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Thou art too bountiful, I vow,
Thy Love is too abounding now.,
Lord fanctify this Cordial Juice,
And make it wholsome for our use.
Well! ---'tis a comfortable Creature,
In truth I think I ne'er drank better.
I can but thank ye for your Love,
Tis now, I doubt, high time to move.

Nay, Sir, I hope you'll stay and dine,
Besides, here's almost half the Wine :
Pray, Sir, accept before you go,
Of t'other Glass, and don't say no.
And if you're not engag'd elsewhere,
You're welcome to our homely fare.

Thou art so kind, I needs inust say,
I scarce know how to go or stay.
What Dinner hast thou, friendly Cream
Alas! I'in but a pidling Eater: frure ?

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I must confess we have not dressid
What's worthy of so good a Guest;
Yet 'tis a Dish that we may say
Is suited to the present Day:
'Tis a Calfs Head, to tell you truth,
I wish such Fare may

fit your Tooth.

Preacher. Bless me, the best and only Dish, Upon this Day, that I could wish. No Food besides could so delight My Eyes, and eke my Appetite. Good pious Saints, that you should join Your Hearts so mutually with mine. Well, give me now the other Glass, I see that you abound in Grace, The Lord of Mercy and of Pow'r Hath Blessings for such Saints in store, I cannot bid ye now farewel, Thy Invitation must prevail.


Methinks from Heav'n I hear a Voice,
That bids me tarry and rejoice.

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None can more truly welcome be;
Therefore I hope, Sir, you'll be free.
This is a Day of Joy and Mirth
Ainong the Saints that dwell on Earth.
This and the Fifth Day of November
We're always careful to remember.
Both which deserve the utmost rev'rence
For our remarkable Deliverance.

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'Tis very true, we ought to praise
The Lord upon these blessed Days,
And typify the Fall of him
That caus'd the Land in Blood to swim
So good a Dish, on such a Day!
What Christian can refuse to stay.
But tho' I tarry here to dine,
Pray do not send for any Wine.



Husband. A little, Sir,---Wife send the Maid For two of Palm and two of Red : This Day we always drink, you know, To thPious Hand that gave the Blow.

Preacher The Lord direct thee! Pritheę do What thy own Mind inclines thee to, But I must crave thy leave to light One Pipe to whep my Appetite. When that is done we'll shut the Door, And praise the Ld for half an Hour.


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William Prynne,

HOU perpetual Scribe,

Pharisee and Hypocrite, born to the destruction

of Paper, and most unchris ftian effusion of Ink ; thou Egyptian Taskmaster of the Press, and unmerci




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