BALLAD. (Come here ye rich, come here ye…)

Come here ye rich, come here ye great, Come here ye grave, come here ye gay, Behold our blest, though humble fate, Who, while the sun shines, make our hay.

The gay plum'd lady, with her state, Would she in courts a moment stay, Could she but guess our happy fate, Who, while the sun shines, make our hay?

Nature we love, and art we hate, And blithe and chearful as the day, We sing, and bless our humble fate, And, while the sun shines, make our hay.

Hodge goes a courting to his mate, Who ne'er coquets, nor says him nay, But shares content an humble fate, And, while the sun shines, they make hay.

The captain puts on board his freight, And cuts through waves his dangerous way But we enjoy a gentler fate, And, while the sun shines, make our hay.

See Hodge, and Dick, and Nell, and Kate, In the green meadow frisk and play, And own that happy is our fate, Who, while the sun shines, make our hay.

Come then, and quit each glitt'ring bait, Simplicity shall point the way To us, who bless our humble ate, And, while the sun shines, make our hay.