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What transport in her løsom 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 :
"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 henee; a favorite cow
Espects 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;
Bat, see, the Goat is just behind."

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

· 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,
Id 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 yelept, 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, gwains, 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 edgd 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.




-Libeat mihi sordida rura, Atque hamiles habitare casas.-Virg.


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 ;

And, certes, mirth it were to see

Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithesome swain, Thy joyous madrigals twice three,

The wisest lout of all the neighboring plain' With preface meet, and notes profound, From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies, Imprinted fair, and well ye-bound."

To know when hail will fall, or winds arise. All suddenly then home I sped,

He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view, And did ev'n as my lord had said.

When stuck aloft, that showers would straight ensue: Lo, here thou hast mine eclogues fair, He first that useful secret did explain, But let not these detain thine ear.

That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain. Let not th'affairs of states and kings

When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air, Wait, while our Bouzy beus sings.

Ile told us that the welkin would be clear. 30 Rather than verse of simple swain

Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse, Should stay the trade of France or Spain ; And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse. Or, for the plaint of parson's maid,

I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
Yon emperor's packets be delay'd ;

That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.
In sooth, I swear by holy Paul,
I'll burn book, preface, notes, and all.

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.

Lobbin Clout, Cuddy, Cloddipole.

Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch!

Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch 40 The younglings, Cuddy, are but just a wake,

No thrustles shrill the bramble-bush forsake,
No chirping lark the welkin sheen invokes,

My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes ;

Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass. O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear;

Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Then why does Cuddy leave his cot so rear ?

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.

10 This rising rear betokeneth well thy mind,

My brown Buxoma is the featest maid, Those arms are folded for thy Blouzelind.

That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. 50 And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree :

Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down, Thee Blouzelinda smites, Buxoma me.

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,
Ah, Blouzelind! I love thee more by half, And my cur Tray play deftest feats around;
Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fall'n calf; But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray,
Woe worth the tongue! may blisters sore it gall, Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.
That names Buxoma Blouzelind withal.


Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near;
Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise,

Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.

20 With her no sultry summer's heat I know; 60

In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow

Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire, Ver. 3. Welkin, the same as wolken, an old Saxon word, My sumi

word. My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire! signifying a cloud; by poetical license it is frequently taken for the element, or sky, as may appear by this verse

CUDDY. in the Dream of Chaucer

As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ne in all the welkin was no cloud.

Ev'n noontide labor seem'd an holiday; -Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or bright. And holidays, if haply she were gone,

Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British authors for Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done. scarce.

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

Ver. 25. Erst; a contraction of cre 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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Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right, Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear,

dear, i'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight. Of Irish swains potato is the cheer;

"What flower is that which royal honor craves, Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind,

Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis strown on graves ?"
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind.
While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise,
Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato, prize.


Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains ! CUDDY.

An oaken staff each merits for his pains. 120

But see the sun-beams bright to labor warn, In good roast-beef my landlord sticks his knife, And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge's barn. The capon fat delights his dainty wife,

90 Your herds for want of water stand a-dry, Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,

| They're weary of your songs—and so am I.

They're weary of yours
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.



MARIAN. As once I play'd at blindman's buff, it hapt

Young Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed, About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt;

Full we'll could dance, and deftly tune the reed; I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind,

In every wood his carols sweet were known, True gpeaks that ancient proverb, “ Love is blind." At every wake his nimble feats were shown.

When in the ring the rustic routs he threw,

The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew; CUDDY.

Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head, As at hol-cockles once I laid me down,

His danger smites the breast of every maid, And felt the weighty hand of many a clown; 100 But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain, Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I

The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain; 10 Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye. 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; Ver. 69. Eftsoons, from eft, an ancient British word, sig. But Marian now, devoid of country cares, nifying soon. So that eftsoons is a doubling of the word Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares, soon ; which is, as it were, to say twice soon, or very soon. For yearning love the witless maid employs,

Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the an. And, “ Love" say swains, “al busy heed destroys cient English authors. I bave used it in this place in the Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart; same sense as Chaucer hath done in his Miller's Tale. "As A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart, 20 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. 103—-110 were not in the early editions.N.
Ver. 85.
Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vitis Iaccho,

Ver. 113. Marigold.
Formosa myrtus Veneri, sua laurea Phæbo,

Ver. 117. Rosemary. Phillis amat corylos. Illas dum Phillis amabit

Dic quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phobi, &c. Nascantur flores. Virg.

Ver. 120. Et vitula tu dignus & hic. Virg.

