164 THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK; IN SIX PASTORALS. PROEME. GREAT marvel hath it been (and that not unworthily to diverse worthy wits), that in this our Island of Britain, in all rare sciences so greatly abounding, more especially in all kinds of Poesy highly flourishing, no Poet (though otherwise of notable cunning in roundelays) hath hit on the right simple Eclogue after the true ancient guise of Theocritus, before this mine attempt. Other Poet travelling in this plain highway of Pastoral know I none. Yet, certes, such it behoveth a Pastoral to be, as nature in the country affordeth; and the manners also meetly copied from the rustical folk therein. In this also my love to my native country Britain much pricked me forward to describe aright the manners of our own honest and laborious ploughmen, in no wise sure more unworthy a British Poet's imitation, than those of Sicily or Arcadie: albeit, not ignorant I am, what a rout and rabblement of critical gallimawfry hath been made of late days by certain young men of insipid delicacy, concerning, I wist not what, Golden Age, and other outrageous conceits, to which they would confine Pastoral, whereof, I avow, I account nought at all, knowing no age so justly to be instiled Golden as this of our Sovereign Lady Queen ANNE. This idle trumpery (only fit for schools and schoolboys) unto that ancient Doric Shepherd Theocritus, or his mates, was never known; he rightly, throughout his fifth Idyll, maketh his louts give foul language, and behold their goats at rut in all simplicity. Ωπόλος ἔκκ' ἐσορῆ τὰς μηκάδας οἷα βατεῦντι, Τακεται ὀφθαλμὼς ὅτι οὐ τράγος αὐτός ἔγεντο. Theoc. Verily, as little pleasance receiveth a true homebred taste from all the fine finical new-fangled fool eries of this gay Gothic garniture, wherewith they so nicely bedeck their court-clowns, or clown-courtiers (for, which to call them rightly, I wot not), as would a prudent citizen, journeying to his country farms, should he find them occupied by people of this motely make, instead of plain downright hearty cleanly folk, such as be now tenants to the burgesses of this realme. Furthermore, it is my purpose, gentle reader, to set - before thee, as it were, a picture, or rather lively landskip of thy own country, just as thou mightest see it, didest thou take a walk into the fields at the proper season: even as maister Milton hath elegantly set forth the same. As one who long in populous city pent, Where houses thick, and sewers annoy the air, Thou wilt not find my shepherdesses idly piping on oaten reeds, but milking the kine, tying up the sheaves, or if the hogs are astray driving them to their styes. My shepherd gathereth none other nosegays but what are the growth of our own fields, he sleepeth not under myrtle shades, but under a hedge, nor doth he vigilantly defend his flocks from wolves, because there are none, as maister Spencer well observeth. Well is known that since the Saxon King Forasmuch as I have mentioned maister Spencer, soothly I must acknowledge him a bard of sweetest memorial. Yet hath his shepherd's boy at some time s raised his rustic reed to rhymes more rumbling than rural. Diverse grave points also hath he handled of churchly matter and doubts in religion daily arising, to great clerks only appertaining. What liketh me best are his names, indeed right simple and meet for the country, such as Lobbin, Cuddy, Hobbinol, Diggon, and others, some of which I have made bold to borrow. Moreover, as he called his Eclogues the Shepherd's Calendar, and divided the same into the twelve months, I have chosen (peradventure not over rashly) to name mine by the days of the week, omit ting Sunday or the Sabbath, ours being supposed to be Christian shepherds, and to be then at church worship. Yet further of many of maister Spencer's Eclogues it may be observed, though months they be called, of the said months therein, nothing is specified; wherein I have also esteemed him worthy mine imitation. That principally, courteous reader, whereof I would have thee to be advertised (seeing I depart from the vulgar usage), is touching the language of my shepherds; which is, soothly to say, such as is neither spoken by the country maiden, or the courtly dame; nay, not only such as in the present times is not uttered, but was never uttered in times past: and, if I judge aright, will never be uttered in times future. It having too much of the country to be fit for the court, too much of the court to be fit for the country; too much of the language of old times to be fit for the present, too much of the present to have been fit for the old, and too much of both to be fit for any time to come. Granted also it is, that in this my language, I seem unto myself, as a London mason, who calcu lateth his work for a term of years, when he buildeth with old materials upon a ground rent that is not his own, which soon turneth to rubbish and ruins. For this point no reason can I allege, only deep learned ensamples having led me thereunto. But here again, much comfort ariseth in me, from the hopes, in that I conceive, when these words in the course of transitory things shall decay, it may so hap, in meet time that some lover of simplicity shall arise, who shall have the hardiness to render these mine Eclogues into such more modern dialect as shall be then understood, to which end, glosses and explications of uncouth pastoral terms are annexed. Gentle reader, turn over the leaf, and entertain thyself with the prospect of thine own country, limned by the painful hand of Thy Loving Countryman, 167 PROLOGUE. To the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount Bolingbroke. Sung Bumkinet and Bowzybee, At this, in tears was Cic'ly seen, For me, when as I heard that death While thus we stood, as in a stound, We learnt our liege was passing well. I sold my sheep and lambkins too, So forth I far'd to court with speed, 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 Marion bright, Nor damsel that Hobnelia hight. But Lansdown fresh as flower of May, And Berkley Lady blithe and gay, And Anglesey, 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 steadfast 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, |