MAY · AEGLOGA QUINTA

may

MAY. ÆGLOGA QUINTA. ARGUMENT.

In this fifth Æglogue, under the person of two shepheards, Piers and Palinode, be represented two forms of Pastors or Ministers, or the Protestant and the Catholic; whose chief talk standeth in reasoning, whether the life of the one must be like the other; with whom having shewed, that it is dangerous to maintain any fellowship, or give too much credit to their colourable and feigned good-will, he telleth him a tale of the Fox, that, by such a counterpoint of craftiness, deceived and devoured the credulous Kid.

PALINODE. PIERS.PALINODE.Is not thilk the merry month of May,When love-lads masken in fresh array?How falls it, then, we no merrier bene,Alike as others, girt in gaudy green?Our bloncket liveries be all too sadFor thilk same season, when all is ycladWith pleasance; the ground with grass, the woodsWith green leaves, the bushes with blooming buds.Youth's folk now flocken in every where,To gather May-buskets and smelling brere;And home they hasten the posts to dight,And all the kirk-pillars ere day-light,With hawthorn buds, and sweet eglantine,And garlands of roses, and sops-in-wine.Such merrimake holy saints doth queme,But we here sitten as drown'd in dream.PIERS. For younkers, Palinode, such follies fit,But we tway be men of elder wit.PAL. Sicker this morrow, no longer ago,I saw a shoal of shepheards outgoWith singing, and shouting, and jolly cheer:Before them yode a lusty tabrere,That to the many a horn-pipe play'd,Whereto they dancen each one with his maid.To see those folks make such jovisance,Made my heart after the pipe to dance:Then to the green wood they speeden them all,To fetchen home May with their musical;And home they bringen in a royal throne,Crowned as king; and his queen attoneWas Lady Flora, on whom did attendA fair flock of faeries, and a fresh bendOf lovely nymphs. (O that I were there,To helpen the ladies their Maybush bear!)Ah! Piers, be not thy teeth on edge, to thinkHow great sport they gainen with little swink?PIERS. Perdie, so far am I from envy,That their fondness inly I pity:Those faitours little regarden their charge,While they, letting their sheep run at large,Passen their time, that should be sparely spent,In lustihed and wanton merriment.Thilk same be shepheards for the devil's stead,That playen while their flocks be unfed:Well it is seen their sheep be not their own,That letten them run at random alone:But they be hired for little payOf other, that caren as little as they,What fallen the flock, so they have the fleece,And get all the gain, paying but a piece.I muse, what account both these will make;The one for the hire, which he doth take,And th' other for leaving his Lord's task,When great Pan account of shepheards shall ask.PAL. Sicker, now I see thou speakest of spite,All for thou lackest somdele their delight.I (as I am) had rather be envied,All were it of my foe, than fonly pitied;And yet, if need were, pitied would be,Rather than other should scorn at me;For pitied is mishap that n'as remedy,But scorned be deeds of fond foolery.What shoulden shepheards other things tend,Than, sith their God his good does them send,Reapen the fruit thereof, that is pleasure,The while they here liven at ease and leisure?For, when they be dead, their good is ygoe,They sleepen in rest, well as other moe:Then with them wends what they spent in cost,But what they left behind them is lost.Good is no good, but if it be spend;God giveth good for none other end.PIERS. Ah! Palinode, thou art a world's child:Who touches pitch, must needs be defil'd;But shepheards (as Algrind7used to say)Must not live alike as men of the lay.With them it sits to care for their heir,Enaunter their heritage do impair:They must provide for means of maintenance,And to continue their wont countenance:But shepheard must walk another way,Sike worldly sovenance he must for-say.The son of his loins why should he regardTo leave enriched with that he hath spar'd?Should not thilk God, that gave him that good,Eke cherish his child, if in his ways he stood?For if he mislive in lewdness and lust,Little boots all the wealth, and the trust,That his father left by inheritance;All will be soon wasted with misgovernance:But through this, and other their miscreance,They maken many a wrong chevisance,Heaping up waves of wealth and woe,The floods whereof shall them overflow.Sike men's folly I cannot compareBetter than to the ape's foolish care,That is so enamoured of her young one,(And yet, God wot, such cause had she none,)That with her hard hold, and strait embracing,She stoppeth the breath of her youngling.So oftentimes, whenas good is meant,Evil ensueth of wrong intent.The time was once, and may again retorn,(For ought may happen, that hath been beforn,)When shepheards had none inheritance,Ne of land nor fee in sufferance,But what might arise of the bare sheep,(Were it more or less) which they did keep.Well ywis was it with shepheards then:Nought having, nought feared they to forego;For Pan himself was their inheritance,And little them served for their maintenance.The shepheards' God so well them guided,That of nought they were unprovided;Butter enough, honey, milk, and whey,And their flocks' fleeces them to array:But tract of time, and long prosperity,(That nurse of vice, this of insolency,)Lulled the shepheards in such security,That, not content with loyal obeisance,Some gan to gape for greedy governance,And match them self with mighty potentates,Lovers of lordship, and troublers of states:Then gan shepheards' swains to look aloft,And leave to live hard, and learn to ligg soft:Then, under colour of shepheards, somewhileThere crept in wolves, full of fraud and guile,That often devoured their own sheep,And often the shepheards that did them keep:This was the first source of shepheards' sorrow,That now nill be quit with bail nor borrow.PAL. Three things to bear be very burdenous,But the fourth to forbear is outrageous:Women, that of love's longing once lust,Hardly forbearen, but have it they must:So when choler is inflamed with rage,Wanting revenge, is hard to assuage:And who can counsel a thirsty soul,With patience to forbear the offer'd bowl?But of all burdens, that a man can bear,Most is, a fool's talk to bear and to hear.I ween the giant has not such a weight,That bears on his shoulders the heaven's height.Thou findest fault where n'is to be found,And buildest strong work upon a weak ground:Thou railest on right withouten reason,And blamest them much for small encheason.How shoulden shepheards live, if not so?What? should they pinen in pain and woe?Nay, say I thereto, by my dear borrow,If I may rest, I nill live in sorrow.Sorrow ne need be hastened on,For he will come, without calling, anon,While times enduren of tranquillity,Usen we freely our felicity;For, when approachen the stormy stowres,We must with our shoulders bear off the sharp showers;And, sooth to sayn, nought seemeth sike strife,That shepheards so witen each other's life,And layen their faults the worlds beforn,The while their foes do each of them scorn.Let none mislike of that may not be mended;So contest soon by concord might be ended.PIERS. Shepheard, I list no accordance makeWith shepheard, that does the right way forsake;And of the twain, if choice were to me,Had lever my foe than my friend he be;For what concord have light and dark sam?Or what peace has the lion with the lamb?Such faitours, when their false hearts be hid,Will do as did the Fox by the Kid.8PAL. Now, Piers, of fellowship, tell us that saying;For the lad can keep both our flocks from straying.PIERS. Thilk same Kid (as I can well devise)Was too very foolish and unwise;For on a time, in summer season,The Goat her dam, that had good reason,Yode forth abroad unto the green wood,To brouze, or play, or what she thought good:But, for she had a motherly careOf her young son, and wit to beware,She set her youngling before her knee,That was both fresh and lovely to see,And full of favour as kid might be.His velvet head began to shoot out,And his wreathed horns gan newly sprout;The blossoms of lust to bud did begin,And spring forth rankly under his chin."My son," (quoth she, and with that gan weep;For careful thoughts in her heart did creep;)"God bless thee, poor orphan! as he might me,And send thee joy of thy jollity.Thy father," (that word she spake with pain,For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twain,)"Thy father, had he lived this day,To see the branch of his body display,How would he have joyed at this sweet sight?But ah! false Fortune such joy did him spite,And cut off his days with untimely woe,Betraying him into the trains of his foe.Now I, a wailful widow behight,Of my old age have this one delight,To see thee succeed in thy father's stead,And flourish in flowers of lustihead;For even so thy father his head upheld,And so his haughty horns did he weld."Then marking him with melting eyes,A thrilling throb from her heart did arise,And interrupted all her other speechWith some old sorrow that made a new breach;Seemed she saw in her youngling's faceThe old lineaments of his father's grace.At last her sullen silence she broke,And gan his new-budded beard to stroke."Kiddie," (quoth she,) "thou kenst the great careI have of thy health and thy welfare,Which many wild beasts liggen in waitFor to entrap in thy tender state:But most the Fox, master of collusion;For he has vowed thy last confusion.Forthy, my Kiddie, be rul'd by me,And never give trust to his treachery;And, if he chance come when I am abroad,Sperr the gate fast, for fear of fraud;Ne for all his worst, nor for his best,Open the door at his request."So schooled the Goat her wanton son,That answer'd his mother, all should be done.Then went the pensive dam out of door,And chanc'd to stumble at the threshold floor;Her stumbling step somewhat her amazed,(For such, as signs of ill luck, be dispraised;)Yet forth she yode, thereat half aghast;And Kiddie the door sperred after her fast.It was not long, after she was gone,But the false Fox came to the door anone;Not as a fox, for then he had be kend,But all as a poor pedlar he did wend,Bearing a truss of trifles at his back,As bells, and babes, and glasses, in his pack:A biggen he had got about his brain,For in his headpiece he felt a sore pain:His hinder heel was wrapt in a clout,For with great cold he had got the gout:There at the door he cast me down his pack,And laid him down, and groaned, "Alack! alack!Ah! dear Lord! and sweet Saint Charity!That some good body would once pity me!"Well heard Kiddie all this sore constraint,And long'd to know the cause of his complaint;Then, creeping close behind the wicket's clink,Privily he peeped out through a chink,Yet not so privily but the Fox him spied;For deceitful meaning is double-eyed."Ah! good young master," (then gan he cry,)"Jesus bless that sweet face I espy,And keep your corpse from the careful stoundsThat in my carrion carcase abounds."The Kid, pitying his heaviness,Asked the cause of his great distress,And also who, and whence that he were.Then he, that had well yconn'd his lere,Thus medled his talk with many a tear:"Sick, sick, alas! and little lack of dead,But I be relieved by your beastlyhead.I am a poor sheep, albe my colour dun,For with long travel I am brent in the sun;And if that, my grandsire me said, be true,Sicker, I am very sib to you;So be your goodlihead do not disdainThe base kindred of so simple swain.Of mercy and favour then I you pray,With your aid to forestall my near decay."Then out of his pack a glass he took,Wherein while Kiddie unwares did look,He was so enamoured with the newell,That nought he deemed dear for the jewel:Then opened he the door, and in cameThe false Fox, as he were stark lame:His tail he clapt betwixt his legs twain,Lest he should be descried by his train.Being within, the Kid made him good glee,All for the love of the glass he did see.After his cheer, the pedlar gan chat,And tell many leasings of this and that,And how he could shew many a fine knack;Then shewed his ware and opened his pack,All save a bell, which he left behindIn the basket for the Kid to find;Which when the Kid stooped down to catch,He popt him in, and his basket did latch;Ne stayed he once the door to make fast,But ran away with him in all hast.Home when the doubtful dame had her hied,She might see the door stand open wide;All aghast, loudly she gan to callHer Kid; but he nould answer at all:Then on the floor she saw the merchandiceOf which her son had set too dear a price.What help! her Kid she knew well was gone:She weeped, and wailed, and made great moan.Such end had the Kid, for he nould warned beOf craft, coloured with simplicity;And such end, perdie, does all them remain,That of such falsers' friendship be fain.PAL. Truly, Piers, thou art beside thy wit,Furthest fro the mark, weening it to hit.Now, I pray thee, let me thy tale borrowFor our Sir John,9to say to-morrowAt the kirk when it is holiday;For well he means, but little can say.But, and if foxes be so crafty as so,Much needeth all shepheards them to know.PIERS. Of their falsehood more could I recount,But now the bright sun ginneth to dismount;And, for the dewy night now doth nigh,I hold it best for us home to hie.PALINODE'S EMBLEME.Πασ μεν απιστοσ απιστει(Every one without faith is suspicious.)PIERS, HIS EMBLEME.Τισ δ' αρα πιστισ απιστòWhat faith, then, in the faithless?)palinode's emblempier's emblem

