The triumph of wit, or, Ingenuity display'd in its perfection. Being the newest and most useful academy, in three parts. Part I. Containing variety of excellent poems, pastorals, satyrs, dialogues, epigrams, anagrams, acrosticks, choice letters with their answers, ... and exactest collection of choice songs. Part II. Containing the whole art and mystery of love in all its nicest intreagues and curious particulars, ... with the description & anatomy of perfect beauty. Part III. Containing the mystery and art of wheedling and canting, with the original and present management thereof, and the ends to which it serves and is employed. Illustrated with poems, songs and various intreagues in the canting language, with the explanation, &c. To which is added, Instructions for dancing with musical notes.

Country Expressions, or Complements, to Women.

DEar Margery, what shall I say to thy kindness! methinks I cou'd buss thee for it till to morrow morning.

Kind Jenny, it rejoices me to see how smug you are; thy neatness has often made my chaps water, Ill assure you.

Sweet Mistriss Prue, how long shall I pine, as they call it, and hang my head like a wither'd Tulip or Primrose, before thou'lt say, Honest Jack I am thine?

Cib, thou art my choice, and the Old man, my Father, approves it; therefore prick up thy Ears, and be glad.

Doli, thou art my Pigsnies; and I so much love thee, that methinks I cou'd smuggle thee till I have lost thee.

Kate, you little think what a grumbling you have caused in my Gizard above this fortnight; for, in troth, I was never so out of humour in all my life; adad, I was not as since I gazed upon thy pritty grey Eyes at the last Wake.

Well, Madge, I hear that thy Father and mine have made up the match over a Pot of Ale, and I am come to seal the bargain with a buss, and to let you know

I'll fetch you upon my Roan Horse on Sunday next, and we'll be Married together.

Sweet Grace, I must own you are something hand∣some; but you are withall so cross and peevish, that a dog wou'd not live with you.

Well, Moll, I have got thy Mothers consent, and now am come to woo thee.

Mistriss Vrsula, methinks ye are the plumpest brown Lass in all the Parish; and cou'd I think you wou'd fall in love with me; I'd tell you a piece of my mind.

Jenny, Jenny—O you little prate-a-pace, thou haft a Tongue well hung; and if I thought you cou'd not scold, avads I'd have you home to be my Wife, and so buss ye when we are treading the Pease-mow together, thou canst hardly dream on't.

Fair Mistriss Peggy, you have so thralled my heart, that I am compelled to follow you as the Cart do's the Horses, where-ever you go.