We that have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate;
For courtly silks in cares are spent
When country’s russet breeds content.
The power of sceptres we admire,
But sheep-hooks for our use desire.
Simple and low is our condition,
For here with us is no ambition.
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their fleeces gold:
Our music from the birds we borrow,
They bidding us, we them, good morrow.
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
Yet they defend from wind and rain,
As warm too in an equal eye
As those be, stained in scarlet dye:
Those that have plenty wear, we see,
But one at once, and so do we.
The shepherd with his home-spun lass
As many merry hours doth pass
As courtiers with their costly girls,
Though richly decked in gold and pearls.
From: http://www.poetry-archive.com/h/rustic_happiness.html
Date: 1637
By: Thomas Heywood (c1575-c1650)
