Tho, under colour of shepheards, somewhile [ous, PAL. Three thinges to beare bene very burdenBut the fourth to forbeare is outragious: Wemen, that of loves longing once lust, Hardly forbearen, but have it they must: So when choler is inflamed with rage, Wanting revenge, is hard to asswage: And who can counsell a thirstie soule, With patience to forbeare the offred bowle? But of all burdens, that a man can beare, Most is, a fooles talke to beare and to heare. I weene the geaunt has not such a weight, That beares on his shoulders the Heavens height. Thou findest fault where nys to be found, And buildest strong warke upon a weake ground: Thou raylest on right withouten reason, And blamest hem much for small encheason. How shoulden shepheardes live, if not so? What? should they pynen in payne and woe? Nay, say I thereto, by my dear borow, If I may rest, I nill live in sorow. Sorow ne neede be hastened on, For he will come, without calling, anone. For, when approchen the stormie stowres, We mought with our shoulders bear off the sharp showres; And, sooth to sayne, nought seemeth sike strife, PIERS. Shepheard, I list no accordaunce make PAL. Now, Piers, of fellowship, tell us that saying; For the lad can keep both our flockes from straying. PIERS. Thilke same kidde (as I can well devise) Was too very foolish and unwise; For on a time, in sommer season, The gate her dame, that had good reason, Yode forth abroad unto the greene wood, To brouze, or play, or what she thought good: But, for she had a motherly care Of her young sonne, and wit to beware, She set her youngling before her knee, That was both fresh and lovely to see, And full of favour as kidde mought be. His vellet bead began to shoote out, And his wreathed horns gan newly sprout; The blossomes of lust to bud did beginne, And spring forth ranckly under his chinne. "My sonne," (quoth she, and with that gan weepe; For carefull thoughtes in her heart did creepe;) "God blesse thee, poore orphane! as he mought me, And send thee joy of thy iollitie. Thy father," (that worde shee spake with payne, For a sigh bad nigh rent her heart in twaine,) "Thy father, had he lived this day, A thrilling throbe from her heart did arise, At last her solein silence she broke, And gan his new-budded beard to stroke. "Kiddie," quoth she, "thou kenst the great care I have of thy health and thy welfare, So schooled the gate her wanton sonne, "Ah! good young maister," then gan he crye, "Jesus blesse that sweete face I espye, And keep your corpse from the carefull stounds That in my carrion carcas abounds." The kidd, pittying his heavinesse, Asked the cause of his great distressse, And also who, and whence that he were. Tho he, that had well ycond his lere, Thus medled his talke with many a tcare: "Sicke, sicke, alas! and little lacke of dead, So be your goodlihead do not disdaine Being within, the kidd made him good glee, Home when the doubtfull damme had her hide, PAL. Truely, Piers, thou art beside thy wit, PIENS. Of their faishode more could I recount, PALINODES EMBLEME. Pas men apistos apistei, PIERS HIS EMBLEME. Tis d'ara pistis apisto; THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. IUNE. AEGLOGA SEXTA. ARGUMENT. This aeglogue is wholly vowed to the complayning of Colins ill successe in his love. For being (as is aforesaid) enamored of a country lasse Rosalind, and having (as seemeth) found place in her heart, hee lamenteth to his deare friend Hobbinoll, that he is now forsaken unfaithfully, and in his steade Menalcas, another shepheard, received disloyally. And this is the whole argument of this aeglogue. HOBBINOLL. COLIN CLOUT. HOBBINOLL. Lo! Colin, here the place whose plesaunt syte COL. O, happie Hobbinoll, I blesse thy state, That Paradise hast founde which Adam lost: Here wander may thy flocke early or late, Withouten dread of wolves to bene ytost; Thy lovely layes here maist thou freely boste: But I, unhappie man! whom cruell fate And angrie gods pursue from coste to coste, Can no where finde to shroude my lucklesse pate. HOB. Then, if by mee thou list advised bee, But friendly faeries, met with many