Hodge And The Squire Poem by Robert Anderson

Says our Squire, ``Hodge, tell me, young shepherd swain,
Wilt thou leave thy flock, thy cottage, and plain,
In London great wealth and honours to gain,
And all fine sights to see?''
``Ah, no! by your leave, my good Sir,'' said I,
``We're told, those who carry their heads too high,
Spend comfortless days, and on thorns oft lie;
But content still dwells with me!''

Says our Squire, ``I'll dress thee in clothing fine;
Thou on ev'ry choice dainty with me shalt dine;
Lac'd servants shall hand thee each costly wine;
Think, clown, what honour 'twill be!''
``In home--spun coat, I can merrily sing:
O'er my humble meal, I'm great as a king,
And when thirsty, I hie to the chrystal spring,
Where content still waits on me!''

Says our Squire, ``Rich dames thou shalt court at play,
Where music drives ev'ry dull care away;
Then while the sun shines, young shepherd, make hay;
Come now or never!'' quoth he.
``At the dance on the green when the sun goes down,
With my Phillis, I envy not those in town;
Nor Phillis I'd leave, for a monarch's crown,
For content guards her and me!

``Go, take your dames, wealth, wine, and shows!
From care can you purchase an hour's repose?
Each neighbour's my friend; I know no foes;
And smile at poverty.
'Tis my wish to inhabit yon humble shed,
Where my forefathers honestly earn'd their bread;
And whenever misfortune bows down my head,
May content then dwell with me!''