Love and honesty or, The modish courtier What's here to do? a pretty modish song turn'd to a ballad? in troth I think e're long, a fourth part of the town will poets be, if that a line of wit they can but see: they must be medling and add further still, and never leave till all that's sence they kill: yet if I iudge aright, the vulgar sort are mightily beholding to them for't. The Duke of Monmouth's jigg. With allowance, Ro. L'Estrange. Feb. 8. 1676.

Love and Honesty OR , The Modish Courtier . What 's here to do ? a pretty Modish song Turn'd to a Ballad ? in troth I think e're long , A fourth part of the Town will Poets be , If that a line of Wit they can but see : They must be medling and add further still , And never leave till all that 's sence they kill : Yet if I Iudge aright , the vulgar sort Are mightily beholding to them for 't . To a pleasant new Tune , called , The Duke of Monmouth's Jigg . With Allowance , Ro . L'Estrange . Feb. 8. 1676.

two men, one offering someting (a chalice?) to the other

a man

A Curse on the zealous and ignorant crew , Who languish all day , And with passion obey , The senceless decrees that Platonicks pursue . How poor and unhappy ; Vnhappy are those pretenders , Who fearful of scandal and vulgarly shame , Diminish their flame . But blest be the man who with freedom enjoys , A Beauty whose Eyes , Like the Stars in the Sky , Procures new delight till his appetite cloyes . How happy unhappy , How happy are those pretenders , Who fearless of scandal or vulgar reproach , Pursue their debauch . Elizium's a grief and a torment , compar'd To those that can prove , The enjoyment of Love , ●●●re Lovers in raptures do meet a reward . The tales of the antients , Of Elizian fields are ungrounded , In Loves kind fruition where souls have access , Oh there 's the true bliss . Those conquering beauties more pleasure afford , To such as are free , At their own liberty , Then Vsurers Chests which with plenty are stor'd . Then happy be still , Noble Lads that are natures adorers , Whilst envy and avarice starve and repine , We 'l frolique in Wine .

portrait of a man surrounded by flowers

portrait of a woman surrounded by flowers

Those that the confinement of Wedlock refuse , May live at their ease , And enjoy when they please , Being free from the strict matrimonial noose . The bawling of brats , Shall not injure his rest nor his quiet , But when with delights his fierce appetite 's cloy'd , Then rest is enjoy'd . No wonder why clowns who of sence are debar'd , Remain till they dye , Like a Hog in a Stye , And ne'r understand a brisk Lovers reward . 't is those that have souls , Of the modish new slamp that are witty , All others are drudges and never are blest , Till death gives them rest . 't is Love that does give us true sence of our life , And makes us proceeed , In each generous deed , Protected with love , or are freed from all strife . But those that ne'r knew , The delights of an amorous Lover . Can't truly be said to have liv'd out an hour , If free'd from Loves power . Those that for abundance do match with a wife , Are troubled with an itch , To be wealthy and rich , Which keeps them in torment all days of their life . They never enjoy , But still grumble at every misfortune , Whilst wisdom creates in a generous mind , Ioys they cannot find . God Cupid for ever thy name I 'le adore , For now I can see , That in thy Deity , Are blessings ( for those that deserve them ) in store . A passion that 's noble , Shall ever receive satisfaction , But ignorant fools who abandon thy name , Extinguish their flame . In liberty all men have cause to rejoyce , If mingled with Love , Ever happy 't will prove , What fops do count folly , we think our best choice . A cup of the creature , Will make our bloods warmer and warmer , Like senceless Fanaticks we 'l never repine , Of Love and good Wine .