The Country Lass for Me

Come Lovers all, both great and small,
and listen to my Ditty,
That often boast, nay cry and yall,
of the Beauties of the City:
Yet in my mind, all men may sind,
as they the Country pass,
That Maidens they, are brisk and gay,

beyond a London Lass.

There s Joan and Margaret, wondrous fair,
and beautiful indeed,
No Citizen can them compare,
they do them all exceed;
For they are lively stirring Girls,
whose, goodness doth surpass,
And now say I none can come nigh,

the brisk young Country Lass.

But let me not most carelesly,
forget poor loving Jenny,
If on her once you cast your eye,
'tis ten to one she'l win ye:
For she is beautiful indeed,
and other Girls surpass,
Come all agree, and say with me,

none's like the Country Lass.

There's pritty Betty amongst the rest,
whose Lips are like a Cherry,
Her vertues cannot be exprest,
besides she's wandrous merry:
She has a lovely rouling eye,
he needs must be an Ass,
That in this point will not comply,

and love the Country Lass,

Their Head-cloaths are as white as milk
and neatly they are drest,
Their skin as soft as any silk,
and Lilly-white the Breast:
But mind how prittily they trip,
and jet it o're the Grass,
You'l cry out then, like other men,

give me the Country Lass.

But go unto a Market Town,
brave Lasses you may see,
Though dressed in a home-spun Gown,
yet tite and neat they be:
And like good Huswifes they are drest,
yea, neatly by they pass,
And you may know where e're you go

the honest Country Lass.

Mind but the colour of their Cheeks,
they Roses do exceed,
While London Lasses like to Leeks,
look green and pale indeed:
But you may find them brisk and Kind,
when they sit on the Grass,
They'l kiss and play, up and away,

O bonny Country Lass.

Their Sweet-hearts they do keep in tow
with knitting of the Brow,
And bind them for to keep the Law,
which Cupid doth allow:
These bonny Girls are precious Pearls,
whose goodness doth surpass,
And far exceed, the London breed,

O brave young Country Lass.

The Country Lass betimes doth rise,
and in the ayr she goes,
When mighty Storms doth dim the skies,
in bittter Frosts and Snows:
Through Rain and Hail, with Milking-pail,
she merrily doth pass,
And thinks no harm, be it cold or warm,

brave down-right Country Lass.

Then boast no more, of your great store,
of bonny London Lasses,
Since you may find in every kind,
the Country girls surpasses:
And do indeed, your Comforts breed,
then he is a simple Ass,
His judgement's weak, who once dare speak,

against the Country Lass.