« הקודםהמשך »
Fair is the gillifiower, of gardens sweet,
While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise, Fair is the marygold, for pottage meet :
Nor leaks, nor oatmeal, nor potatoe, prize. But Blouzelind's than gilliflower more fair,
In good roast-beef my landlord sticks his knife,
90 My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare, That' e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. 50 But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare. Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down,
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be, And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown. The witless lamb may sport upon the plain,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me. The frisking kid delight the gaping swain,
LOBBIN CLOUT. The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
As once I play'd at blindman's buff, it hapt And my cur Tray play deftest feats around;
About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt. But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray,
I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind. Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.
True speaks that ancient proverb, “ Love is blind." LOBBIN CLOUT.
GUDDY. Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near;
As at hot-cockles once I laid me down, Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.
60 And felt the weighty hand of many a clown; 100 With her no sultry summer's heat I know; Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow. Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye. Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire, My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire !
On two near elms the slacken'd cord I hung, As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Now high, now low, my Blouzelinda swung,
With the rude wind her rumpled garment rose, Ev'n noon-tide labour seem'd an holiday; And holidays, if haply she were gone,
And show'd her taper leg, and scarlet hose. Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.
CUDDY. Eftsoons, O sweetheart kind, my love repay, Across the fallen oak the plank I laid, And all the year shall then be holiday. 70 And myself pois'd against the tottering maid.
High leap'd the plank; adown Buxoma fell; As Blouzelinda, in a gamesome mood,
I spy'd but faithful sweethearts never tell. 110 Bebind a haycock loudly laughing stood, I slily ran, and snatch'd a hasty kiss;
This riddle, Cuddy, if thou canst explain, She wip'd her lips, nor took it much amiss.
This wily riddle puzzles every swain. Believe me, Cuddy, while I'm bold to say, “ What power is that which bears the virgin's name, Her breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay. .
“ The richest metal joined with the same ?”
Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right,
I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight. I queintly stole a kiss, at first, 'tis true,
“ What flower is that which royal honour craves, She frown’d, yet after granted one or two.
80 Lobbin, I swear, believe who will my vows,
Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis strown on graves ?” Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cows.
Forbcar, contending louts, give o'er your strains ! Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear, An oaken staff each merits for bis pains. 120 Of Irish swains potatoe is the chear ;
But see the sun-beams bright to labour war, Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind, And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge's barn. Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind.
Your herds for want of water stand a-dry,
They're weary of your songs and so am I. Ver. 56. Deft, an old word, signifying brisk, or nimble.
Ver. 69. Eftsoons, from eft, an ancient British word, signifying soon. So that eftsoons is a doubling
TUESDAY; OR, THE DITTY. of the word soon : which is, as it were, to say twice soon, or very soon.
Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the ancient English authors. I have used it in this place in the same sense as Chancer hath done in
Young Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed, his Miller's Tale. “ As clerkes being full subtle Full well could dance, and deftiy tune the reed; and queint,” (by which he means arch, or waggisi); In every wood his carols sweet were known, and not in that obscene sense wherein he useth it At every wake his nimble feats were shown. in the line immediately following. Ver. 85.
Ver. 103—110 were not in the early editions. N. Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vitis laccho,
Ver. 113. Marygold. Formosa myrtus l'eneri, sua laurea Phæbo, Ver. 117, Rosemary. Phillis amat corylos. Illas dum Phillis amabit, Dic quibus in terris inscripti nomii a regum Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phæbj. &c. Nascantur flores.
Ver. 120. Et vitula tu dignus & hic.
When in the ring the rustic routs he threw, With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mess. The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew; Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less ! Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head,
“ Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set, His danger smites the breast of every maid, I, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met. But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain, Upon my hand they cast a poring look, The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain ; 10 Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook: Marian, that soft could stroke the udder'd cow, They said, that many crosses I must prove; Or lessen with her sieve the barley-mow;
Some in my worldly gain, but most in love. Marbled with sage the hardening cheese she press’d, Next morn I miss'd three hens and our old cock, And yellow butter Marian's skill confess'd; And off the hedge two pinners and a smock; 80 But Marian now, devoid of country cares,
I bore these losses with a Christian mind, Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares; And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind. For yearning love the witless maid employs, But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scom, : And “ Love” say swains, “all busy heed destroys." I've known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn. Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart ; Help me, ye gypsies; bring him home again, A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart, 20 | And to a constant lass give back her swain. Cicely, the western lass, that tends the kee, “ Have I not sat with thee full many a night, The rival of the parson's maid was she.
