Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Country Life

Country Life.

The merchant tempts me with his gold, The gold he worships night and day;He bids me leave this dreary wold, And come into the city gay.    I will not go; I wont be sold;    I scorn his pleasures and array;   I'll rather bear the country's cold,    Than from its freedom walk away.

What is to me the city's pride? The haunt of luxury and pleasure;Those fields and hills, this wild brookside, To me are better beyond measure.   'Mid country scenes I'll still abide;    With country life and country leisure;   Content, whatever may betide,    With common good instead of treasure.