THE COUNTRY LASSE.
OLD SONG.
Although I am a country lass,
A lofty mind I bear-a,
I think myself as good as those
That gay apparel wear-a.
My coat is made of homely gray,
Yet is my skin as soft-a
As those that with the chiefest wines
Do bathe their bodies oft-a.
Down, down, derry, derry down;
Heigh, downa, downa, downa;
A derry, derry, derry, derry down,
Heigh down a derry!
What though I keep my father’s sheep—
A thing that must be done-a,
A garland of the fairest flowers
Shall shroud me from the sun-a;
And when I see them feeding be,
Where grass and flowers spring-a,
Close by a crystal fountain side
I sit me down and sing-a.
Dame Nature crowns us with delight,
Surpassing court or city;
We pleasures take from morn to night,
In sports and pastimes pretty.
Your city dames in coaches ride
Abroad for recreation;
We country lasses hate their pride,
And keep the country fashion.
Your city wives lead wanton lives,
And if they come i’ the country,
They are so proud, that each one strives
For to out-brave our gentry.
We country lasses lowly be,
For seat nor wall we strive not;
We are content with our degree—
Our debtors we despise not.
I care not for the fan or mask,
When Titan’s heat reflecteth;
A homely hat is all I ask,
Which well my face protecteth;
Yet I am in my country guise
Esteemed lasse as pretty
As those that every day devise
New shapes in court or city.
In every season of the year
I undergo my labor;
No shower nor wind at all I fear,
My limbs I do not favor.
If summer’s heat my beauty stain,
It makes me ne’er the sicker,
Sith I can wash it off again
With a cup of Christmas liquor.
From a black-letter copy in the Assigns of Symcocke.