THOMAS D'URFEY.

1729.

Had D'Urfey lived in an age when vice had been less barefaced, his "happy knack of writing Satires and irregular Odes" might have pleaded something in his favour as a poet. We may, however, believe the effect of his ri. baldry to have been innocent, when we find the moral Isaac Bickerstaff recommending his cause to the publisher, in the 67th Number of the GUARDIAN, and requiring their patronage to a Play performed for his benefit, when in his old age he was.much reduced. There is every reason to suppose that this effort of friendship was successful. In his youth he had lived in the best societies, and was noticed by Charles II.; and country gentlemen, who thought that wit, like other plagues, might be caught by infection, made it a subject of boast among their fellow squires, if by accident they had breathed in the same room with Tom D'Urfey.

The first of the following specimens is remarkable for the difficulty which Purcell found in setting it to musick.The second endeared D'Urfey to the Tories.

ONE

The Parson among the Peas.

A NEW SONG.

NE long Whitsun holliday,

Holliday, holliday, 'twas a jolly day;

Young Ralph, buxom Phillida, Phillida, a-well

a-day,

Met in the Peas:

They long had community,

He loved her, she loved him,

Joyful unity, nought but opportunity,

Scanting was wanting their bosoms to ease :

But now Fortune's cruelty, cruelty,

You will see, for as they lye,

In close hugg, Sir Domine, Gemini, Gomini,

Chanced to come by ;

He read prayers i' th' family:

No way now to frame a lie,

They scared at old Homily, Homily, Homily,

Both away fly.

Home, soon as he saw the sight, full of spight,
As a kite runs the Recubite,

Like a noisy Hypocrite, Hypocrite, Hypocrite,
Mischief to say;

Save he wou'd fair Phillida, Phillida, Phillida.

Drest that holy day,

But, poor Ralph, all well-a-day, well-a-day, wella-day,

Turn'd was away,

Ads niggs, crys Sir Domine, Gemini, Gomini,
Shall a rogue stay,

To baulk me as commonly, commonly, commonly,

Has been his way,

No, I serve the family,

They know nought to blame me by,

I'll read prayers and Homily, Homily, Homily,
Three times a day.

THE KING'S HEALTH.

The First Strain.

Joy to Great Cesar,

Long life, love, and pleasure;

'Tis a health that divine is,
Fill the bowle high as mine is:

Let none fear a feaver,

But take it off thus boys;
Let the king live for ever,

'Tis no matter for us boys.

The Second Strain.

Try all the loyal,

Defy all,

Give denyall;

Sure none thinks his glass too big here,

Nor any prig here,

Or sneaking whig here,

Of Cripple Tony's crew,

That now looks blue,

His heart akes too,
The tap won't do,

His zeal so true,

And projects new,

Ill fate does now pursue.

The Third Strain.

Let Tories guard the King,
Let Whigs in halters swing;
Let Pilk, and Shute be sham'd,

Let

Oates be damn’d :'

Let cheating Player be nick'd,
The turn-coat scribe he kick'd;

Let rebel city dons,

Ne'er beget their sons :
Let ev'ry Whiggish peer,
That rapes a lady fair,

And leaves his only dear,

The sheets to gnaw and tear,
Be punish'd out of hand,
And forced to pawn his land
T'attone the grand affair.

The Fourth Strain.

Great Charles, like Jehovah,
Spares those would un-king him;
And warms with his graces,

The vipers that sting him :
Till crown'd with just anger,

The rebel he seizes;

Thus Heaven can thunder,

When ever it pleases.

JIGG.

Then to the Duke fill, fill up the glass,

The son of our martyr, beloved of the king; Envy'd and loved,

Yet blest from above,

Secured by an angel safe under his wing,