To become a country lad;
Hard to lie, and go full bare,
And to feed on hungry fare;
So I might but live to be,
Where I might but sit to see
Once a day, or all day long,
The sweet subject of my song;
In Aglaia's only eyes
All my worldly Paradise.

65

Nicholas Breton.

Jack and Joan, they think no ill,
But loving live, and merry still;
Do their week-day's work, and pray
Devoutly on the holy day:

Skip and trip it on the green,

And help to choose the Summer Queen;

Lash out, at a country feast,

Their silver penny with the best.

Well can they judge of nappy

And tell at large a winter tale;

Climb up to the apple loft,

ale,

And turn the crabs till they be soft.
Tib is all the father's joy,

And little Tom the mother's boy.

All their pleasure is content;

And care, to pay their yearly rent.

Joan can call by name her cows,

And deck her windows with green boughs;
She can wreaths and tuttyes make,
And trim with plums a bridal cake.

Jack knows what brings gain or loss;
And his long flail can stoutly toss:
Makes the hedge which others break;
And ever thinks what he doth speak.

Now, you courtly dames and knights,
That study only strange delights;
Though you scorn the home-spun gray,
And revel in your rich array:
Though your tongues dissemble deep,
And can your heads from danger keep;
Yet, for all your pomp and train,
Securer lives the silly swain.

66

Campion.

His Grange, or Private Wealth

Though clock,

To tell how night draws hence, I've none,
A cock

I have to sing how day draws on.
I have

A maid, my Prew, by good luck sent
To save

That little Fates me gave or lent.
A hen

I keep, which, creeking day by day,

She goes

Tells when

I have, which with a jealous ear

Lets loose

Her tongue to tell that danger's near.

A lamb

I keep (tame) with my morsels fed,
Whose dam

An orphan left him (lately dead).
A cat

I keep, that plays about my house,
Grown fat

With eating many a miching mouse.
To these

A Tracy I do keep whereby
I please

The more my rural privacy;
Which are

But toys to give my heart some ease;
Where care

None is, slight things do lightly please.

Herrick.

67

To Lar

No more shall I, since I am driven hence,
Devote to thee my grains of frankincense;
No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down,
To honour thee, my little parsley crown;
No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bring
My chives of garlic for an offering;
No more shall I from henceforth hear a choir
Of merry crickets by my country fire.
Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here,
Warm by a glittering chimney all the

year.

Herrick.

The Shepherd's Wife's Song

Ah, what is Love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king;
And sweeter too;

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, As merry as a king in his delight;

And merrier too;

For kings bethink then what the state require, Where shepherds careless carol by the fire: Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat
His cream and curds as doth a king his meat;
And blither too;

For kings have often fears when they do sup,
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

ween,

To bed he goes, as wanton then, I
As is a king in dalliance with a queen;

More wanton too;

For kings have many griefs affects to move,

Where shepherds have no greater grief than love:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound
As doth a king upon his beds of down;
More sounder too;

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill,
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe
As doth the king at every tide or sithe;

And blither too;

For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

69

Greene.

Perigot and Willy's Roundelay

Perigot. It fell upon a holy eve,

Willy. (Hey-ho, holy day!)

Perigot. When holy fathers wont to shrieve,

Willy. (Now 'ginneth this roundelay),

Perigot. Sitting upon a hill so high,

Willy. (Hey-ho, the high hill!)

Perigot. The while my flock did feed thereby, Willy. The while the shepherd's self did spill;