The Čouragious Gallant; OR, ČUPID Degraded.

True Lovers grief may find Relief,
Good Wine will cure the cause;
Then Fill the Glass, and let it pass,
A Figg for CUPIDS Laws.
To the Tune of, Four-Pence-Half-Penny-Farthing.

This may be Printed, N. P.

[figure]
[figure]
AWay with Cupids idle Darts
what doth he mean I wonder,
He makes a stir with breaking hearts,
such grief I'le ne'r lye under:
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be Jolly,
with me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair
which is not kind, and willing.
Some doating fools there is I know,
will cringe and bow to Beauty
And stand in fear of Cupids Bow,
as counting it their Duty:
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
to me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair
which is not kind and willing.
Let me enjoy the charming Bowl
of Liquor when in Season,
It quickens e'ry Noble Soul,
and Ripens all our Reason;
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
with me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair
which is not kind and willing.

No Lo [...]ve no Life.

[figure]
Now fill the Glasses to the brim,
for this will paint our Faces,
And drink a full Carrouse to him
that slights all fond embraces:
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
to me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair,
which is not kind and willing.
Fair Phillis once her Love did show
to me, but once I lost her,
I scorn'd the Tyrannizing Bow
of Cupid that Impostor:
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
with me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair,
which is not kind and willing.
Since Cupid uses subtile Charms,
I scornfully beheld him,
I'le hugg the Bottle in my arms
now may the D —Geld him;
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
with me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair,
which is not kind and willing.
Now drink about and never spare,
resolving to be merry,
No Phillis in the World more fair
then Glasses of Canary:
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
to me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair
which is not kind and willing.
Now he's an Ass that seems to dote,
and waits a Womans Leisure,
I'de have him learn to change his note
with us enjoy true pleasure;
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
to me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair,
which is not kind and willing.
We'l lay our hearts a soak in Sack,
it is a cure for Sadness,
This Liquor never let us lack,
since too much Love is Madness;
Fond Love is a folly, Boys we'l be jolly,
to me it shan't be Killing,
Grand fools they are that counts her fair
which is not kind and willing.
I know there's few but love to sport,
of all degrees I vow man,
From jovial Gallants at the Court,
to Country Ralph the Plow-man:
For he [...]l be jolly, with Hate and Molly,
who take delight in billing,
Grand fools they are who count her fair,
which is not kind and willing.

Printed for I. Deacon, at the Angel in Guilt-spur-street without Newgate.

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