SONG LX. A Round, at the Request of Sir W. S.
1
Of all things!
We call things,
For my part, I'de have but one
For fair things
As Rare things,
I do not care a Button:
Of all the feeling Gear,
That ever I came neer
Were it a brown, Red, or Yellow
For Prayses, or for Prick,
To the principle I'le stricke
That a Black thing has no fellow.
2
Girles ith' Dark
When they starke,
Are naked, as the Truth is;
And with care,
Trimme their Ware,
As flippant, as their youth, is,
And do the best they can
To fit themselves, for Man,
I'de have, at last, they should well know,
The cheifest Grace they Lack,
If their Tackle be not Black,
For a Black thing, &c.
3
If you'l feel,
One Gentle
She's Argent 'bout the Navel
When she bears
Right her Gears
Her Honour point is sable:
The Damo'sels that are Fair
But for an out-side are
Th'are rotten e're they are Mellow;
But Oh! The Black! The Black!
'Tis she will hold you tack
For a Black thing, &c.
4
The choice Grace,
Of a Face,
By a black Patch, out-set is:
The best Stone,
Fairest she'wn,
Within a foile of Jet is:
If e're it be my Doom,
To Cover and to Come,
At the nodding of the Pillow
Of all the pleasant Pack,
Commend me to the Black;
For a Black thing, &c.
