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; Yet suffer me, thou bard of wondrous meed, Amid thy bays to weave this rural weed. 10 20 Now the Sun drove adown the western road, And oxen, laid at rest, forgot the goad, The clown, fatigued, trudg'd homeward with his spade, Across the meadows stretch'd the lengthen'd shade; Alike with yearning love and labour worn, "Come Night as dark as pitch, surround my head, 30 40 Sure if he'd eyes, (but Love, they say, has none) Ver. 9. Tu mihi, seu magni superas jam saxa Timavi, Sive oram Illyrici legis æquoris 50 Virg. 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 several others that are sung by the British swains. Ver. 17. Meed, an old word for fame, or re nown. Ver. 18. Hanc sine tempora circum Incumbens tereti Damon sic cœpit olivæ. Ver. 33. Shent, an old word, signifying hurt, or harmed. Her wan complexion's like the wither'd leek, "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, ''Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' "Sooner shall cats disport in waters clear, And speckled mackrel 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. "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' 80 "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. "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, ''Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' "Farewell, ye woods, ye meads, ye streams that flow; A sudden death shall rid me of my woe. Ver. 59. Jungentur jam gryphes equis; ævoque sequenti Ante leves ergo pascentur in æthere cervi, 100 Virg. Virg. Ver. 89. To ken. Scire. Chaucer, to ken, and kende; notus A. S. cunnan. Goth. kunnan, Germanis kennen. Danis kiende. Islandis kunna. Belgis kennen. This word is of general use, but not very common, though not unknown 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. Virg. This penknife keen my windpipe shall divide. 110 "Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to moan, And, by my case forewarn'd, go mind your own." The Sun was set; the night came on apace, And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings; The prudent maiden deems it now too late, And till to morrow comes defers her fate. THURSDAY; OR, THE SPELL HOBNELIA. HORNELIA, seated in a dreary vale, In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale; Her piteous tale the winds in sighs bemoan, And pining Echo answers groan for groan. 120 "I rue the day, a rueful day I trow, The woeful day, a day indeed of woe! When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove, A maiden fine bedight he hapt to love; The maiden fine bedight bis love retains, And for the village he forsakes the plains. Return, my Lubberkin, these ditties hear; Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care. With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, 10 And turn me thrice around, around, around.' Then doff'd my shoe, and by my troth, I swear, 20 'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought, But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought; I scatter'd round the seed on every side, And three times in a trembling accent cry'd, This hemp-seed with my virgin hand I sow, Who shall my true-love be, the crop shall mow 30 Ver. 8. Dight, or bedight, from the Saxon word dightan, which signifies to set in order. I straight look'd back, and, if my eyes speak truth, With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.. With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, 40 And turn me thrice around, around, around.' And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 50 With my sharp heel I three times mark the And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 60 'With my sharp heel I three times mark the And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 69 "As peasecods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see; 80 With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "This lady fly I take from off the grass, Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass, Fly, lady-bird, North, South, or East, or West, Fly where the man is found that I love best.' He leaves my hand; see, to the West he's flown, To call my true-love from the faithless town. Ver. 64.ἐγὼ δ' ἐπὶ Λέλφιδι δάφναν Theoc Virg Ver. 21. Doff and don, contracted from the words Daphnis me malus urit, ego hanc in Daphnide. do off and do on. With my sharp heel I three times mark the And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 90 And turn me thrice around, around, around.' “This pippin shall another trial make, 100 With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 110 "As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree, I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee. He wist not when the hempen string I drew. Now mine I quickly doff, of inkle blue. Together fast I tye the garters twain ; And while I knit the knot repeat this strain: Three times a true-love's knot I tye secure, Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure !' • With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "As I was wont, 1 trudg'd last market-day To town, with new-laid eggs preserv'd in hay. 120 I made my market long before 'twas night, My purse grew heavy, and my basket light. Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went, And in love-powder all my money spent. Behap what will, next Sunday, after prayers, When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs, These golden flies into his mug I'll throw, 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. FRIDAY; OR, THE DIRGE♣ BUMKINET, GRUBRINOL BUMKINET. WHY, Grubbinol, dost thou so wistful seem? There's sorrow in thy look, if right I deem. 'Tis true yon oaks with yellow tops appear, And chilly blasts begin to nip the year; From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne, And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn. Yet ev'n this season pleasance blithe affords, Now the squeez'd press foams with our apple hoards. Come, let us hie, and quaff a cheery bowl, Let cyder new "wash sorrow from thy soul." GRUBBINOL. 10 Ah, Bumkinet! since thou from hence wert gone, From these sad plains all merriment is flown; Should I reveal my grief, 'twould spoil thy cheer, And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear. BUMKINET. "Hang sorrow!" Let's to yonder hut repair, And with trim sonnets "cast away our care.” "Gillian of Croydon" well thy pipe can play : Thou sing'st most sweet, "O'er hills and far away." Of" Patient Grissel" I devise to sing, And catches quaint shall make the vallies ring. 20 Come, Grubbinol, beneath this shelter, come; From hence we view our flocks securely roam. GRUBBINOL. Yes, blithsome lad, a tale I mean to sing, But with my woe shall distant vallies ring. The tale shall make our kidlings droop their head, For, woe is me!