Jack and Joan they think no ill, <br />But loving live, and merry still; <br />Do their week-days' work, and pray <br />Devoutly on the holy day: <br />Skip and trip it on the green, <br />And help to choose the Summer Queen; <br />Lash out, at a country feast, <br />Their silver penny with the best. <br /> <br />Well can they judge of nappy ale, <br />And tell at large a winter tale; <br />Climb up to the apple loft, <br />And turn the crabs till they be soft. <br />Tib is all the father's joy, <br />And little Tom the mother's boy. <br />All their pleasure is Content; <br />And care, to pay their yearly rent. <br /> <br />Joan can call by name her cows, <br />And deck her window with green boughs; <br />She can wreaths and tutties make, <br />And trim with plums a bridal cake. <br />Jack knows what brings gain or loss; <br />And his long flail can stoutly toss: <br />Makes the hedge, which others break; <br />And ever thinks what he doth speak. <br /> <br />Now, you courtly dames and knights, <br />That study only strange delights; <br />Though you scorn the homespun grey, <br />And revel in your rich array; <br />Though your tongues dissemble deep, <br />And can your heads from danger keep; <br />Yet, for all your pomp and train, <br />Securer lives the silly swain.<br /><br />Thomas Campion<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jack-and-joan/
