To bribe the base, to crush the good, And bring them to their knees- At what or whom you please- THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND. WILLIAM AYTOUN. AIR "The days we went a-gipsying." I WOULD all womankind were dead, For they have been a bitter plague No female face hath shown me grace For many a bygone year. But 'tis the most infernal bore, To have a friend who's lost his heart Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall, Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill, Then, for my sins, he straight begins To rave about his fair. Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart In vain you pour into his ear In vain you try to rouse him by His sole reply's a burning sigh, O Lord! it is the greatest bore, To have a friend who's lost his heart I've heard her thoroughly described He waxes strong upon his pangs, To have a friend who's lost his heart I really wish he'd do like me When I was young and strong; I formed a passion every week, But he has not the sportive mood That always rescued me, And so I would all women could Be banished o'er the sea. For 'tis the most egregious bore, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. Whence human pleasures flow, sing, heavenly Muse! With copious hand by bounteous gods bestow'd! By thee upborne, I draw Miltonic air. When fumy vapors clog our loaded brows With furrow'd frowns, when stupid downcast eyes, |