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What transport in her bosom grew, When first the Horse appear'd in view! "Let me," says she, "your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend. You know my feet betray my flight: To friendship every burthen's light." The Horse replied, "Poor honest Puss, It grieves my heart to see thee thus: Be comforted, relief is near, For all your friends are in the rear."

She next the stately Bull implor'd; And thus replied the mighty lord:

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Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a favorite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
And, when a lady's in the case,

You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But, see, the Goat is just behind."

The Goat remark'd, her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye:

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My back," says he, "may do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."

The Sheep was feeble, and complain'd, His sides a load of wool sustain'd; Said he was slow, confess'd his fears; For Hounds eat Sheep as well as Hares. She now the trotting Calf address'd, To save from Death a friend distress'd. "Shall I," says he, "of tender age, In this important care engage? Older and abler pass'd you by; How strong are those! how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then; you know my heart; But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament! Adieu; For, see, the Hounds are just in view."

THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK,

IN SIX PASTORALS.

1714.

WITH THE AUTHOR'S NOTES. -Libeat mihi sordida rura, Atque humiles habitare casas.-Virg.

PROLOGUE, TO THE RIGHT HON.
THE LORD VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE.
Lo, I, who erst beneath a tree
Sung Bumkinet and Bowzybee,
And Blouzelind and Marian bright,
In apron blue, or apron white,
Now write my sonnets in a book,
For my good lord of Bolingbroke.

As lads and lasses stood around
To hear my boxen hautboy sound,
Our clerk came posting o'er the green
With doleful tidings of the queen;

"That queen," he said, "to whom we owe
Sweet peace, that maketh riches flow;
That queen, who eas'd our tax of late,
Was dead, alas!-and lay in state."

At this, in tears was Cicely seen,
Buxoma tore her pinners clean,
In doleful dumps stood every clown,
The parson rent his band and gown.

For me, when as I heard that Death
Had snatch'd queen Anne to Elizabeth,
I broke my reed, and, sighing, swore,
I'd weep for Blouzelind no more.

While thus we stood as in a stound,
And wet with tears, like dew, the ground,
Full soon by bonfire and by bell
We learnt our liege was passing well.
A skilful leach (so God him speed)

They said, had wrought this blessed deed.
This leach Arbuthnot was yclept,
Who many a night not once had slept;
But watch'd our gracious sovereign still;
For who could rest when she was ill?
Oh, may'st thou henceforth sweetly sleep!
Shear, swains, oh! shear your softest sheep.
To swell his couch; for, well I ween,
He sav'd the realm, who sav'd the queen.

Quoth I, "Please God, I'll hie with glee To court, this Arbuthnot to see."

I sold my sheep, and lambkins too,
For silver loops and garment blue;
My boxen hautboy, sweet of sound,
For lace that edg'd mine hat around;
For Lightfoot, and my scrip, I got
A gorgeous sword, and eke a knot.

So forth I far'd to court with speed
Of soldier's drum withouten dreed;
For peace allays the shepherd's fear
Of wearing cap of grenadier.

There saw I ladies all a-row,
Before their queen in seemly show
No more I'll sing Buxoma brown,
Like Goldfinch in her Sunday gown;
Nor Clumsilis, nor Marian bright,
Nor damsel that Hobnelia hight.
But Lansdowne, fresh as flower of May.
And Berkeley, lady blithe and gay;
And Anglesea, whose speech exceeds
The voice of pipe, or oaten reeds;
And blooming Hyde, with eyes so rare;
And Montague beyond compare :
Such ladies fair would I depaint,
In roundelay or sonnet quaint.

There many a worthy wight I've seen,
In ribbon blue and ribbon green:
As Oxford, who a wand doth bear,
Like Moses, in our Bibles fair;
Who for our traffic forms designs,
And gives to Britain Indian mines.
Now, shepherds, clip your fleecy care;
Ye maids, your spinning-wheels prepare ;
Ye weavers, all your shuttles throw,
And bid broad-cloths and serges grow;
For trading free shall thrive again,
Nor leasings lewd affright the swain.

There saw I St. John, sweet of mien Full stedfast both to church and queen; With whose fair name I'll deck my strain; St. John, right courteous to the swain. For thus he told me on a day, "Trim are thy sonnets, gentle Gay

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.

Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithesome swain,
The wisest lout of all the neighboring 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.

LOBBIN CLOUT.

See this tobacco-pouch, that's lin'd with hair,
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow-deer.
This pouch, that's tied with tape of reddest hue,
I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.

CUDDY.

Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch! Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch

LOBBIN CLOUT.

My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass.
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows;
Fair is the gilliflower, of gardens sweet,
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet:
But Blouzelind 's than gilliflower more fair,

Ah, Lobbin Clout! I ween, my plight is guess'd, Than daisy, marigold, or king-cup rare.
For he that loves, a stranger is to rest:

If swains belie 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.

LOBBIN CLOUT.

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Ah, Blouzelind! I 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.

