THE LARMERS GLORY, &c.
Come all ye merry Plowmen,
Of courage ſtout and bold,
Who labours all the winter,
Through wind, rain, and cold,
To clothe our fields with plenty
And barn yards to renew
And crowns them with contentment,
That holds the painful plow.
Of all the occupations
And trade of every kind,
Through all manured nation,
There is not one I find,
More uſeful in their ſtation
You’ll find I ſpeak its true,
Nor is there one ſo ancient
As is the painful plow.
Hold plowman ſaid the gard’ner
Count not your trade like ours,
But walk ye through the garden,
And view the early flowers;
See every curious border,
And pleasant walks review?
There’s no ſuch piece of pleaſure
Performed by the plow.
A paradise of pleaſure,
A garden is you know,
In Eden was a garden,
Five thouſand years ago;
And Adam was a gard’ner,
Juſt when he was made new,
