The Plough-man's Praise:
In A DIALOGUE between a Mother and her Daughter;
Which Daughter resolved to forsake a Wealthy 'Squire, and marry Roger, the
Ploughman for his Plain-Dealing. Tune of the Evening Ramble, etc.
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DEar Mother I reckon to marry,
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I hope you will give your consent:
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For as I am told, full Eighteen Years old,
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I was in the midst of last Lent.
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'Tis time I was marry'd you know,
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Three Winters and Summers agoe,
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I then did discover the Joys of a Lover:
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When Roger he tickl'd me so,
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O! he is as pretty a Fellow I vow,
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As ever was train'd up to follow the Plough.
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Why Huswife what mean you by Roger,
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the passionate Mother reply'd,
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A Country Clown, the scorn of the Town,
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you may be a Gentleman's Bride:
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For, Daughter, i'll make it appear,
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That now in fair Somersetshire,
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Besides Gold and Treasure, and Wealth out of measure,
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My Rents are Two Hundred a Year,
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And do you imagine, that I will allow,
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My Daughter to marry a Fellow at Plough.
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The Plough is a Staff to the Kingdom,
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a Pillar and Prop to the Throne:
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On every hand it fattens the Land,
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with Plenty, 'tis very well known,
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For if we had Guinea's untold,
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More than a whole Kingdom could hold,
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What Man would be quiet without any Diet,
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For whoever liv'd upon Gold?
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No Creature, dear Mother, and therefore I'll vow,
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To marry a Husband that follows the Plough.
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But Gold is a beautiful Metal,
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this City and Court to adorn,
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To satisfie you, a handful or two,
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is worth many Bushels of Corn:
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The Farmers where ever they dwell,
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Their Corn they will readily sell,
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For Money to any, so sweet is the Penny,
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Without it, there's none can live well,
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And therefore, dear Daughter, consider this now,
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And take not a Fellow that follows the Plough.
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I shall have hereafter, dear Mother,
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two Hundred a Year, and above,
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A plentiful store, I'll covet no more:
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but marry the Man that I love;
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Tho' in a poor Jerkin he goes,
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And Patches, perhaps on his Hose,
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Dear Mother pray hear me, when e'er he comes near me,
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His Breath is as sweet as a Rose:
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If ever I marry, I solemnly vow,
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It shall be a Fellow that follows the Plough.
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Dear Daughter I strange at your Fancy,
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this 'Squire that Courts you, I know,
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Will make you his Wife, and love you as Life,
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in Jewels and Gemms you may go:
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He's wealthy, and handsome, withal,
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Both lusty, strait, proper, and tall,
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And you'll be attended, and likewise befriended,
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Have Servants to come at your Call,
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Pray why will you slight such a Happiness now,
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And take a poor Fellow that follows the Plough.
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A Fig for the Bully young 'Squire,
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a Crack he do's constantly keep;
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He'll revel and Sport, with Ladies at Court,
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while I in my Chamber may weep,
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To think of my sad Overthrow:
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But Roger will never do so,
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He's honest I know it, and cannot foregoe it,
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And Mother he loves me I know:
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And therefore, if ever I marry, I vow
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It shall be with Roger that follows the Plough.
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Dear Daughter, if that be the Reason,
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thy Wisdom I needs must commend,
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A right honest Man will get what he can,
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but others will wastfully spend,
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And ruine their Families quite,
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I think thou art much in the right:
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I will not deny thee, let Roger lye by thee,
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Since he is thy Joy and Delight,
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And when thou art marry'd, my Love shall be shown;
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I'll give him a Farm, and Two Ploughs of his own.
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