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In scorching noon-day, whil'st the traveller stayes,
Busie, busie, busie, busie, we bustle along.
Mounted upon warm Phœbus his Rayes,
Through the Heavenly throng,
Haste to those
Who will feast us, at night, with a Pigs Petty-toes.
1 King.And we'l fall with our pate
In an Ollio of hate.
2 King. But now supper's done, the Servitors try,
Like Souldiers, to storm a whole half-moon-pye.
1 King. They gather, they gather hot Custard in spoons,
Alas, I must leave these half-moons,
And repair to my trusty Dragoons.
2 King. O stay, for you need not as yet go astray;
The Tyde, like a friend, has brought ships in our way,
And on their high-ropes we will play.
Like Maggots in Filberds, we'l snug in our shell,
We'l frisk in our shell,
We'l firk in our shell,
And farewel.
1 King. But the Ladies have all inclination to dance,
And the green Frogs croak out a Coranto of France.
Bayes. Is not that pretty, now? The Fidlers are all in green.
Smi. I, but they play no Coranto.
Johns. No, but they play a Tune, that's a great deal better.
Bayes. No Coranto quoth a! that's a good one, with all my heart. Come, sing on.
2 King.Now Mortals that hear
How we Tilt and Carrier,
With wonder will fear
The event of such things as shall never appear.
1 King. Stay you to fulfill what the Gods have decreed.
2 King. Then call me to help you, if there shall be need.
1 King. So firmly resolv'd is a true Brentford King
To save the distressed, and help to 'em bring,
That
