THE
Country Gentleman;
Or, the happy Life.
To an excellent Tune, Or, Hey boys up go we. With Allowance.
|
I Am a man of Wealth and Land,
|
and Gold I have good store,
|
A good Estate I now command,
|
what can one wish for more?
|
I value not an hundred pound,
|
to Tenants i'le be kind,
|
I'le have my Hawk, and have my Hound
|
and such delights will mind.
|
To London I will not repair,
|
here sweeter pleasures be,
|
I live in a more healthy Ayr,
|
and fairer Beauties see:
|
I love the noise of Hey-ge-ho,
|
the whistling at the Plough,
|
The Baaing of the tender Yoe,
|
and Lowing of the Cow.
|
The morning Lark which shepherds love
|
here sings by break of day;
|
And Nightingale in yonder Grove
|
where Flowers perfume our way:
|
Fair Siccamores to please the eye,
|
and hinder too much heat,
|
And Strawberries and Violets lye
|
all round about our feet.
|
BEtimes we hear the huntsmans horn
|
which loudly ecchoes round,
|
And in a lovely Rosie morn
|
how sweetly does it sound!
|
The drowsie sluggard strait gives ear,
|
his golden Dreams are fled;
|
(Except the Sick) who e're did hear
|
the Horn and lye a bed?
|
Intrigues of State here are not known,
|
nor Beauties nice and coy,
|
Each man well pleas'd with what's his own
|
his pleasures does enjoy:
|
At night within his Wifes soft Arms
|
the happy Swain does rest,
|
And thus secure, and void of harms
|
with Peace is alwaies blest.
|
I hate the many Cheats and Knaves
|
that lurk in London Town,
|
whose restless heads like tumbling waves
|
are rowling up and down:
|
Ambitious Fops find little ease,
|
let us Ambition shun,
|
And mark how all our Flowers and trees
|
are guilded by the Sun.
|
The meanest Shepherd does enjoy
|
some Milk-maid brisk and fair,
|
And gets first night a thumping Boy,
|
a lusty jolly Heir.
|
Let painted Jilts avoid this place,
|
for all our Nymphs so gay
|
With only Dews do wash their face,
|
and look divine as day.
|
|
|
|
|
|