Song LX., pp.312-313.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

WHen Chloe we ply, 

We swear we shall die, 

Her eyes do our heart so enthrall; 

But ‘tis for her pelf, 

And not for herself; 

‘Tis all artifice, artifice all. 


The maidens are coy, 

They’ll pish! and they’ll fie! 

And swear, if you’re rude, they will call; 

But whisper so low, 

By which you may know, 

‘Tis all artifice, artifice all. 


My dear, the wives cry, 

If ever you die, 

To marry again I ne’er shall; 

But less than a year, 

Will make it appear, 

‘Tis all artifice, artifice all. 


In matters of state, 

And party debate, 

For church and for justice we bawl; 

But if you’ll attend, 

You’ll find in the end, 

‘Tis all artifice, artifice all. 

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