—our Blouzelind is dead! BUMKINET. Is Blouzelinda dead? farewell, my glee! The peerless maid that did all maids excel. Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed, And evening tears upon the grass be spread; The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow, And winds shall moan aloud-when loud they blow. Henceforth, as oft as Autumn shall return, The drooping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn; The season quite shall strip the country's pride, For 'twas in Autumn Blouzelinda dy'd. 40 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. Dirge, or dyrge, a mournful ditty, or song of lamentation, over the dead; not a contraction of the Latin dirige in the popish hymn, dirige gressus meos, as some pretend; but from the Teutonic dyrke, laudare, to praise and extol. Whence it is possible their dyrke, and our dirge, was a laudatory song to commemorate and applaud the dead. Cowell's Interpreter. Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes Aut Alconis habes laudes, aut jurgia Codri. Virg. Ver. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch gloòren, ̈ ̈ recreate Ver. 15. Thither I've often been the damsel's guide, Were frequently these happy shoulders' charge. I shall her goodly countenance espy; For there her goolly countenance I've seen, When in the barn the sounding flail I ply, No succour meet the poultry now can find, 60 When Blouzelind expir'd, the wether's bell How shall I, void of tears, ber death relate, 110 120 "Mother," quoth she, "let not the poultry need, I pitch'd the sheaves, (oh, could I do so now!) Lament, ye fields, and rueful symptoms show; 90 Virg. 130 After the good man warn'd us from his text, 139 And spoke the hour-glass in her praise-quite out, Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, Ver. 153. 160 Virg. They seiz'd the lass in apron clean array'd, SATURDAY; OR, THE FLIGHTS BOWZYBEUS. SUBLIMER strains, O rustic Muse! prepare; Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care; Thy hom ly voice to loftier numbers raise, The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays; With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse, While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse. 'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil Of the ripe harvest 'gan to rid the soil; Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout, Clean damsels bound the gather'd sheaves about; 10 The lads, with sharpen'd hook and sweating brow, Cut down the labours of the winter plough. To the near hedge young Susan steps aside, She feign'd her coat or garter was unty'd; Whate'er she did, she stoop'd adown unseen, And merry reapers what they list will ween. Soon she rose up, and cry'd with voice so shrill, That Echo answer'd from the distant hill; The youths and damsels ran to Susan's aid, Who thought some adder bad the lass dismay'd. 20 When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spy'd, His hat and oaken staff lay close beside; That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing, Or with the rosin'd bow torment the string: That Bowzybeus who, with fingers speed, Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed; That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue, Ballads and roundelays and catches sung: They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright, And in disport surround the drunken wight. 30 "Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous strong! Thou should'st have left the fair before 'twas night; But thou sat'st toping till the morning light." Cicely brisk maid, steps forth before the rout, "To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er, Ver. 22. 40 Serta procul tantum capiti delapsa jacebant. Virg. Ver. 40. Sanguincis frontem moris & tempora pingit. Virg. Ver. 43. Not ballad-singer plac'd above the crowd 50 Of Nature's laws his carols first begun, Why the grave owl can never face the Sun. For owls, as swains observe detest the light, And only sing and seek their prey by night. How turnips hide their swelling heads below; And how the closing coleworts upwards grow; How Will-a-wisp misleads night-faring clowns O'er hills, and sinking bugs, and pathless downs. Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail, And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. 60 He sung where woodcocks in the Summer feed, And in what climates they renew their breed (Some think to northern coasts their flight they Or to the Moon in midnight hours ascend); [tend, Where swallows in the Winter's season keep, And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep; How Nature does the puppy's eyelid close Till the bright Sun has nine times set and rose (For huntsmen by their long experience find, That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind). 70 Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows, For still new fairs before his eyes arose. How pedlars' stalls with glittering toys are laid, The various fairings of the country maid. Long silken laces hang upon the twine, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine; How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissars spies, And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes, Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told, Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold. 80 The lads and lasses trudge the street along, And all the fair is crowded in his song. The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells His pills, his balsams, and his ague-speils; Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, And, on the rope the venturous maiden swings; Jack Pudding in his party-colour'd jacket Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet. Of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats, Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cheats, 90 Then sad he sung the Children in the Wood: (Ah, barbarous uncle, stain'd with infant blood!) How blackberries they pluck'd in deserts wild, And fearless at the glittering falchion smil'd; Their little corpse the robin-red-breasts found, And strow'd with pious bill the leaves around. (Ah, gentle birds! if this verse lasts so long, Your names shall live for ever in my song.) For Buxom Joan he sung the doubtful strife, How the sly sailor made the inaid a wife. To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to tell What woeful wars in Chevy-chace befell, Ver. 47. 100 Nec tantum Phobo gaudet Parnassia rupes: Virg. Ver. 51. Our swain had possibly read Tusser, from whence he might have collected these philo sophical observations : Namque canebat, uti magnum per inane coacta, &c. Fortunati ambo, si quid mea carmina possunt, Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo. Virgi Ver. 99. A song in the comedy of Love for Love, Virg.beginning "A soldier and a sailor," &c. Carmina, quae vultis, cognoscite: carmina vobis ; Huic aliud mercedis erit. |