Glen Collection of printed music > Printed music > Wit and mirth, or, Pills to purge melancholy > Volume 4

144 Songs Compleat,
By the taste of the Blisses, so nappy's he,
He crys there's no Beggar, Beggar, Beggar,
Could so blest, or so fortunate be.
The touch of her Hand encreases his Flame,
Who conquer'd by Charms a Captive doth lie ;
And when he but thinks of his true Love's Name,
He vows for her sake he could freely Die :
Then she revives him again with a Kiss,
He cries you undo me, undo me, undo me,
Had ever poor Soul such Pleasure as this ?
Then Gallants, ne'er envy the Poor's Delight,
'Tis Pleasure to Love, and a Plague to be Free ; j
Tho' some for our Poverty do us slight,
There's none alive more happy than we :
We well are content with what we enjoy,
And once in a twelvemonth, twelvemonth, twelve-
month
We are blest with a Girl, or a Boy,
Content is a thing we strive to possess,
And better it is than a Golden Mine :
Since us with the same the Heaven do bless,
What cause have we for to repine :
No, we've enough our Hearts to suffice,
And he that doth murmur, murmur, murmur,
Will never be happy nor wise.
JOAN