The Country Farmer

Lasses that Snore, for Shame give it o'er
Mouth open the Flyes will be blowing.
To get us stout Hum, when Christmass is come,
Away where the Barley is Mowing.
In your Smock sleeves too go bind up ye sheaves too.
With nimble young Rowland & Harry;
Then when Works over, at Night give each, Lover,
A Hug and a Buss in the Dairy.

Two for ye Mow, and two for ye Plough,
Is then the next Labour coms after.
I'm sure I hir'd four but if you want more,
I'll send you my Wife & my Daughter.
Roger ye trusty, tell Rachel ye lusty,
The Barn's a rare place to Steal Garters;
Twixt her & you then contrive up ye Mow then
And take it at night for your Quarters.