The Modish LONDON Life: OR, The Merry Meeting.

To an excellent New Tune. Or, My Life and my Death. Or, Now, now the Fight's done.
WOuld you know how we meet o're our jolly full Bouls?
As we drink off our Wine the Glass merily trouls
The sweet Mel's the sharp, the kind sooth the strong,
And nothing but friendship flows all the night long:
We drink, laugh, and celebrate every desire,
Love only remains an unquenchable Fire.
Thus we drown all our cares in our Rosie rich Wine,
While we drink a brisk Glass to the fair and divine;
Though Beauty can charm, 'tis Wine does inspire,
And in e'ry breast can create a new fire:
'Tis Wine, Wine our noble Physician does prove,
And does cure the tormenting Ague of Love.
Is there here e're a Youth for a Beauty does pine?
Let him take but a Dose of the Juice of the Vine,
'Twill give him releif, 'twill cure his Disease,
And in a few minutes bring pleasure and ease,
'Twill give him new Life, and will take away care,
And make him despise the fickle and fair.
Is there here e're a Man that does lead a dull life
With a froward, untoward, cross, pevish, ill wife?
Let him take this same Grape, 'twill vigor restore,
And cure all his grief, (as I told you before.)
When wifes with their Curtain shrill Musick alarm,
Wine lulls men to sleep, and keeps them from harm.
'Tis the sad mans best friend, and creates him delight
It takes away dulness, and makes the eyes bright;
Those eyes that lookt dull, will (soon) look divine,
Will change in a moment, and sparkle like Wine.
Thus Wine does new vigor and virtue impart,
And does strangely relieve and comfort the Heart.
Would a Lover look gay, and appear with boon grace?
Give him Wine, 'twill adorn and enliven his Face.
'Twill make him more bold to court without fear,
For some court young Maids as if Furies they were,
They creep, cringe, and tremble, are hugely afraid
Of a gentle, soft, tender, fair, beautiful Maid.
Let us merrily live, void of trouble and care,
And regard not the snares and the Nets of the Fair.
Let us all laugh at love that naked young boy,
While we more substantial delights do enjoy;
'Tis not Venus Son can our fancies remove,
To leave off our Wine, and think upon Love.
We have oft broke his Bow, e'ry Arrow and Dart,
The winged young Archer could ne'r hit our heart:
All sighing we hate, as we whining despise,
For Nectar does make us more merry and wise,
We'l drink while young Lovers do court and do vow,
While they to the Female Beauties do bow.
Thus in innocent mirth we are happy each day,
And our minutes and houres glide sweetly away:
We have no Caballs, nor plotting do mind,
We safer and sweeter enjoyments can find.
We bend all our thoughts for to pleasure our friend,
And 'tis pitty such pleasures ever should

This may be printed,

R. P.

Printed for I. Conyers at the sign of the Black Raven in Fetter-lane, near Holbourn.

Where any Chapmen may be furnished with all sorts of new Songs, as formerly.

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