PALINODE. PIERS.

PALINODE.Is not thilk the merry month of May,When love-lads masken in fresh array?How falls it, then, we no merrier bene,Alike as others, girt in gaudy green?Our bloncket liveries be all too sadFor thilk same season, when all is ycladWith pleasance; the ground with grass, the woodsWith green leaves, the bushes with blooming buds.Youth's folk now flocken in every where,To gather May-buskets and smelling brere;And home they hasten the posts to dight,And all the kirk-pillars ere day-light,With hawthorn buds, and sweet eglantine,And garlands of roses, and sops-in-wine.Such merrimake holy saints doth queme,But we here sitten as drown'd in dream.PIERS. For younkers, Palinode, such follies fit,But we tway be men of elder wit.PAL. Sicker this morrow, no longer ago,I saw a shoal of shepheards outgoWith singing, and shouting, and jolly cheer:Before them yode a lusty tabrere,That to the many a horn-pipe play'd,Whereto they dancen each one with his maid.To see those folks make such jovisance,Made my heart after the pipe to dance:Then to the green wood they speeden them all,To fetchen home May with their musical;And home they bringen in a royal throne,Crowned as king; and his queen attoneWas Lady Flora, on whom did attendA fair flock of faeries, and a fresh bendOf lovely nymphs. (O that I were there,To helpen the ladies their Maybush bear!)Ah! Piers, be not thy teeth on edge, to thinkHow great sport they gainen with little swink?PIERS. Perdie, so far am I from envy,That their fondness inly I pity:Those faitours little regarden their charge,While they, letting their sheep run at large,Passen their time, that should be sparely spent,In lustihed and wanton merriment.Thilk same be shepheards for the devil's stead,That playen while their flocks be unfed:Well it is seen their sheep be not their own,That letten them run at random alone:But they be hired for little payOf other, that caren as little as they,What fallen the flock, so they have the fleece,And get all the gain, paying but a piece.I muse, what account both these will make;The one for the hire, which he doth take,And th' other for leaving his Lord's task,When great Pan account of shepheards shall ask.PAL. Sicker, now I see thou speakest of spite,All for thou lackest somdele their delight.I (as I am) had rather be envied,All were it of my foe, than fonly pitied;And yet, if need were, pitied would be,Rather than other should scorn at me;For pitied is mishap that n'as remedy,But scorned be deeds of fond foolery.What shoulden shepheards other things tend,Than, sith their God his good does them send,Reapen the fruit thereof, that is pleasure,The while they here liven at ease and leisure?For, when they be dead, their good is ygoe,They sleepen in rest, well as other moe:Then with them wends what they spent in cost,But what they left behind them is lost.Good is no good, but if it be spend;God giveth good for none other end.PIERS. Ah! Palinode, thou art a world's child:Who touches pitch, must needs be defil'd;But shepheards (as Algrind7used to say)Must not live alike as men of the lay.With them it sits to care for their heir,Enaunter their heritage do impair:They must provide for means of maintenance,And to continue their wont countenance:But shepheard must walk another way,Sike worldly sovenance he must for-say.The son of his loins why should he regardTo leave enriched with that he hath spar'd?Should not thilk God, that gave him that good,Eke cherish his child, if in his ways he stood?For if he mislive in lewdness and lust,Little boots all the wealth, and the trust,That his father left by inheritance;All will be soon wasted with misgovernance:But through this, and other their miscreance,They maken many a wrong chevisance,Heaping up waves of wealth and woe,The floods whereof shall them overflow.Sike men's folly I cannot compareBetter than to the ape's foolish care,That is so enamoured of her young one,(And yet, God wot, such cause had she none,)That with her hard hold, and strait embracing,She stoppeth the breath of her youngling.So oftentimes, whenas good is meant,Evil ensueth of wrong intent.The time was once, and may again retorn,(For ought may happen, that hath been beforn,)When shepheards had none inheritance,Ne of land nor fee in sufferance,But what might arise of the bare sheep,(Were it more or less) which they did keep.Well ywis was it with shepheards then:Nought having, nought feared they to forego;For Pan himself was their inheritance,And little them served for their maintenance.The shepheards' God so well them guided,That of nought they were unprovided;Butter enough, honey, milk, and whey,And their flocks' fleeces them to array:But tract of time, and long prosperity,(That nurse of vice, this of insolency,)Lulled the shepheards in such security,That, not content with loyal obeisance,Some gan to gape for greedy governance,And match them self with mighty potentates,Lovers of lordship, and troublers of states:Then gan shepheards' swains to look aloft,And leave to live hard, and learn to ligg soft:Then, under colour of shepheards, somewhileThere crept in wolves, full of fraud and guile,That often devoured their own sheep,And often the shepheards that did them keep:This was the first source of shepheards' sorrow,That now nill be quit with bail nor borrow.PAL. Three things to bear be very burdenous,But the fourth to forbear is outrageous:Women, that of love's longing once lust,Hardly forbearen, but have it they must:So when choler is inflamed with rage,Wanting revenge, is hard to assuage:And who can counsel a thirsty soul,With patience to forbear the offer'd bowl?But of all burdens, that a man can bear,Most is, a fool's talk to bear and to hear.I ween the giant has not such a weight,That bears on his shoulders the heaven's height.Thou findest fault where n'is to be found,And buildest strong work upon a weak ground:Thou railest on right withouten reason,And blamest them much for small encheason.How shoulden shepheards live, if not so?What? should they pinen in pain and woe?Nay, say I thereto, by my dear borrow,If I may rest, I nill live in sorrow.Sorrow ne need be hastened on,For he will come, without calling, anon,While times enduren of tranquillity,Usen we freely our felicity;For, when approachen the stormy stowres,We must with our shoulders bear off the sharp showers;And, sooth to sayn, nought seemeth sike strife,That shepheards so witen each other's life,And layen their faults the worlds beforn,The while their foes do each of them scorn.Let none mislike of that may not be mended;So contest soon by concord might be ended.PIERS. Shepheard, I list no accordance makeWith shepheard, that does the right way forsake;And of the twain, if choice were to me,Had lever my foe than my friend he be;For what concord have light and dark sam?Or what peace has the lion with the lamb?Such faitours, when their false hearts be hid,Will do as did the Fox by the Kid.8PAL. Now, Piers, of fellowship, tell us that saying;For the lad can keep both our flocks from straying.PIERS. Thilk same Kid (as I can well devise)Was too very foolish and unwise;For on a time, in summer season,The Goat her dam, that had good reason,Yode forth abroad unto the green wood,To brouze, or play, or what she thought good:But, for she had a motherly careOf her young son, and wit to beware,She set her youngling before her knee,That was both fresh and lovely to see,And full of favour as kid might be.His velvet head began to shoot out,And his wreathed horns gan newly sprout;The blossoms of lust to bud did begin,And spring forth rankly under his chin."My son," (quoth she, and with that gan weep;For careful thoughts in her heart did creep;)"God bless thee, poor orphan! as he might me,And send thee joy of thy jollity.Thy father," (that word she spake with pain,For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twain,)"Thy father, had he lived this day,To see the branch of his body display,How would he have joyed at this sweet sight?But ah! false Fortune such joy did him spite,And cut off his days with untimely woe,Betraying him into the trains of his foe.Now I, a wailful widow behight,Of my old age have this one delight,To see thee succeed in thy father's stead,And flourish in flowers of lustihead;For even so thy father his head upheld,And so his haughty horns did he weld."Then marking him with melting eyes,A thrilling throb from her heart did arise,And interrupted all her other speechWith some old sorrow that made a new breach;Seemed she saw in her youngling's faceThe old lineaments of his father's grace.At last her sullen silence she broke,And gan his new-budded beard to stroke."Kiddie," (quoth she,) "thou kenst the great careI have of thy health and thy welfare,Which many wild beasts liggen in waitFor to entrap in thy tender state:But most the Fox, master of collusion;For he has vowed thy last confusion.Forthy, my Kiddie, be rul'd by me,And never give trust to his treachery;And, if he chance come when I am abroad,Sperr the gate fast, for fear of fraud;Ne for all his worst, nor for his best,Open the door at his request."So schooled the Goat her wanton son,That answer'd his mother, all should be done.Then went the pensive dam out of door,And chanc'd to stumble at the threshold floor;Her stumbling step somewhat her amazed,(For such, as signs of ill luck, be dispraised;)Yet forth she yode, thereat half aghast;And Kiddie the door sperred after her fast.It was not long, after she was gone,But the false Fox came to the door anone;Not as a fox, for then he had be kend,But all as a poor pedlar he did wend,Bearing a truss of trifles at his back,As bells, and babes, and glasses, in his pack:A biggen he had got about his brain,For in his headpiece he felt a sore pain:His hinder heel was wrapt in a clout,For with great cold he had got the gout:There at the door he cast me down his pack,And laid him down, and groaned, "Alack! alack!Ah! dear Lord! and sweet Saint Charity!That some good body would once pity me!"Well heard Kiddie all this sore constraint,And long'd to know the cause of his complaint;Then, creeping close behind the wicket's clink,Privily he peeped out through a chink,Yet not so privily but the Fox him spied;For deceitful meaning is double-eyed."Ah! good young master," (then gan he cry,)"Jesus bless that sweet face I espy,And keep your corpse from the careful stoundsThat in my carrion carcase abounds."The Kid, pitying his heaviness,Asked the cause of his great distress,And also who, and whence that he were.Then he, that had well yconn'd his lere,Thus medled his talk with many a tear:"Sick, sick, alas! and little lack of dead,But I be relieved by your beastlyhead.I am a poor sheep, albe my colour dun,For with long travel I am brent in the sun;And if that, my grandsire me said, be true,Sicker, I am very sib to you;So be your goodlihead do not disdainThe base kindred of so simple swain.Of mercy and favour then I you pray,With your aid to forestall my near decay."Then out of his pack a glass he took,Wherein while Kiddie unwares did look,He was so enamoured with the newell,That nought he deemed dear for the jewel:Then opened he the door, and in cameThe false Fox, as he were stark lame:His tail he clapt betwixt his legs twain,Lest he should be descried by his train.Being within, the Kid made him good glee,All for the love of the glass he did see.After his cheer, the pedlar gan chat,And tell many leasings of this and that,And how he could shew many a fine knack;Then shewed his ware and opened his pack,All save a bell, which he left behindIn the basket for the Kid to find;Which when the Kid stooped down to catch,He popt him in, and his basket did latch;Ne stayed he once the door to make fast,But ran away with him in all hast.Home when the doubtful dame had her hied,She might see the door stand open wide;All aghast, loudly she gan to callHer Kid; but he nould answer at all:Then on the floor she saw the merchandiceOf which her son had set too dear a price.What help! her Kid she knew well was gone:She weeped, and wailed, and made great moan.Such end had the Kid, for he nould warned beOf craft, coloured with simplicity;And such end, perdie, does all them remain,That of such falsers' friendship be fain.PAL. Truly, Piers, thou art beside thy wit,Furthest fro the mark, weening it to hit.Now, I pray thee, let me thy tale borrowFor our Sir John,9to say to-morrowAt the kirk when it is holiday;For well he means, but little can say.But, and if foxes be so crafty as so,Much needeth all shepheards them to know.PIERS. Of their falsehood more could I recount,But now the bright sun ginneth to dismount;And, for the dewy night now doth nigh,I hold it best for us home to hie.