When dying embers were our only light, In dreary shade now Marian lies along,
When every creature did in slumbers lie, And, mixt with sighs, thus wails in plaining song: Besides our cat, my Colin Clout, and I? 90
Ah, woeful day! ah, woeful noon and morn! No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin more, When first by thee my younglings white were While I alone am kept awake by love. Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eye, (shorn; “Remember, Colin, when at last year's wake My sheep were silly, but more silly I.
I bought the costly present for thy sake; Beneath the shear they felt no lasting smart, Could'st thou spell o'er the posy on thy knife, They lost but fleeces, while I lost a heart. 30 | And with another change thy state of life? “Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart If thou forgett’st, I wot, I can repeat, true ?
My memory can tell the verse so sweet : What I have done for thee, will Cicely do?
As this is gravid upon this knife of thine, Will she thy linen wash, or hosen darn,
So is thy image on this heart of mine.' 100 And knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn? But woe is me! such presents luckless prove, Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat ? For knives, they tell me, always sever love." And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait, Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimful, Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide, When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bul). In service-time drew Cicely's eyes aside ?
With apron blue to dry her tears she sought, “ Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care, Then saw the cow well serv'd, and took a groat. My new disasters in my look appear.
WEDNESDAY; OR, THE DUMPS'.
“ Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight A maiden fair, that Sparabella hight. To moil all day, and merry-make at night. 50 Such strains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat, If in the soil you guide the crooked share,
Nor the gay goldfinch chants so sweet a note. Your early breakfast is my constant care;
No magpye chatter'd, nor the painted jay,
' Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail:
fit of the sullens. Some have pretended that it is In harvest, when the Sun was mounted high, derived from Dumops, a king of Egypt, that built My leathern bottle did thy draught supply;
60 a pyramid, and died of melancholy. So mopes, Whene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake, after the same manner, is thought to have come And have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake : from Merops, another Egyptian king, that died of When in the welkin gathering showers were seen, the same distemper. But our English antiquaries I lagg'd the last with Colin on the green;
have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous And when at eve returning with thy car,
heaviness of spirits, comes from the word dumplin, Awaiting heard the jingling bells from far,
the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this Straight on the fire the sooty pot 1 plac'd,
country, much used in Norfolk, and other counties To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste. of England. When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf,
Ver. 5. I slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf; 70 Immemor herbarum quos est mirata juvenca
Certantes, quorum stupefactæ carmine lynces, Ver. 21. Kee, a west-country word for kine, or Et mutata suos requiêrunt fumina cursus.
A while, O D'Urfey! lend an ear or twain, Her wan complexion's like the wither'd leek, . Nor, tho' in homely guise, my verse disdain ; 10 While Katharine pears adorn my ruddy cheek. Whether thou seek'st new kingdoms in the Sun, Yet she, alas ! the witless lout hath won, Whether thy Muse does at Newmarket run, And by her gain poor Sparabell's undone ! Or does with gossips at a feast regale,
Let hares and hounds in coupling straps unite, And heighten her conceits with sack and ale, The clucking hen make friendship with the kite ; Or else at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice, Let the fox simply wear the nuptial noose, 61 Where D'Urfey's lyrics swell in every voice ; And join in wedlock with the waddling goose ; Yet suffer me, thou bard of wondrous meed, For love hath brought a stranger thing to pass, Amid thy bays to weave this rural weed.
