PROLOGUE.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
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 Cic❜ly seen,
Buxoma tore her pinners clean,
In doleful dumps stood ev'ry 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 say had wrought this blessed deed;
This leach Arbuthnot was yclept,
Who many a night not once had slept,
But watch'd our gracious sov'reign still;
For who could rest while she was ill?
Oh! may'st thou henceforth sweetly sleep:
Sheer, Swains! oh! sheer 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 Lansdown fresh as flow'r 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 wou'd I depaint
In roundelay or sonnet quaint.
There many a worthy wight I've seen
In ribband blue and ribband green:
As Oxford, who a wand doth bear,
Like Moses, in our bibles, fair;
Who for our traffick 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 leud 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 ybound.
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 Bowzybeus sings.
Rather than verse of simple swain
Shou'd stay the trade of France or Spain,
Or for the plaint of parson's maid,
Yon' Emp'ror's packets be delay'd,
In sooth I swear by holy Paul,
I'd burn book, preface, notes, and all.
LOBBIN CLOUT, CUDDY, CLODDIPOLE.
THY younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,
No thrustles shrill the bramble-bush forsake,
No chirpin 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?
CUD. Ah! Lobbin Clout, I ween my plight is guest, 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.
Ver. 3.] Welkin, the same as welken; an old Saxon word, signifying a cloud: by poetical licence 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--
Ibid.] Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or bright.
Ver. 5. Scant, used in ancient British authors for
Ver. 6.1 Rear, an expression in several counties of England for early in the morning.
Ver. 7. To ween, deriv'd from the Saxon, te think or conceive.
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