The Down-right Country-Man; OR,
The Faithful Dairy-Maid.
utmind how Country Lads do boast,
whilst Londoners are blam'd,
And Country Lasses praised most,
while ours are Wags proclaim'd.
The Tune is, Hey Boys up go we: Or, Busie Fame.
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I Am a down-right Country-man,
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both faithful I and true,
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I'le live and dye so if I can,
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this I declare to you:
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I study as I am at Plow,
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to shun all false deceit,
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And you may plain discover now,
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I am no London Cheat.
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Your London Cheats do go most fine,
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like Lords in their attire,
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To swill their guts with Spanish Wine,
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it is their hearts desire:
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But it is very common, they
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do with the Vintners meet,
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They'l get o'th score then run away,
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just like a London Cheat.
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They oft pretend to be in Love,
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and ready for to dye,
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Yea, vow to be just like the Dove,
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but know no Constancy.
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Like Villains they, the wag do play,
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with every Lass they meet,
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They plump them up then run away,
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this is a London Cheat.
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There is not one in Twenty but
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he wears his Sword by his side,
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But walks with many an empty Gut,
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and ne'r will leave his Pride:
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But when his brain is full of Wine
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he'l stagger in the street,
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And then picks up a Concubine,
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to pox the London Cheat.
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Then he for half a Crown will have,
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that which may make him rue,
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A painted Whore both fiine and brave,
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perhaps the French-man too:
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Thus he with his unwholsome flesh,
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will be most brisk and sweet,
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But see him once out of his dress,
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he's like a London Cheat.
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BUt London City oft affords,
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Females as bad as Men,
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Who though they Hector with their Swords
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there is not one in ten,
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But has some pretty little Miss,
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to serve him at his need,
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And every minute lends a Kiss,
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this is a Whore indeed.
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They'l vow forever to be true,
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to them they do affect,
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When Honesty is bid adieu,
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what can you then expect?
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No faith nor troth is minded, when
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fools take so little heed,
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For Whores do often clap their Men,
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O these are Whores indeed.
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Let honest men take so much care,
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that do inhabit London,
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Of such false Girls to have a care,
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for fear they may be undone:
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How many hundreds may be spoyl'd,
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if they do not take heed,
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They who are so by Girls beguil'd,
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do meet with Whores indeed.
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Why then give me the Country Lass;
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who honest is and true,
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And yet may kiss upon the Grass,
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but nothing farther do:
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She scorneth that her deed,
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should any mischief breed,
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She takes delight in what is right,
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and honest is indeed.
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See by the coulors of their Cheeks,
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they well and wholsome are,
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While London Girls look green as Leeks,
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The Country Girls look fair:
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Then old and young I pray beware,
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in Marrying take good heed,
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Least you are brought into a snare
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by cursed Jades indeed.
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See how the Rose and Lilly fair,
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upon their Cheeks do grow,
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Mind how their breath perfume the ayr,
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wherever they do go:
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And what they touch imediately,
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fresh Odours on them breed,
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They patterns are of constancy,
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rare Country Girls indeed.
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Mind but the Girl that Milks the Cow,
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how sweetly she doth sing,
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She never knits an angry Brow,
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but welcomes in the Spring,
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And then among the Butter flowers,
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she trips along the Mead,
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To pass away the tedious hours,
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she's fair and Chaste indeed.
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