to my Spleen, that sav'd my Bones that bout--But then I did well--hah,
came briskly off, and the rest.

_Sham_. With Honour, Sir, I protest.

Sir _Tim_. Come then, we'll serenade him. Come, Sirrah, tune your Pipes,
and sing.

_Boy_. What shall I sing, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Any thing sutable to the Time and Place.

SONG.

I.

_The happy Minute's come, the Nymph is laid,
Who means no more to rise a Maid.
Blushing, and panting, she expects th'Approach
Of Joys that kill with every touch:
Nor can her native Modesty and Shame
Conceal the Ardour of her Virgin Flame_.

II.

_And now the amorous Youth is all undrest,
Just ready for Love's mighty Feast;
With vigorous haste the Veil aside he throws,
That doth all Heaven at once disclose.
Swift as Desire, into her naked Arms