Part 4
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.)
[Illustration: JULY AEGLOGA SEPTIMA
EMBLEMES]
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.[11]
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 Sun[12] hath 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 eagle[13] soared 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.)
[Illustration: AUGUST AEGLOGA OCTAVA
EMBLEMES]
AUGUST. ÆGLOGA OCTAVA. ARGUMENT.
In this Æglogue is set forth a delectable controversy, made in imitation of that in Theocritus: whereto also Virgil fashioned his third and seventh Æglogue. They chose for umpire of their strife, Cuddy, a neat-herd's boy; who, having ended their cause, reciteth also himself a proper song, whereof Colin he saith was author.
WILLIE. PERIGOT. CUDDIE.
WILLIE. Tell me, Perigot, what shall be the game, Wherefore with mine thou dare thy music match? Or be thy bagpipes run far out of frame? Or hath the cramp thy joints benumb'd with ache? PER. Ah! Willie, when the heart is ill assay'd, How can bagpipe or joints be well apaid? WIL. What the foul evil hath thee so bestad? Whilome thou was peregall to the best, And wont to make the jolly shepheards glad, With piping and dancing didst pass the rest. PER. Ah! Willie, now I have learn'd a new dance; My old music marr'd by a new mischance. WIL. Mischief might to that mischance befall, That so hath reft us of our merriment; But rede me what pain doth thee so appal; Or lovest thou, or be thy younglings miswent? PER. Love hath misled both my younglings and me; I pine for pain, and they my pain to see. WIL. Perdie, and wellaway! ill may they thrive; Never knew I lover's sheep in good plight: But and if in rhymes with me thou dare strive, Such fond fantasies shall soon be put to flight. PER. That shall I do, though mochell worse I fared: Never shall be said that Perigot was dared. WIL. Then lo, Perigot, the pledge which I plight, A mazer ywrought of the maple warre, Wherein is enchased many a fair sight Of bears and tigers, that maken fierce war; And over them spread a goodly wild vine, Entrailed with a wanton ivy twine. Thereby is a lamb in the wolvës jaws; But see, how fast runneth the shepheard swain To save the innocent from the beast's paws, And here with his sheephook hath him slain. Tell me, such a cup hast thou ever seen? Well might it beseem any harvest queen. PER. Thereto will I pawn yonder spotted lamb; Of all my flock there n'is such another, For I brought him up without the dam; But Colin Clout reft me of his brother, That he purchas'd of me in the plain field; Sore against my will was I forc'd to yield. WIL. Sicker, make like account of his brother; But who shall judge the wager won or lost? PER. That shall yonder herdgroom and none other, Which over the pease hitherward doth post. WIL. But, for the sunbeam so sore doth us beat, Were not better to shun the scorching heat? PER. Well agreed, Willie; then set thee down, swain; Such a song never heardest thou but Colin sing. CUD. 'Gin, when ye list, ye jolly shepheards twain; Such a judge, as Cuddie, were for a king. PER. It fell upon a holy eve, WIL. Hey, ho, holiday! PER. When holy Fathers wont to shrieve; WIL. Now ginneth this roundelay. PER. Sitting upon a hill so high, WIL. Hey, ho, the high hill! PER. The while my flock did feed thereby; WIL. The while the shepheard self did spill; PER. I saw the bouncing Bellibone, WIL. Hey, ho, Bonnibell! PER. Tripping over the dale alone; WIL. She can trip it very well. PER. Well decked in a frock of gray, WIL. Hey, ho, gray is greet! PER. And in a kirtle of green saye, WIL. The green is for maidens meet. PER. A chapelet on her head she wore, WIL. Hey, ho, chapelet! PER. Of sweet violets therein was store, WIL. She sweeter than the violet. PER. My sheep did leave their wonted food, WIL. Hey, ho, seely sheep! PER. And gaz'd on her as they were wood, WIL. Wood as he that did them keep. PER. As the bonilass passed by, WIL. Hey, ho, bonilass! PER. She rov'd at me with glancing eye, WIL. As clear as the crystal glass: PER. All as the sunny beam so bright, WIL. Hey, ho, the sun-beam! PER. Glanceth from Phœbus' face forthright, WIL. So love into thy heart did stream: PER. Or as the thunder cleaves the clouds, WIL. Hey, ho, the thunder! PER. Wherein the lightsome levin shrouds, WIL. So cleaves thy soul asunder: PER. Or as Dame Cynthia's silver ray, WIL. Hey, ho, the moonlight! PER. Upon the glittering wave doth play, WIL. Such play is a piteous plight. PER. The glance into my heart did glide, WIL. Hey, ho, the glider! PER. Therewith my soul was sharply gryde, WIL. Such wounds soon waxen wider. PER. Hasting to wrench the arrow