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Cicely, the western lass, that tends the kee,

“Have I not sat with thee full many a night, The rival of the parson's maid was she.

When dying embers were our only light, In dreary shade now Marian lies along,

When every creature did in slumbers lie, And, mixt with sighs, thus wails in plaining song : Besides our cat, my Colin Clout, and I? 90

“Ah, woful day! ah, woful noon and morn! No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin move, When first by thee my younglings white were shorn; While I alone am kept awake by love. Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eye,

| “Remember, Colin! when at last year's wake My sheep were silly, but more silly 1.

I bought the costly present for thy sake; Beneath the shears they felt no lasting smart, Couldst thou spell o'er the posy on thy knife, They lost but fleeces, while I lost a heart. 30 And with another change thy state of life? “Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart If thou forgett'st, I wot, I can repeat, true ?

My memory can tell the verse so sweet: What I have done for thee, will Cicely do? * As this is gray'd upon this knife of thine, Will she thy linen wash, or hosen darn,

So is thy image on this heart of mine. 100 And knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn ? But woe is me! such presents luckless prove, Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat ? For knives, they tell me, always sever love." And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait, Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimful Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide, When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull. In service-time drew Cicely's eyes aside ?

With apron blue to dry her tears she sought, “Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care, Then saw the cow wellserv'd, and took a groat. 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 ost, 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. The wailings of a maiden I recite,

“Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight A maiden fair, that Sparabella hight.
To moil all day, and merry-make at night. 50 Such strains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat.
If in the soil you guide the crooked share, Nor the gay goldfinch chants so sweet a note.
Your early breakfast is my constant care ; No magpye chatter'd, nor the painted jay,
And when with even hand you strow the grain, No ox was heard to low, nor ass to bray ;
I fright the thievish rooks from off the plain. No rustling breezes play'd the leaves among,
In misling days, when I my thresher heard, While thus her madrigal the damsel sung.
With nappy beer I to the barn repair'd;

A while, O D'Urfey! lend an ear or twain, Lost in the music of the whirling fail,

Nor, tho' in homely guise, my verse disdain; 10 To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail :

Whether thou seek'st new kingdoms in the Sun, In harvest, when the Sun was mounted high, Whether thy Muse does at Newmarket run, My leathern bottle did thy draught supply; 60 Or does with gossips at a feast regale, Whene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake, And heighten her conceits with sack and ale, And have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake: or else at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice, When in the welkin gathering showers were seen, Where D'Urfey's lyrics swell in every voice; 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,

* Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a fit of the To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste. sullens. Some have pretended that it is derived from When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf,

Dumops, a king of Egypt, that built a pyramid, and died I slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf; 70

of melancholy. So mopes, after the same manner, is

thought to have come from Merops, another Egyptian With crumbled bread I thickend well thy mess.

king, that died of the same distemper. But our English Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less !

antiquaries have conjectured that dumps, which is a "Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set,

grievous heariness of spirits, comes from the word dump. I, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met.

ling, the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this Upon my hand they cast a poring look,

country, much used in Norfolk, and other counties of Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook : England. They said, that many crosses I must prove;

Ver. 5. Some in my worldly gain, but most in love.

Immemor herbarum quos est mirata juvenca Next morn I miss'd three hens and our old cock;

Certantes, quorum stupefactæ carmine lynces, And off the hedge two pinners and a smock; 80

Et mutata suos requiêrunt flumina cursus. I bore these losses with a Christian mind,

Virg. And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind.

Ver. 9. But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scorn,

Tu mihi, seu magni superas jam saxa Timavi, I've known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn.

Sive oram Illyrici legis æquoris

Virg. Help me, ye gypsies; bring him home again, And to a constant lass give back her swain.

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

Yet guffer me, thou bard of wond'rous meed, "Suoner shall care disport in water elear,
Amid thy bays to weave this rural weed.

And speckled mnck'rel grize the meadows fair; Now the San drove adown the western rond, Sooner shall screech-owls bask in sunny day. And oxen, laid at rest, forgot the gond.

