Of the quietnesse that plaine Countrey bryngeth.

EMong the rustie rockes,
bothe rough and harde by kinde,
Where weather beats, and stormes are brim,
for eche small blast of winde:
Where spryngs no forraine fruites,
nor deinties are not sought,
Where common pleasures made for man,
are not in Marketts bought.
Where growes no grapes of wine, to glad the griped breast,
Nor stands no bowres to banket in, yong wantons for to feast:
Where people are not fine, nor yet no fooles I trowe,
But plaine as in the twoo pickt staffe, and plainly doe thei goe.
I settled am to liue, and likes my lotte as well,
As thei that haue a richer home, or with greate Princes dwell:
Now finde I eache thyng sweete, that sowre I thought before,
That in tymes paste did please me moste, now me delites no more.
The toune and stony streets, I weary am to tread,
The feeld but asks a Motley cote, as homely folks are clead:
Now Frese and Kendall greene, maie serue in stead of Silke,
And I that fedde on Courtly fare, maie learne to feede on Milke.
And take sutche countrey chere, as easily is maintainde,
No dishe of gift but sutche in deede, as sweat of browes haue gainde.
No platters full of bribes, these mountaines forthe doe bryng,
A quiet morsell there is cald, a bankett for a kyng:
To eate and slepe in rest, to laugh and speake from feare,
To be an honest neighbour namde, is all that men seeke theare:
No hollownesse of hartes, no hautie waies are likte,
No painted sheathes, no Peacocks proude, yt haue their fether pikte.
Are seen vpon these hilles, nor in the dale likewise,
Where those that dwell in cottage poore, doe princely halls despise:
A cruse of cold sowre whey, the Sugred cupp doeth passe,
In gilted boules doeth poison lurke, that spied is in the glasse.
The poore man tastes hym self, the Prince dare not doe so,
Then better is the sured life, then doubtfull daies I troe:
Did not Diogenes, set more store by his tonne,
Then of the worldly kyngdomes all, that Alexander wonne.
Did not that might prince, these wordes with tong expres,
If Alexander were I not, make me Diogenes:
Since kyngs would change their states, & holds the meane life best,
Then blame not me where I doe like, I seeke to finde some rest.