THE AUTHOR'S NOTES.
"Libeat mihi fordida rura, Atque humiles habitare cafas..
PROLOGUE
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE.
O, I who erst beneath a tree
Losung Bumkinet and Bowzybee,
And Blouzelind and Marian bright,
In apron blue or apron white,
Now write my fonnets in a book,
For my good lord of Bolingbroke.
As lads and laffes food around
To hear my boxen hautboy found,
Our clerk came pofting o'er the green
With doleful tidings of the queen ;
That he faid, to whom we owe
queen,
Sweet peace that maketh riches flow;
That queen, who eas'd our tax of late,
Was dead, alas !-and lay in ftate.
At this, in tears was Cicely feen,
Buxoma tore her pinners clean,
Indoleful dumps stood every clown,
The parfon rent his band and gown.
For me, when as I heard that death
Had fnatch'd queen Anne to Elzabeth,
1 broke my reed, and, fighing, fwore,
I'd weep for Blouzelind no more.
While thus we stood as in a stound,
And wet with tears, like dew, the ground,
Full foon by bonefire and by bell
We learnt our Liege was paffing well.
A skilful leach (fo God him speed)
They faid had wrought this bleffed deed.
This leach Arbuthnot was yelépt,
Who many a night not once had flept;
But watch'd our gracious Sovereign ftill;
For who could reft when she was ill?
Oh, may'st thou henceforth fweetly sleep!
Sheer, fwains, oh fheer your foftest sheep,
To fwell his couch; for, well I ween,
He fav'd the realm, who fav'd the Queen.
Quoth I, pleafe God, I'll hye with glee
To court, this Arbuthnot to fee.
I fold my fheep and lambkins too,
For filver loops and garment blue;
My boxen hautboy, fweet of found,
For lace that edg'd mine hat around;
For Lightfoot and my fcrip, I got
A gorgeous fword, and eke a knot.
So forth I far'd to court with speed,
Of foldier's drum withouten dreed;
For peace allays the fhepherd's fear
Of wearing cap of grenadier.
There faw I ladies all a-row,
Before their Queen in feemly fhow.
No more I'll fing Buxomą brown,
Like goldfinch in her Sunday gown;
Nor Clumfilis nor Marian bright,
Nor damfel that Hobnelia hight.
But Lansdowne, fresh as flower of May,
And Berkeley, lady blithe and gay;,
And Anglesea, whose speech exceeds
The voice of pipe, or oaten reeds;
And blooming Hyde, with eyes fo rare ;
And Montague beyond compare :
Such ladies fair would I depaint,
In roundelay or fonnet quaint.
There many a worthy wight I've seen,
Ja ribbon blue and ribbon green :
As Oxford, who a wand doth bear,
Like Mofes, in our bibles fair;
Who for our traffick forms defigns,
And gives to Britain Indian mines.
Now, fhepherds, clip your fleecy care;
Ye maids, your fpinning wheels prepare;
Ye weavers, all your fhuttles throw,
And bid broad-cloths and ferges grow;
5 For trading free fhall thrive again,
Nor leafings lewd affright the fwain.
There faw I St. John, fweet of mien, Full ftedfait both to church and queen; With whofe fair name I'll deck my ftrain; 10 St. John, right courteous to the swain. For thus he told me on a day, Trim are thy fonnets, gentle Gay; And, certes, mirth it were to fee Thy joyous madrigals twice three, 15 With preface meet, and notes profound, Imprinted fair, and well y-bound. All fuddenly then home I fped, And did ev'n as my lord had faid.
Lo, here thou haft mine Eclogues fair, 20 But let not thefe detain thine ear. Let not th' affairs of ftates and kings Wait, while our Bowzybeus fings. Rather than verfe of fimple swain Should stay the trade of France or Spain; Or, for the plaint of Parfon's maid, Yon' Emperor's packets be delay'd; In footh, I fwear by holy Paul,
I'd burn book, preface, notes and all.
THE SQUABBLE
LOBBIN CLOUT, CUDDY, CLODDIPOLE.
LOBBIN CLOUT.
