Page:Pocock's Everlasting Songster.djvu/130

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Mofes, mind what I/ay j when 'tis night 'tis not day ;

No\\ in former times faints could work miracles, And raife from the dead, there's no more to be faid,

For, Mofes, I've dropp'd down my fpe&acles.

Mofes, hear what I fay, life's, alas ! but a day,

Nay, fometimes 'tis over at noon ; Man is but a flower, cut down in an hour,


 * Tis ftrong ale, Mofes, does it fo foon.

So one pot, and then; iMofes anfwer'd, Amen! And thus far we've carried the farce on ;

'Tis the vice of the times to relifh thofe rhymes, Where the ridicule runs on a Parfon.

Butfatire detefts immorality's jeft,

All prophane or immodefr expreffion ;

So now we'll conclude, and drink as we iliou'd. To the good folks of every profeilion.

Tol de rol, lol de rol lol, &c.

��YOU SHAN'T SIR.

JOHNNY met -me t'other day,

' Blithe young foldier Johnny j

Whither going, he did fay, Pretty lafs fo bonny :

Stop awhile and let us talk No, fays I, I cant, Sir,

Then, fays he, with you I'll walk- No, fays I youfhan't, Sir.

Johnny

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