PALINODE.

Is not thilk the merry month of May,

When love-lads masken in fresh array?

How falls it, then, we no merrier bene,

Alike as others, girt in gaudy green?

Our bloncket liveries be all too sad

For thilk same season, when all is yclad

With pleasance; the ground with grass, the woods

With green leaves, the bushes with blooming buds.

Youth's folk now flocken in every where,

To gather May-buskets and smelling brere;

And home they hasten the posts to dight,

And all the kirk-pillars ere day-light,

With hawthorn buds, and sweet eglantine,

And garlands of roses, and sops-in-wine.

Such merrimake holy saints doth queme,

But we here sitten as drown'd in dream.

PIERS. For younkers, Palinode, such follies fit,

But we tway be men of elder wit.

PAL. Sicker this morrow, no longer ago,

I saw a shoal of shepheards outgo

With singing, and shouting, and jolly cheer:

Before them yode a lusty tabrere,

That to the many a horn-pipe play'd,

Whereto they dancen each one with his maid.

To see those folks make such jovisance,

Made my heart after the pipe to dance:

Then to the green wood they speeden them all,

To fetchen home May with their musical;

And home they bringen in a royal throne,

Crowned as king; and his queen attone

Was Lady Flora, on whom did attend

A fair flock of faeries, and a fresh bend

Of lovely nymphs. (O that I were there,

To helpen the ladies their Maybush bear!)

Ah! Piers, be not thy teeth on edge, to think

How great sport they gainen with little swink?

PIERS. Perdie, so far am I from envy,

That their fondness inly I pity:

Those faitours little regarden their charge,

While they, letting their sheep run at large,

Passen their time, that should be sparely spent,

In lustihed and wanton merriment.

Thilk same be shepheards for the devil's stead,

That playen while their flocks be unfed:

Well it is seen their sheep be not their own,

That letten them run at random alone:

But they be hired for little pay

Of other, that caren as little as they,

What fallen the flock, so they have the fleece,

And get all the gain, paying but a piece.

I muse, what account both these will make;

The one for the hire, which he doth take,

And th' other for leaving his Lord's task,

When great Pan account of shepheards shall ask.

PAL. Sicker, now I see thou speakest of spite,

All for thou lackest somdele their delight.

I (as I am) had rather be envied,

All were it of my foe, than fonly pitied;

And yet, if need were, pitied would be,

Rather than other should scorn at me;

For pitied is mishap that n'as remedy,

But scorned be deeds of fond foolery.

What shoulden shepheards other things tend,

Than, sith their God his good does them send,

Reapen the fruit thereof, that is pleasure,

The while they here liven at ease and leisure?

For, when they be dead, their good is ygoe,

They sleepen in rest, well as other moe:

Then with them wends what they spent in cost,

But what they left behind them is lost.

Good is no good, but if it be spend;

God giveth good for none other end.

PIERS. Ah! Palinode, thou art a world's child:

Who touches pitch, must needs be defil'd;

But shepheards (as Algrind7used to say)

Must not live alike as men of the lay.

With them it sits to care for their heir,

Enaunter their heritage do impair:

They must provide for means of maintenance,

And to continue their wont countenance:

But shepheard must walk another way,

Sike worldly sovenance he must for-say.

The son of his loins why should he regard

To leave enriched with that he hath spar'd?

Should not thilk God, that gave him that good,

Eke cherish his child, if in his ways he stood?

For if he mislive in lewdness and lust,

Little boots all the wealth, and the trust,

That his father left by inheritance;

All will be soon wasted with misgovernance:

But through this, and other their miscreance,

They maken many a wrong chevisance,

Heaping up waves of wealth and woe,

The floods whereof shall them overflow.

Sike men's folly I cannot compare

Better than to the ape's foolish care,

That is so enamoured of her young one,

(And yet, God wot, such cause had she none,)

That with her hard hold, and strait embracing,

She stoppeth the breath of her youngling.

So oftentimes, whenas good is meant,

Evil ensueth of wrong intent.

The time was once, and may again retorn,

(For ought may happen, that hath been beforn,)

When shepheards had none inheritance,

Ne of land nor fee in sufferance,

But what might arise of the bare sheep,

(Were it more or less) which they did keep.