THY bramble-bufh forfake,
"HY younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,
No chirping lark the welkin fheert invokes, No damfel yet the fwelling udder ftrokes ; 40 O'er yonder hill does fcant the dawn appear Then why does Cuddy leave his cott fo rear?
Ah Lobbin Clout! I ween, my plight is guet, For be that loves, a firanger is to reft;
Ver. 3. Welkin, the fame as Welken, an old Saxon word fignifying a cloud; by poetical licence it is fre quently taken for the element or fly, as may appear by this verfe in the Dream of Chaucer,
"Ne in all the welkin was no cloud." 50-Sheen or fine, an old word for faining or bright. Ver. 5. Scant, ufed in the ancient British authors for fearce.
Ver. 6. Rear, an expreffion in several counties of England, for early in the morning.
Ver. 7. To ween, derived from the Saxon, to think
Hold, witlefs Lobbin Clout, I thee advise, Left blifters fore on thy own tongue arise. Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithsome fwain, The wifeft lout of all the neighbouring plain ! From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies, To know when hail will fall, or winds arife. He taught us erit the heifer's tail to view, 25 When stuck aloft, that showers would straight enfue:
He firft that useful fecret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain.
When fwallows fleet foar high and sport in air,
he told us that the welkin would be clear.
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praife his fweetheart in alternate verse.
I'll wager this fame oaken ftaff with thee,
That Cloddipole fhall give the prize to me.
LOBBIN CLOUT.
See this tobacco-pouch, that's lin'd with hair, 35 Made of the fkin of deepest fallow deer. This pouch that's ty'd with tape of reddeft hue, I'll wager, that the prize fhall be my due.
Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting flouch! Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch. LOEBIN CLOUT.
My Blouzelinda is the blitheft lafs,
Than primrofe fweeter, or the clover-grafs.
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the dailie that befide her grows;
Fair is the gilliflower, of gardens fweet,
Fair is the marygold, for pottage meet:
But Blouzelina's than gilliflower more fair,
Than daifie, marygold, or king-cup rare.
CUDDY.
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
That e'er at wake delightfome gambol play'd.
Clean as young lambkins or the goofe's down,
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The witlefs lamb may fport upon the plain,
The frifking kid delight the gaping fwain,
The wanton calf may fkip with many a bound,
And my cur Tray play defteft feats around;
But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray,
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near;
Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.
With her no fultry fummer's heat I know;
In winter, when the's nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzelinda, cafe thy swain's defire,
My fummer's fhadow, and my winter's fire!
CUDDY.
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noon-tide labour feem'd an holiday;
And holidays, if haply the were gone,
Like worky-days I with'd would foon be done.
Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear, Of Irifh fwains potatoe is the chear; Oats for their feafts the Scottish fhepherds grind, 85 Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind. While fhe loves turnips, butter I'll despise, Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potatoe, prize. CUDDY
In good roaft-beef my landlord fticks his knife, The capon fat delights his dainty wife, Pudding our parfon eats, the fquire loves hare, But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare. While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be, Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me. LOBBIN CLOUT.
Acrofs the fallen oak the plank I laid,
And myself pois'd against the tottering maid.
Ver. 25. Erf, a contraction of ere this; it figni-
fies fome time agu, or formerly.
Ver. 56. Deft, an old word, fignisying brisk or nimble.
Ver. 69. Eftfoons, from eft, an ancient British 55 word, fignifying foon. So that effoons is a doubling of the word foon; which is, as it were, to say twice foon, or very feon.
Ver. 79. Queint has various fignifications in the ancient English authors. I have used it in this place in the fame fenfe as Chaucer hath done in his Mil60 ler's Tale. "As Clerkes being full subtle " and queint" (by which he means arch or waggish); and not in that obfcene fenfe wherein he uftth it in the line immediately following.
High leap'd the plank; adown Buxoma fell;
I fpy'd but faithful fweethearts never tell.
LOBBIN CLOUT.
Ah, Colin! canft thou leave thy fweetheart true?
110 What I have done for thee, will Cicely do?
Will the thy linen wash, or hofen darn,
And knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn?
