drawn the Putts in

To lose all they are worth this Campaign.

Tho' Bruges and Ghent,

To the Monsieur we lent,

With Interest he soon shall repay 'em;

While Paris may Sing,

With her sorrowful King

De Profundis, instead of Te Deum.

From their Dream of Success,

They'll awaken we guess

At the sound of Great Marlborough's Drums;

They may think if they will

Of Almanza still,

But 'tis Blenheim wherever he comes.

O Lewis perplex'd,

What General's next?

Thou hast hitherto chang'd 'em in vain;

He has beat 'em all round,

If no new ones are found,

He shall Beat the old over again.

We'll let Tallard out

If he'll take t'other bout;

And much he's improv'd let me tell ye,

With Nottingham Ale,

At every Meal,

And good Pudding and Beef in his Belly.

As Losers at Play,

Their Dice throw away,

While the Winner he still Wins on;

Let who will Command,

Thou hadst better Disband,

For Old Bully thy Doctors are gone.

A Happy Memorable Ballad, On the Fight near Audenard, between the
Duke of Marlborough, of Great-Britain; and the Duke of Vendosme, of France.
As also the strange and wonderful Manner how the Princes of the
Blood Royal of France, were found in a Wood.
In allusion to the Unhappy Memorable Song commonly call'd Chevy-Chace.

GOD Prosper long our Gracious Queen,

Our Lives and Safeties all:

A woful Fight of late their did

Near Audenard befal.

To drive the French with Sword and Gun,

Brave Marlborough took his Way;

Ah! woe the Time that France beheld

The Fighting of that Day.

The Valiant Duke to Heaven had swore,

Vendosme shou'd pay full dear,

For Ghent and Bruges, e'er his Fame

Should reach his Master's Ear.

And now with Eighty Thousand bold,

And chosen Men of Might;

He with the French began to wage

A sharp and bloody Fight.

The Gallant Britains swiftly ran,

The French away to Chase;

On Wednesday they began to fight,

When Day-light did decrease.

And long before high-Night, they had

Ten Thousand Frenchmen slain;

And all the Rivers Crimson flow'd,

As they were dy'd in grain.

The Britains thro' the Woods pursu'd,

The nimble French to take;

And with their Cries the Hills and Dales,

And every Tree did shake.

The Duke then to the Wood did come,

In hopes Vendosme to meet;

When lo! the Prince of Carignan

Fell at his Grace's Feet.

Oh! Gentle Duke forbear, forbear,

Into that Wood to shoot;

If ever pity mov'd your Grace,

But turn your Eyes and look:

See where the Royal Line of France,

Great Lewis's Heirs do lie;

And sure a Sight more pitious was

Ne'er seen by Mortal Eye.

What Heart of Flint but must relent,

Like Wax before the Sun:

To see their Glory at an end,

E'er yet it was begun.

Whenas our General found your Grace,

Wou'd needs begin to Fight:

As thinking it wou'd please the Boys,

To see so fine a Sight.

He straightway sent them to the Top

Of yonder Church's Spire;

Where they might see, and yet be safe

From Swords and Guns, and Fire.

But first he took them by the Hand,

And kiss'd them e'er they went;

Whilst Tears stood in their little Eyes,

As if they knew th' Event.

Then said, he would with Speed return,

Soon as the Fight was done;

But when he saw his Men give Ground,

Away he basely run,

And left these Children all alone,

As Babes wanting Relief;

And long they wandred up and down,

No Hopes to chear their Grief.

Thus Hand in Hand they walk'd, 'till

At last this Wood they spy'd;

And when they saw the Night grow dark,

They here lay down and cry'd.

At this the Duke was inly mov'd,

His Breast soft Pity beat;

And so he straightway ordered

His Men for to Retreat.

And now, but that my Pen is blunt,

I might with ease relate;

How Fifteen Thousand French were took,

Besides what found their Fate.

Nor should the Prince of Hannover

In silence be forgot;

Who like a Lyon fought on Foot,

After his Horse was shot.

And what strange Chance likewise befel,

Unto these Children dear:

But that your Patience is too much

Already tir'd, I fear.

And so God Bless the Queen and Duke,

And send a lasting Peace:

That Wars and foul Debate henceforth

In all the World may cease.

The Duke of Marlborough's Health.
Set by Mr. R. Cox.

COME, here's a good Health, the Duke I do mean,

That bravely Fought, that bravely Fought for

his Nation and Queen,

May his Fate still be,

That Conquer shall he

Till the Nation with Peace it be Crown'd;

Come Lads never think,

But his Health let's Drink,

And Sing his Great Praise, and Sing his Great Praise

whilst Bumpers pass Round.

The Duke of Marlborough's HEALTH.

MArlborough's a brave Commander,

He Conducts us into the Field;

As bold as Alexander,

He'll Dye before he'll yield:

Sound the Trumpet Sound, Boys,

Let each Man stand his Ground, Boys;

Ne'er let us flinch, nor give back an Inch,

And so let his Health go round, Boys.

A SONG.

Set by Mr. John Eccles, and Sung by Mr. Gouge,
in the Farce call'd, Women will have their Wills.

BELINDA's pretty, pretty, pleasing Form,

Does my happy, happy, happy, happy Fancy charm:

Her prittle-prattle, tittle-tattle's all engaging, most obliging;

Whilst I'm pressing, clasping, kissing,

Oh! oh! how she does my Soul alarm:

There is such Magick in her Eyes,

Such Magick in her Eyes, in her Eyes,

Does my wond'ring Heart Surprise:

Her prinking, nimping, twinking, pinking,

Whilst I'm courting, for transporting,

How like an Angel, She panting lies, She panting lies.

A Song on a Ladies Drinking.

WHILST Phillis is Drinking, Love and Wine in alliance,

With Forces United, bids resistless defiance;

Each touch of her Lip, makes Wine sparkle Higher,

And her Eyes by her Drinking, redouble the Fire:

Her Cheeks grow the brighter, recruiting their Colour,

As Flowers by sprinkling revive with fresh Odour;

Each Dart dipt in Wine, Love wounds beyond curing,

And the Liquor like Oil makes the flame more enduring.

The first Song, Sung by Mr. Prince, in the Maid in the Mill.

HOW long, how long shall I pine for Love?

How long shall I sue in vain?

How long, how long like the Turtle Dove,

Must I heavily thus complain?

Shall the Sails of my Love stand still,

Shall the grist of my Hopes be unground?

Oh fye, oh fye, oh fye, oh fye let the Mill,

Let the Mill go round, let the Mill, let the Mill go round.

A Song Sung at HOLMSE's Booth in Bartholomew Fair,
Set by Mr. JOHN BARRETT.

WAR, War and Battle now no more,

Shall your thun'dring Cannons roar;

No more, no more of War complain,

Peace begins, Peace begins her Halcyon Reign:

For now the Tow'ring Bird of Jove,

Stoops, stoops to the gentle Billing Dove.

A Song Set by Mr. Daniel Purcell, and
Sung at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

CUPID make your Virgins tender,

Make 'em easy to be won;

Let 'em presently surrender,

When the Treaty's once begun:

Such as like a tedious Wooing,

Let 'em cruel Damsels find:

But let such as wou'd, as wou'd be doing,

Prithee, prithee, prithee Cupid make 'em kind,

Prithee, prithee Cupid make 'em kind.

A Scotch Song, Sung by Mrs. Willis at the Theatre.