Well ywis was it with shepheards then:

Nought having, nought feared they to forego;

For Pan himself was their inheritance,

And little them served for their maintenance.

The shepheards' God so well them guided,

That of nought they were unprovided;

Butter enough, honey, milk, and whey,

And their flocks' fleeces them to array:

But tract of time, and long prosperity,

(That nurse of vice, this of insolency,)

Lulled the shepheards in such security,

That, not content with loyal obeisance,

Some gan to gape for greedy governance,

And match them self with mighty potentates,

Lovers of lordship, and troublers of states:

Then gan shepheards' swains to look aloft,

And leave to live hard, and learn to ligg soft:

Then, under colour of shepheards, somewhile

There crept in wolves, full of fraud and guile,

That often devoured their own sheep,

And often the shepheards that did them keep:

This was the first source of shepheards' sorrow,

That now nill be quit with bail nor borrow.

PAL. Three things to bear be very burdenous,

But the fourth to forbear is outrageous:

Women, that of love's longing once lust,

Hardly forbearen, but have it they must:

So when choler is inflamed with rage,

Wanting revenge, is hard to assuage:

And who can counsel a thirsty soul,

With patience to forbear the offer'd bowl?

But of all burdens, that a man can bear,

Most is, a fool's talk to bear and to hear.

I ween the giant has not such a weight,

That bears on his shoulders the heaven's height.

Thou findest fault where n'is to be found,

And buildest strong work upon a weak ground:

Thou railest on right withouten reason,

And blamest them much for small encheason.

How shoulden shepheards live, if not so?

What? should they pinen in pain and woe?

Nay, say I thereto, by my dear borrow,

If I may rest, I nill live in sorrow.

Sorrow ne need be hastened on,

For he will come, without calling, anon,

While times enduren of tranquillity,

Usen we freely our felicity;

For, when approachen the stormy stowres,

We must with our shoulders bear off the sharp showers;

And, sooth to sayn, nought seemeth sike strife,

That shepheards so witen each other's life,

And layen their faults the worlds beforn,

The while their foes do each of them scorn.

Let none mislike of that may not be mended;

So contest soon by concord might be ended.

PIERS. Shepheard, I list no accordance make

With shepheard, that does the right way forsake;

And of the twain, if choice were to me,

Had lever my foe than my friend he be;

For what concord have light and dark sam?

Or what peace has the lion with the lamb?

Such faitours, when their false hearts be hid,

Will do as did the Fox by the Kid.8

PAL. Now, Piers, of fellowship, tell us that saying;

For the lad can keep both our flocks from straying.

PIERS. Thilk same Kid (as I can well devise)

Was too very foolish and unwise;

For on a time, in summer season,

The Goat her dam, that had good reason,

Yode forth abroad unto the green wood,

To brouze, or play, or what she thought good:

But, for she had a motherly care

Of her young son, and wit to beware,

She set her youngling before her knee,

That was both fresh and lovely to see,

And full of favour as kid might be.

His velvet head began to shoot out,

And his wreathed horns gan newly sprout;

The blossoms of lust to bud did begin,

And spring forth rankly under his chin.

"My son," (quoth she, and with that gan weep;

For careful thoughts in her heart did creep;)

"God bless thee, poor orphan! as he might me,

And send thee joy of thy jollity.

Thy father," (that word she spake with pain,

For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twain,)

"Thy father, had he lived this day,

To see the branch of his body display,

How would he have joyed at this sweet sight?

But ah! false Fortune such joy did him spite,

And cut off his days with untimely woe,

Betraying him into the trains of his foe.

Now I, a wailful widow behight,

Of my old age have this one delight,

To see thee succeed in thy father's stead,

And flourish in flowers of lustihead;

For even so thy father his head upheld,

And so his haughty horns did he weld."

Then marking him with melting eyes,

A thrilling throb from her heart did arise,

And interrupted all her other speech

With some old sorrow that made a new breach;

Seemed she saw in her youngling's face

The old lineaments of his father's grace.

At last her sullen silence she broke,

And gan his new-budded beard to stroke.

"Kiddie," (quoth she,) "thou kenst the great care

I have of thy health and thy welfare,

Which many wild beasts liggen in wait

For to entrap in thy tender state:

But most the Fox, master of collusion;

For he has vowed thy last confusion.

Forthy, my Kiddie, be rul'd by me,

And never give trust to his treachery;

And, if he chance come when I am abroad,

Sperr the gate fast, for fear of fraud;

Ne for all his worst, nor for his best,

Open the door at his request."

So schooled the Goat her wanton son,

That answer'd his mother, all should be done.

Then went the pensive dam out of door,

And chanc'd to stumble at the threshold floor;

Her stumbling step somewhat her amazed,

(For such, as signs of ill luck, be dispraised;)

Yet forth she yode, thereat half aghast;

And Kiddie the door sperred after her fast.

It was not long, after she was gone,

But the false Fox came to the door anone;

Not as a fox, for then he had be kend,

But all as a poor pedlar he did wend,

Bearing a truss of trifles at his back,

As bells, and babes, and glasses, in his pack:

A biggen he had got about his brain,

For in his headpiece he felt a sore pain:

His hinder heel was wrapt in a clout,

For with great cold he had got the gout:

There at the door he cast me down his pack,

And laid him down, and groaned, "Alack! alack!

Ah! dear Lord! and sweet Saint Charity!

That some good body would once pity me!"

Well heard Kiddie all this sore constraint,

And long'd to know the cause of his complaint;

Then, creeping close behind the wicket's clink,

Privily he peeped out through a chink,

Yet not so privily but the Fox him spied;

For deceitful meaning is double-eyed.

"Ah! good young master," (then gan he cry,)

"Jesus bless that sweet face I espy,

And keep your corpse from the careful stounds

That in my carrion carcase abounds."

The Kid, pitying his heaviness,

Asked the cause of his great distress,

And also who, and whence that he were.

Then he, that had well yconn'd his lere,

Thus medled his talk with many a tear:

"Sick, sick, alas! and little lack of dead,

But I be relieved by your beastlyhead.

I am a poor sheep, albe my colour dun,

For with long travel I am brent in the sun;

And if that, my grandsire me said, be true,

Sicker, I am very sib to you;

So be your goodlihead do not disdain

The base kindred of so simple swain.

Of mercy and favour then I you pray,

With your aid to forestall my near decay."

Then out of his pack a glass he took,

Wherein while Kiddie unwares did look,

He was so enamoured with the newell,

That nought he deemed dear for the jewel:

Then opened he the door, and in came

The false Fox, as he were stark lame:

His tail he clapt betwixt his legs twain,

Lest he should be descried by his train.

Being within, the Kid made him good glee,

All for the love of the glass he did see.

After his cheer, the pedlar gan chat,

And tell many leasings of this and that,

And how he could shew many a fine knack;

Then shewed his ware and opened his pack,

All save a bell, which he left behind

In the basket for the Kid to find;

Which when the Kid stooped down to catch,

He popt him in, and his basket did latch;

Ne stayed he once the door to make fast,

But ran away with him in all hast.

Home when the doubtful dame had her hied,

She might see the door stand open wide;

All aghast, loudly she gan to call

Her Kid; but he nould answer at all:

Then on the floor she saw the merchandice

Of which her son had set too dear a price.

What help! her Kid she knew well was gone:

She weeped, and wailed, and made great moan.

Such end had the Kid, for he nould warned be

Of craft, coloured with simplicity;

And such end, perdie, does all them remain,

That of such falsers' friendship be fain.

PAL. Truly, Piers, thou art beside thy wit,

Furthest fro the mark, weening it to hit.

Now, I pray thee, let me thy tale borrow

For our Sir John,9to say to-morrow

At the kirk when it is holiday;

For well he means, but little can say.

But, and if foxes be so crafty as so,

Much needeth all shepheards them to know.

PIERS. Of their falsehood more could I recount,

But now the bright sun ginneth to dismount;

And, for the dewy night now doth nigh,

I hold it best for us home to hie.

PALINODE'S EMBLEME.Πασ μεν απιστοσ απιστει(Every one without faith is suspicious.)PIERS, HIS EMBLEME.Τισ δ' αρα πιστισ απιστòWhat faith, then, in the faithless?)palinode's emblempier's emblem

PALINODE'S EMBLEME.Πασ μεν απιστοσ απιστει(Every one without faith is suspicious.)PIERS, HIS EMBLEME.Τισ δ' αρα πιστισ απιστòWhat faith, then, in the faithless?)

PALINODE'S EMBLEME.Πασ μεν απιστοσ απιστει(Every one without faith is suspicious.)

PIERS, HIS EMBLEME.Τισ δ' αρα πιστισ απιστòWhat faith, then, in the faithless?)

palinode's emblempier's emblem

june

JUNE. ÆGLOGA SEXTA. ARGUMENT.

This Æglogue is wholly vowed to the complaining of Colin's ill success in his love. For being (as is aforesaid) enamoured of a country lass Rosalind, and having (as seemeth) found place in her heart, he lamenteth to his dear friend Hobbinol, that he is now forsaken unfaithfully, and in his stead Menalcas, another shepheard, received disloyally. And this is the whole Argument of this Æglogue.

