The BEGGARS Delight, As it was SUNG at the Theatre-Royal.


COurtiers, Courtiers, think it no harm,
that silly poor Swains in Love should be;
For Love lies hid in Raggs all torn,
as well as in Silks and Bravery:
For the Beggar he loves his Lass as dear,
as he that has thousands thousands, thousands,
He that has thousand pounds a year.
State and Title are pittiful things,
a lower State more happy doth prove,
Lords and Ladies, Princes and Kings,
with the Beggar hath equal joys in Love;
And my pritty brown Cloris upon the Hay,
hath always as killing, killing, killing,
Hath always as killing Charms as they.
A Lord will purchase a Maiden-head,
which perhaps, hath been lost some years before,
A Beggar will pawn his Cloak and his Trade,
content with Love, to lye and live poor:
Our eager Embraces in Coal-Sheds,
are always more pleasing, pleasing, pleasing,
Then theirs that are dull in Downy▪
Our Cloris is free from Patches and Paint,
complexion and Features sweetly agree,
Perfections which Ladies often do want,
is always intail'd on our Pedegree:
Sweet Cloris in her own careless Hair,
is always more taking, taking, taking,
Then Ladies that Towers and Pendents do wear.
A Dutchess may fail, created for sport,
by using of Art, and changing of things,
Tho' she were the Idol and Goddess o' th Court,
the joys & the pleasure of Don, Prince, or Kings:
Yet Cloris in her Old Russet Gown,
she's sound, she's sound, she's sound,
And free from the Plague and Pox of the Town.

London, Printed for J. Dean; 1684.

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