The Citizen's Vindication Against the Down right countryman. (alias Boobee)  

Let Rustics spit their Venom still,  
Against the Dames of London,  
 
  
T● 〈…〉  
 
 
 
 
 

What silly senseless Country Clown  
has put this wit in Print?  
To abuse the Dames of London Town  
though there is nothing in 't:  
Only to show his apishness,  
and prove himself an Ass,  
For all men know where ere they go.  
none's like a London Lass.   

Yet every Plowboy now a days  
most saucily will prate,  
And set forth Doll's and Molly's praise,  
hatched in his noddle pate:  
Through England, Scotland, France, & Spain  
or wheresoever you pass,  
You'll find all Noddies that disdain  
the gentile London Lass.   

See how their Clothes do fit in Print,  
and mind Joan's draggletail,  
See how she like a Puss doth squint,  
Crow●'d with her Milking-paile:  
Or, if you mind how she doth splay  
as she goes through the Grass,  
You then without all doubt will say,  
give me the London Lass.   

If you but walk to the Exchange,  
there you may ●reatures see,  
That to the Bumkins may seem strange,  
they're Natures rarity.  
Such in the Countries there are none,  
then blame that simple Ass,  
Whose folly needs he must make known,  
to blame the London lass.   

A Citizen an Angel seems  
that in the Country goes,  
All men their Company esteems  
that any breeding knows:  
While Tom and Robin stands and stairs  
to see them as they pass;  
For in this Land there's none compares  
with a brisk London lass.   

Besides the bonny City Lads  
like Gentlemen do go,  
While Country Bumkins ride on Pads  
say nothing but give ho,  
Instead of Leather-bottles, they  
to th' Tavern post with speed,  
And merrily pass the time away:  
these are brave boys indeed.   

While Citizens in Coaches ride  
the Bumkin rides in's Cart,  
And there he sits puffed up with Pride,  
though he's not worth a f ---  
And if he to a Pudding gets  
he Farmer like doth feed,  
While London Lads live by their wits,  
like Gentlemen indeed.   

A Whip must serve a Country Clown▪  
instead of Belt and Sword,  
He whistling passes through the Town▪  
and thinks himself a Lord.  
Whilst London boys, when they do meet,  
full quickly are agreed  
To drink a Glass of Wine that's neat,  
these are brave boys indeed.   

'Tis true, we have some cracks i'th' Town,  
perhaps have had a Bearn  
By some lascivious Country clown  
no danger could discern,  
And then they up to London come  
more Bastards for to breed,  
Perhaps they have deluded some,  
the worst of men indeed.   

Match but a Bumkin to a man,  
or juggs to London Lasses;  
And then distinguish, if you can,  
how Londoners surpasses:  
The Rustick-bore that knows not how  
for to repeat his Creed,  
Knows nothing more than drive the Blow,  
a gentile Cur indeed.    

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in West Smithfield.