I think I fhall not stay to dine,
But the Lord's will be done, not mine.
Where's thy good wife? methinks I want
To fee her, the's a pious faint
In wedlock thou art truly blest
Of women fhe's the very best.
Pray let her know that I am here,
And tell her I defire to fee her.
The Lord preferve her! here the comes,
She has just been fweeping out her rooms,
You must excuse her housewife's drefs,
She's always doing, I profefs.
I'm very happy, worthy Sir,
To fee fo great a ftranger here.
I hope good Madam Cant is well,
And pretty Mrs Abigail.
Dear Sir, I wish I could have feen
Them here, how blefs'd fhould I have been;
Tho' I'm afham'd, I must confefs,
T'appear in fuch a homely drefs.
Thou 'rt a good woman, thou hast grace,
That beft adorns a beauteous face;
I think thy weeds become thee well,
Thou wouldst not drefs like Jezabel.
To tell the truth, I've feldom seen
A wife more lovely or more clean.
Give me thy hand, thou faithful bride,
The Lord at all times be thy guide:
How do thy little comforts fare?
Those tender twigs, their parents care;
Pray call 'em hither, let me bless
Thofe pretty hopeful babes of grace.
Here, Aram, come, my little faint,
low bow to Mr Cant?
Daughter! where art? come hither, Ruth,
Fie, pull your fingers from your mouth.
Look up, my dear, hold up your head,
Where's your fine curt'fy there's my maid.
Lord, fanctify thefe lambs, and grant
That they thy grace may never want;
Shew 'em thy ways, that they may be
A comfort to thy spouse and thee;
The Lord fufficiently hath fhew'd
His love to both in fuch a brood.
May they ftill greater bleffings grow
To thee that brought 'em forth in woe.
And as their years increase, inherit
A double portion of the spirit.
Thanks to you, rev'rend Sir, may heaven
Reward the bleffing you have given.
Rebecca, take my closet-key
And fetch that bottle unto me,
Thy mafter brought me home laft night
For Palm, and faid he knew 'twas right;
And with the bottle pray bring in
A glass, take care you wash it clean.
I hope thou doft not think that I
Drink wine, except I'm fick or dry;
I ne'er take any thing that's ftrong,
One glafs I fear will do me wrong,
E'en let it reft upon the shelf,
Thou 'dft better keep it for thy felf.
Good Sir, vouchfafe, at my request,
To drink this glass, 'tis not a taste.
It holds but half a pint at moft,
Will you be pleas'd to have a toaft,
No, by no means, if I muft take
So large a dofe 'tis for thy fake,
Good Lord, give thou a bleffing to it,
That when 'tis down I may not rue it.
Well, 'tis exceeding good indeed,
I wish it mayn't offend my head.
May'ft thee, at all times, for thy ease,
Abound in comforts, fuch as these.
'Tis a prime cordial, I protest,
This ought not to be drank in waste.
Alas, one glafs, Sir, will not warm ye,
I'm fure a fecond cannot harm ye;
Cold weather does ftrong wine require,
Fill out, my dear,- a little higher;
Pray give the glafs to Mr Cant,
So long a walk may make him faint.
Thou beft of all good women! hold
Thy hand, consider I am old;
Thou art too bountiful, I vow,
Thy love is too abounding now;
Lord, fanctify this cordial juice,
And make it wholfome for our use.
Well! 'tis a comfortable creature,
In truth I think I ne'er drank better.
I can but thank ye for your love,
Tis now, I doubt, high time to move.
Wife,
Nay, Sir, I hope you'll ftay and dine,
Befides, here's almoft half the wine:
Pray, Sir, accept, before you go,
Of t'other glafs, and don't fay no.
And if you're not engag'd elsewhere,
You're welcome to our homely fare.
Thou art fo kind, I needs must say,
I fcarce know how to go or stay.
What dinner haft thou, friendly creature,
Alas, I'm but a piddling eater.
Blefs me, the best and only dish,
Upon this day, that I could wish;
No food befides could fo delight
My eyes, and eke my appetite.
Good pious faints, that you fhould join
Your hearts fo mutually with mine.
Well, give me now the other glass,
I fee that you abound in grace,
The Ld of mercy and of pow'r
Hath bleffings for fuch faints in ftore.
I cannot bid ye now farewel,
Thy invitation must prevail.
Methinks from heaven I hear a voic,
That bids me tarry and rejoice.
None can more truly welcome be;
Therefore I hope, Sir, you'll be free.
This is a day of joy and mirth
Among the faints that dwell on earth.
This and the fifth day of November
We're always careful to remember;
Both which deferve the utmost rev'rence
For our remarkable deliverance.
'Tis very true, we ought to praise
The Lord upon thefe bleffed days,
And tipify the fall of him
That caus'd the land in blood to fwim;
So good a dish, on fuch a day!
What Chriftian can refuse to stay.
But tho' I tarry here to dine,
Pray do not fend for any wine.
A little, Sir,-wife, fend the maid
For two of Palm and two of red:"
This day we always drink, you know,
To th' pious hand that gave the blow.
The Lord direct thee! prithee do
What thy own mind inclines thee to.
But I must crave thy leave to light
One pipe to whet my appetite,
When that is done we'll fhut the door,
And praise the Ld for half an hour.
The Geneva Ballad,
F all the factions in the town,
Mov'd by French fprings or Flemish wheels,
None treads religion upfide down,
Or tears pretences out at heels,
Like Splaymouth with his brace of caps,
Whofe confcience might be fcann'd perhaps
By the dimenfions of his chaps.
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