The Country man's chat,  
Wherein you shall find  
How each man doth talk  
To please his own mind.  
To the tune of, Welcome to Town.  
 

IN place where late I chanced to be at  
a feast of friendly meetings,  
Where men and women of each degree,  
Used kind and courteous greetings,  
For their acquaintance and their conference,  
one had with another,  
Well I noted as they sorted  
all their speech in order,  
Men by themselves, women likewise.  
men they talked of Tillage,  
The prizes of wheat, of sheep and Neat,  
and orders of their village.   

First, qd. john Thake, to the Goodman Lake,  
what when do y● gi'en sow Barley?  
Mass quoth he not, this sennet yet  
I think it's somewhat too early.  
Quoth Goodman Hare, to another there,  
how works your land in Brimly?  
Why, quoth old Pain, 'twants but a rain,  
but I warn't 'twould work even trimly.  
Then, quoth old jud, I think 'twere good,  
and if you sewed with Pe●ason,  
No, quoth john How, were I as you,  
it should lie another season.   

Qd. Goodman Ros, how's your horse,  
I heard he's scicke o'th' stavers,  
Ohhang him jade, quoth old john Dade,  
its time he were at the Glover's.  
Quoth Goodman Read, to the Goodman Pead,  
how sold you wheat at Hertford?  
Faith, quoth old Brown, even half a crown  
and so 'twas sold at Storford.  
I never knew, quoth old john Trew,  
the Markets to be slower.  
Nay, quoth old Snow, 'tis very like so,  
the prizes will be lower.   

Marry, quoth old Gue, pray God he true,  
then poor shall far the better,  
Now forth came Mence, with's eloquence,  
yet he knew never a letter,  
We are confused, and infused,  
and our hedges broken.  
I faith, quoth Bars, I tell you sirs,  
my fields they lie all open,  
Faith, quoth old Neale, the poor will steal,  
before they'll fall to working.  
I and whore for all they're poor,  
they care not for a jerking.   

These hedgebreakers I think it fit,  
that at next léete we pain them,  
And these inmates, quoth Peter Gates,  
how should a man restrain them.  
Faith Boys and Girls, & knaves & trulls,  
their can be no dividing,  
They must be matched, and will be pitched,  
somewhere to have a biding.  
Tush, quoth old Rule, man you're a fool,  
don't those so that have riches;  
But now they'll prevent th'impediment,  
for down goes Cloackbag breeches.    

The second part. To the same tune:  
 

Then, qd. Goodman Dent, how shall we do, this lent,  
they say there's no good Herring  
There's no good white, qd. Goodman Knight,  
nay, I'll stand to't, quoth old Seering,  
And quoth Tom Bush, law's straight ●or flesh,  
if that's true, quoth old Kelly.  
Tush you may be excused, qd. Goodman Hewesed  
along of your wives great belly.  
You're killing a calf, quoth Goodman Roffe,  
I catch this same at Roston,  
Where I sold my hogs as cheap as any dogs,  
that I bestowed such cost on.   

Quoth Goodman Fip, how standeth your sheep,  
they say there ●ie● abundant,  
Faith, quoth Ned Scot, they all have the rot,  
I hold a hundred pound on't,  
Nay that's a jest, quoth Robin Feast,  
for I know here's good Mutton,  
There's little found in all this Town,  
I'll stand to't quoth old Hutton.  
What is there then, quoth Francis Wren,  
that is without some misflaw,  
But stay your tale, quoth Humphrey Sale,  
can ye spare us a load of Peas-straw?   

What now john Dan, how dost thou man?  
me thinks thou look'st but sickly,  
I doubt, quoth jeames, he hath raid his seams,  
that makes him go so stately,  
Now here john Simmes, to all our friends,  
in City and in Country,  
Do let it come and I'll drink round,  
to Dick and so to Humphrey.  
man I was at Stadds with those old Lads,  
and there we drunk full deeply,  
Come, quoth Tom Trap, man take of your lap,  
and le's be going quickly.   

How does, quoth one, your neighbour Tun,  
I doubt he thrives but slowly.  
But there's Ned Stitch is grown vile rich,  
which way the deuce is't know ye.  
Thus much delating and much chatting,  
is there at such meetings.  
If aught I leave you may it conceive,  
I'll now to the women's greeting  
For they were neatly talking featly,  
as they use at Banquets:  
Whose kinds I spied even last Shrovetide,  
when they were eating Pankakes.   
FINIS.   

London, printed for H. G.