The fairest shepherd weds the foulest lass. Now the Sun drove adown the western road, “ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, And oxen, laid at rest, forgot the goad, 20 • 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' The clown, fatigued, trudg'd homeward with his “ Sooner shall cats disport in waters clear, spade,
And speckled mackrel graze the meadows fair; Across the meadows stretch'd the lengthen'd shade; Sooner shall screech-owls bask in sunny day, When Sparabella, pensive and forlorn,
And the slow ass on trees, like squirrels, play; 70 Alike with yearning love and labour worn, Sooner shall snails on insect pinions rove; Lean'd on her fake, and straight with doleful guise Than I forget my shepherd's wonted love. Did this sad plaint in mournful notes devise : “My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid,
“Come Night as dark as pitch, surround my head, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a-maid.' From Sparabella Bumkinet is filed ;
“Ah ! didst thou know what proffers I withstood, The ribbon that his valorous cudgel won,
When late I met the squire in yonder wood ! Last Sunday happier Clumsilis put on. 30 To me he sped, regardless of his game, Sure if he'd eyes, (but Love, they say, has none) While all my cheek was glowing red with shame; I whilom by that ribbon had been known.
My lip he kiss'd, and prais'd my healthful look, Ah, well-a-day! I'm shent with baneful smart, Then from his purse of silk a guinea took, 80 For with the ribbon he bestow'd his heart.
Into my hand he fore'd the tempting gold, “ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, While I with modest struggling broke his hold. • 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'
He swore that Dick, in livery strip'd with lace, “Shall heavy Clumsilis with me compare ? Should wed me soon, to keep me from disgrace ; View this, ye lovers, and like me despair.
But I nor footman priz'd, nor golden fee; Her blubber'd lip by smutty pipes is worn,
For what is lace or gold, compard to thee? And in her breath tobacco whiffs are borne ! 40 “My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, The cleanly checse-press she could never turn, " 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a majd.' Her awkward fist did ne'er employ the churn; “Now plain I ken whence Love his rise begun; If e'er she brew'd, the drink would straight go sour, Sure he was born some bloody butcher's son, 90 Before it ever felt the thunder's power;
Bred up in shambles, where our younglings slain No huswifery the dowdy creature knew ;
Erst taught him mischief, and to sport with pain, To sum up all, her tongue confess'd the shrew. The father only silly sheep annoys,
“My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, The son the sillier shepherdess destroys. < 'Jis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'
Does son or father greater mischief do? “ I've often seen my visage in yon lake,
The sire is cruel, so the son is too. Nor are my features of the homeliest make: 50 “My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, Though Clumsilis may boast a whiter dye,
• 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a majd.' Yet the black sloe turns in my rolling eye;
“ Farewell, ye woods, ye meads ye streams And fairest blossoms drop with every blast,
that flow; But the brown beauty will like hollies last. A sudden death shall rid me of my woe. 100
Ver. 59. Tu mihi, seu magni superas jam saxa Timavi,
Jungentur jam gryphes equis; ævoque sequenti Sive oram Ilyrici lezis æquorism
Virg: Cum canibus timidi venient ad pocula damæ. Ver. 11. An opera written by this author, called Ver. 67.
Virg. The World in the San, or the Kingdom of Birds ; | Ante leves ergo pascentur in æthere cervi, he is also famous for his song on the Newmarket Et freta destituent nudos in littore pisces horse-race, and several others that are sung by the Quàm nostru illius labatur pectore vultus.
Virg. British swains. Ver. 17. Meed, an old word for fame, or re
Ver. 89. To ken. Scire.' Chaucer, to ken, and
kende ; notus A. S. cunnan. Goth. kunnan. Ger Hanc sine tempora circum Ver. 18.
manis kennen. Danis kiende. Islandis kunna Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros.
Belgis kennen. This word is of general use, but Ver. 25.
not very common, though not unknown to the Incumbens tereti Damon sic capit oliva. Virg.
vulgar. Ken, for prospicere, is well known, and Ver. 33. Shent, an old word, signifying hurt, or
used to discover by the eye. Ray, F. R. S. harmed.
Nunc scio quid sit amor, &c. Ver. 37.
Crudelis mater magis an puer improbus ille! Mopso Nisa datur, quid non speremus amantes ? Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater. Ver. 49. Virg.
Virg: Nec sum adeo informis, nuper me in littore vidi. Ver. 99.
rivite sylvæ : Ver. 53.