HOBBINOL. COLIN CLOUT.HOBBINOL.Lo! Colin, here the place whose pleasant siteFrom other shades hath wean'd my wand'ring mind,Tell me, what wants me here to work delight?The simple air, the gentle warbling wind,So calm, so cool, as nowhere else I find;The grassy ground with dainty daisies dight,The bramble bush, where birds of every kindTo the waters' fall their tunes attemper right.COL. O happy Hobbinol, I bless thy state,That Paradise hast found which Adam lost:Here wander may thy flock early or late,Withouten dread of wolves to be ytost;Thy lovely lays here mayst thou freely boast:But I, unhappy man! whom cruel FateAnd angry gods pursue from coast to coast,Can nowhere find to shroud my luckless pate.HOB. Then, if by me thou list advised be,Forsake the soil that so doth thee bewitch;Leave me those hills were harbrough n'is to see,Nor holly-bush, nor briar, nor winding ditch;And to the dales resort, where shepheards rich,And fruitful flocks, be every where to see:Here no night-ravens lodge, more black than pitch,Nor elvish ghosts, nor ghastly owls do flee;But friendly Faeries, met with many Graces,And lightfoot Nymphs, can chase the ling'ring NightWith heydeguys, and trimly trodden traces,Whilst Sisters Nine, which dwell on Parnass height,Do make them music for their more delight;And Pan himself to kiss their crystal facesWill pipe and dance, when Phœbe shineth bright:Such peerless pleasures have we in these places.COL. And I, whilst youth, and course of careless years,Did let me walk withouten links of love,In such delights did joy amongst my peers;But riper age such pleasures doth reprove:My fancy eke from former follies moveTo stayed steps; for time in passing wears,(As garments do, which waxen old above,)And draweth new delights with hoary hairs.Then couth I sing of love, and tune my pipeUnto my plaintive pleas in verses made;Then would I seek for queen-apples unripe;To give my Rosalind, and in summer shadeDight gaudy garlands was my common trade,To crown her golden locks; but years more ripe,And loss of her, whose love as life I weigh'd,Those weary wanton toys away did wipe.HOB. Colin, to hear thy rhymes and roundelays,Which thou wert wont on wasteful hills to sing,I more delight than lark in summer days,Whose echo made the neighbour groves to ring,And taught the birds, which in the lower springDid shroud in shady leaves from sunny rays,Frame to thy song their cheerful chirruping,Or hold their peace, for shame of thy sweet lays.I saw Calliope with Muses moe,Soon as thy oaten pipe began to sound,Their ivory lutes and tambourins forgo,And from the fountain, where they sat around,Run after hastily thy silver sound;But, when they came where thou thy skill didst shew,They drew aback, as half with shame confoundShepheard to see, them in their art outgo.COL. Of Muses, Hobbinol, I con no skill,For they be daughters of the highest Jove,And holden scorn of homely shepheard's quill;For sith I heard that Pan with Phœbus strove,Which him to much rebuke and danger drove,I never list presume to Parnass hill,But, piping low in shade of lowly grove,I play to please myself, all be it ill.Nought weigh I, who my song doth praise or blame,Ne strive to win renown, or pass the rest:With shepheard sits not follow flying Fame,But feed his flock in fields where falls them best.I wot my rhymes be rough, and rudely drest;The fitter they my careful case to frame:Enough is me to paint out my unrest,And pour my piteous plaints out in the same.The god of shepheards, Tityrus,10is dead,Who taught me homely, as I can, to make:He, whilst he lived, was the sovereign headOf shepheards all that be with love ytake;Well couth he wail his woes, and lightly slakeThe flames which love within his heart had bred,And tell us merry tales to keep us wake,The while our sheep about us safely fed.Now dead he is, and lieth wrapt in lead,(O why should Death on him such outrage shew!)And all his passing skill with him is fled,The fame whereof doth daily greater grow.But, if on me some little drops would flowOf that the spring was in his learned head,I soon would learn these woods to wail my woe,And teach the trees their trickling tears to shed.Then should my plaints, caus'd of discourtesy,As messengers of this my painful plight,Fly to my love where ever that she be,And pierce her heart with point of worthy wite,As she deserves, that wrought so deadly spite.And thou, Menalcas! that by treacheryDidst underfong my lass to wax so light,Shouldst well be known for such thy villany.But since I am not as I wish I were,Ye gentle shepheards! which your flocks do feed,Whether on hills, or dales, or other where,Bear witness all of this so wicked deed;And tell the lass, whose flower is wox a weed,And faultless faith is turn'd to faithless fear,That she the truest shepheard's heart made bleedThat lives on earth, and loved her most dear.HOB. O! careful Colin, I lament thy case;Thy tears would make the hardest flint to flow!Ah! faithless Rosalind, and void of grace,That art the root of all this ruthful woe!But now is time, I guess, homeward to go:Then rise, ye blessed flocks! and home apace,Lest night with stealing steps do you foreslow,And wet your tender lambs that by you trace.COLIN'S EMBLEME.Gia speme spenta.(Already hope is lost.)colin's emblem

HOBBINOL. COLIN CLOUT.

HOBBINOL.Lo! Colin, here the place whose pleasant siteFrom other shades hath wean'd my wand'ring mind,Tell me, what wants me here to work delight?The simple air, the gentle warbling wind,So calm, so cool, as nowhere else I find;The grassy ground with dainty daisies dight,The bramble bush, where birds of every kindTo the waters' fall their tunes attemper right.

HOBBINOL.

Lo! Colin, here the place whose pleasant site

From other shades hath wean'd my wand'ring mind,

Tell me, what wants me here to work delight?

The simple air, the gentle warbling wind,

So calm, so cool, as nowhere else I find;

The grassy ground with dainty daisies dight,

The bramble bush, where birds of every kind

To the waters' fall their tunes attemper right.

COL. O happy Hobbinol, I bless thy state,That Paradise hast found which Adam lost:Here wander may thy flock early or late,Withouten dread of wolves to be ytost;Thy lovely lays here mayst thou freely boast:But I, unhappy man! whom cruel FateAnd angry gods pursue from coast to coast,Can nowhere find to shroud my luckless pate.

COL. O happy Hobbinol, I bless thy state,

That Paradise hast found which Adam lost:

Here wander may thy flock early or late,

Withouten dread of wolves to be ytost;

Thy lovely lays here mayst thou freely boast:

But I, unhappy man! whom cruel Fate

And angry gods pursue from coast to coast,

Can nowhere find to shroud my luckless pate.

HOB. Then, if by me thou list advised be,Forsake the soil that so doth thee bewitch;Leave me those hills were harbrough n'is to see,Nor holly-bush, nor briar, nor winding ditch;And to the dales resort, where shepheards rich,And fruitful flocks, be every where to see:Here no night-ravens lodge, more black than pitch,Nor elvish ghosts, nor ghastly owls do flee;

HOB. Then, if by me thou list advised be,

Forsake the soil that so doth thee bewitch;

Leave me those hills were harbrough n'is to see,

Nor holly-bush, nor briar, nor winding ditch;

And to the dales resort, where shepheards rich,

And fruitful flocks, be every where to see:

Here no night-ravens lodge, more black than pitch,

Nor elvish ghosts, nor ghastly owls do flee;

But friendly Faeries, met with many Graces,And lightfoot Nymphs, can chase the ling'ring NightWith heydeguys, and trimly trodden traces,Whilst Sisters Nine, which dwell on Parnass height,Do make them music for their more delight;And Pan himself to kiss their crystal facesWill pipe and dance, when Phœbe shineth bright:Such peerless pleasures have we in these places.

But friendly Faeries, met with many Graces,

And lightfoot Nymphs, can chase the ling'ring Night

With heydeguys, and trimly trodden traces,

Whilst Sisters Nine, which dwell on Parnass height,

Do make them music for their more delight;

And Pan himself to kiss their crystal faces

Will pipe and dance, when Phœbe shineth bright:

Such peerless pleasures have we in these places.

COL. And I, whilst youth, and course of careless years,Did let me walk withouten links of love,In such delights did joy amongst my peers;But riper age such pleasures doth reprove:My fancy eke from former follies moveTo stayed steps; for time in passing wears,(As garments do, which waxen old above,)And draweth new delights with hoary hairs.

COL. And I, whilst youth, and course of careless years,

Did let me walk withouten links of love,

In such delights did joy amongst my peers;

But riper age such pleasures doth reprove:

My fancy eke from former follies move

To stayed steps; for time in passing wears,

(As garments do, which waxen old above,)

And draweth new delights with hoary hairs.

Then couth I sing of love, and tune my pipeUnto my plaintive pleas in verses made;Then would I seek for queen-apples unripe;To give my Rosalind, and in summer shadeDight gaudy garlands was my common trade,To crown her golden locks; but years more ripe,And loss of her, whose love as life I weigh'd,Those weary wanton toys away did wipe.

Then couth I sing of love, and tune my pipe

Unto my plaintive pleas in verses made;

Then would I seek for queen-apples unripe;

To give my Rosalind, and in summer shade

Dight gaudy garlands was my common trade,

To crown her golden locks; but years more ripe,

And loss of her, whose love as life I weigh'd,

Those weary wanton toys away did wipe.

