Come, Blouzelinda, eafe thy fwain's defire,
My fummer's fhadow and my winter's fire!
CUDDY.

As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
E'en noon-tide labour feem'd an holiday`;
And holidays, if haply fhe were gone,
Like worky-days I wish would foon be done.
Eftfoon, O fweet-heart kind, my love repay,
And all the year fhall then be holiday.

LOBBIN CLOUT.

As Blouzelinda in a gamefome mood,
Behind a haycock loudly laughing stood,
I flily ran, and snatch'd a hafty kiss,
She wip'd her lips, nor took it much amifs.
Believe me, Cuddy, while I'm bold to say,

Her Breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay.

CUDDY.

As my Buxoma in a morning fair,

With gentle finger ftroak'd her milky care,

65

70

75

69. Eftfoons from eft an ancient British word fignifying foon. So that eftfoons is a doubling of the word foon, which is, as it were, to fay twice foon, or very foon.

I queintly ftole a kiss; at first, 'tis true

She frown'd, yet after granted one or two.
Lobin, I swear, believe who will my vows,
Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cows.
LOBIN CLOUT.

Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear,
Of Irish fwains potatoe is the chear;

Oats for their feafts, the Scotish shepherds grind,
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind.
While fhe loves turnips, butter I'll defpife,
Nor leeks nor oatmeal, nor potatoe prize.

CUDDY.

In good roft-beef my landlord sticks his knife,
The capon fat delights his dainty wife,
Pudding our Parfon eats, the Squire loves hare,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.

80

85

90

79. Queint bas various fignifications in the ancient English authors. I bave used it in this place in the same sense as Chaucer bath done in his Miller's Tale. As Clerkes been full fubtile and queint, (by which be means arch or waggifh) and not in that obscene fenfe wherein be useth it in the line immediately following.

83. Populus Alcide gratiffima, vitis Iaccho,

Formofa Myrtus Veneri, fua Laurea Phaba.
Phyllis amat Corylos. Illas dum Phillis amabit,
Nec Myrtus vincet Corylos nec Laurea Phœbi, &e,

Virg.

While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.
LOBBIN CLOUT.

As once I play'd at Blindman's- Buff, it hapt
About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt.
I miss'd the fwains, and feiz'd on Blouzelind.
True speaks that ancient proverb, Love is blind.
CUDDY.

As at Hot-cockles once I laid me down,

And felt the weighty hand of many a Clown;
Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I

Quick rofe, and read soft mischief in her eye.
LOBBIN CLOUT.

On two near Elms, the flacken'd cord I hung,
Now high, now low my Blauzelinda fwung.

95

100

With the rude wind her rumpled garment rose, 105 And show'd her taper leg, and scarlet hose.

CUDDY.

Acrofs the fallen oak the plank I laid, And my felf pois'd against the tott'ring maid, High leapt the plank; adown Buxoma fell; I spy'd—but faithful sweethearts never tell,

LOBBIN CLOUT.

This riddle, Cuddy, if thou canst explain,

This wily riddle puzzles ev'ry swain.

What Flower is that which bears the Virgin's name, The richest metal joined with the fame?

CUDDY.

Answer, thou Carle, and judge this riddle right, 115
I'll frankly own thee for a cunning Wight.
What Flower is that which royal honour craves?
Adjoin the Virgin, and'tis ftrown on graves.
CLOD DIPOLE.

Forbear contending louts, give o'er your strains,
An oaken ftaff each merits for his pains,
But fee the fun-beams bright to labour warn,

And gild the thatch of goodman Hodges' barn.
Your herds for want of water stand adry,
They're weary of your fongs-and fo am I.

120

TUESDAY;

Y

OR, THE

DITT Y.

MARIA N.

OUNG Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed,
Full well could dance, and deftly tune

the reed;

In ev'ry wood his carrols fweet were

known,

At ev'ry wake his nimble feats were shown.
When in the ring the ruftick routs he threw,
The damfels pleasures with his conquefts grew;
Or when aflant the cudgel threats his head,
His danger fmites the breaft of ev'ry maid,
But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the fwain,
The Parfon's maid, and neateft of the plain.
Marian that foft could ftroke the udder'd cow,
Or leffen with her fieve the barley mow;

Marbled