Will fhe with hufwife's hand provide thy meat? 35
And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait,
Which o'er thy kerfey doublet spreading wide,
In fervice-time drew Cicely's eyes afide ?
This riddle, Cuddy, if thou canft, explain, This wily riddle puzzles every fwain. "What flower is that which bears the virgin's name, "The richest metal joined with the fame ?? CUDDY.
Answer, thou carie, and judge thisṛiddle right, 115 I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight. "What flower is that which royal honour craves, "Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis ftrown on graves?" CLODDIPOLE.
Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your ftrains!
'An oaken ftaff each merits for his pains.
But fee the fun-beams bright to labour warn,
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge's barn.
Your herds for want of water ftand a-dry,
They're weary of your fongs-and fo am I.
YOUNG Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed,
Where'er 1 gad, I cannot hide my care,
My new difafters in my look appear.
White as the curd my ruddy cheek is grown,
So thin my features that I'm hardly known.
Our neighbours tell me oft', in joking talk,
Of afhes, leather. oatmeal, bran, and chalk;
Unwittingly of Marian they divine,
And wilt not that with thoughtful love I pine.
Yet Colin Clout, untoward fhepherd fwain,
Walks whistling blithe, while pitiful I plain.
Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight
To moil all day, and merry make at night. 30
If in the foil you guide the crooked share,
Your early breakfast is my constant care;
And when with even hand you ftrow the grain,
I fright the thievith rooks from off the plain.
In mifling days, when I my thresher heard,
With nappy beer I to the barn repair'd;
Loft in the music of the whirling flail,
gaze on thee I left the fmoking pail :
Y Full well could dance, and deftly tune the reed; To get when the fun was mounted high,
In every wood his carols fweet were known, wake his nimble feats were shown.
At every
When in the ring the ruftic routs he threw,
The damfels' pleafures with his conquefts grew;
Or when aflant the cudgel threats his head,
His danger fmites the breaft of every maid,
But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the fwain,
The parfon's maid, and neatest of the plain;
Marian, that foft could ftroke the udder'd cow,
Or leffen with her fieve the harley-mow;
Marbled with fage the hardening checfe the prefs'd,
And yellow butter Marian's skill confefs'd;
But Marian now, devoid of country cares,
Nor yellow butter, nor fage-cheese, prepares;
For yearning love the witless maid employs,
And Love, fay fwains, "all bufy heed deftroys."
Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart;
A lafs that Cicely hight had won his heart,
Cicely the western lass that tends the kee,
The rival of the parfon's maid was the.
In dreiry fhade now Marian lies along,
And, mixt with fighs, thus wails in plaining fong:
Ah woeful day! ah woeful noon and morn! 25
When first by thee my younglings white were fhorn;
Then firft, I ween, I caft a lover's eye,
My fheep were filly, but more filly 1.
Beneath the thears they felt no lafting fmart,
They loft but fleeces, while I loft a heart,
My leathern bottle did thy draught fupply;
Whene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake,
And have full oft' been fun burnt for thy fake:
When in the welkin gathering fhowers were seen,
I lagg'd the laft with Colin on the green;
And when at eve returning with thy car,
Awaiting heard the jingling bells from far,
Straight on the fire the footy pot I plac'd,
To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste.
When hungry thou food'ft flaring, like an oaf,
I flie'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf ; 70
With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mefs.
Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage lefs!
Laft Friday's eve, when as the fun was fet,
I, near yon ftile, three fallow gypfies met.
Upon my hand they caft a poring look,
Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook:
They faid that many croffes I muft prove;
Some in my worldly gain, but most in love.
Next morn I mifs'd three hens and our old cock,
And off the hedge two pinners and a smock;
I bore thefe loffes with a chriftian mind,
And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind.
But fince, alas! I grew my Colin's fcorn,
I've known no pleasure, night, er noon, or morn.
Help me, ye gypfies; bring him home again,
And to a conflant lafs give back her fwain
Have I not fat with thee full many a night,
Ver. 103-110 were not in the early editions. N. When dying embers were our only light,
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If thou forget'ft, I wot, can repeat,
My memory can tell the verfe fo fweet:
"As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine,
"So is thy image on this heart of mine."
