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32.—THE COUNTRY FARMER'S SON.
1 I would not be a monarch great,
With crowrn upon my head, And earls to wait upon my state,
In broidered robes of red. For he must bear full many a care,
His toil is never done ; 'Tis better I trow behind the plough,
A Country Farmer's Son.
2 I would not be a merchant rich,
And eat off silver plate, And ever dread, when laid abed,
Some freakish turn of fate: One day on high, then ruin nigh,
Now wealthy, now undone ; 'Tis better for me at ease to be
A Country Farmer's Son.
3 I trudge about the farm all day,
To know that all things thrive; A maid I see that pleaseth me,
Why then I'm fain to wive. Not over rich, I do not itch
For wealth, but what is won By honest toil from out of the soil,
A Country Farmer's Son. |
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