Classic Poem

I

Y OU that the City-life embrace,
And in those tumults run your race,
Under th'Aspect of the Caelestiall face
Of your bright Lady:
You, that to Masques and Plays resort,
As if you would rebuild the Court,
Wee here can match you with our Countrey-sport
As neer, as may be.

II

For, though tis good to be so nigh
Rich wine, and excellent company:
Yet, John, those pleasures you full dear do buy
Some times and seasons.
For you but Tributaries are
Aw'd by the furious men of warre;
Wee Countrey-Bumkins then are happier far,
For many Reasons.

III

First, wee have here no bawling Dunnes,
Nor those feirce things ycleped Bummes,
No Cuckold-Constable, or Watch here comes
To apprehend us.
And then, wee've no unwholsome Dames
To broil us in their bawdy flames,
Nor need enquire after Physitians names,
That may befreind us.

IV

And next, wee have excelling Ale,
Most high, and mighty, strong, and stale:
And, when wee go, wee need no other Bail
Than our own word, Sir.
When you all day are fain to sit,
Send paper-pellets of small wit,
Your tickets: and, when none of them will hit,
Pawn cloak, or sword, Sir.