Sportive vvit the muses merriment, a new spring of lusty drollery, joviall fancies, and a la mode lamponnes, on some heroic persons of these late times, never before exposed to the publick view / collected for the publick good by a club of sparkling wits, viz. C.J., B.J., L.M., W.T., cum multis alsis----

A SONG.

SUre 'twas a dream, how long fond man have I Been fool'd into captivity? My New-gate was my want of wit, I did my self commit the bonds I knit; I my own g••oler was, the onely foe That did my freedome disallow: I was a pris'ner 'cause I would be so.

But now I will shake my chaines, and prove Opinion built the gaole of love, Made all his bonds, gave him his bow, His broken arrowes too, which murther so. Nay all these darts idle Lovers dream, Were all compos'd to make a Theam For some carousing Poet's drunken flame.

'Twas a fine life I led, when I did dresse My self, to court your peevishnesse; When I did at your foot-stoole lye, Expecting from your eye to live or dye. Now smiles or frownes, I care not which I have, Nay rather than Ile be your slave, Ile woo the plague to send me to the grave.

Now I can stand the salleys of your eyes, In vain are all your b••tteries. Nor can that low dissembling smile, Nor that bewitching stile longer beguile, Nor those heart-traps, which you each renu•• To all those witchcrafts, and to you For evermore Ile bid adieu.