The second book of the Pleasant musical companion being a new collection of select catches, songs and glees : for two and three voices.

A SONG in Praise of the Dairy-maid with her Cream-Pot, and Fair Rose the Milk-maid.

To the Tune of Packington's Pound.

[ 24] 〈♫〉〈♫〉 LEt Wine turn a Spark, and Ale huff like a Hector, let Plu╌to drink Coffee, and Jove his rich 〈♫〉〈♫〉 Nector; neither Sider nor Sherry, Metheglin nor Perry, shall more make me drunk, which the Vulgar call 〈♫〉〈♫〉 Merry: These Drinks o're my Fancy no more shall prevail, but I'le take a full soop at the merry Milk-pale.

II.

In praise of a Dairy I purpose to sing, But all things in order; first, God save the King And the Queen, I may say, That ev'ry May-day Has many fair Dairy-maids all fine and gay: Assist me, fair Damsels, to finish this Theme, And inspire my Fancy with Strawberries and Cream.

III.

The first of fair Dairy-maids, if you'l believe, Was Adam's own Wife, your Great Grandmother Eve; She milk'd many a Cow, As well she knew how, Tho' Butter was not then so cheap as 'tis now: She hoarded no Butter nor Cheese on a Shelf, For Butter and Cheese in those days made it self.

IV.

In that Age or Time there was no damn'd Money, Yet the Children of Israel fed on Milk and Honey; No Queen you could see, Of the highest degree, But would milk the brown Cow with the meanest she: Their Lambs gave them Clothing their-Cows gave them Meat, In a plentiful Peace all their Joys were compleat.

V.

But now of the making of Cheese we shall treat, That Nurser of Subjects, bold Britain's chief Meat; When they first begin it, To see how the Rennet Begets the first Curd, you would wonder what's in it: Then from the blue Whey, when they put the Curds by, They look just like Amber, or Clouds in the Sky.

VI.

Your Turkey Sherbet, and Arabian Tea, Is Dish-water stuff to a Dish of new Whey; For it cools Head and Brains, Ill Vapours it drains, And tho' your Guts rumble, 'twill ne're hurt your Brains: Court Ladies i'th' morning will drink a whole Pottle, And send out their Pages with Tankard and Bottle.

VII.

Thou Daughter of Milk, and Mother of Butter, Sweet Cream thy due Praises, now shall I utter? For when at the best, A thing's well exprest, We are us'd to reply, That's the Cream of the Jest: Had I been a Mouse, I believe in my Soul, I had long since been drowned in a Cream-boul.

VIII.

The Elixir of Milk is the Dutch-man's delight, By motion and tumbling thou bringest to light; But oh! the soft Stream, That remains of the Cream, Old Morpheus ne're tasted so sweet in a Dream: It removes all Obstructions, depresses the Spleen, And makes an old Band like a Wench of Fifteen.

IX.

Amongst the rare Virtues that Milk does produce, A thousand more Dainties are daily in use; For a Pudding I'le tellye. E're it goes in the Belly, Must have of good Milk, both the Cream and the Jelly: For a dainty fine Pudding without Cream or Milk, Is like a Citizen's Wife without Satin or Silk.

X.

In the Virtues of Milk, there's more to be muster'd, The charming Delights of Cheese-cake and Custard; For at 〈◊〉〈◊〉-Court You can have no sport, Unless you give Custards and Cheese-cakes for't: And what's the Jack-Pudding that makes you to laugh, Unless he hath got a great Custard to quaff.

XI.

Both Pancakes and Fritters of Milk have good store, But a Devonshire Whitepot requires much more; No state you can think, Tho' you study and weak, From the lusty Saok-posset, to the poor Posset-drink: But Milk's the Ingredient, tho' Sack's ne're the worse, For 'tis Sack makes the Man, tho' Milk makes the Nurse.

XII.

But now I shall treat of a Dish that is cool, A Rich-clouted Cream, or a Gooseberty-Fool; A Lady I heard tell, Not far off did dwell, Made her Husband a Fool, and yet pleas'd him full well: Give thanks to the Dairy-maid then every Lad, That from good-natur'd Women such Fools may be had.

XIII.

When the Damsel has got the Cow's Teat in her hand, How she merrily sings, whilst smiling I stand; Then with pleasure I rub, Yet impatient I scrub, When I think of the Blessings of a Syllabub: Oh Dairy-maids! Milk-maids! such Bliss ne're oppose If e're you'l be happy, I spake under the Rose.

XIV.

This Rose was a Maiden once of your Profession, 'Till the Rake and the Spade had taken possession; At length it was said, That one Mr. Ed╌mond, Did both dig and sow in her Parsly-bed: But the Fool for his labour deserves not a Rush, For grafting a Thistle upon a Rose-bush.

XV.

Now Milk-maids take warning by this Maidens fall, Keep what is your own, and then you keep all; Mind well your Milk-pan, And ne're touch a Man, And you'l still be a Maid, let him do what he can: I am your Well-wisher, then list' to my word, And give no more Milk than the Cow can afford.