Humble We Must Be, If

Here A Pretty Baby Lies Sung Asleep With Lullabies: Pray Be Silent, And Not Stirre The Easie Earth That Covers Her.

Well I Sup And Well I Dine, When I Drink My Frolic Wine.

A Winning Wave, (deserving Note.) In The Tempestuous Petticote, A Careless Shoe-string, In Whose Tye I See A Wilde Civility,-- Doe More Bewitch Me Than When Art Is Too Precise In Every Part.

My Soul I'll Pour Into Thee.

Give House-room To The Best; 'tis Never Known Verture And Pleasure Both To Dwell In One.