CUDDY.

Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise, Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.

CUDDY.

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My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. 50
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,
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
And my cur Tray play deftest feats around;
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
20 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!

Ver. 3. Welkin, the same as welken, an old Saxon word, signifying a cloud; by poetical license it is frequently taken for the element, or sky, as may appear by this verse in the Dream of Chaucer

Ne in all the welkin was no cloud.
-Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or bright.
Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British authors for

scarce.

Ver. 6. Rear, an expression, in several counties of Eng. land, for early in the morning.

CUDDY.

As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noontide labor 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

Ver. 7. To ween, derived from the Saxon, to think, or sometime ago, or formerly.

conceive.

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

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As once I play'd at blindman's buff, it hapt
About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt;
I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind,
True speaks that ancient proverb, "Love is blind."

CUDDY.

As at hot-cockles once I laid me down,
And felt the weighty hand of many a clown;
Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I
Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye.

CUDDY.

I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight.
Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right,

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What flower is that which royal honor craves, Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis strown on graves?"

CLODDIPOLE.

Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains!
An oaken staff each merits for his pains.
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But see the sun-beams bright to labor warn,
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge's barn.
Your herds for want of water stand a-dry,
They're weary of your songs-and so am I.

TUESDAY; OR, THE DITTY.

MARIAN.

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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,
100 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'd
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, 20

Ver. 69. Eftsoons, from eft, an ancient British word, signifying soon. So that eftsoons is a doubling of the word soon; which is, as it were, to say twice soon, or very soon. 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 Phobo,
Phillis amat corylos. Illas dum Phillis amabit
Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phœbi, &c.

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Cicely, the western lass, that tends the kee,
The rival of the parson's maid was she.
In dreary shade now Marian lies along,
And, mixt with sighs, thus wails in plaining song:
"Ah, woful day! ah, woful noon and morn!
When first by thee my younglings white were shorn;
Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eye,
My sheep were silly, but more silly I.
Beneath the shears they felt no lasting smart,
They 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?
Will she thy linen wash, or hosen darn,
And knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn?
Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat?
And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait,
Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide,
In service-time drew Cicely's eyes aside?

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50

"Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care, My new disasters in my look appear. White as the curd my ruddy cheek is grown, So thin my features, that I'm hardly known. Our neighbors tell me oft, in joking talk, Of ashes, leather, oatmeal, bran, and chalk; Unwittingly of Marian they divine, And wist not that with thoughtful love I pine. Yet Colin Clout, untoward shepherd swain, Walks whistling blithe, while pitiful I plain. "Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight To moil all day, and merry-make at night. If in the soil you guide the crooked share, Your early breakfast is my constant care; And when with even hand you strow the grain, I fright the thievish rooks from off the plain. In misling days, when I my thresher heard, With nappy beer I to the barn repair'd; Lost in the music of the whirling flail, To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail : In harvest, when the Sun was mounted high, My leathern bottle did thy draught supply; Whene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake, And have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake: When in the welkin gathering showers were seen, I lagg'd the last with Colin on the green; And when at eve returning with thy car, Awaiting heard the jingling bells from far, Straight on the fire the sooty pot I plac'd, To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste. When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf, I slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf; With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mess. Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less!

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70

"Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set, I, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met. Upon my hand they cast a poring look, Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook: They said, that many crosses I must prove; Some in my worldly gain, but most in love. Next morn I miss'd three hens and our old cock; And off the hedge two pinners and a smock; I 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, I'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.

Ver. 21. Kee, a west-country word for kine, or cows.

80

"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; Couldst 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 wellserv'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.

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;

10

* Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a fit of the sullens. Some have pretended that it is 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 the same distemper. But our English antiquaries have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous heaviness of spirits, comes from the word dumpling, the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this country, much used in Norfolk, and other counties of England.

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"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.' "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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"Sooner shall cats disport in waters clear, And speckled mack'rel graze the meadows fair; Sooner shall screech-owls bask in sunny day, And the slow ass on trees, like squirrels, play; 70 Sooner shall snails on insect pinions rove; Than I forget my shepherd's wonted love.

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My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid,

80

"Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'
"Ah! didst thou know what proffers I withstood,
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 footman 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, 90 Bred up in shambles, where our younglings slain 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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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 died?
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; 110
And thence, if courage holds, myself I'll throw,
And quench my passion in the lake below.

61

Ver. 33. Shent, an old word, signifying hurt, or harmed. Ver. 37.

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Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to moan. 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 piscesQuàm nostro illius labatur pectore vultus.

Virg.

Ver. 89. To ken. Scire. Chaucer, to ken, and kende; notus A. S. cunnam. Goth. kunnam. Germanis kennen Danis kiende. Islandis kunna. Belgis kennen. This word is of general use, but not very common, though not un. known to the vulgar. Ken, for prospicere, is well known, and 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.

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-vivite sylvæ: Præceps aërii speculá de montis in undas Deferar.

Virg

Virg.

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