out, WIL. Hey, ho, Perigot! PER. I left the head in my heart-root, WIL. It was a desperate shot. PER. There it rankleth aye more and more, WIL. Hey, ho, the arrow! PER. Ne can I find salve for my sore, WIL. Love is a careless sorrow. PER. And though my bale with death I bought, WIL. Hey, ho, heavy cheer! PER. Yet should thilk lass not from my thought, WIL. So you may buy gold too dear. PER. But whether in painful love I pine, WIL. Hey, ho, pinching pain! PER. Or thrive in wealth, she shall be mine, WIL. But if thou can her obtain. PER. And if for graceless grief I die, WIL. Hey, ho, graceless grief! PER. Witness she slew me with her eye, WIL. Let thy folly be the prief. PER. And you, that saw it, simple sheep, WIL. Hey, ho, the fair flock! PER. For prief thereof, my death shall weep, WIL. And moan with many a mock. PER. So learn'd I love on a holy eve, WIL. Hey, ho, holy-day! PER. That ever since my heart did grieve, WIL. Now endeth our roundelay." CUD. Sicker, such a roundel never heard I none; Little lacketh Perigot of the best, And Willie is not greatly overgone, So weren his under-songs well addrest. WIL. Herdgroom, I fear me thou have a squint eye; Arede uprightly, who has the victory. CUD. Faith of my soul, I deem each have gained; Forthy let the lamb be Willie his own; And for Perigot, so well hath him pained, To him be the wroughten mazer alone. PER. Perigot is well pleased with the doom, Ne can Willie wite the witeless herdgroom. WIL. Never dempt more right of beauty, I ween, The shepheard of Ida that judged Beauty's queen. CUD. But tell me, shepheards, should it not yshend Your roundels fresh, to hear a doleful verse Of Rosalind (who knows not Rosalind?) That Colin made? ilk can I you rehearse. PER. Now say it, Cuddie, as thou art a lad; With merry thing it's good to medle sad. WIL. Faith of my soul, thou shalt ycrowned be In Colin's stead, if thou this song arede; For never thing on earth so pleaseth me As him to hear, or matter of his deed. CUD. Then listen each unto my heavy lay, And tune your pipes as ruthful as ye may.
"Ye wasteful Woods! bear witness of my woe, Wherein my plaints did oftentimes resound; Ye careless Birds are privy to my cries, Which in your songs were wont to make a part: Thou, pleasant Spring, hast lull'd me oft asleep, Whose streams my trickling tears did oft augment!
"Resort of people doth my griefs augment, The walled towns do work my greater woe; The forest wide is fitter to resound The hollow echo of my careful cries. I hate the house, since thence my love did part, Whose wailful want debars mine eyes of sleep.
"Let streams of tears supply the place of sleep; Let all, that sweet is, void; and all, that may augment My dole, draw near! More meet to wail my woe Be the wild woods, my sorrows to resound, Than bed, nor bower, both which I fill with cries, When I them see so waste, and find no part
"Of pleasure past. Here will I dwell apart In gastful grove therefore, till my last sleep Do close mine eyes; so shall I not augment With sight of such as change my restless woe. Help me, ye baneful Birds! whose shrieking sound Is sign of dreary death, my deadly cries
"Most ruthfully to tune: and as my cries (Which of my woe cannot bewray least part) You hear all night, when Nature craveth sleep, Increase, so let your irksome yells augment. Thus all the nights in plaints, the day in woe, I vowed have to waste, till safe and sound
"She home return, whose voice's silver sound To cheerful songs can change my cheerless cries. Hence with the nightingale will I take part, That blessed bird, that spends her time of sleep In songs and plaintive pleas, the more t' augment The memory of his misdeed that bred her woe.
"And you that feel no woe, when as the sound Of these my nightly cries ye hear apart, Let break your sounder sleep, and pity augment."
PER. O Colin, Colin! the shepheards' joy, How I admire each turning of thy verse; And Cuddie, fresh Cuddie, the liefest boy, How dolefully his dole thou didst rehearse! CUD. Then blow your pipes, shepheards, till you be at home; The night hieth fast, it's time to be gone.
PERIGOT HIS EMBLEME.[14]
_Vincenti gloria victi._ (To the conqueror belongs the glory of the conquered.)
WILLIE'S EMBLEME.[14] _Vinto non vitto._ (Conquered, not overcome.)
CUDDIE'S EMBLEME.[14] _Felice chi puo_. (He is happy who can.)
[Illustration: SEPTEMBER AEGLOGA NONA
DIGGON'S EMBLEME]
SEPTEMBER. ÆGLOGA NONA. ARGUMENT.
Herein Diggon Davie is devised to be a shepheard that, in hope of more gain, drove his sheep into a far country. The abuses whereof, and loose living of Popish prelates, by occasion of Hobbinol's demand, he discourseth at large.
HOBBINOL. DIGGON DAVIE.