An Excellent New Song, Called,
The Praise of Women;
OR,
Women, Wine, Musick.
Being a New Play-House SONG, to a pleasant Tune.
|
HOw lovelys a woman before shes enjoyd,
|
when the spirits are strong, & the fancy not cloyd
|
We admire ery part, tho never so plain,
|
which when throughly possest we quickly disdain.
|
Each Lady we court, and beg theyd be kind,
|
And when they consent for to be of our mind,
|
We kiss and embrace, and do whats to be done,
|
When their Bellies are full, we leave them forlorn
|
All Women we see, we hope to enjoy,
|
We think ourselves happy, if they prove not coy,
|
Each feature we praise, and admire their parts,
|
tho to the next face, we do proffer our hearts.
|
So drinking we love too, just at the same rate,
|
For when we are at it we foolishly prate;
|
What Acts we have done, and set up for wit,
|
But next morning pains, our pleasures do quit.
|
We drink all the morning both Coffee and Tea,
|
And think there is none live more sober than we,
|
till to dinner we move, then the glass must go round
|
Full Bumpers of Wine, till our senses are drownd,
|
then about midnight we reeling home go,
|
And neither the Watchmen or Constable know,
|
thus wine makes us valiant, for when we are drunk,
|
We draw at each man for a nasty town Punk.
|
But Musicks a pleasure, that tires not so soon,
|
tis pleasant in morning, tis welcome at Noon,
|
tis charming at nights, to sing Catches in parts,
|
It diverts our dull hours, and rejoyces our hearts.
|
But Musick alone, without Women and Wine,
|
Will govern but dully, tho never so fine;
|
therefore by consent, well enjoy them all three,
|
Wine & Musick for you, and the Women for me.
|
For still of all pleasures, theres none can compare,
|
to the joys of a Woman thats charming and fair,
|
She diverts us all day with pleasing delight,
|
then Raptures of Joy she yields all the night.
|
|
|
|
|
|