Song. Farmer

A flaxen-headed cow-boy, As simple as may be, And next a merry plough-boy, I whistled o'er the lea: But now a saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace, And soon I'll be a butler, And wag my jolly face.

When steward I'm promoted, I'll snip a tradesman's bill. My master's coffers empty, My pockets for to fill: When lolling in my chariot, So great a man I'll be, You'll forget the little plough-boy That whistled o'er the lea.

I'll buy votes at elections, But when I've made the pelf, I'll stand poll for parliament, And then vote in myself: Whatever's good for me, sir, I never will oppose; When all my AYES are sold off, Why then I'll sell my NOES.

I'll joke, harangue, and paragraph, With speeches charm the ear, And when I'm tir'd on my legs, Then I'll sit down a peer. In court or city honour, So great a man I'll be, You'll forget the little plough-boy That whistled o'er the lea.