HOB. Colin, to hear thy rhymes and roundelays,Which thou wert wont on wasteful hills to sing,I more delight than lark in summer days,Whose echo made the neighbour groves to ring,And taught the birds, which in the lower springDid shroud in shady leaves from sunny rays,Frame to thy song their cheerful chirruping,Or hold their peace, for shame of thy sweet lays.

HOB. Colin, to hear thy rhymes and roundelays,

Which thou wert wont on wasteful hills to sing,

I more delight than lark in summer days,

Whose echo made the neighbour groves to ring,

And taught the birds, which in the lower spring

Did shroud in shady leaves from sunny rays,

Frame to thy song their cheerful chirruping,

Or hold their peace, for shame of thy sweet lays.

I saw Calliope with Muses moe,Soon as thy oaten pipe began to sound,Their ivory lutes and tambourins forgo,And from the fountain, where they sat around,Run after hastily thy silver sound;But, when they came where thou thy skill didst shew,They drew aback, as half with shame confoundShepheard to see, them in their art outgo.

I saw Calliope with Muses moe,

Soon as thy oaten pipe began to sound,

Their ivory lutes and tambourins forgo,

And from the fountain, where they sat around,

Run after hastily thy silver sound;

But, when they came where thou thy skill didst shew,

They drew aback, as half with shame confound

Shepheard to see, them in their art outgo.

COL. Of Muses, Hobbinol, I con no skill,For they be daughters of the highest Jove,And holden scorn of homely shepheard's quill;For sith I heard that Pan with Phœbus strove,Which him to much rebuke and danger drove,I never list presume to Parnass hill,But, piping low in shade of lowly grove,I play to please myself, all be it ill.

COL. Of Muses, Hobbinol, I con no skill,

For they be daughters of the highest Jove,

And holden scorn of homely shepheard's quill;

For sith I heard that Pan with Phœbus strove,

Which him to much rebuke and danger drove,

I never list presume to Parnass hill,

But, piping low in shade of lowly grove,

I play to please myself, all be it ill.

Nought weigh I, who my song doth praise or blame,Ne strive to win renown, or pass the rest:With shepheard sits not follow flying Fame,But feed his flock in fields where falls them best.I wot my rhymes be rough, and rudely drest;The fitter they my careful case to frame:Enough is me to paint out my unrest,And pour my piteous plaints out in the same.

Nought weigh I, who my song doth praise or blame,

Ne strive to win renown, or pass the rest:

With shepheard sits not follow flying Fame,

But feed his flock in fields where falls them best.

I wot my rhymes be rough, and rudely drest;

The fitter they my careful case to frame:

Enough is me to paint out my unrest,

And pour my piteous plaints out in the same.

The god of shepheards, Tityrus,10is dead,Who taught me homely, as I can, to make:He, whilst he lived, was the sovereign headOf shepheards all that be with love ytake;Well couth he wail his woes, and lightly slakeThe flames which love within his heart had bred,And tell us merry tales to keep us wake,The while our sheep about us safely fed.

The god of shepheards, Tityrus,10is dead,

Who taught me homely, as I can, to make:

He, whilst he lived, was the sovereign head

Of shepheards all that be with love ytake;

Well couth he wail his woes, and lightly slake

The flames which love within his heart had bred,

And tell us merry tales to keep us wake,

The while our sheep about us safely fed.

Now dead he is, and lieth wrapt in lead,(O why should Death on him such outrage shew!)And all his passing skill with him is fled,The fame whereof doth daily greater grow.But, if on me some little drops would flowOf that the spring was in his learned head,I soon would learn these woods to wail my woe,And teach the trees their trickling tears to shed.

Now dead he is, and lieth wrapt in lead,

(O why should Death on him such outrage shew!)

And all his passing skill with him is fled,

The fame whereof doth daily greater grow.

But, if on me some little drops would flow

Of that the spring was in his learned head,

I soon would learn these woods to wail my woe,

And teach the trees their trickling tears to shed.

Then should my plaints, caus'd of discourtesy,As messengers of this my painful plight,Fly to my love where ever that she be,And pierce her heart with point of worthy wite,As she deserves, that wrought so deadly spite.And thou, Menalcas! that by treacheryDidst underfong my lass to wax so light,Shouldst well be known for such thy villany.

Then should my plaints, caus'd of discourtesy,

As messengers of this my painful plight,

Fly to my love where ever that she be,

And pierce her heart with point of worthy wite,

As she deserves, that wrought so deadly spite.

And thou, Menalcas! that by treachery

Didst underfong my lass to wax so light,

Shouldst well be known for such thy villany.

But since I am not as I wish I were,Ye gentle shepheards! which your flocks do feed,Whether on hills, or dales, or other where,Bear witness all of this so wicked deed;And tell the lass, whose flower is wox a weed,And faultless faith is turn'd to faithless fear,That she the truest shepheard's heart made bleedThat lives on earth, and loved her most dear.

But since I am not as I wish I were,

Ye gentle shepheards! which your flocks do feed,

Whether on hills, or dales, or other where,

Bear witness all of this so wicked deed;

And tell the lass, whose flower is wox a weed,

And faultless faith is turn'd to faithless fear,

That she the truest shepheard's heart made bleed

That lives on earth, and loved her most dear.

HOB. O! careful Colin, I lament thy case;Thy tears would make the hardest flint to flow!Ah! faithless Rosalind, and void of grace,That art the root of all this ruthful woe!But now is time, I guess, homeward to go:Then rise, ye blessed flocks! and home apace,Lest night with stealing steps do you foreslow,And wet your tender lambs that by you trace.

HOB. O! careful Colin, I lament thy case;

Thy tears would make the hardest flint to flow!

Ah! faithless Rosalind, and void of grace,

That art the root of all this ruthful woe!

But now is time, I guess, homeward to go:

Then rise, ye blessed flocks! and home apace,

Lest night with stealing steps do you foreslow,

And wet your tender lambs that by you trace.

COLIN'S EMBLEME.Gia speme spenta.(Already hope is lost.)colin's emblem

COLIN'S EMBLEME.Gia speme spenta.(Already hope is lost.)

colin's emblem

july

JULY. ÆGLOGA SEPTIMA. ARGUMENT.

This Æglogue is made in the honour and commendation of good shepheards, and to the shame and dispraise of proud and ambitious pastors: such as Morrell is here imagined to be.