graces, COL. And I, whylst youth, and course of carelesse Tho couth I sing of love, and tune my pype HOB. Colin, to heare thy rymes and roundelayes, COL. Of Muses, Hobbinoll, I conne no skill, For they bene daughters of the highest love, And holden scorne of homely shepheards quill; For sith I heard that Pan with Phoebus strove, Which him to much rebuke and daunger drove, I never list presume to Parnasse hill, But, pyping low in shade of lowly grove, I play to please myselfe, all be it ill. Nought weigh I, who my song doth praise or blame, Ne strive to winne renowne, or passe the rest: But feede his flocke in fieldes where falls hem best. I wote my rymes bene rough, and rudely drest; The god of shepheards, Tityrus, is dead, Nowe dead hee is, and lyeth wrapt in lead, (O why should Death on him such outrage showe!) I soone would learne these woods to waile my woe, Then should my plaintes, causde of discurtesee, But since I am not as I wishe I were, HOB. O carefull Colin, I lament thy case; Thy teares would make the hardest flint to flowe! Ah! faithless Rosalind, and voyde of grace, That art the roote of all this ruthfull woe! But now is time, I gesse, homeward to goe: Then rise, yee blessed flocks! and home apace, Lest night with stealing steppes do you foresloe, And wett your tender lambs that by you trace. COLINS EMBLEME. Gia speme spenta. THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. IULY. AEGLOGA SEPTIMA. ARGUMENT. This aeglogue is made in the honour and commendation of good shepheards, and to the shame and dispraise of proud and ambitious pastours: such as Morrell is here imagined to be. THOMALIN, MORRELL. THOMALIN. Is not thilke same a goteheard prowde, MOR. What, ho, thou iolly shepheardes swaine, Come up the hill to me; Better is then the lowly plaine, Als for thy flocke and thee. THOM. Ah! God shield, man, that I should clime, And learne to looke alofte; This rede is rife, that oftentime Great clymbers fall unsoft. In humble dales is footing fast, The trode is not so tickle, And though one fall through heedless hast, And now the Sunne hath reared upp And golden diademe; The rampant lyon hunts he fast, With dogges of noysome breath, The wastefull hilles unto his threate Yee gentle shepheards! which your flocks doe But, if thee lust to holden chat feede, Whether on hylles, or dales, or other where, With seely shepheardes swayne, MOR. Syker thous but a leasie loord, In evill houre thou hentst in hond Thus holy hilles to blame, St. Michels Mount who does not know, Şayne most-what, that they dwell (As gote-heardes wont) upon a hill, Beside a learned well. And wonned not the great good Pan Feeding the blessed flocke of Dan, Which did himselfe beget? For they bene hale enough, I trowe, And lyken their abode; But, if they with thy gotes should yede, They soone might be corrupted, Or like not of the frowie fede, Or with the weedes be glutted. Not for themselfe, but for the saincts And now they bene to Heaven forewent, That als we mought doe soe. Shepheards they weren of the best, THOM. O blessed sheepe! O Shepheard great! And, sith they soules be now at rest, That bought his flocke so deare, And them did save with bloudy sweat MOR. Beside, as holy Fathers sayne, There is a holy place Where Titan riseth from the mayne To renne his dayly race, Upon whose toppe the starres bene stayed, That all the rest did spill. And, sithens shepheards bene foresayd To clime this hillës height. And of our Ladyes Bowre; But little needes to strow my store, Why done we them disease? Such one he was (as I have heard Old Algrind often sayne) That whilome was the first shepheard, And meeke he was, as meeke mought be, The flocke which he did keepe. A sacrifice to bring, Now with a kidd, now with a sheepe, So lowted he unto his lord, Such favour couth he finde, The simple shepheards kinde. The brethren twelve, that kept yfere But nothing such thilke shepheard was That left his flocke to fetche a lasse, Whose love he bought too deare. For he was proud, that ill was payd, (No such mought shepheards be!) And with lewd lust was overlaid; Tway things doen ill agree. But