The Merry Milk-maids:

OR, THE Country Damosels Pleasure in their Rural La­bours. Together with the Second Part, containing the Plow-man's Praise; concluding with the London Gal­lants Prodigality.

To the Tune of, The Milking-pail.
YE Nymphs and Silvian-Gods,
That loves green fields and woods,
when spring newly blown,
herself does adorn
With flowers and blooming buds;
come sing in the praise
(whilst flocks do graze
In yonder pleasant vale)
of those that choose,
their sleep to lose,
and in cold dews,
with clouted shooes,
To carry the Milking-pail.
The Goddess of the morn,
With blushes they adorn,
and take the fresh air;
whilst kinnets prepare
I consort on each green thorn;
the Black-bird and Thrush,
on every bush,
And the charming Nightingale,
in merry vein,
their throats do strain,
to entertain
the jolly train
That carry the Milking-pail.
When cold bleak winds do roar,
And flowers can spring no more,
the fields that were seen
so pleasant and green.
By winter all candid o're;
oh, how the Town Lass
looks with her while fac [...]
And her lips of deadly pale!
but it is not so
with those that go
through frost and snow,
with cheeks that glow,
To carry the Milking-pail.
The Miss of courtly mold,
Adorn'd with pearl and gold,
with washes and paint,
her skin does so taint,
She's weather'd before she's old,
whilst she in commode,
puts on a cart-load,
And with cusheons plumps her tail;
what joys are found
in russet-gown,
young, plump, and round,
and sweet, and sound,
That carry the Milking-pail?
The Girls of Venus game,
That ventures health a fame,
in practising feats,
with colds and with heats,
Make Lovers go blind and lame;
if Men were so wise
to value the prize
Of the wares most fit for salt,
what store of beaus,
would daubt their cloaths,
to save a nose,
by following those
That carry the Milking-pail.
The country Lad is free,
From fears and jealousie,
when upon the green
he is often seen
With his Lass upon his knee,
with kisses, most sweet,
he does her so treat,
And swears she'll ne'r grow stale;
whilst the London Lass,
in e'ry place,
with her brazen face,
despises the grate
Of those with the Milking-pail.

The PLOWMAN's Answer.

A Country life is sweet,
In moderate cold and heat,
to walk in the air,
how pleasant and fair
Is every field of wheat;
the Goddess of flowers,
adorning the [...]owers,
And every meadow now;
so that I say,
no Courtier may
compare with They,
who cloath'd in gray,
Do follow the painful Plow.
They rise with the morning Lark,
And labour till almost dark,
then folding their sherp,
they hasten to sleep,
While every pleasant park,
next morning is ringing,
with Birds that are singing,
On each green tender bough;
with what content,
and merriment,
their days are spent,
whose minds are bent,
To follow the painful Plow.
Brisk country Lads repair
To every wake and fair,
with Sary and Sue,
Nan, Bridget, and Prue,
No manner of charge they spare,
in seasons of leasure,
thus taking their pleasure,
Such liberty they allow:
the rural Train,
through snow and rain,
tript o'er the plain,
with speed again,
To follow the painful Plow.
But hectering Sparks at court,
According to fame's report,
are commonly foil'd,
nay, ruin'd and spoil'd
By following Venus sport;
but this way of sinning,
it is the beginning
Of doting on every Sow,
who will not fail
(for mugs of ale)
to spread her tail;
'gainst these we rail,
Who follow the painful Plow.
The Gallant he's sir'd and sir'd,
By Jenny his pretty Bird,
he calls her his Honey,
supplies her with mony,
Till Frenchesi'd claps the word;
and then he runs swearing,
Nay, raving and taring,
And crys, I am ruin'd now;
and what is worse,
the Spark does curse
his empty purse;
but 'tis not thus
With any that drives the Plow.

Licens'd and Enter'd according to Order.

LONDON: Printed for J. Deacon, at the sign of the An­gel, in Guiltspur-street, Without New-gate.

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