THOMALIN. MORRELL.11THOMALIN.Is not thilk same a goatherd proud,That sits on yonder bank,Whose straying herd them self doth shroudAmong the bushes rank?MOR. What, ho, thou jolly shepheard's swain,Come up the hill to me;Better is than the lowly plain,Als for thy flock and thee.THOM. Ah! God shield, man, that I should climb,And learn to look aloft;This rede is rife, that oftentimeGreat climbers fall unsoft.In humble dales is footing fast,The trode is not so tickle,And though one fall through heedless hast,Yet is his miss not mickle.And now the Sun12hath reared upHis fiery-footed team,Making his way between the CupAnd golden Diademe;The rampant Lion hunts he fast,With dogs of noisome breath,Whose baleful barking brings in hastPine, plagues, and dreary death.Against his cruel scorching heat,Where thou hast coverture,The wasteful hills unto his threatIs a plain overture:But, if thee list to holden chatWith seely shepheard's swain,Come down, and learn the little what,That Thomalin can sayn.MOR. Siker thou's but a lazy loord,And recks much of thy swink,That with fond terms, and witless words,To blear mine eyes dost think.In evil hour thou hentst in handThus holy hills to blame,For sacred unto saints they stand,And of them have their name.St. Michel's Mount who does not know,That wards the Western coast?And of St. Bridget's Bower I trowAll Kent can rightly boast:And they that con of Muses' skillSayn most-what, that they dwell(As goatherds wont) upon a hill,Beside a learned well.And wonned not the great good PanUpon Mount Olivet,Feeding the blessed flock of Dan,Which did himself beget?THOM. O blessed Sheep! O Shepheard great!That bought his flock so dear,And them did save with bloody sweatFrom wolves that would them tear.MOR. Beside, as holy Fathers sayn,There is a holy placeWhere Titan riseth from the mainTo run his daily race,Upon whose top the stars be stay'd,And all the sky doth lean;There is the cave where Phœbe laidThe shepheard long to dream.Whilome there used shepheards allTo feed their flocks at will,Till by his folly one did fall,That all the rest did spill.And, sithens shepheards be foresaidFrom places of delight,Forthy I ween thou be afraidTo climb this hillës height.Of Sinai can I tell thee more,And of our Lady's Bower;But little needs to strow my store,Suffice this hill of our.Here have the holy Fauns recourse,And Sylvans haunten rathe;Here has the salt Medway his source,Wherein the Nymphs do bathe;The salt Medway, that trickling streamsAdown the dales of Kent,Till with his elder brother ThemesHis brackish waves be ment.Here grows melampode every where,And terebinth, good for goats;The one my madding kids to smear,The next to heal their throats.Hereto, the hills be nigher heaven,And then the passage eath;As well can prove the piercing levin,That seldom falls beneath.THOM. Siker thou speaks like a lewd lorrell,Of heaven to deemen so;How be I am but rude and borrell,Yet nearer ways I know.To kirk the narre, from God more far,Has been an old-said saw;And he, that strives to touch a star,Oft stumbles at a straw.As soon may shepheard climb to skyThat leads in lowly dales,As goatherd proud, that, sitting high,Upon the mountain sails.My seely sheep like well below,They need not melampode,For they be hale enough, I trow,And liken their abode;But, if they with thy goats should yede,They soon might be corrupted,Or like not of the frowy feed,Or with the weeds be glutted.The hills, where dwelled holy saints,I reverence and adore,Not for themself, but for the saintsWhich have been dead of yore.And now they be to heaven forewent,Their good is with them go;Their sample only to us lent,That als we might do so.Shepheards they weren of the best,And lived in lowly leas;And, sith they souls be now at rest,Why do we them disease?Such one he was (as I have heardOld Algrind often sayn)That whilome was the first shepheard,And lived with little gain:And meek he was, as meek might be,Simple as simple sheep;Humble, and like in each degreeThe flock which he did keep.Often he used of his keepA sacrifice to bring,Now with a kid, now with a sheep,The altars hallowing.So louted he unto his Lord,Such favour couth he find,That never sithens was abhorr'dThe simple shepheards' kind.And such, I ween, the brethren wereThat came from Canaän,The brethren Twelve, that kept yfereThe flocks of mighty Pan.But nothing such thilk shepheard wasWhom Ida hill did bear,That left his flock to fetch a lass,Whose love he bought too dear.For he was proud, that ill was paid,(No such must shepheards be!)And with lewd lust was overlaid;Two things doen ill agree.But shepheard must be meek and mild,Well-eyed, as Argus was,With fleshly follies undefiled,And stout as steed of brass.Such one (said Algrind) Moses was,That saw his Maker's face,His face, more clear then crystal glass,And spake to him in place.This had a brother, (his name I knew,)The first of all his cote,A shepheard true, yet not so trueAs he that erst I hote.Whilome all these were low and lief,And loved their flocks to feed;They never stroven to be chief,And simple was their weed:But now (thanked be God therefore!)The world is well amend,Their weeds be not so nighly wore;Such simplesse might them shend!They be yclad in purple and pall,So hath their God them blist;They reign and rulen over all,And lord it as they list;Ygirt with belts of glittering gold,(Might they good shepheards been!)Their Pan their sheep to them has sold,I say as some have seen.For Palinode (if thou him ken)Yode late on pilgrimageTo Rome, (if such be Rome,) and thenHe saw thilk misusage;For shepheards (said he) there doen lead,As lords done other where;Their sheep have crusts, and they the bread;The chips, and they the cheer:They have the fleece, and eke the flesh,(O seely sheep the while!)The corn is theirs, let others thresh,Their hands they may not file.They have great store and thrifty stocks,Great friends and feeble foes;What need them caren for their flocks,Their boys can look to those.These wisards welter in wealth's waves,Pamper'd in pleasures deep;They have fat kerns, and leany knaves,Their fasting flocks to keep.Sike mister men be all misgone,They heapen hills of wrath;Such surly shepheards have we none,They keepen all the path.MOR. Here is a great deal of good matterLost for lack of telling;Now sicker I see thou dost but clatter,Harm may come of melling.Thou meddlest more than shall have thank,To witen shepheards' wealth;When folk be fat, and riches rank,It is a sign of health.But say me, what is Algrind, heThat is so oft benempt?THOM. He is a shepheard great in gree,But hath been long ypent:One day he sat upon a hill,As now thou wouldest me;But I am taught, by Algrind's ill,To love the low degree;For sitting so with bared scalp,An eagle13soared high,That, weening his white head was chalk,A shell-fish down let fly;She ween'd the shell-fish to have broke,But therewith bruis'd his brain;So now, astonied with the stroke,He lies in lingering pain.MOR. Ah! good Algrind! his hap was ill,But shall be better in time.Now farewell, shepheard, sith this hillThou hast such doubt to climb.PALINODE'S EMBLEME.In medio virtus.(Virtue dwells in the middle place.)MORRELL'S EMBLEME.In summo felicitas.(Happiness in the highest.)palinode's emblemmorrell's emblem

THOMALIN. MORRELL.11

THOMALIN.Is not thilk same a goatherd proud,That sits on yonder bank,Whose straying herd them self doth shroudAmong the bushes rank?MOR. What, ho, thou jolly shepheard's swain,Come up the hill to me;Better is than the lowly plain,Als for thy flock and thee.THOM. Ah! God shield, man, that I should climb,And learn to look aloft;This rede is rife, that oftentimeGreat climbers fall unsoft.In humble dales is footing fast,The trode is not so tickle,And though one fall through heedless hast,Yet is his miss not mickle.And now the Sun12hath reared upHis fiery-footed team,Making his way between the CupAnd golden Diademe;The rampant Lion hunts he fast,With dogs of noisome breath,Whose baleful barking brings in hastPine, plagues, and dreary death.Against his cruel scorching heat,Where thou hast coverture,The wasteful hills unto his threatIs a plain overture:But, if thee list to holden chatWith seely shepheard's swain,Come down, and learn the little what,That Thomalin can sayn.MOR. Siker thou's but a lazy loord,And recks much of thy swink,That with fond terms, and witless words,To blear mine eyes dost think.In evil hour thou hentst in handThus holy hills to blame,For sacred unto saints they stand,And of them have their name.St. Michel's Mount who does not know,That wards the Western coast?And of St. Bridget's Bower I trowAll Kent can rightly boast:And they that con of Muses' skillSayn most-what, that they dwell(As goatherds wont) upon a hill,Beside a learned well.And wonned not the great good PanUpon Mount Olivet,Feeding the blessed flock of Dan,Which did himself beget?THOM. O blessed Sheep! O Shepheard great!That bought his flock so dear,And them did save with bloody sweatFrom wolves that would them tear.MOR. Beside, as holy Fathers sayn,There is a holy placeWhere Titan riseth from the mainTo run his daily race,Upon whose top the stars be stay'd,And all the sky doth lean;There is the cave where Phœbe laidThe shepheard long to dream.Whilome there used shepheards allTo feed their flocks at will,Till by his folly one did fall,That all the rest did spill.And, sithens shepheards be foresaidFrom places of delight,Forthy I ween thou be afraidTo climb this hillës height.Of Sinai can I tell thee more,And of our Lady's Bower;But little needs to strow my store,Suffice this hill of our.Here have the holy Fauns recourse,And Sylvans haunten rathe;Here has the salt Medway his source,Wherein the Nymphs do bathe;The salt Medway, that trickling streamsAdown the dales of Kent,Till with his elder brother ThemesHis brackish waves be ment.Here grows melampode every where,And terebinth, good for goats;The one my madding kids to smear,The next to heal their throats.Hereto, the hills be nigher heaven,And then the passage eath;As well can prove the piercing levin,That seldom falls beneath.THOM. Siker thou speaks like a lewd lorrell,Of heaven to deemen so;How be I am but rude and borrell,Yet nearer ways I know.To kirk the narre, from God more far,Has been an old-said saw;And he, that strives to touch a star,Oft stumbles at a straw.As soon may shepheard climb to skyThat leads in lowly dales,As goatherd proud, that, sitting high,Upon the mountain sails.My seely sheep like well below,They need not melampode,For they be hale enough, I trow,And liken their abode;But, if they with thy goats should yede,They soon might be corrupted,Or like not of the frowy feed,Or with the weeds be glutted.The hills, where dwelled holy saints,I reverence and adore,Not for themself, but for the saintsWhich have been dead of yore.And now they be to heaven forewent,Their good is with them go;Their sample only to us lent,That als we might do so.Shepheards they weren of the best,And lived in lowly leas;And, sith they souls be now at rest,Why do we them disease?Such one he was (as I have heardOld Algrind often sayn)That whilome was the first shepheard,And lived with little gain:And meek he was, as meek might be,Simple as simple sheep;Humble, and like in each degreeThe flock which he did keep.Often he used of his keepA sacrifice to bring,Now with a kid, now with a sheep,The altars hallowing.So louted he unto his Lord,Such favour couth he find,That never sithens was abhorr'dThe simple shepheards' kind.And such, I ween, the brethren wereThat came from Canaän,The brethren Twelve, that kept yfereThe flocks of mighty Pan.But nothing such thilk shepheard wasWhom Ida hill did bear,That left his flock to fetch a lass,Whose love he bought too dear.For he was proud, that ill was paid,(No such must shepheards be!)And with lewd lust was overlaid;Two things doen ill agree.But shepheard must be meek and mild,Well-eyed, as Argus was,With fleshly follies undefiled,And stout as steed of brass.Such one (said Algrind) Moses was,That saw his Maker's face,His face, more clear then crystal glass,And spake to him in place.This had a brother, (his name I knew,)The first of all his cote,A shepheard true, yet not so trueAs he that erst I hote.Whilome all these were low and lief,And loved their flocks to feed;They never stroven to be chief,And simple was their weed:But now (thanked be God therefore!)The world is well amend,Their weeds be not so nighly wore;Such simplesse might them shend!They be yclad in purple and pall,So hath their God them blist;They reign and rulen over all,And lord it as they list;Ygirt with belts of glittering gold,(Might they good shepheards been!)Their Pan their sheep to them has sold,I say as some have seen.For Palinode (if thou him ken)Yode late on pilgrimageTo Rome, (if such be Rome,) and thenHe saw thilk misusage;For shepheards (said he) there doen lead,As lords done other where;Their sheep have crusts, and they the bread;The chips, and they the cheer:They have the fleece, and eke the flesh,(O seely sheep the while!)The corn is theirs, let others thresh,Their hands they may not file.They have great store and thrifty stocks,Great friends and feeble foes;What need them caren for their flocks,Their boys can look to those.These wisards welter in wealth's waves,Pamper'd in pleasures deep;They have fat kerns, and leany knaves,Their fasting flocks to keep.Sike mister men be all misgone,They heapen hills of wrath;Such surly shepheards have we none,They keepen all the path.MOR. Here is a great deal of good matterLost for lack of telling;Now sicker I see thou dost but clatter,Harm may come of melling.Thou meddlest more than shall have thank,To witen shepheards' wealth;When folk be fat, and riches rank,It is a sign of health.But say me, what is Algrind, heThat is so oft benempt?THOM. He is a shepheard great in gree,But hath been long ypent:One day he sat upon a hill,As now thou wouldest me;But I am taught, by Algrind's ill,To love the low degree;For sitting so with bared scalp,An eagle13soared high,That, weening his white head was chalk,A shell-fish down let fly;She ween'd the shell-fish to have broke,But therewith bruis'd his brain;So now, astonied with the stroke,He lies in lingering pain.MOR. Ah! good Algrind! his hap was ill,But shall be better in time.Now farewell, shepheard, sith this hillThou hast such doubt to climb.

