The Country Peoples Felicity.
OR,
A brief Description of pleasure.
Shewing the ready way of sweet content,
By them that ply their work with merriment,
They eat, they drink, they work and sport at pleasure
They pipe, they dance when time and place gives leasure.
To the Tune of, Hay-makers Mask.
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DOwn in a meadow,
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the River running clear,
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All in the month of July
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the prime time of the year,
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Where many a pretty little fish,
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within the Brook did play,
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And many a Lad and many a lass,
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abroad were making Hay.
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In came the Sithes men,
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to mow the Meadow down,
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With their bags and bottles,
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and Ale that was so brown,
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The Labouring men with courage bold,
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to each other reply,
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Let's work, and blo[e], and stifly mow,
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the Grass cuts very dry.
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Then nimble Tib and Thomas,
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with pitchfork, and with Rake,
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Came in the merry Meadow green,
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the hay in Cocks to make,
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Where each on plied their labour,
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[a]nd did no whit repine,
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[?] gentle wind bl[e]w fair and cool
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[?] him
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Mary, Bess, and Nanny,
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in scarlet petticoats,
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Kept singing at their labors,
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with sweet and pleasant notes,
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Sweet jug, jug, jug, jug, jug, jug, jug,
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the Nightingale did sing,
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Whose noble voice made all rejoyce,
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as they were Hay-making.
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Then Robin, Ned, and Richard,
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being in a merry vein,
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To further the Hay-making,
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run nimbly over the Plain,
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And came into the Meadow.
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with courage and delight,
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And plyed the business stoutly,
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whilst Phaebus shined bright.
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Rowland and sweet William,
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and John upon that day,
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Brought pretty Kate and Bridget,
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to help them make the Hay,
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Fair Margret, Sue and Frances
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they staid not long behind,
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B[ut] for to tod and turn the Hay,
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[?] were everyone incline[d]
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The second part to the same Tune
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NOw when those Lads and Lasses,
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were all together that day,
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In that same gallant Meadow,
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a making of the Hay,
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They plyed their work so closely,
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and labored so compleat,
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Until the pretty Maidens brows,
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did drop apace with sweat
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The Young men in like manner,
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drew forth Handkercheifs then,
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To wipe the maidens faces,
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like loving hearted men.
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No hurt was done amongst them
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but now and then a kiss,
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The Young men gave their Sweethearts
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you know no harms in this.
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At last when bright Phoebus,
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the Sun was going down,
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A merry disposed Piper,
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aproached from the town,
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And with his pipe and tabor,
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he did so trimly play,
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So that they all laid down their tools
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and left off making hay.
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Then each man took his sweet heart,
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their fortunes to advance,
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[?] with W[?]
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[?]
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No rare nor braver pastime,
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could be under the Sun,
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When from the morn no evening,
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was in the Meadow done.
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Now thus much for the country folks,
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I dare be bold to say,
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Which in the merry Meadow,
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that time were making hay.
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No ill act was committed,
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nor no ill business wrought,
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Would everyone in London were,
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as pure in deed and thought.
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Some of you London Lasses,
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flants up and down in jags,
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With Copyer lace, and painted face,
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silk scarffs, and gay black bags,
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In my mind are not so wholesome,
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so handsom nor so fair,
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As are the country Damsels plain,
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that nere such toys did wear.
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