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A thousand grimaces she made,

To fhew forth her grief at his parting; But that was the trick of the jade,

And regardless as old womens farting.

The dyer was now out of fight,

And prepar'd to discover the treafon; You will find he was much in the right; And I'm going to tell you the reafon: The wife was no fooner alone,

But fhe fent for her father-confeffor; He put his best pantaloons on,

And he ran like the devil to bless her.

The damfel, with fmiles on her face,
Met the abbot, and gave him a kiss;
But no man wou'd have been in his place,
If he had known of the jerquer in pils.
We now may fuppofe them together,
Confeffing and preffing each other;
Bound faft, in love's thong of whit-leather,
Was the reverend catholick brother.

Some hours were past at this rate,

When the husband, with pass-par-tour keys,
Made no fcruple to open his gate,

And caught napping the hog in his peafe.
Father abbot, quoth he (without paffion)
Is this your church-way of confeffion?
Altho' 'tis a thing much in fashion;
It is nevertheless a tranfgreffion.


The abbot, as you may believe,
Had but little to say for himself;
He knew well what he ought to receive,
For his being fo arrant an elf;

His cloaths he got on with all speed,

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And conducted he was by the dyer,

To be duckt (as you after may read)`

And be cool'd from his amorous fire.

Quoth the dyer, Moft reverend father,
Since I find you're fo hot upon wenching,
I have gather'd my fervants together,

To give you a taste of our drenching.
Here -Tom, Harry, Roger and Dick,

Take the abbot, undress him, and douse him, They obey'd in that very fame nick,

To the dye-vat they take him, and souse him.

To behold what a figure he made,、

Such a monster there never was feen, "Twas enough to make Satan afraid; He was colour'd all over with green.

The dyer had pleasure enough,

When he thought how he dy'd him for life; "Twas much better than using him rough, Since he only had lain with his wife.

The abbot was led to the door,
And he took to his heels in a trice,

Never looking behind or before;
It was now not a time to be nice.

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'Tis reported by fome of his neighbours, That he did not difcover, till morning, The excellent fruits of his labours,

Nor the colour he had for his horning.

But, good lack, when he came to the glass,

And beheld fuch a ftrange alteration,

He was dy'd of the colour of grafs,

And had like to have dy'd with vexation,
As this stain can be never got out,

And the abbot muft lose the church-fleece;
Let him bear the disgrace (like a lout)
To be fhewn for a penny a-piece.

ROUND her fee Cupid flying,
A Behold him wifhing, dying.
Such graces fhine all o'er her,
Gods might adore her.

Blind boy, forbear to woe her,
Thy flame admits no cure,
To me, in fight of heaven,
Her faith is given.



On his Miftrefs drown'd.

WEET ftream, that doft with equal pace
Both thy felf fly and thy felf chace,
Forbear a while to flow,

And liften to my woe.


go, and tell the sea, that all its brine Is fresh, compar'd to mine;

Inform it that the gentler dame,

Who was the life of all my flame,

In the glory of her bud,

Has pafs'd the fatal flood.

Death by this only stroke triumphs above

The greatest power of love:

Alas! alas! I must give o'er,

My fighs will let me add no more.

Go on, sweet stream, and henceforth rest
No more than does my troubled breast;
And if my fad complaints have made thee stay,
These tears, these tears fhall mend thy way.


The Mafquerade Garland.

OM E, all ye fons of Adam,
The which do haunt this place;
Come all ye little eves-droppers,
Who pafs for babes of grace;
Come all ye fhapes and figures,
And as ye pafs along,
Pray mind a brother animal,
And liften to his fong,

Oh masquerades are fine things
For to delight the eyes;
And tho' they vex the foolish,
They don't offend the wife.

For why thou'd mirth and pleasure,
And harmless sport and play,
Or fpeaking with sincerity,
Be thought a rude effay?
For when we mask our faces,
We then unmask our hearts;

And hide our leffer beauties,
To show our better parts.
Oh masquerades are fine things
For to delight the hearts;
And tho' they hurt our pockets,
They please our better parts.

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