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.