Behap what will, next Sunday, after prayers, And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow. With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around. 130 But hold---our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his ears, O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears. He comes! he comes! Hobnelia's not bewray'd, 136 Ver. 123. Has herbas, atque hæc ponto mihi lecta venena Ipse dedit Maeris. Ver. 127.1 VIRG. Ποτον κακὸν ἁνριον οίσω. THEOC. Ver. 131.] Nescio quid certe est: et hylax in limine latrat. OR, THE DIRGE.* BUMKINET, GRUBBINOL. BUMKINET, WHY, Grubbinol, dost thou so wistful seem? Let cyder new wash sorrow from thy soul, GRUB. Ah! Bumkinet! since thou from hence wert From these sad plains all merriment is flown; [gone, Should I reveal my grief 'twould spoil thy cheer, And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear. BUMK. Hang Sorrow! let's to yonder hut repair, And, with trim sonnets, cast away our care. * Dirge, or Dyrge, a mournful ditty, or song of lamentation over the dead; not a contraction of the Latin dirigie, in the Popish hymn, Dirigie gressus meus, as some pretend, but from the Teutonic dyrke, laudare, to praise and extol: whence it is possible their dyrke and our dyrge was a laudatory song to conmemorate and applaud the dead. Cowell's Interpreter. Ver. 15. Incipe Mopse prior si quos aut Phyllidis ignes Aut Alconis habes laudes, aut jurgia Codri, Gillian of Croydon well thy pipe can play, Thou sing'st most sweet "O'er hills and far away." And catches quaint shall make the vallies ring, GRUB. Yes, blithesome lad, a tale I mean to sing, But with my wo shall distant vallies ring; The tale shall make our kidlings droop their head, BUMK. Is Blouzelinda dead? farewell my glee! As the wood pigeon cooes without his mate, The peerless maid that did all maids excel. The dropping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn; Where'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view, Woods, dairy, barn, and mows our passion knew. When I direct my eyes to yonder wood, Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood. 20 40 Ver. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch glooren, to re create. Thither I've often been the damsel's guide, ---or told my love. If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie, I shall her goodly countenance espy, When in the barn the sounding flail I ply, 50 60 Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly, 70 The poultry there will seem around to stand, Waiting upon her charitable hand: No succour meet the poultry now can find, For they, like me, have lost their Blouzelind, Whenever by yon barley-mow I pass, Before my eyes will trip the tidy lass, I pitch'd the sheaves (oh ! could I do so now) Lament, ye Fields! and rueful symptoms show, Ver. 84.7 Pro molli viola, pro purpureo Narcisso 90 VIRG. Ver. 90.] Et tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen. Ver. 93.1 Tale tuum carmen nobis, divine poeta, Quale sopor fessis in gramine: quale per æstam Dulcis aquæ saliente sitim restinguere rivo. Nos tamen hæc quocumque modo tibi nostra vicissim Dicemus, Daphninque tuum tollemus ad astra. VIRG. |