Song XLIV., pp.291-294.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

HE. 

SInce times are so bad, I must tell thee, sweet heart, 

I’m thinking to leave off my plough and my cart, 

And to the fair city a journey I’ll go, 

To better my fortune as other folks do: 

Since some have from ditches, 

And coarse leather breeches, 

Been rais’d to be rulers, 

And wallow’d in riches. 

Pray thee, come, come, come, come from thy wheel; 

For if the gipsies don’t lie, 

I shall be a governor too e’er I die. 

– 

SHE. 

Ah Colin! by all thy late doings I find, 

With sorrow and trouble, the pride of thy mind; 

Our sheep now at random disorderly run, 

And now sunday’s jacket goes every day on; 

Ah! what do’st thou, what do’st thou, what do’st thou mean! 

– 

HE. 

To make my shoes clean, 

And foot it to court to the king and the queen, 

Where, shewing my parts, I perferment shall win. 

– 

SHE. 

Fie! ‘tis better for us to plough and to spin; 

For, as to the court, when thou happen’st to try, 

Thou’ll find nothing got there, unless thou can’st buy; 

For money, the devil and all’s to be found, 

But no good parts minded without the good pound. 

– 

HE. 

Why, then I’ll take arms, and follow alarms, 

Hunt honour, that now a-days plaguely charms. 

– 

SHE. 

And so lose a limb by a shot or a blow, 

And curse thy self after for leaving the plough. 

– 

ΗΕ. 

Suppose I turn gamester. 

– 

SHE. 

To cheat and be bang’d. 

– 

ΗΕ. 

What think’st of the road then. 

– 

SHE. 

The high way to be hang’d. 

– 

HE. 

Nice pimping howe’er yields profit for life; 

I’ll help some fine lord to another’s fine wife. 

– 

SHE. 

That’s dangerous too amongst the town crew; 

For some of them will do the same thing by you; 

And then to cuckold ye may be drawn in; 

Faith Colin, ‘tis better I sit here and spin. 

– 

ΗΕ. 

Will nothing prefer me, what think’st of the law. 

– 

SHE. 

Oh! while you live Colin, keep out of that paw. 

– 

НЕ. 

I’ll cant and I’ll pray. 

– 

SHE. 

Ah! there’s nought got that way; 

There’s no one minds now what these black cattle say; 

Let all our whole care be our farming affair. 

– 

НЕ. 

To make our corn grow, and our apple trees bear. 

– 

ΒΟΤΗ. 

Ambition’s a trade no contentment can show. 

– 

SHE. 

So I’ll to my distaff. 

– 

HE. 

And I’ll to my plow. 

– 

BOTH AGAIN. 

Let all our whole care, &c. 

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