Virg. Præceps aérii specula de mortis i undas Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinis nigra leguntur. Virg. Deferar.
This penknife keen my windpipe shall divide. I straight look'd back, and, if my eyes speak truth; What' shall I fall as squeaking pigs have dy'd ? With his keen scythe behind me came the youth. No-To some tree this carcase I'll suspend.
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the But worrying curs find such untimely end !
ground, I'll speed me to the pond, where the high stool And turn me thrice around, around, around.' On the long plank hangs o'er the muddy pool,
“ Last Valentine, the day wheu birds of kind That stool, the dread of every scolding quean ; Their paramours with mutual chirpings find; Yet, sure a lover should not die so mean!
I rearly rose, just at the break of day, There plac'd aloft, I'll rave and rail by fits, Before the Sun had chas'd the stars away ;
40 Though all the parish say I've lost my wits ; 110 A-field I went, amid the morning dew, And thence, if courage holds, myself I'll throw,
To milk my kine (for so should huswives do); And quench my passion in the lake below.
Thee first I spy'd, and the first swain we see, “ Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to moan, | In spite of Fortune, shall our true-love be. And, by my case forewarn’d, go mind your own." See, Lubberkin, each bird bis partner take;
The Sun was set ; the night came on apace, And canst thou then thy sweetheart dear forsake ? And falling dews bewet around the place;
"With my sharp beel I three times mark the The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings,
ground, And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings ; And turn me thrice around, around, around.' The prudent maiden deems it now too late, And till to morrow comes defers her fate. 120
“ Last May-day fair I search'd to find a snail,
I seiz'd the vermine, whom I quickly sped,
And on the earth the milk-white embers spread.
• With my sharp heel I three times mark the HOBNELIA, seated in a dreary vale,
ground, In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale;
And turn me thrice around, around, around. 60 Her piteous tale the winds in sighs bemoan, And pining Echo answers groan for groan.
" Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame,
And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name; " I re the day, a rueful day I trow,
This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd, The woeful day, a day indeed of woe!
That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd. When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove,
As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow; A maiden fine bedight he hapt to love;
For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow. The maiden fine bedight bis love retains,
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the And for the village he forsakes the plains. 10
ground, Return, my Lubbeskin, these ditties hear;
And turn me thrice around, around, around. 69 Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care. With my sharp heel I three times mark the “ As peasecods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see ground,
One that was closely fillid with three times three, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' Which, when I cropp'd, I safely home convey'd,
And o'er the door the spell in secret laid ; “ When first the year I heard the cuckow sing,
My wheel I turn'd, and sung a baliad new, And call with welcome note the budding spring,
While from the spindle I the fleecea drew; I straightway set a-running with such hasie,
The latch mov'd up, when, who should first come in, Deborah that won the smock scarce ran so fast;
But, in his proper person—Lubberkin Till spent for lack of breath, quite weary grown,
I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see; l'pon a rising bank I sat adown,
Sure sign that he would break his word with me, Then doft'd my shoe, and by my trotlı, I swear,
Eftsoons I join'd it with my wonted slight: Therein I spy'd this yellow frizzled hair,
So may again his love with mine unite ! 80 As like to Lubberkin's in curl and hue,
* With my sharp heel I three times mark the As if upon his comely pate it grew.
ground, • With my sharp heel I three times mark the
And turn ne thrice around, around, around.' ground And tura me thrice around, around, around.'
“ This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass, " At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought,
Fly, laviy-bird, North, South, or ast. or West, But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought;
Fly where the man is found that I love best.' I scatter'd round the seed on every side,
He leaves my hand; see, to the West he's flown, And three times in a trembling accent cry'd, 30
To call my true-love from the faithless town. • This hemp seed with my virgin band I sow, Who shall my true-love be, the crop shall mow.'
Ver. 64.lyw isi aiapido sápuan Ver. 8. Dight, or berlight, from the Saxon word Allw. ri' 's'avrà daxio, piya zarrugirada. dightan, which signifies to set in order.
Theoc. Ver. 21. Doff and don, contracted from the words Daphnis me malus urit, ego hanc in Daphnide. do off and do on.
Virg YOL X.
