THE MILKING PAIL
To an excellent New Tune, much in request
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YE Nimphs and Silvian Gods,
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That Love green Feilds and Woods,
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When spring newly Born herself does Adorn
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With Flowers and Blooming Budes;
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Come singing the Praise, while Flooks does grase
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in yonder pleasant Vail:
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Or these that choose their Sleep to loose
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And in Cold goes with clouted Shoes,
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To carry the Milking Pail.
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You Goddess of the Morn,
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With Blushes you adorn
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Do take fresh Air whilst Lenats prepare,
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a consort in each green Thorn
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The Blackbird and Thrush in every Bush.
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and the charming Nightingale
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Who in a merry vein their Throats do strain,
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To entertain the jolly Train
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Of those of the Milking Pail.
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When cold Black Winds do roar.
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And Fields will Spring no more
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The Flowers that was seen so pleasant and green
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With Winter all Candi'd o're
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But how the Town Lass with her white Face
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And her Lips so deadly pale
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But it is so with those that go,
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Through Frost and snow, with Cheeks that glo
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And carry the Milking Pail
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The Misses of Courtly Mold,
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Adorn'd with Pearl and Gold,
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With Washes and Tent her Skin does so paint
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That she's wither'd before she grow Old
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While she of Commod, puts on a Cart load,
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And with Cushens plump her Tail
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What Joys are found, in Rushy ground
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Young plump and sound and Sweet and round
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Of those of the Milking Pail
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You Girles of Venus Game
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That ventures health and Fame
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In practsing Feats with Cold and Heats,
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Makes Lovers grow Blind and Lame
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If Men were so wise to value the prize,
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Of the Wares most fit for Sale,
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What store of Bose would dob their Cloaths
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To save a Nose by following those
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Who carry the Milking Pail,
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The Countrey Lad is free,
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From Fears and jealousie,
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Whilst upon the Green, he is often seen
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with his Lassie on his knee
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With Kisses most sweet, he doth her so treat
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And swears he'll grow Thral.
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But the London Lass in every place,
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With brazen face, despises the Grace
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Of those of the Milking Pail.
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