shepheard mought be meek and mild, Well-eyed, as Argus was, With fleshly follies undefiled, And stoute as steede of brasse. Sike one (sayd Algrind) Moses was, That sawe his Makers face, His face, more cleare then cristall glasse, This had a brother (his name I knewe) THOM. Syker thou speakes like a lewd lorrell, A shepheard true, yet not so true Of Heaven to demen so; How be I am but rude and borrell, Yet nearer waies I know. To kerke the narre, from God more farre, And he, that strives to touche a starre, As he that earst I hote. Whilome all these were low and liefe, And loved theyr flockes to feede; They never stroven to be chiefe, And simple was theyr weede: But now (thanked be God therefore!) The world is well amend, Theyr weedes bene not so nighly wore; Such simplesse mought them shend! They bene yclad in purple and pall, So hath theyr God them blist; They reigne and rulen over all, And lord it as they list; Ygyrt with beltes of glitterand gold. (Mought they good shepheards bene!) Their Pan their sheepe to them has sold, I say as some have seene. For Palinode (if thou him ken) Yode late on pilgrimage To Rome, (if such be Rome) and then For shepheardes (sayd he) there doen lead, Their sheep han crusts, and they the bread; The chippes, and they the cheere: They han the fleece, and eke the flesh, (O seely sheepe the while!) Their handes they may not file. They han fat kernes, and leany knaves, Sike mister men bene all misgone, MOR. Here is a great deale of good matter Now sicker I see thou dost but clatter, Harine may come of melling. Thou meddlest more, then shall have thank, When folke bene fat, and riches ranck, It is a signe of health. But say mee, what is Algrind, hee That is so oft bynempt? THOM. Hee is a shepheard great in gree, But hath bene long ypent: One day hee sat upon a hill, As now thou wouldest mee; But I am taught, by Algrinds ill, For sitting so with bared scalp ; That, weening his white head was chalke, Shee weend the shell-fish to have broke, So now, astonied with the stroke, Hee lyes in lingring payne. MOR. Ah! good Algrind! his hap was ill, But shall be better in time. Now farewell, shepheard, sith this hill PALINODES EMBLEME. In medio virtus. MORRELLS EMBLEME. In summo fœlicitas. THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. AUGUST. AEGLOGA OCTAVA. ARGUMENT. In this aeglogue is set forth a delectable controversie, made in imitation of that in Theocritus: whereto also Virgil fashioned his third and seventh aeglogue. They chose for umpere of their strife, Cuddy, a neat-heards boye; who, having ended their cause, reciteth also himselfe a proper song, whereof Colin he saith was authour. WILLIE, PERIGOT, CUDDIE. WILLIE. TELL mee, Perigot, what shalbe the game, Wherefore with mine thou dare thy musick matche? Or bene thy bagpypes renne farre out of frame? Or hath the crampe thy ioynts benomd with ache? PER. Ah! Willie, when the hart is ill assayde, How can bagpype or ioynts be well apayde? WIL. What the foule evill hath thee so bestad? Whilom thou was peregall to the best, And, wont to make the iolly shepheards glad, With pyping and dauncing didst passe the rest. PER. Ah! Willie, now I have learnd a new daunce; My old musick mard by a new mischaunce. WIL. Mischiefe mought to that mischaunce beThat so hath raft us of our merriment; [fall, But rede me what paine doth thee so apall; Or lovest thou, or bene thy younglinges miswent? PER. Love hath misled both my younglinges aud me; I pine for payne, and they my paine to see. Never shall be sayde that Perigot was dared. Of bears and tygers, that maken fiers warre; Thereby is a lambe in the wolves iawes; But see, how fast renneth the shepheard swain To save the innocent from the beastes pawes, And here with his sheepehooke hath him slain. Tell me, such a cup hast thou ever seene? Well mought it beseeme any harvest queene. PER. Thereto will I pawne yonder spotted lambe; Of all my flocke there nis sike another, For I brought him up without the dambe; But Colin Clout rafte me of his brother, That he purchast of me in the plaine field; Sore against my will was I forst to yeeld. |