Excellent new song called the farmer's glory

An Excellent New

SONG:

CALLED THE

Farmer’s Glory.

 

 

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Printed by J. Chalmers & Co. Caſtleſtreet Aberdeen.

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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,

⟨So⟩ our trade is more ancient,
⟨Than⟩ is the painful-plow.
Then ſaid the jolly plowman,
⟨No⟩ calling I deſpiſe,
⟨For⟩ each man has his living,
⟨Upon⟩ his trade relies;
⟨And⟩ Adam was a gard’ner,
⟨Which⟩ he has cauſe to rue,
⟨For⟩ ſoon he loſt the garden.
⟨And⟩ went to hold the plow.
He had the whole tutation,
⟨Of⟩ every thing was there,
⟨Except⟩ the tree of knowledge,
⟨Whoſe⟩ fruit appeared ſo fair,
⟨That⟩ nothing elſe could pleaſe him,
⟨Of⟩ all the fruit that grew,
⟨For⟩ which he loſt the garden,
⟨And⟩ went to hold the plow
⟨Tho’⟩ Adam in the garden,
⟨Was⟩ ſet to keep it right,
⟨Let⟩ tell me how long ſtaid he,
⟨For⟩ I think not one night,
⟨He⟩ eat not of his labours,
⟨But⟩ what was not his due,
⟨So⟩ was put from the garden,
⟨And⟩ ſent to held the plow.
Old Adam was the plowman,
⟨When⟩ plowing was begun,
⟨The⟩ next that him ſucceeded;
⟨Was⟩ Cain his eldeſt ſon,
⟨Some⟩ of each generation,
⟨This⟩ calling doth purſue,

That bread might not be wanting,
I mean the painful plow.
There’s none that knows the plowman,
I think will him diſdain,
Who toils all kinds of weather,
Each trade for to maintain,
And were it not for the plowman,
Both rich and poor would rue,
For we have all dependance,
Upon the painful plow.
Theſe noble kings and princes,
Who do delight in wars,
Will for ſome ſmall pretences,
Raiſe up great blood and jars,
For which they’ll raiſe great armies
Their purpoſe to purſue,
Yet thoſe you know are maintained,
By virtue of the plow.
Tho’ Samſon was a ſtrong man
And Solomon was wiſe,
Alexander for to conquer
Was all that he did prize.
King David he was valiant,
And many thouſands slew,
Yet none of theſe great heroes,
Can live without the plow,
You ſee the wealthy merchants
Who trades to far countries,
And ventures all their ſubſtance,
Upon the roaring ſeas,
They live like Indian princes,

⟨Who⟩ range the roaring ſeas,
⟨To⟩ bring home foreign treaſure,
⟨To⟩ thoſe who live at eaſe.
With fine ſilk from the Indies,
⟨With⟩ paper ſilk and blue,
⟨Yet⟩ all these ſhips for bread depends,
⟨Upon⟩ the painful plow.
⟨Tea⟩, paper and tobacco
⟨That’s⟩ uſeful in their kind,
⟨Are⟩ all brought from the Indies,
⟨By⟩ virtue of the wind,
⟨But⟩ yet the men that brings them,
⟨Will⟩ own to what is true,
⟨They⟩ cannot ſail the ocean,
⟨Without⟩ the help of the plow.
They muſt have beer and biſket,
⟨Rice⟩ pudding flour and peaſe
⟨To⟩ feed the jovial Sailors
⟨Upon⟩ the roaring ſeas.
⟨Likewiſe⟩ they muſt have cables,
⟨With⟩ ropes and ſails anew;
⟨And⟩ things like thoſe we cannot have,
⟨But⟩ by the painful plow,
The gentry of great Britain,
⟨With⟩ Ireland, France, and Spain,
⟨The⟩ Turk and his Seraglio,
⟨And⟩ all his gorgeous train,
⟨And⟩ every new plantation,
⟨With⟩ Pagan, Turk, and Jew,
⟨There’s⟩ none of them can live without
⟨The⟩ virtue of the plow.

Nor can our own tradeſmen live,
If we conſider right,
The maſon, ſmith and weaver,
The taylor and the wright
The miller has no corn to grind,
Nor could he take his due,
But him and thouſands you will find,
Depend upon the plow.
You ſee the curious bakery
Who daily doth ſupply,
Our cities with great plenty,
Of bread both wheat and rye,
Appearing white like angels,
When in their common hue,
Yet they can get no flour to bake
Without help of the plow,
The maltſter and the ale wives,
On other doth depend,
Were’t not ſuch occupation,
Exciſemen would not ſend,
But if we had not maltſters,
No ale our wives could brew
Yet none of all thoſe callings
Can live without the plow.
But here’s a great vexation,
Which makes our ſpirits fail,
A heavy new taxation,
Come on our wives’s ale,
So thin it only makes us piſs,
I mean the ale they brew,
’Tis weak enough, but yet for this,

⟨We⟩ need not blame the plow.
For we have malt and barley,
⟨With⟩ plenty of each grain;
⟨And⟩ if our ale be weakly,
⟨The⟩ leſs it harms our brain,
⟨We’ll⟩ get but little beef or cheeſe,
⟨And⟩ cloaths we’ll get but few,
⟨So⟩ we must learn to be content.
⟨With⟩ what ſprings from the plow
Such things is now become so dear,
⟨Beef⟩, mutton, wool, and cheeſe,
⟨Great⟩ men for ſuch commodities
⟨Can⟩ juſt have what they pleaſe,
⟨The⟩ poor no meat nor cloaths,
⟨Nor⟩ any thing that’s new,
⟨For⟩ every thing gives double price,
⟨But⟩ what ſprings from the plow.
We hear from diſtant nations,
⟨Of⟩ wars by land and ſea,
⟨Still⟩ making preparations,
⟨Striving⟩ for monarchie.
⟨Still⟩ making new encroachments,
⟨Upon⟩ each others due,
⟨While⟩ we are glad to live in peace,
⟨With⟩ what ſprings from the plow.
Three mighty powers in Europe,
⟨Againſt⟩ us do advance,
⟨Led⟩ by the crafty motions of
⟨That⟩ reſtleſs Fox of France.
May heavens ſend aſſiſtance,
To quell that reſtleſs crew,

And us the true enjoyment,
Of what ſprings from the plow.
May heavens ſend proſperity
And long live our king,
For we’ve had many peaceful days
And plenty in his reign
And may our foes by George’s ſword
Be glad for peace to ſue
And let us ſay with one accord,
God ſpeed the painful plow.
I hope there’s none offended,
At me for ſinging this,
For it is not intended
For to be ta’en amiſs,
If ye conſider rightly,
You’ll ſay ’tis all but true,
All trades that I have mentioned
Lives by the painful plow.

 

FINIS.

 

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[Printed by J. Chalmers & Co. Caſtleſtreet Aberdeen.]

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