* With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
FRIDAY; OR, THE DIRGES And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 90
"I pare this pippin round and round again, My shepherd's name to flourish on the plain,
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, . With my sharp heel I three times mark the
And chilly blasts begin to nip the year; ground,
From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne, And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn. “ This pippin shall another trial make,
Yet ev'n this season pleasance blithe affords, See from the core two kernels brown I take; 100 Now the squecz’d press foams with our apple hoards This on my check for Lubberkin is worn;
Come, let us hie, and quaff a cheery bowl, And Boobyclod on t'other side is borne.
Let cyder new " wash sorrow from thy soul.” 10 But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground, A certain token that his love's unsound;
Ah, Bumkinet ! since thou from hence mert gone, While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last;
From these sad plains all merriment is town; Oh, were his lips to mine but join'd so fast !
Should I reveal my grief, 'twould spoil thy cheer, With my sharp heel I three times mark the
And make thine eye v'erflow with many a tear. ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' As Lulborkin once slept beneath a tree,
“ Hang sorrow !" Let's to yonder but repair, I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee: 110 And with trim sonnets “cast away our care.»
“ Gillian of Croydon” well thy pipe can play: He wist not when the bempen string I drew,
Thou sing'st most sweet, “ O'er hills and far away." Now mme I quickly doff, of inkle blue.
Of “ Patient Grisse!” | devise to sing, Together fast I tye the garters twain ;
And catches quaint shall make the vallies ring. 20 And while I knit the knot repeat this strain :
Come, Grubbined, beneath this shelter, come; · Three times a true-love's knot I tye secure,
From hence we view our flocks securely roam. firin be the knot, firm inay his love endure ! • With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
Yes, blithsoine lad, a tale I mean to sing, And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
But with my woe shall distant vallies ring.
The tale shall make our kidlings droop their head, “ As I was wont, I trudg'd last market-day To town, with new-laid eggs preserv'd in hay: 120 For, woe is ne!-our Blouzelind is dead !
Is Blouzelinda dead ? farewell, my glee!
No happiness is now reserv'd for me.
As the wood-pigeon coos without his mate, Rehap what will, next Sunday, after prayers,
So shall my doloful dirge bewail her fate. SO When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs,
Of Biouzelinda fair I mean to tell, These golden fries into his mug i'll throw,
The peerless maid that did all maids excel. And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow.
Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed, • With iny sharp heel I three times mark the
And evening tears upon the grass be spread ; ground,
The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 130
And winds shall moan aloud-whep loud they blos,
Henceforth, as oft as Autumn shall return, “ But holl-our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his
The drooping trees, whene'er it rains, sball mourn; ears,
The seasou quite shall strip the country's pride, O’er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears.
For 'twas in Autuinn Blouzelinda dy'd. He comes ! he comes! Llobnelia's not bewray'd,
Where'er I gad, 1 Blouzelind shall view, Nor shall she, crown'd with willow, die a maid.
Woods, dairy, barn, and inous, our passion kaer, Ue rous, he swears, he'll give me a green gown :
When I direct iny eyes to yonder wood, Ol dear! I fall adown, adown, adown!”
Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood. Ver. 93. Transque caput jace; ne respexeris.
' Dirge, or dyrge, a mournful ditty, or song Ver. 109.
Virg. of lamentation, over the dead; not a contractiva Necte tribus nodis ternos, Amarylli, colores: of the Latin dirige in the popish hymn, dirige Necte, Amarylli, modo; & Peneris dic vincula gressus meos, as some pretend; but from the Teenecto.
Virg. tonic dyrke, laudare, to praise and extol. Whence
it is possible their dyrke, and our dirge, was a Ver. 123.
laudatory song to commemorate and applaud the Has herbas, atque hæc Ponto milli lecta venena
dead. Ipse dedit Maris.
Ver. 15. Ver. 127. -Ποτών κακόν αύριον οισώ. . Theoc. Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes Ver. 131.
Aut Alconis habes laudes, aut jurgia Codri. Virr Nesci quid certe est; & Hylax in limninę latrat. Ver. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch glooren, #
Virg. I recreate.