To the Right Honourable the
Lord Viscount BOLINGBROKE.
O, I who erft 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 laffes ftood around
To hear my boxen haut-boy found,
Our Clerk came pofting 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,
and lay in state.
At this, in tears was Cicly feen,
Buxoma tore her pinners clean,
In doleful dumps ftood ev'ry clown,
The parfon rent his band and gown.
For me, when as I heard that death Had fnatch'd Queen ANNE to Elzabeth, I broke my reed, and fighing swore
While thus we ftood as in a found,
And wet with tears, like dew, the ground,
Full foon by bonfire and by bell
We learnt our Liege was paffing well.
A skilful leach (fo God him fpeed)
They fay had wrought this bleffed deed,
This leach Arbuthnot was yclept,
Who many a night not once had slept ;
But watch'd our gracious Sov'reign ftill :
For who could reft when she was ill ?
Oh, may'st thou henceforth fweetly sleep!
Sheer, fwains, oh fheer your fofteft fheep
To fwell his couch; for well I ween,
He fav'd the realm who fav'd the Queen.
Quoth I, please God, I'll hye with glee
To court, this Arbuthnot to fee.
I fold my sheep and lambkins too,
For filver loops and garment blue:
My boxen haut-boy fweet of found,
For lace that edg'd mine hat around ;
For Lightfoot and my fcrip I got
A gorgeous fword, and eke a knot.
So forth I far'd to court with speed, Of foldier's drum withouten dreed; For Peace allays the fhepherd's fear Of wearing cap of Granadier.
There faw I ladies all a-row Before their Queen in feemly fhew.
No more I'll fing Buxoma brown,
Like goldfinch in her Sunday gown;
Nor Clumfilis, nor Marian bright,
Nor damfel that Hobnelia hight.
But Landfdown fresh as flow'r of May,
And Berkely lady blithe and gay,
And Anglefey whose speech exceeds
The voice of pipe, or oaten reeds;
And blooming Hyde, with eyes fo rare,
And Montague beyond compare.
Such ladies fair wou'd I depaint
In roundelay or fonnet quaint.
There many a worthy wight I've seen
In ribbon blue and ribbon green.
As Oxford, who a wand doth bear,
Like Mofes in our Bibles fair;
Who for our traffick forms defigns,
And gives to Britain Indian mines.
Now, fhepherds, clip your fleecy care,
Ye maids, your fpinning-wheels prepare,
Ye weavers all your fhuttles throw,
And bid broad-cloths and ferges grow,
For trading free fhall thrive again,
Nor leafings leud affright the swain.
There faw I St. John, fweet of mien, Full ftedfaft both to Church and Queen. With whofe fair name I'll deck my ftrain, St. John right courteous to the fwain;
For thus he told me on a day,
Trim are thy fonnets, gentle Gay,
And certes, mirth it were to fee
Thy joyous madrigals twice three,
With preface meet, and notes profound,
Imprinted fair, and well y-bound.
All fuddenly then home I fped,
And did ev'n as my Lord had faid.
Lo here, thou haft mine Eclogues fair,
But let not thefe detain thine ear.
Let not affairs of States and Kings
Wait, while our Bowzybeus fings.
Rather than verse of fimple swain
shou'd stay the trade of France or Spain,
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