Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Country Life
Country Life.
The merchant tempts me with his gold,
The gold he worships night and day;
He bids me leave this dreary wold,
And come into the city gay.
I will not go; I wont be sold;
I scorn his pleasures and array;
I'll rather bear the country's cold,
Than from its freedom walk away.
The gold he worships night and day;
He bids me leave this dreary wold,
And come into the city gay.
I will not go; I wont be sold;
I scorn his pleasures and array;
I'll rather bear the country's cold,
Than from its freedom walk away.
What is to me the city's pride?
The haunt of luxury and pleasure;
Those fields and hills, this wild brookside,
To me are better beyond measure.
'Mid country scenes I'll still abide;
With country life and country leisure;
Content, whatever may betide,
With common good instead of treasure.
The haunt of luxury and pleasure;
Those fields and hills, this wild brookside,
To me are better beyond measure.
'Mid country scenes I'll still abide;
With country life and country leisure;
Content, whatever may betide,
With common good instead of treasure.