A Song.

Dearest Chloe, I must leave you,
From your sweetest Charms remove;
Let not worldly Joys deceive you,
Theres no Trust in Wealth or Love.
I have Riches, you have Beauty,
You are faithful, I am just;
Yet now I'm call'd to pay my Duty,
All can't save me from the Dust.
O I faint, my Head grows dizzy,
And my starting Eye-balls roul,
Death's approaching now to ease me,
O ye Gods receive my Soul.

Widdow. O ho! Is he gone? 'Tis the better for me,
His Wealth and my Beauty do bravely agree,
Such Blessiings another will quickly obtain,
Then why should I mourn for the loss of a Man,
No, no, no, not I, no, no, no, not I,
For another more jolly his Place shall supply.