THOMALIN.

Is not thilk same a goatherd proud,

That sits on yonder bank,

Whose straying herd them self doth shroud

Among the bushes rank?

MOR. What, ho, thou jolly shepheard's swain,

Come up the hill to me;

Better is than the lowly plain,

Als for thy flock and thee.

THOM. Ah! God shield, man, that I should climb,

And learn to look aloft;

This rede is rife, that oftentime

Great climbers fall unsoft.

In humble dales is footing fast,

The trode is not so tickle,

And though one fall through heedless hast,

Yet is his miss not mickle.

And now the Sun12hath reared up

His fiery-footed team,

Making his way between the Cup

And golden Diademe;

The rampant Lion hunts he fast,

With dogs of noisome breath,

Whose baleful barking brings in hast

Pine, plagues, and dreary death.

Against his cruel scorching heat,

Where thou hast coverture,

The wasteful hills unto his threat

Is a plain overture:

But, if thee list to holden chat

With seely shepheard's swain,

Come down, and learn the little what,

That Thomalin can sayn.

MOR. Siker thou's but a lazy loord,

And recks much of thy swink,

That with fond terms, and witless words,

To blear mine eyes dost think.

In evil hour thou hentst in hand

Thus holy hills to blame,

For sacred unto saints they stand,

And of them have their name.

St. Michel's Mount who does not know,

That wards the Western coast?

And of St. Bridget's Bower I trow

All Kent can rightly boast:

And they that con of Muses' skill

Sayn most-what, that they dwell

(As goatherds wont) upon a hill,

Beside a learned well.

And wonned not the great good Pan

Upon Mount Olivet,

Feeding the blessed flock of Dan,

Which did himself beget?

THOM. O blessed Sheep! O Shepheard great!

That bought his flock so dear,

And them did save with bloody sweat

From wolves that would them tear.

MOR. Beside, as holy Fathers sayn,

There is a holy place

Where Titan riseth from the main

To run his daily race,

Upon whose top the stars be stay'd,

And all the sky doth lean;

There is the cave where Phœbe laid

The shepheard long to dream.

Whilome there used shepheards all

To feed their flocks at will,

Till by his folly one did fall,

That all the rest did spill.

And, sithens shepheards be foresaid

From places of delight,

Forthy I ween thou be afraid

To climb this hillës height.

Of Sinai can I tell thee more,

And of our Lady's Bower;

But little needs to strow my store,

Suffice this hill of our.

Here have the holy Fauns recourse,

And Sylvans haunten rathe;

Here has the salt Medway his source,

Wherein the Nymphs do bathe;

The salt Medway, that trickling streams

Adown the dales of Kent,

Till with his elder brother Themes

His brackish waves be ment.

Here grows melampode every where,

And terebinth, good for goats;

The one my madding kids to smear,

The next to heal their throats.

Hereto, the hills be nigher heaven,

And then the passage eath;

As well can prove the piercing levin,

That seldom falls beneath.

THOM. Siker thou speaks like a lewd lorrell,

Of heaven to deemen so;

How be I am but rude and borrell,

Yet nearer ways I know.

To kirk the narre, from God more far,

Has been an old-said saw;

And he, that strives to touch a star,

Oft stumbles at a straw.

As soon may shepheard climb to sky

That leads in lowly dales,

As goatherd proud, that, sitting high,

Upon the mountain sails.

My seely sheep like well below,

They need not melampode,

For they be hale enough, I trow,

And liken their abode;

But, if they with thy goats should yede,

They soon might be corrupted,

Or like not of the frowy feed,

Or with the weeds be glutted.

The hills, where dwelled holy saints,

I reverence and adore,

Not for themself, but for the saints

Which have been dead of yore.

And now they be to heaven forewent,

Their good is with them go;

Their sample only to us lent,

That als we might do so.

Shepheards they weren of the best,

And lived in lowly leas;

And, sith they souls be now at rest,

Why do we them disease?

Such one he was (as I have heard

Old Algrind often sayn)

That whilome was the first shepheard,

And lived with little gain:

And meek he was, as meek might be,

Simple as simple sheep;

Humble, and like in each degree

The flock which he did keep.

Often he used of his keep

A sacrifice to bring,

Now with a kid, now with a sheep,

The altars hallowing.

So louted he unto his Lord,

Such favour couth he find,

That never sithens was abhorr'd

The simple shepheards' kind.

And such, I ween, the brethren were

That came from Canaän,

The brethren Twelve, that kept yfere

The flocks of mighty Pan.

But nothing such thilk shepheard was

Whom Ida hill did bear,

That left his flock to fetch a lass,

Whose love he bought too dear.

For he was proud, that ill was paid,

(No such must shepheards be!)

And with lewd lust was overlaid;

Two things doen ill agree.

But shepheard must be meek and mild,

Well-eyed, as Argus was,

With fleshly follies undefiled,

And stout as steed of brass.

Such one (said Algrind) Moses was,

That saw his Maker's face,

His face, more clear then crystal glass,

And spake to him in place.

This had a brother, (his name I knew,)

The first of all his cote,

A shepheard true, yet not so true

As he that erst I hote.

Whilome all these were low and lief,

And loved their flocks to feed;

They never stroven to be chief,

And simple was their weed:

But now (thanked be God therefore!)

The world is well amend,

Their weeds be not so nighly wore;

Such simplesse might them shend!

They be yclad in purple and pall,

So hath their God them blist;

They reign and rulen over all,

And lord it as they list;

Ygirt with belts of glittering gold,

(Might they good shepheards been!)

Their Pan their sheep to them has sold,

I say as some have seen.

For Palinode (if thou him ken)

Yode late on pilgrimage

To Rome, (if such be Rome,) and then

He saw thilk misusage;

For shepheards (said he) there doen lead,

As lords done other where;

Their sheep have crusts, and they the bread;

The chips, and they the cheer:

They have the fleece, and eke the flesh,

(O seely sheep the while!)

The corn is theirs, let others thresh,

Their hands they may not file.

They have great store and thrifty stocks,

Great friends and feeble foes;

What need them caren for their flocks,

Their boys can look to those.

These wisards welter in wealth's waves,

Pamper'd in pleasures deep;

They have fat kerns, and leany knaves,

Their fasting flocks to keep.

Sike mister men be all misgone,

They heapen hills of wrath;

Such surly shepheards have we none,

They keepen all the path.

MOR. Here is a great deal of good matter

Lost for lack of telling;

Now sicker I see thou dost but clatter,

Harm may come of melling.

Thou meddlest more than shall have thank,

To witen shepheards' wealth;

When folk be fat, and riches rank,

It is a sign of health.

But say me, what is Algrind, he

That is so oft benempt?

THOM. He is a shepheard great in gree,

But hath been long ypent:

One day he sat upon a hill,

As now thou wouldest me;

But I am taught, by Algrind's ill,

To love the low degree;

For sitting so with bared scalp,

An eagle13soared high,

That, weening his white head was chalk,

A shell-fish down let fly;

She ween'd the shell-fish to have broke,

But therewith bruis'd his brain;

So now, astonied with the stroke,

He lies in lingering pain.

MOR. Ah! good Algrind! his hap was ill,

But shall be better in time.

Now farewell, shepheard, sith this hill

Thou hast such doubt to climb.

PALINODE'S EMBLEME.In medio virtus.(Virtue dwells in the middle place.)MORRELL'S EMBLEME.In summo felicitas.(Happiness in the highest.)palinode's emblemmorrell's emblem

PALINODE'S EMBLEME.In medio virtus.(Virtue dwells in the middle place.)MORRELL'S EMBLEME.In summo felicitas.(Happiness in the highest.)

PALINODE'S EMBLEME.In medio virtus.(Virtue dwells in the middle place.)

MORRELL'S EMBLEME.In summo felicitas.(Happiness in the highest.)

palinode's emblemmorrell's emblem

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