But woe is me! fuch prefents lucklefs prove,
For knives, they tell me, always fever love.
Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimfull,
When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull.
With apron blue to dry her tears the fought; 105
Then faw the cow well ferv'd, and took a great.
THE DUMPS.
SPARABELLA.
HE wailings of a maiden 1 recite,
Ta maiden fair that Sparabella hight.
Such ftrains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat,
Nor the gay goldfinch chaunts fo fweet a note.
No mag-pye chatter'd, nor the painted jay,
No ox was heard to low, nor afs to bray;
No rustling breezes play'd the leaves among,
While thus her madrigal the damfel fung.
A while, O D'Urfey, lend an ear or twain,
Nor, though in homely guife, my verse disdain; 10
Whether thou feck'st new kingdoms in the fun,
Whether thy Mufe does at Newmarket run,
Or does with goflips at a feaft regale,
And heighten her conceits with fack and ale,
Or clfe at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice,
Where D'Urfey's lyricks fwell in every voice;
Yet fuffer me, thou bard of wondrous meed,
Amid thy bays to weave this rural weed.
Now the fun drove adown the western road,
And oxen laid at reft forgot the goad,
The clown fatigued trudg'd homeward with
fpade,
Across the meadows ftretch'd the lengthen'd fhade;
When Sparabella, penfive and forlorn,
Alike with yearning love and labour worn,
Lean'd on her rake, and ftrait with doleful guife
Did this fad plaint in mournful notes devife.
Come night as dark as pitch, furround my head; From Sparabella Bumkinet is fled; The ribbon that his valorous cudgel won, Laft Sunday happier Clumfilis put on. Sure if he'd eyes (but love, they say, bus none} I whilom by that ribbon had been known. Ah, well-a-day! I'm fhent with baneful fmart, For with the ribbon he beftow'd his heart. "My plaint, ye laffes, with this burthen aid, 35 "'Tis hard fo true a damfel dies a maid."
Shall heavy Clumfilis with me compare? View this, ye lovers, and like me despair. Her blubber'd lip by fmutty pipes is worn, And in her breath tobacco whiffs are borne ! The cleanly cheefe-prefs fhe could never turn, Her aukward fift did ne'er employ the churn; If e'er the brew'd, the drink would straight grow
Before it ever felt the thunder's power:
No hufwifry the dowdy creature knew;
To fum up all, her tongue confefs'd the fhrew.
My plaint, ye laffes, with this burthen aid,
""Tis hard fo true a damfel dies a maid."
I've often feen my vifage in yun lake,
Nor are my features of the homelieft make:
Though Clumfilis may boast a whiter dye,
Yet the black floe turns in my rolling eye;
And fairest bloffoms drop with every blast,
But the brown beauty will like hollies laft.
Her wan complexion's like the wither'd leek, 55
While Katherine pears adorn my ruddy cheek.
Yet fhe, alas! the witlefs lout hath won,
And by her gain poor Sparabell's undone!
Let hares and hounds in coupling ftraps unite,
The clucking hen make friendship with the kite; 60
Let the fox fimply wear the nuptial moofe,
And join in wedlock with the waddling goofe;
For love hath brought a ftranger thing to pafs,
The fairest fhepherd weds the fouleft lafs.
• Dumps, or dumbs, made ufe of to exprefs a fit of the fullens. Some have pretended that it is derived from Dumops, a king of Egypt, that built a pyramid, and died of melancholy. So mopes after the fame manner is thought to have come from Merops, another Egyptian king that died of the fame" diftemper. But our English antiquaries have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous beaviness of Spirits, comes from the word dumplin, the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this country, much ufed in Norfolk, and other counties of England..
"Mopfo Nifa datur, quid non fperemus amantes?" VIRG.
"Nec fum adeo informis, nuper me in littore
"Alba liguftra cadunt, vaccinia nigra leguntur."
"Jungentur jam gryphes equis; ævoque fequenti "Cum canibus timidi venient ad pocula dama." VIRG.
Ver. 67. "Ante leves ergo pafcentur in æthere cervi, "Et freta deftituent nudos in littore pifces
Quàm noftro illiuslabatur pectore vultus." VIR.
