The Merry Ploughman, AND Loving Milkmaid  
See how the loving Countrymen  
And Maidens do agree;  
While they express their happiness,  
And both contented be.  
To the Tune of, jenny Gin, hay Boys up go we, the fair one let me in.  
 
 

WE that do lead a Country Life,  
in pleasures do abound,  
We still live free from care and strife,  
and are encompassed round  
With such content, that Mortal Men  
no happier can be;  
And London Gallants tell me then  
who lives so w●●l as we.   

We have the pleasant Fields and Groves,  
wherein we take delight,  
And there we walk with our true Loves,  
when Luna shines most bright;  
And those that have great store of wealth,  
no happier can they be,  
We work full hard, and have our health,  
and who so merry as we.   

The murmuring Rivers by us glide,  
where tippling Fishes play,  
While our true Love's walk by out side,  
to pass the time away;  
Such sweets and comforts we possess,  
with true felicity,  
That none enjoys more happiness,  
normore content, than we.   
 
 

OUr true Loves with their Milking-pales  
go merrily along,  
And foot it o'er the Hills and Dales,  
singing a merry song:  
And nothing doth our Loves molest,  
but cheerful still we be,  
And think ourselves of all most blessed,  
such happy Men are we.   

We use no flattering Compliments,  
our Sweethearts to betray,  
But plainly tell them our intents,  
and mean what we do say;  
While London Citizens pretend  
such store of constancy,  
Our Loves do last to our lives end,  
and none more true than we.   

No jealous thoughts possess our breast,  
but we contented are,  
Both night and day we are at rest,  
and Strangers are to care:  
From doubts, from discontents, and fears,  
no Mortals live more free,  
And thus most plainly it appears,  
none happier are than we.   

But mind how each tight Country Lass  
doth trip it o'er the Plain,  
Aa they the silent Meadows pass,  
their amorous Notes they strain;  
And when we hear their lovely Charms,  
so sweet they seem to be,  
We often wish them in our Arms,  
such loving Souls are we.   

And when we to the Fold do go,  
to oversee our Flocks,  
Who sometimes wander to and fro,  
and Graze amongst the Rocks:  
To think upon our hearts delights,  
so pleasant seems to be,  
That Gentlemen, and worthy Knights,  
know no such joys as we.   

Thus we that often drive the Plows,  
have share of Earthly Bliss,  
And from the Maids that Milk the Cows,  
we oft steal many a Kiss;  
To Feasts and Fairs we often go,  
where divers sports we see,  
And when bright Phoebus groweth low,  
than home again walk we.   

And thus the lusty Country Lad  
doth spend his vacant hours,  
With her who makes his heart full glad,  
amongst the shady Bowers:  
And often tumbles his true Love,  
beneath the Myrtle Tree,  
Since nothing can our joys remove,  
what Men so blest as we.    

Printed for ●. Deacon, at the Angel in Guilt-Spur-Street without Newgate