20. And the slow isa on trees, like squirrels, play: 70 The clown, fatigu'd, trudg'd homeward with his Sooner shall snails on insect pinions sove; spade,

Than I forret my shepherds wonted love. Across the meadows stretch'd the lengthened shade;' "My plant, ve lasses with this barthen sid, When Sparabella, pensive and forlorn,

- Tis hart so true a damsel dies a mad." Alike with yearning love and labor wom,

"Ah! didst thou know what protters I withstood, Lean'd on her rake, and 1. aight with doleful guise When late I met the squire in yonder wood! Did this sad plaint in moumful notes devise: To me he sped, regardless of his game,

«Come Night, a9 dark as pitch, surround my head, While all my cheek was glowing red with shame; From Sparabella Bumkinet is fled;

My lip he kisa'd, and prus'd my healthful look, The ribbon that his valorous cadgel won,

Then from his purse of silk a guinea took, 80 Last Sanday happier Clamsilis pat on

30 Into my hand he fore'd the tempting gold, Sare if he'd eyes (hut Lore, they say, has none) While I with modest struggling broke his hold. I whilom by that ribbon had been known. He swore that Duck, in livery strip'd with lace, Ah, well-a-day! I'm shent with banefal start, Should wed me soon, to keep me from disgrace ; For with the ribbon he bestow'd his heart

But I noe footman priz'd, nor golden fee; “My plaint, ye lasses, with this barthen aid, For what is lace or gold, compar'd to thee ! • Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid."

1 *My plaint, ye lasses, with this bartben aid, "Shall heavy Clamsilis with me compare ! - Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid." View this, ye lovers, and like me despair. 1-Now plain I ken whence Love his rise begun Her blabber'd lip by statty pipes is worn,

Sure he was born some bloody batcher's son, 90 And in her breath tobacco whiffs are borne! 40 Bred up in shambles, where our younglings slain The cleanly cheese-press she could never tam, Erst tanght him mischief, and to sport with pain. Her awkward fist did ne'er employ the chum; The father only silly sheep annoys, If e'er she brew'd, the drink would straight go soor, The son the sillier shepherdess destroys. Before it ever felt the thunder's power;

Does son or father greater mischief do! No huswifery the dowdy creature knew;

The sire is cruel, so the son is too. To sum up all, her tongue confess'd the shrew. "My plaint, ve lasses, with this barthen aid,

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

* Farewell. ye woods, ye meads, ye streams tha "I've often seen my visage in yon lake,

tiow; Nor are my features of the homeliest make: 50 A sadden death shall rid me of my woe. 100 Though Clumsilis may boast a whiter dye, This penknife keen my windpipe shall divide. Yet the black sloe turns in my rolling eye; What! shall I fall as squeaking pigs have died ! And fairest blossoms drop with every blast, No-To sone tree this carcass I'll suspend. Bat the brown beauty will like hollies last. But worrying curs find such untimely end! Her wan complexion's like the wither'd leek, I'11 speed me to the pond, where the high stool While Katharine pears adom my ruddy cheek. On the long plank hangs o'er the muddy pool; Yet she, alas! the witless lout hath won,

That stool, the dread of every scolding quean; And by her gain poor Sparabell's undone! Yet, sure a lover should not die so mean! Let hares and hounds in coupling straps unite, There plac'd aloft, I'll rave and rail by fits, The clucking hen make friendship with the kite; Though all the parish say I've lost my wits; 110 Let the fox simply wear the nuptial noose, 61 And thence, if courage holds, myself in throw, And join in wedlock with the waddling goose; And quench my passion in the lake below. For love hath brought a stranger thing to pass, "Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to moan. The fairest shepherd weds the foulest lass. And, by my case forewarn'd, go mind your own."

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

Ver. 67.
Ver. 17. Meed, an old word for fame, or renown. Ante leves ergo pascentur in ætbere cervi,
Ver. 18. -Hanc sine tempora circum

Et freta destituent nudos in littore pisces-
Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros.

Quem nostro illius labatur pectore vultus.

Virg. Ver. 25.

Ver. 89. To ker. Scire. Chaucer, to kex, and kende; Incumbens tereti Damon sic cæpit olivæ. Virg.

notus A. S. Cuanam. Goth. kunnam. Germanis kennen Ver. 33. Shent, an old word, signifying kurt, or harmed. Danis kiende. Islandis kunne. Belgis kennen. This word Ver. 37.

is of general use, but not very common, though not un. Mopeo Nisa datur, quid non speremus amantes ?

known to the vulgar. Ken, for prospicere, is well knowo,

and used to discover by the eye. Ray, F. R. S. Ver. 49.

Nunc scio quid sit amor, &c. Nec sum adeo informis, nuper me in littore vidi.

Crudelis mater magis an puer improbus ille ! Ver. 53

Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater. Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinis nigra leguntur.

Virg Virg. Ver. 59.

Ver. 99. Jungentur jam gryphes equis; tvoque sequenti

--vivite sylva: Cum capibus timidi venient ad pocula dama.

Præceps aërii speculá de montis in undas



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