The Country Lass for me,
Give me the bonny Country Lass,
take you the Girls o'th City,
The Country Girls do them surpass,
though London Girls are witty:
The Country Girls in Honesty,
do Citizens surpass,
Then once again I do proclaim,
none like the Country Lass.
The Tune is, Hey Boys up go we.
|
COme Lovers all, both great and small,
|
and listen to my Ditty,
|
That often boast, nay cry and yall,
|
of the Beauties of the City:
|
Yet in my mind, all men may find,
|
as they the Country pass,
|
That Maidens they, are brisk and gay,
|
beyond a London Lass.
|
There's Joan and Margaret, wondrous fair,
|
and beautiful indeed,
|
No Citizen can them compare,
|
they do them all exceed;
|
For they are lively stirring Girls,
|
whose goodness doth surpass,
|
And now say I, none can come nigh,
|
the brisk young Country Lass.
|
But let me not most carelesly,
|
forget poor loving Jenny,
|
If on her once you cast your eye,
|
ten to one she'l win ye:
|
For she is beautiful indeed,
|
and other Girls surpass,
|
Come all agree, and say with me,
|
none's like the Country Lass.
|
There's pritty Betty amongst the rest,
|
whose Lips are like a Cherry,
|
Her vertues cannot be exprest,
|
besides she's wondrous merry:
|
She has a lovely rouling eye,
|
he needs must be an Ass,
|
That in this point will not comply,
|
and love the Country Lass.
|
THeir Head-cloaths are as white as milk
|
and neatly they are drest,
|
Their skin as soft as any silk,
|
and Lilly-white the Breast:
|
But mind how prittily they trip,
|
and jet it o're the Grass,
|
You'l cry out then, like other men,
|
give me the Country Lass.
|
But go unto a Market Town,
|
brave Lasses you may see,
|
Though dressed in a home-spun Gown,
|
yet tite and neat they be:
|
And like good Huswifes they are drest,
|
yea, neatly by they pass,
|
And you may know where e're you go
|
the honest Country Lass.
|
Mind but the colour of their Cheeks,
|
they Roses do exceed,
|
While London Lasses like to Leeks,
|
look green and pale indeed:
|
But you may find them brisk and Kind,
|
when they sit on the Grass,
|
They'l kiss and play, up and away,
|
O bonny Country Lass.
|
Their Sweet-hearts they do keep in aw.
|
with knitting of the Brow,
|
And bind them for to keep the Law,
|
which Cupid doth allow:
|
These bonny Girls are precious Pearls,
|
whose goodness doth surpass,
|
And far exceed, the London breed,
|
O brave young Country Lass.
|
The Country Lass betimes doth rise,
|
and in the ayr she goes,
|
When mighty Storms doth dim the skies,
|
in bitter Frosts and Snows:
|
Though Rain and Hail, with Milking-pail,
|
she merrily doth pass,
|
And thinks no harm, be it cold or warm,
|
brave down-right Country Lass.
|
Then boast no more, of your great store,
|
of bonny London Lasses,
|
Since you may find in every kind,
|
the Country girls surpasses:
|
And do indeed, your Comforts breed,
|
then he is a simple Ass,
|
His judgement's weak, who once dare speak,
|
against the Country Lass.
|
|
|
|
|
|