An excellent New SONG, called, The Intreagues of Love; OR, One worth a Thousand.
To a Pleasant New Tune.
How happy are we,
When we meet with a Beauty,
That is charming and free,
and knows more than her Duty,
Women they were made for men,
'The Gods above allow the same;
But this cunning Creature
Will not yield to Nature,
Nor will let you do't,
Unless you court her to't,
And give her Gold to boot,
Put you, you must ever swear for to be true.
But when the Guinea wins her,
she's at your Devotion,
She'll freely let you in Sir,
and meet you in the motion;
'Tis then, if you behold her eyes,
How they rowl when at the sport she lies;
First, she turns the white,
And then she shuts them quite,
And then with all her might,
She seems her Lips to bite,
And swears you're her Delight,
Such Joys sure she never felt the like before.
And if you have but Gold Sir,
with you she'll be moving,
She cares not though you're old Sir,
she will be fond and loving,
In Love she'll pass the time away,
And ask you all the night to stay,
And for your money's sake,
She'll hang about your Neck,
And give a Kiss to please,
And then your hand she'll squeze,
And look with dying Eyes,
And swear, swear she dies if that you leave her there.
When she's got your Treasure,
and left you no money,
Then you must wait her leisure,
while another she calls Hunny;
She minds not all the Oaths you swear,
Although you vow you love her ne're so dear
But he that brings the Cole,
Shall have my Ladys Hole,
For money is the cry,
Fine Rigging for to buy,
Or else she will deny
The toy, toy, the
Cullies of the Town call joy.
But where's the Charming Beauty,
that's constant and loyal,
That loves and will be true to ye,
when put to the tryal;
Although you'd Guineas give her down.
Yet she no ways can be like the Town,
For she'll be just and true,
And lye with none but you,
While the jilting Whore
ets you and thousands more,
To do her o'er and o'er,
And swears each is the man she does adore.
Printed for Charles Barnet.