Oates's Bug—Bug— Boarding-School, AT CAMBERWELL. A SONG.
To the Tune of, My Lord Russels Farewell.
ROuse, Rouse my lazy
Mirmidons,
And muster up our Tribe;
See how the
Factious Fancies stands,
To trim or cross the Tyde:
Invite 'em to my
Vaulting School,
The
Saints for freedome tell:
How they may live without Controul,
With me at
Camberwell.
There all Provision shall be made
To entertain the best,
Old
Mother Creswel of our Trade,
For to rub down our Guests;
Three Hundred of the briskest Dames,
In
Park or
Field e're fell:
Whose Amorous Eyes shall charm the flames
O'th Saints at
Camberwell.
For my own spending I will keep
Of Boys Three Hundred more,
They are to my
Appetite, more sweet
Then Bawd or Bucksome Whore:
The
Turks Seraglio we'l revive,
He sinks so fast for Hell:
Our
English Turks may Plot and thrive,
With me at
Camberwell.
That Sacred place shall tempt his Grace,
Once more from Friends to fall:
He'l leave these new-found Sweets to trace
both
More-Park and
White-hall;
For
Gray and
Tom 'tshall be their home,
To Kiss Secure and Dwell:
Where e'ry Lass shall have his Grace,
In my sweet
Camberwell.
Patience shall from the Cock-loft creep,
And here have free Access:
To
Swear and
Drink, to
Whore and
Sleep,
Such Vertues we profess;
Waller his
Pots of
Venison,
He took for
Priests, may sell:
His
Amber-Necklaces make known
Our
Saints at
Camberwell.
Player may meet his Mistris here,
Sometimes Sir
Robert's Wife;
They free from care in joys may share,
It may prolong ones Life:
That daring Gibbet 'fore my Gate.
I'le tear him down to Rights;
Because no Emblems of ill Fate,
Shall fright our Amorous Nights.
Argile and
Lob, and
Ferguson,
And all
Absconding Saints;
May safely to their Saviour come,
And taste our sweet Contents:
Our largest Rooms to frisk and sport,
Beds round, and Curtains Drawn;
The Life and Sceen of
Venus Court,
Excelling
Englands Throne.
All naked round the Room we'l Dance,
Fine
Limbs and
Shapes to show:
In pairs by Candle-light advance,
In dazeling postures go;
Here every Man obtains his Choice,
Sister, Madam, or
Nell:
We'l have
Papilion and
Duboyce,
To my sweet
Camberwell.
Finis.
Printed for J. Dean, Bookseller in Cranborn-street, in Leicester-Fields, near Newport-House. 1684.