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A Poem on WILL and MEG.
  
  
  

A Poem on WILL and MEG.

Since Will and Meg are married,
And we're come here to Dine;
How comes there's neither Sport, nor Play,
At such a joyful Time:
If ever Musick lawful was,
It's on a Wedding-day,
Come call the Minstrell, and the Maid,
Let them go Dance and Play,
Our Dadys danc'd ere we were born,
So did our Minnys too,

62

It was ne'er forbidden or yet forborn,
But by the Whiggish Crew:
Mess John sorbad all dancing here,
I grant it's very true;
But I have known him hear a Tune,
And Pay the Fidler too;
Religion Joy and Mirth allows,
And Heaven is Melody:
But sullen Looks, and gloomy Brows
Suit Hell and Presbytery.