The Happy Husbandman:
OR,
Country Innocence.
To a pleasant New Court Tune. This may be Printed, R.P.
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MY young Mary dos mind the Dairy,
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while I go a Howing, and Mowing each Morn;
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They hey the little Spinning Wheel,
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Merrily round dos Reel
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while I am singing amidst the Corn:
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Cream and Kisses both are my Delight,
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She gives me them, and the Joys of Night;
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Shes soft as the Air,
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As Morning fair,
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Is not such a Maid a most pleasing sight?
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While I whistle, she from the Thistle
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does gather Down for to make us a Bed,
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And then my little Love does lie
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All the Night long, and dye
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in the kind Arms of her nown dear Ned;
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There I taste of a delicate Spring,
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But I mun not tell you, nor name the thing,
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To put you a Wishing,
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And think of Kissing,
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For Kisses cause sighs, and young Men shoud sing.
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Sedge and Rushes, and tops of Bushes
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shall thatch our Roof, and shalt shall strow all our Floar;
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And then the pritty Nightingales
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Will fly from Groves and Dales
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to live with us, and well neer be Poor:
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Little Lambkins when ever they dye
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Will bequeath new Blankets to thee and I,
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Our Quilts shall be Roses
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Which June disposes;
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So warm and so sweet my young Love shall lie.
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Fountains pure shall be thy Ewer
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to sprinkle Water upon thy fair Face;
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And near the little Flock shall play
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All the long Summers Day;
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gentle white-Lambs will adorn the Place.
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Then at Night well hie home to our Hive,
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And (like Bees) enjoy all the sweets alive:
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Well cast all Loves Treasure,
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And enjoy that Pleasure,
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While others for Fame and for Greatness strive.
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No Mans Frowns are on the Downs,
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for truly there we most freely may sing,
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And kiss the pretty Nancies,
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While Changes and Chances
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amuse all the Great, and Disturbance bring.
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We will with our young Lambs go to Bed,
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And observe the Lives that our Fathers led;
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Well mind not Ambition,
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Nor sow Sedition,
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And leave State-Affairs to the State-mans Head.
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Oaten Reeds (those humble Weeds)
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shall be the Pipes upon which we will play,
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And on the merry Mountain,
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Or else by a Fountain,
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well merrily pass the sweet time away:
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Sure no Mortal can blame us for this.
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And now mark the way of your London Miss,
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She masters your Breeches,
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And takes your Riches,
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While we have more Joys by a harmless Kiss.
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No Youth here need Willow wear,
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no beauteous Maid will her Lover destroy:
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The gentle little Lass will yield
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In the soft Daizy Field,
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freely our Pleasures we here enjoy:
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No great Juno we boldly defie,
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With young Cloris Cheeks, or fair Celias Eye;
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We let all those things alone,
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And enjoy our own,
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Every Night with our Beauties lie.
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