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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE NATIONS by THOMAS HEYWOOD

First Line: THE SPANIARD LOVES HIS ANCIENT SLOP
Last Line: ON WHICH HE DARE NOT VENTURE.
Subject(s): NATIONS;
THE Spaniard loves his ancient slop,
A Lombard the Venetian:
And some like breechless women go,
The Russ, Turk, Jew, and Grecian.
The thrifty Frenchman wears small waist,
The Dutch his belly boasteth,
The Englishman is for them all,
And for each fashion coasteth.
The Turk in linen wraps his head,
The Persian his in lawn too,
The Russ with sables furs his cap
And change will not be drawn to.
The Spaniard's constant to his block,
The French inconstant ever;
But of all felts that may be felt
Give me your English beaver.
The German loves his coney-wool,
The Irishman his shag too,
The Welsh his Monmouth loves to wear,
And of the same will brag too.
Some love the rough, and some the smooth,
Some great, and others small things,
But O your liquorish Englishman,
He loves to deal in all things.
The Russ drinks quasse; Dutch, Lubeck's beer,
And that is strong and mighty;
The Briton he metheglin quaffs,
The Irish aqua-vitae.
The French affects the Orleans grape,
The Spaniard sips his sherry,
The English none of these can 'scape,
But he with all makes merry.
The Italian in her high chioppine,
Scotch lass, and lovely Erse too,
The Spanish donna, French madame,
He doth not fear to go to.
Nothing so full of hazard, dread,
Naught lies above the centre,
No health, no fashion, wine or wench,
On which he dare not venture.



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