University of Virginia Library

The praises of a Countrie life.

Happie is he, that from all Businesse cleere,
As the old race of Mankind were,
With his owne Oxen tills his Sires left lands,
And is not in the Usurers bands:
Nor Souldier-like started with rough alarmes,
Nor dreads the Seas inraged harmes:
But flees the Barre and Courts, with the proud bords,
And waiting Chambers of great Lords.
The Poplar tall, he then doth marrying twine
With the growne issue of the Vine;
And with his hooke lops off the fruitlesse race,
And sets more happy in the place:
Or in the bending Vale beholds a-farre
The lowing herds there grazing are:
Or the prest honey in pure pots doth keepe
Of Earth, and sheares the tender Sheepe:
Or when that Autumne, through the fields lifts round
His head, with mellow Apples crown'd,
How plucking Peares, his owne hand grafted had,
And purple-matching Grapes, hee's glad!
With which, Priapus, he may thanke thy hands,
And, Sylvane, thine that keptst his Lands!
Then now beneath some ancient Oke he may
Now in the rooted Grasse him lay,
Whilst from the higher Bankes doe slide the floods?
The soft birds quarrell in the Woods,
The Fountaines murmure as the streames doe creepe,
And all invite to easie sleepe.
Then when the thundring Jove, his Snow and showres
Are gathering by the Wintry houres;
Or hence, or thence, he drives with many a Hound
Wild Bores into his toyles pitch'd round:
Or straines on his small forke his subtill nets
For th'eating Thrush, or Pit-falls sets:
And snares the fearfull Hare, and new-come Crane,
And 'counts them sweet rewards so ta'en.
Who (amongst these delights) would not forget
Loves cares so evill, and so great?
But if, to boot with these, a chaste Wife meet
For houshold aid, and Children sweet;
Such as the Sabines, or a Sun-burnt-blowse,
Some lustie quick Apulians spouse,
To deck the hallow'd Harth with old wood fir'd
Against the Husband comes home tir'd;
That penning the glad flock in hurdles by
Their swelling udders doth draw dry:
And from the sweet Tub Wine of this yeare takes,
And unbought viands ready makes:
Not Lucrine Oysters I could then more prize,
Nor Turbot, nor bright Golden eyes:
If with bright floods, the Winter troubled much,
Into our Seas send any such:
Th'Ionian God-wit, nor the Ginny hen
Could not goe downe my belly then
More sweet then Olives, that new gather'd be
From fattest branches of the Tree:
Or the herb Sorrell, that loves Meadows still,
Or Mallowes loosing bodyes ill:
Or at the Feast of Bounds, the Lambe then slaine,
Or Kid forc't from the Wolfe againe.
Among these Cates how glad the sight doth come
Of the fed flocks approaching home!
To view the weary Oxen draw, with bare
And fainting necks, the turned Share!
The wealthy houshold swarme of bondmen met,
And 'bout the steeming Chimney set!
These thoughts when Usurer Alphius, now about
To turne more farmer, had spoke out
'Gainst th'Ides, his moneys he gets in with paine,
At th'Calends, puts all out againe.