The Downright Countryman; OR, The Faithful Dairy-Maid.  
utmind how Country Lads do boast,  
whilst Londoners are blamed,  
And Country Lasses praised most,  
while ours are Wags proclaimed.  
The Tune is, hay Boys up go we: Or, Busy Fame.  
 
 

I Am a downright Countryman,  
both faithful I and true,  
I'll live and die so if I can,  
this I declare to you:  
I study as I am at Blow,  
to shun all false deceit,  
And you may plain discover now,  
I am no London Cheat.   

Your London Cheats do go most fine,  
like Lords in their attire,  
To swill their guts with Spanish Wine,  
it is their hearts desire:  
But it is very common, they  
do with the Vintners meet,  
They'll get o'th' score then run away,  
just like a London Cheat.   

They oft pretend to be in Love,  
and ready for to die,  
Yea, vow to be just like the Dove,  
but know no Constancy:  
Like Villains they, the wag do play,  
with every Lass they meet,  
They plump them up then run away,  
this is a London Cheat.   

There is not one in Twenty but  
he wears his Sword by his side,  
But walks with many an empty Gut,  
and ne'er will leave his Pride:  
But when his brain is full of Wine  
he'll stagger in the street,  
And then picks up a Concubine,  
to pox the London Cheat.   

Then he for half a Crown will have,  
that which may make him rue,  
A painted Whore both f●ine and brave,  
perhaps the Frenchman too:  
Thus he with his unwholesome flesh,  
will be most brisk and sweet,  
But see him once out of his dress,  
he's like a London Cheat.   
 
 
 

But London City oft affords,  
Females as had as Men,  
Who though they Hector with their Swords  
there is not one in ten,  
But has some pretty little Miss,  
to serve him at his need,  
And every minute lends a Kiss,  
this is a Whore indeed.   

They'll vow for ever to be true,  
to them they do affect,  
When Honesty is bid adieu,  
what can you then expect?  
No faith nor troth is minded, when  
fools take so little heed,  
For Whores do often clap their Men,  
O these are Whores indeed.   

Let honest men take so much care,  
that do inhabit London,  
Of such false Girls to have a care,  
for fear they may be undone:  
How many hundreds may be spoiled,  
if they do not take heed,  
They who are so by Girls beguiled,  
do meet with Whores indeed.   

Why then give me the Country Lass;  
who honest is and true,  
And yet may kiss upon the Grass,  
but nothing farther do:  
She scorneth that her deed,  
should any mischief breed,  
She takes delight in what is right,  
and honest is indeed.   

See by the colours of their Cheeks,  
they well and wholesome are,  
While London Girls look green as Leeks?  
The Country Girls look fair:  
Then old and young I pray be ware,  
in Marrying take good heed,  
Lest you are brought into a snare  
by cursed Jades indeed.   

See how the Rose and Lily fair,  
upon their Cheeks do grow,  
Mind how their breath perfume the air,  
whe● ever they do go:  
And what they touch immediately,  
fresh Odours on them breed,  
They patterns are of constancy,  
rare Country Girls indeed.   

Mind but the Girl that Milks the Cow,  
how sweetly she doth sing,  
She never knits an angry Brow,  
but welcomes in the Spring,  
And then among the Butter flowers,  
she trips along the Mead,  
To pass away the tedious hours,  
she's fair and Chaste indeed.    

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, near the Hospital-gate, in West-Smithfield.