Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades in foreign seas, And brings home gold and treasure for those who live at ease;With fine silks and spices, and fruits also, too, They are brought from the Indies by virtue of the plough.
'For they must have bread, biscuit, rice pudding, flour and peas, To feed the jolly sailors as they sail o'er the seas;And the man that brings them will own to what is true, He cannot sail the ocean without the painful plough!
'I hope there's none offended at me for singing this, For it is not intended for anything amiss.
If you consider rightly, you'll find what I say is true, For all that you can mention depends upon the plough.'
Ballad: THE USEFUL PLOW; OR, THE PLOUGH'S PRAISE.
[THE common editions of this popular song inform us that it is taken 'from an Old Ballad,' alluding probably to the dialogue given at page 44. This song is quoted by Farquhar.]
A COUNTRY life is sweet!
In moderate cold and heat, To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair!
In every field of wheat, The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, And every meadow's brow;To that I say, no courtier may Compare with they who clothe in grey, And follow the useful plow.
They rise with the morning lark, And labour till almost dark;Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep;While every pleasant park Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing, On each green, tender bough.
With what content, and merriment, Their days are spent, whose minds are bent To follow the useful plow.
The gallant that dresses fine, And drinks his bottles of wine, Were he to be tried, his feathers of pride, Which deck and adorn his back, Are tailors' and mercers', and other men dressers, For which they do dun them now.
But Ralph and Will no compters fill For tailor's bill, or garments still, But follow the useful plow.
Their hundreds, without remorse, Some spend to keep dogs and horse, Who never would give, as long as they live, Not two-pence to help the poor;Their wives are neglected, and harlots respected;This grieves the nation now;
But 'tis not so with us that go Where pleasures flow, to reap and mow, And follow the useful plow.
Ballad: THE FARMER'S SON.
[THIS song, familiar to the dwellers in the dales of Yorkshire, was published in 1729, in the VOCAL MISCELLANY; A COLLECTION OF ABOUTFOUR HUNDRED CELEBRATED SONGS. As the MISCELLANY was merely an anthology of songs already well known, the date of this song must have been sometime anterior to 1729. It was republished in the BRITISH MUSICAL MISCELLANY, OR THE DELIGHTFUL GROVE, 1796, and in a few other old song books. It was evidently founded on an old black-letter dialogue preserved in the Roxburgh collection, called A MAD KINDE OF WOOING; OR, A DIALOGUE BETWEEN WILL THE SIMPLE ANDNAN THE SUBTILL, WITH THEIR LOVING ARGUMENT. To the tune of the New Dance at the Red Bull Playhouse. Printed by the assignees of Thomas Symcock.]
'SWEET Nelly! my heart's delight!
Be loving, and do not slight The proffer I make, for modesty's sake:-I honour your beauty bright.
For love, I profess, I can do no less, Thou hast my favour won:
And since I see your modesty, I pray agree, and fancy me, Though I'm but a farmer's son.
'No! I am a lady gay, 'Tis very well known I may Have men of renown, in country or town;So! Roger, without delay, Court Bridget or Sue, Kate, Nancy, or Prue, Their loves will soon be won;But don't you dare to speak me fair, As if I were at my last prayer, To marry a farmer's son.'
'My father has riches' store, Two hundred a year, and more;Beside sheep and cows, carts, harrows, and ploughs;His age is above threescore.
And when he does die, then merrily I
Shall have what he has won;
Both land and kine, all shall be thine, If thou'lt incline, and wilt be mine, And marry a farmer's son.'
'A fig for your cattle and corn!
Your proffered love I scorn!
'Tis known very well, my name is Nell, And you're but a bumpkin born.'
'Well! since it is so, away I will go, -
And I hope no harm is done;
Farewell, adieu! - I hope to woo As good as you, - and win her, too, Though I'm but a farmer's son.'
'Be not in such haste,' quoth she, 'Perhaps we may still agree;For, man, I protest I was but in jest!
Come, prythee sit down by me;
For thou art the man that verily can Win me, if e'er I'm won;Both straight and tall, genteel withal;
Therefore, I shall be at your call, To marry a farmer's son.'
'Dear lady! believe me now I solemnly swear and vow, No lords in their lives take pleasure in wives, Like fellows that drive the plough:
For whatever they gain with labour and pain, They don't with 't to harlots run, As courtiers do. I never knew A London beau that could outdo A country farmer's son.'
Ballad: THE FARMER'S BOY.
[MR DENHAM of Piersbridge, who communicates the following, says -'there is no question that the FARMER'S BOY is a very ancient song;it is highly popular amongst the north country lads and lasses.'
The date of the composition may probably be referred to the commencement of the last century, when there prevailed amongst the ballad-mongers a great rage for FARMERS' SONS, PLOUGH BOYS, MILKMAIDS, FARMERS' BOYS, &c. &c. The song is popular all over the country, and there are numerous printed copies, ancient and modern.]
THE sun had set behind yon hills, Across yon dreary moor, Weary and lame, a boy there came Up to a farmer's door:
'Can you tell me if any there be That will give me employ, To plow and sow, and reap and mow, And be a farmer's boy?
'My father is dead, and mother is left With five children, great and small;And what is worse for mother still, I'm the oldest of them all.
Though little, I'll work as hard as a Turk, If you'll give me employ, To plow and sow, and reap and mow, And be a farmer's boy.
'And if that you won't me employ, One favour I've to ask, -Will you shelter me, till break of day, From this cold winter's blast?
At break of day, I'll trudge away Elsewhere to seek employ, To plow and sow, and reap and mow, And be a farmer's boy.'
'Come, try the lad,' the mistress said, 'Let him no further seek.'
'O, do, dear father!' the daughter cried, While tears ran down her cheek:
