An Excellent New SONG, call'd,
The Intreagues of Love:
OR,
One worth a Thousand.
To a pleasant New Tune.
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HOW happy are we,
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when we meet with a Beauty,
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That is charming and free,
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and knows more than her Duty:
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Women they were made for Men,
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The Gods above allow the same;
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But this cunning Creature
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Will not yield to Nature,
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Nor will let you do't,
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Unless you court her to't,
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And give her Gold to boot,
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But you, you must ever swear for to be true.
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But when the Guinea wins her,
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she's at your Devotion,
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She'll freely let you in Sir,
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and meet you in the Motion;
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'Tis then, if you behold her Eyes,
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How they rowl when at the Sport she lies;
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First, she turns the White,
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And then she shuts them quite,
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And then with all her might,
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She seems her Lips to bite,
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And swears you're her Delight,
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Such Joys sure she never felt the like before.
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And if you have but Gold Sir,
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with you she'll be moving,
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She cares not though you're old Sir,
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she will be fond and loving;
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In Love she'll past the time away,
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And ask you all the Night to stay,
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And for your Money's sake,
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She'll hang about your Neck,
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And give a Ki[s]s to please,
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And then your Hand she'll squeze,
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And look with dying Eyes,
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And swear, swear she dies if that you leave her there.
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When she's got your Treasure,
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and left you no Money,
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Then you must wait her leasure,
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while another she calls Hunny;
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She minds not all the Oaths you swear,
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Although you vow you love her ne'er so dear,
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But he that brings the Cole,
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Shall have my Lady's Hole;
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For Money is the cry,
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Fine Ringing for to buy,
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Or else she will deny,
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The Toy, Toy, the Cullies of the Town call Joy.
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But where's the Charming Beauty,
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that's constant and loyal,
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That loves and will be true to ye,
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when put to the tryal;
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Although you'd Guineas give her down,
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Yet she no ways can be like the Town,
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For she'll be just and true,
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And lye with none but you,
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While the jilting Whore
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Lets you and thousands more,
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To do her o'er and o'er,
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And swears each is the Man she does adore.
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