Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO MY FRIEND, MR. JOHN ANDERSON, by CHARLES COTTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO MY FRIEND, MR. JOHN ANDERSON, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: You that the city life embrace
Last Line: To wish thee here, jack.
Subject(s): Country Life


I

YOU that the City life embrace,
And in those tumults run your race,
Under th'aspect of the celestial face
Of your bright Lady:
You, that to Masks and Plays resort,
As if you would rebuild the Court,
We here can match you with our country sport
As near as may be.

II

For though 'tis good to be so nigh
Rich wine, and excellent company:
Yet, John, those pleasures you full dear do buy
Some times, and seasons.
For you but tributaries are,
Aw'd by the furious men of War:
We Country Bumpkins then are happier far
For many reasons.

III

First, we have here no bawling Duns,
Nor those fierce things ycleped Bums,
No Cuckold-Constable, or Watch here comes
To apprehend us.
And then we've no unwholesome dames
To broil us in their bawdy flames,
Nor need inquire after Physicians' names,
That may befriend us.

IV

And next, we have excelling ale,
Most high, and mighty, strong and stale;
And, when we go, we need no other bail
Than our own word, Sir,
When you all day are fain to sit,
Send paper pellets of small wit,
Your tickets; and, when none of them will hit,
Pawn cloak, or sword, Sir.

V

Then we out-do your Beauties, that
You entertain with cost, and chat,
That make you spend your precious time and fat,
And yet are stedfast:
We here have homely willing Winn,
With bucksome Bess, and granting Jinn,
All full and plump without, and warm within,
That crackt the bed fast.

VI

And then, for mirth, we have much more
Than you, for all your various store,
For we prefer Bagpipes, so loud, before
Lute, or Cremona,
We caper with Tom Thump, i' th' Hall,
Measures beyond Corant, or Brawl;
And when we want a match for Cicely, call
A roba bona.

VII

We have too errant Knights so stout,
As honest Hobinol and Clout,
With many another stiff and sturdy lout
That play at wasters,
Shoe the wild mare, and lick the board,
That for stiff tuck, or cutting sword,
For man, or woman, care not of a turd,
But their own Masters.

VIII

Thus every of our pretty toys
Outvies your greatest dear bought joys:
Then to thy freedom from the City noise,
I'll drink a beer-jack:
And now the Spring comes on apace,
Sweet flowers crown the Earth's green face,
Nor can I doubt, but thou wilt have the grace
To wish thee here, Jack.





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