HORNELIA.
OBNELIA, feated in á dreary vale,
H piccous tale;
Ah! didst thou know what proffers I withstood When late I met the Squire in yonder wood! To me he sped, regardless of his game, While all my cheek was glowing red with fhame; My lip he kifs'd, and prais'd my healthful look, Then from his purfe of filk a guinea took, Into my hand he forc'd the tempting gold, While I with modest struggling broke his hold. He fwore that Dick, in livery ftriped with lace, Should wed me foon, to keep me from difgrace; But I nor footman priz'd, nor golden fee; For what is lace or gold compar'd to thee? "My plaint, ye laffes, with this burthen aid, ""Tis hard fo true a damfel dies a maid."
Now plain I ken whence Love his rife begun; Sure he was born fome bloody butcher's fon, Bred up in fhambles, where our younglings flain Erft taught him mischief, and to sport with pain. The father only filly fleep annoys, The fon the fillier shepherdefs deftroys. Does fon or father greater mischief do? The fire is cruel, fo the fon is too.
That ftool, the dread of every scolding quean;
Yet, fure a lover fhould not die fo mean!
There plac'd aloft, I'll rave and rail by fits,
Though all the parish fay I've lost my wits;
And thence, if courage holds, myfelf I'll throw,
And quench my paffion in the lake below..
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"Ye laffes, ceafe your burthen, ceafe to moan, "And, by my cafe forcwarn'd, go mind your own." The fun was fct; the night came on apace, 115 And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarfe owl his woeful dirges fings; The prudent maiden deems it now too late, And till to-morrow comes defers her fate.
Ver. 89. To ken. Scire. Chaucer, to ken and kende; notus A. S. cunnan. Goth. kunnan. Germanis kennen. Dauis kiende. lflandis kunna. Belgis kennen. This word is of general ufe, but not very common, though not unknown to the vulgar. Ken for profpicere is well known and used to difeover by the eye. RAY, F.R. S.
"Nunc fcio quid fit amor, &c.
"Crudelis mater magis an puer improbus ille? Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater."
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Her piteous tale the winds in fighs bemoan,
And pining Echo anfwers groan for groan.
I rue the day, a rueful day 1 trow,
The woeful day, a day indeed of woe!
When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove,
A maiden fine bedight he hapt to love;
The maiden fine bedight his love retains,
And for the village he forfakes the plains.
Return, my Lubberkin, thefe ditties hear;
Spells will I try, and spells fhall cafe my care.
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,
"And turn me thrice around, around, around."
When first the year I heard the cuckow fing, 15
And call with welcome note the budding spring,
I ftraightway fet a-running with fuch hafte,
Deborah that won the fmock fcarce ran fo faft;
Till fpent for lack of breath, quite weary grown,
Upon a rifing bank I fat adown,
Then doff'd my fhoe, and by my troth, Ifwear,
Therein Ifpy'd this yellow frizzled hair,
As like to Lubberkin's in curl and hue, As if upon his comely pate it grew. "With my fharp heel I three times mark the ground,
"And turn me thrice around, around, around.”
At eve laft Midfummer no fleep I fought,
But to the field a bag of hemp-feed brought;
fcatter'd round the feed on every side,
And three times in a trembling accent cry'd,
This hemp-feed with my virgin hand I fow,
"Who fhall my true-love be, the crop fhall mow."
I ftraight look'd back, and, if my eyes fpeak truth,
With his keen feythe behind me came the youth.
"With my fharp heel I three times mark the
ground,
"And turn me thrice around, around, around."
Laft Valentine, the day when birds of kind
Their paramours with mutual chirpings find;
I rearly rose, just at the break of day,
Before the fun had chas'd the stars away;
A-field I went, amid the morning dew
To milk my kine (for so should hufwives do);
Thee firft I fpy'd; and the first swain we fee,
In fpite of fortune, fhall our true-love be.
See, Lubberkin, each bird his partner take;
And canft thou then thy fweetheart dear forfake?
"With my fharp heel I three times mark the
ground,
|