[Index]
A SONG.
(Pills to purge Melancholy, ??. 194)

A Lusty young Smith at his Vice stood a Filing,
   Rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, rub in and out, in and out ho ;
When to him a Buxom young Damsel came smiling,
And ask'd if to Work at her Forge he wou'd go :
   With a rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, rub in and out, in and out ho :

A match quoth the Smith, so away they went thither,
   Rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, rub in and out, in and out ho ;
They strip'd to go to't, 'twas hot Work and hot Weather,
She kindl'd a Fire, and soon made him blow ;
   With a Rub, rub, &c.

Her Husband she said could scarce raise up his Hammer,
His strength and his Tools were worn out long ago ;
If she got her Journey-men, could any blame her,
Look here quoth our Workman, my Tools are not so :
   With a Rub, rub, &c.

Red-hot grew his Iron as both did desire,
And he was too wise not to strike while 'twas so ;
Quoth she, what I get, I get out of the Fire,
Then prithee strike home and redouble the blow :
   With a Rub, rub, &c.

Six times did his Iron by vigorous heating,
Grow soft in the Forge in a Minute or so ;
As often 'twas harden'd, still beating and beating,
But the more it was soften'd it harden'd more slow :
   With a Rub, rub, &c.

The Smith then wou'd go, quoth the Dame full of sorrow,
Oh what wou'd I give, cou'd my Cuckold do so !
Good Lad with your Hammer come hither to Morrow,
But pray can't you use it once more e'er [sic] you go :
   With a Rub, rub, &c.


[Index]