am so hoarse I cou'd not sing a Line, were the whole Town to subscribe for
me.

_Knap_. Take t'other Glass, _Betty_.

_Bett_. T'other Glass, Fellow, by the Bishop of _Munster_, these Puppies
have a Design upon me! but give it me, however, for all that know me, know
I never baulk my Glass.

_Shr_. But the Song, the Song, _Betty_. [_She Sings_

SONG.

I.

_How happy are we,
Who from Virtue are free,
That curbing Disease of the Mind,
Can indulge ev'ry Taste,
Love where we like best,
Not by dull Reputation confin'd_.

II.

_When were Young, fit to toy,
Gay Delights we enjoy,
And have Crouds of new Lovers wooing;
When were old and decay'd,
We procure for the Trade,
Still in ev'ry Age we are doing_.