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PAST. I.

SHEPHERD'S WEEK.

THE
And, certes, mirth it were to see
Thy joyous madrigals twice three,
With preface meet, and notes profound,
Imprinted fair, and well ye-bound."
All suddenly then home I sped,
And did ev'n as my lord had said.

Lo, here thou hast mine eclogues fair,
But let not these detain thine ear.
Let not th' affairs of states and kings
Wait, while our. Bouzybeus sings.
Rather than verse of simple swain
Should stay the trade of France or Spain;
Or, for the plaint of parson's maid,
Yon emperor's packets be delay'd;
In sooth, I swear by holy Paul,

I'll burn book, preface, notes, and all.

MONDAY; OR, The squabble.

LOBBIN CLOUT, CUDDY, CLODDIPOLE.

LOBBIN CLOUT.

THY younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake, No thrustles shrill the bramble-bush forsake, No chirping lark the welkin sheen invokes, No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes ; O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear: Then why does Cuddy leave his cot so rear?

CUDDY.

Ah Lobbin Clout! I ween, my plight is guest,
For he that leaves, a stranger is to rest:
If swains belye not, thou hast prov'd the smart,
And Blouzelinda's mistress of thy heart.
This rising rear betokeneth well thy mind,
Those arms are folded for thy Blouzelind.
And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree :
Thee Blouzelinda smites, Buxoma me.

Ah, Blouzelind!

LOBBIN CLOUT.

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love thee more by half, Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fall'n calf; Woe worth the tongue! may blisters sore it gall, That names Buxoma Blouzelind withal.

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Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithsome swain,
The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain!
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies,
To know when hail will fall, or winds arise.
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view,
When stuck aloft, that showers would straight ensue:
He first that useful secret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain.
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air,
He told us that the welkin would be clear.
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse.
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.

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CUDDY.

My brown Buxoma is the featest maid, That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down, And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown." The witless lamb may sport upon the plain, The frisking kid delight the gaping swain, And my cur Tray play deftest feats around; The wanton calf may skip with many a bound, But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray, Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.

LOBBIN CLOUT.

Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near; Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year. With her no sultry summer's heat I know; In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.. Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire, My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire!

CUDDY.

As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay, Ev'n noon-tide labour seem'd an holiday; And holidays, if haply she were gone, Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.

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Ver. 25. Erst; a contraction of ere this; it signifies sometime ago, or formerly.

Ver. 56. Deft, an old word, signifying brisk, or nimble.

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Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the ancient English authors. I have used it in this place in the same sense as Chaucer hath done in his Miller's Tale. "As clerkes being full subtle and queint," (by which he means arch, or waggish); and not in that obscene sense wherein he useth it in the line immediately following.

Ver. 85.

Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vitis Iaccho,
Formosa myrtus Veneri, sua laurea Phoebo,
Phillis amat corylos Illas dum Phillis amabit
Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phœbi. &c.

VIRG.

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YOUNG Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed,
| Full well could dance, and deftly tune the reed;
In every wood his carols sweet were known,
At every wake his nimble feats were shown.
When in the ring the rustic routs he threw,
The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew;
Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head,
His danger smites the breast of every maid,
But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain,
The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain; \
Marian, that soft could stroke the udder'd cow,
Or lessen with her sieve the barley-mow;
Marbled with sage the hardening cheese she press
And yellow butter Marian's skill confess'd; |
But Marian now, devoid of country cares,
Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares,
For yearning love the witless maid employs,
And "Love" say swains, "all busy heed destroys
Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart ;
A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart,

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SHEPHERD'S WEEK.

nd, mixt with sighs, thus wails in plaining song: Ah, woeful day! ah, woeful noon and morn! When first by thee my younglings white were shorn; hen first, I ween, I cast a lover's eye, Ly sheep were silly, but more silly Ï. feneath the shears they felt no lasting smart, hey lost but fleeces, while I lost a heart.

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Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart

true?

What I have done for thee, will Cicely do?
Vill she thy linen wash, or hosen darn,

nd knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn?
Vill she with huswife's hand provide thy meat?
nd every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait,
Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide,
a service-time drew Cicely's eyes aside?
"Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care,
My new disasters in my look appear.
Thite as the curd my ruddy cheek is grown,
>thin my features, that I'm hardly known.
ur neighbours tell me oft, in joking talk,
f ashes, leather, oatmeal, bran, and chalk;
nwittingly of Marian they divine,

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nd wist not that with thoughtful love I pine. et Colin Clout, untoward shepherd swain, Talks whistling blithe, while pitiful I plain. "Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight o moil all day, and merry-make at night. in the soil you guide the crooked share, Bour early breakfast is my constant care; nd when with even hand you strow the grain, fright the thievish rooks from off the plain. misling days, when I my thresher heard, With nappy beer I to the barn repair'd; ost in the music of the whirling flail, > gaze on thee I left the smoking pail : harvest, when the Sun was mounted high, y leathern bottle did thy draught supply; 'hene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake, nd have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake: Then in the welkin gathering showers were seen, lagg'd the last with Colin on the green; nd when at eve returning with thy car, waiting heard the jingling bells from far, raight on the fire the sooty pot I plac'd, o warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste. Then hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf, slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf; With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mess. h, love me more, or love thy pottage less!

Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met. pon my hand they cast a poring look,

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id me beware, and thrice their heads they shook : hey said, that many crosses I must prove; ome in my worldly gain, but most in love. Text morn I miss'd three hens and our old cock; and off the hedge two pinners and a smock; bore these losses with a Christian mind, and no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind. But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scorn,

ve known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn. Help me, ye gypsies; bring him home again, And to a constant lass give back her swain.

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"Have I not sat with thee full many a night,
When dying embers were our only light,
When every creature did in slumbers lie,
Besides our cat, my Colin Clout, and I?
No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin move,
While I alone am kept awake by love.

"Remember, Colin, when at last year's wake
I bought the costly present for thy sake;
Could'st thou spell o'er the posy on thy knife,
And with another change thy state of life?
If thou forgett'st, I wot, I can repeat,
My memory can tell the verse so sweet:

'As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine,
So is thy image on this heart of mine.'
But woe is me! such presents luckless prove,
For knives, they tell me, always sever love.'

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Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimful,
When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull.
With apron blue to dry her tears she sought,
Then saw the cow well serv'd, and took a groat.

WEDNESDAY; OR, THE DUMPS.*

SPARABELLA.

THE wailings of a maiden I recite,
A maiden fair, that Sparabella hight.

Such strains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat,
Nor the gay goldfinch chants so sweet a note.
No magpye chatter'd, nor the painted jay,
No ox was heard to low, nor ass to bray;
No rustling breezes play'd the leaves among,
While thus her madrigal the damsel sung.

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A while, O D'Urfey! lend an ear or twain,
Nor, tho' in homely guise, my verse disdain;
Whether thou seek'st new kingdoms in the Sun,
Whether thy Muse does at Newmarket run,
Or does with gossips at a feast regale,
And heighten her conceits with sack and ale,
Or else at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice,
Where D'Urfey's lyrics swell in every voice;

• Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a Some have pretended that it is fit of the sullens. derived from Dumops, a king of Egypt, that built a pyramid, and died of melancholy. So mopes, after the same manner, is thought to have come from Merops, another Egyptian king, that died of But our English antiquaries the same distemper. have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous heaviness of spirits, comes from the word dumplin, the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this country, 'much used in Norfolk, and other counties of England.

Ver. 5.

Immemor herbarum quos est mirata juvenca
Certantes, quorum stupefactæ carmine lynces,
Et mutata suos requiêrunt flumina cursus.

Ver. 9.

VIRGIL

Tu mihi, seu magni superas jam saxa Timavi,
Sive oram Illyrici legis æquoris.

VIRG.

Ver. 11. An opera written by this author, called The World in the Sun, or the Kingdom of Birds; he is also famous for his song on the Newmarket

Ver. 21. Kee, a west-country word for kine, or horse-race, and several others that are sung by the

ows.

British swains.

Yet suffer me, thou bard of wondrous meed, Amid thy bays to weave this rural weed.

Now the Sun drove adown the western road And oxen, laid at rest, forgot the goad,

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"Sooner shall cats disport in waters clear. And speckled mackrel graze the meadows fair; Sooner shall screech-owls bask in sunny day, And the slow ass on trees, like squirrels, play; ?

The clown, fatigued, trudg'd homeward with his Sooner shall snails on insect pinions rove;

spade,

Across the meadows stretch'd the lengthen'd shade;
When Sparabella, pensive and forlorn,
Alike with yearning love and labour worn,
Lean'd on her rake, and straight with deleful guise
Did this sad plaint in mournful notes devise:
"Come Night, as dark as pitch, surround my head,
From Sparabella Bumkinet is fled;
The ribbon that his valorous cudgel won,
Last Sunday happier Clumsilis put on.
Sure if he'd eyes, (but Love, they say, has none)
I whilom by that ribbon had been known.
Ah, well-a-day! I'm shent with baneful smart,
For with the ribbon he bestow'd his heart.

"My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, "Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

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"Shall heavy Clumsilis with me compare? View this, ye lovers, and like me despair. Her blubber'd lip by smutty pipes is worn, And in her breath tobacco whiffs are borne! The cleanly cheese-press she could never turn, Her awkward fist did ne'er employ the churn; If e'er she brew'd, the drink would straight go sour, Before it ever felt the thunder's power; No huswifery the dowdy creature knew; To sum up all, her tongue confess'd the shrew. "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

"I've often seen my visage in yon lake, Nor are my features of the homeliest make: Though Clumsilis may boast a whiter dye, Yet the black sloe turns in my rolling eye; And fairest blossoms drop with every blast, But the brown beauty will like hollies last. Her wan complexion's like the wither'd leek, While Katharine pears adorn my ruddy cheek. Yet she, alas! the witless lout hath won, And by her gain poor Sparabell's undone! Let hares and hounds in coupling straps unite, The clucking hen make friendship with the kite; Let the fox simply wear the nuptial noose, And join in wedlock with the waddling goose; For love hath brought a stranger thing to pass, The fairest shepherd weds the foulest lass.

