The Country Man's Paradise.  
See George and Nell that Love full well  
say kissing is no Vice,  
The Country and making Hay  
He calls a PARADISE.  
To the Tune of Philander.  
 
 

NOw Sols bright shining beams  
dries up the Watery Flood,  
Hay Harvest will draw near,  
it is well understood.  
Then I with Nell do know full well,  
some youthful trick must play,  
And lay her down upon the ground  

as we are making Hay.    

And when the Parching heat  
doth force us to give o'er,  
We to the Shades retreat,  
and there we'll o'er and o'er  
Repeat the favours we have shown  
at several times at play,  
Which to ourselves were only known,  

When we were making Hay.    

When we are rested well.  
we to our work again,  
I keep close to my Nell,  
my sight she'll not refrain:  
When we to the Lands end do come  
most prettily we play,  
Her Waist I clip and kiss her Lip  

as we are ma●ing Hay.    
 
 
 

ANd at the Evening tide,  
our days-work we do cock,  
If we are not espied,  
than I take up her smock:  
And what doth after follow then  
I am ashamed to say,  
But thus we do I tell to you  

as we do make the Hay.    

If she doth prove with Child,  
as she perhaps may do,  
She cries she's then beguiled,  
persuades me to be true:  
Unknown to any of our Friends  
we married are straightway,  
And none doth know that it was so  

when we were making Hay.    

And thus we carry on  
our Country jests and sport,  
No dread we think upon,  
we value not report;  
Report hath long a Liar been,  
I have heard many say,  
And now I long till we begin  

again to make the Hay,    

Our Life more pleasure yields,  
and brings to us such sport,  
More pleasure in the Fields  
than in a Prince's Court;  
For all the day long from morn to night,  
we merrily do play,  
And thus our hearts we do delight,  

as we are making Hay.    

Before the Sun doth rise,  
we Music have at will,  
The pretty Lark up flies  
our pleasures to fulfil;  
We with our Bag and Bottle too  
do Feast us every day,  
We hear no strife; this pleasant Life  

we have in making Hay.    

Who then doth not delight  
to lead a Country life,  
Our pains it doth requite,  
each man enjoys his wife.  
Yea, hand in hand to labouring work  
they go both night and day,  
And sometimes they together play,  

besides their making Hay.    

No Citizen I say  
can be from care more free,  
Although they go more gay,  
and finer dressed than we.  
Such pleasures they but seldom meet,  
as we have every day,  
That walk the Meadows brave and sweet,  

and help to make the Hay.     

Printed for J. Wright. J. Clark, W. Thackery and T. Passenger.