"My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid,'

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Than I forget my shepherd's wonted love.. "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.” "Ah! didst thou know what proffers I withstoo When late I met the squire in yonder wood! To me he sped, regardless of his game, While all my cheek was glowing red with shame My lip he kiss'd, and prais'd my healthful look, Then from his purse of silk a guinea took, Into my hand he forc'd the tempting gold, While I with modest struggling broke his hold. He swore that Dick, in livery strip'd with lace, Should wed me soon, to keep me from disgrace; But I nor footmen priz'd, nor golden fee; For what is lace or gold, compar'd to thee? "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, ''Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

"Now plain I ken whence Love his rise begun Sure he was born some bloody butcher's son, Bred up in shambles, where our younglings shin Erst taught him mischief, and to sport with pain. The father only silly sheep annoys, The son the sillier shepherdess destroys. Does son or father greater mischief do? The sire is cruel, so the son is too.

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My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' "Farewell, ye woods, ye meads, ye streams that flow;

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50 A sudden death shall rid me of my woe.
This penknife keen my windpipe shall divide.
What! shall I fall as squeaking pigs have dy'd?
No-To some tree this carcass I'll suspend.
But worrying curs find such untimely end!
I'll speed me to the pond, where the high stool
On the long plank hangs o'er the muddy pool;
That stool, the dread of every scolding quean;
Yet, sure a lover should not die so mean!
There plac'd aloft, I'll rave and rail by fits,
Though all the parish say I've lost my wits; 11
And thence, if courage holds, myself I'll throw,
And quench my passion in the lake below.

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Ver. 17. Meed, an old word for fame, or renown.
Ver. 18. - Hanc sine tempora circum
Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros.
Ver. 25.

VIRG.

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"Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to mo And, by my case forewarn'd, go mind your own."

Ver. 67.

Ante leves ergo pascentur in æthere cervi,
Et freta destituent nudos in littore pisces —
Quàm nostro illius labatur pectore vultus.

VIR Ver. 89. To ken. Scire. Chaucer, to ken, und kende ; notus A. S. cunnam. Goth. kunnam. Ge manis kennen. Danis kiende. Islandis S Belgis kennen. This word is of general use, b not very common, though not unknown to th vulgar. Ken, for prospicere, is well known, used to discover by the eye. Ray, F. R. S

Nunc scio quid sit amor, &c.
Crudelis mater magis an puer improbus ille?
Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater,
VIRG
Ver. 99.
- vivite sylvæ :
Præceps aërii speculâ de montis in undas
Deferar.

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HOBNELIA, seated in a dreary vale,
In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale;
Her piteous tale the winds in sighs bemoan,
And pining echo answers groan for groan.
"I rue the day, a rueful day, I trow,
The woeful day, a day indeed of woe!
When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove,
A maiden fine bedight he hapt to love;
The maiden fine bedight his love retains,
And for the village he forsakes the plains.
Return, my Lubberkin, these ditties hear;
Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care.
With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

"When first the year I heard the cuckoo sing,
And call with welcome note the budding spring,
I straightway set a running with such haste,
Deborah that won the smock scarce ran so fast;
Till spent for lack of breath, quite weary grown,
Upon a rising bank I sat adown,
Then doff'd my shoe, and, by my troth, I swear,
Therein I spy'd this yellow frizzled hair,
As like to Lubberkin's in curl and hue,
As if upon his comely pate it grew.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
"Last May-day fair I search'd to find a snail,
That might my secret lover's name reveal.
Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found,
(For always snails near sweetest fruit abound).
I seiz'd the vermine, whom I quickly sped,
And on the earth the milk-white embers spread.
Slow crawl'd the snail; and, if I right can spell,
In the soft ashes mark'd a curious L.
Oh, may this wondrous omen lucky prove!
For L is found in Lubberkin and Love.

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With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

"Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame,
And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name;
This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd,
That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd.
10 As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow;
For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow.

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'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

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"At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought,
But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought;
I scatter'd round the seed on every side,
And three times in a trembling accent cry'd,
This hemp-seed with my virgin hand I sow,
Who shall my true-love be, the crop shall mow.'
I straight look'd back, and, if my eyes speak truth,
With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

"Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind
Their paramours with mutual chirpings find;
I early rose, just at the break of day,
Before the Sun had chas'd the stars away;
A-field I went, amid the morning dew,
To milk my kine (for so should huswives do);
Thee first I spy'd; and the first swain we see,
In spite of Fortune, shall our true-love be.
See, Lubberkin, each bird his partner take;
And canst thou then thy sweetheart dear forsake?

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Ver. 8. Dight, or bedight, from the Saxon word dightan, which signifies to set in order.

Ver. 21. Doff and don, contracted from the words do off and do on.

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With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

"This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass,

Fly, lady-bird, North, South, or East, or West,
Fly where the man is found that I love best.
He leaves my hand; see, to the West he's flown,
To call my true-love from the faithless town.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the
And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
ground,

"I pare this pippin round and round again,
My shepherd's name to flourish on the plain,
I fling th' unbroken paring o'er my head,
Upon the grass a perfect L is read;

Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen
Than what the paring makes upon the green.

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