Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near;
Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.

20 With her no sultry summer's heat I know;
In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire,
My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire!

Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British authors for Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.

YOUNG Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed,
Full well could dance, and deftly tune the reed;
In every wood his carols sweet were known,
At every wake his nimble feats were shown.
When in the ring the rustic routs he threw,
The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew;
Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head,
His danger smites the breast of every maid,

As at hot-cockles once I laid me down, And felt the weighty hand of many a clown; 100 But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain, Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye.

The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain ;
Marian, that soft could stroke the udder'd cow,
Or lessen with her sieve the barley-mow;
Marbled with sage the hardening cheese she press'd,
And yellow butter Marian's skill confess'd;

10

Ver. 69. Eftsoons, from eft, an ancient British word, sig- But Marian now, devoid of country cares, nifying soon. So that eftsoons is a doubling of the word Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares, soon, which is, as it were, to say twice soon, or very soon. For yearning love the witless maid employs, Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the an- And, "Love" say swains, "all busy heed destroys." cient English authors. I have used it in this place in the Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart; same sense as Chaucer hath done in his Miller's Tale. "As clerkes being full subtle and queint," (by which he means arck, or waggish); and not in that obscene sense wherein he useth it in the line immediately following.

A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart,

20

Ver. 103-110 were not in the early editions.-M.

Ver. 113. Marigold.

Ver. 117. Rosemary.

Ver. 85.

Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vitis laccho,
Formosa myrtus Veneri, sua laurea Phœbo,

Phillis amat corylos. Illas dum Phillis amabit

Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phœbi, &c.

Virg.

Ver. 120. Et vitula tu dignus & hic. Virg.

Die quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum
Nascantur flores. Virg.

Cicely, the western lass, that tends the kee,
The rival of the parson's maid was she.
In dreary shade now Marian lies along,
And, mixt with sighs, thus wails in plaining song:
"Ah, woful day! ah, woful noon and morn!
When first by thee my younglings white were shorn;
Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eye,
My sheep were silly, but more silly I.
Beneath the shears they felt no lasting smart,
They lost but fleeces, while I lost a heart.

"Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart
true?

100

30 And with another change thy state of life?
If thou forgett'st, I wot, I can repeat,
My memory can tell the verse so sweet:
As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine,
So is thy image on this heart of mine.'
But woe is me! such presents luckless prove,
For knives, they tell me, always sever love."
Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimful,
When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull.
With apron blue to dry her tears she sought,
Then saw the cow wellserv'd, and took a groat.

40

What I have done for thee, will Cicely do ?
Will she thy linen wash, or hosen darn,
And knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn?
Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat?
And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait,
Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide,
In service-time drew Cicely's eyes aside?
"Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care,
My new disasters in my look appear.
White as the curd my ruddy cheek is grown,
So thin my features, that I'm hardly known.
Our neighbors tell me oft, in joking talk,
Of ashes, leather, oatmeal, bran, and chalk;
Unwittingly of Marian they divine,
And wist not that with thoughtful love I pine.
Yet Colin Clout, untoward shepherd swain,
Walks whistling blithe, while pitiful I plain.
"Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight
To moil all day, and merry-make at night.
If in the soil you guide the crooked share,
Your early breakfast is my constant care;
And when with even hand you strow the grain,
I fright the thievish rooks from off the plain.
In misling days, when I my thresher heard,
With nappy beer I to the barn repair'd;
Lost in the music of the whirling flail,
To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail:
In harvest, when the Sun was mounted high,
My leathern bottle did thy draught supply;
Whene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake,
And have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake:
When in the welkin gathering showers were seen,
I lagg'd the last 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 sooty pot I plac'd,
To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste.
When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf,
I slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf;
With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mess.
Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less!

"Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set, I, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met.

WEDNESDAY; OR, THE DUMPS.*

SPARABELLA.

THE wailings of a maiden I recite,
A maiden fair, that Sparabella hight.

50 Such strains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat,
Nor the gay goldfinch chants so sweet a note.
No magpye chatter'd, nor the painted jay,
No ox was heard to low, nor ass to bray;
No rustling breezes play'd the leaves among,
While thus her madrigal the damsel sung.

60 Or does with gossips at a feast regale,

70

And heighten her conceits with sack and ale,
Or else at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice,
Where D'Urfey's lyrics swell in every voice;

* Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a fit of the sullens. 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 same manner, is thought to have come from Merops, another Egyptian king, that died of the same distemper. But our English antiquaries have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous heaviness of spirits, comes from the word dumpling, the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this country, much used in Norfolk, and other counties of

Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook: England.

Ver. 5.

Immemor herbarum quos est mirata juvencá
Certantes, quorum stupefactæ carmine lynces,
Et mutata suos requiêrunt flumina cursus.

Upon my hand they cast a poring look,

They said, that many crosses I must prove;

Some in my worldly gain, but most in love.

Next morn I miss'd three hens and our old cock;

And off the hedge two pinners and a smock;

80

I bore these losses with a Christian mind,

Virg.

And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind.

But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scorn,

I've known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn.
Help me, ye gypsies; bring him home again,
And to a constant lass give back her swain.

Ver. 21. Kce, a west-country word for kine, or cows.

Ver. 11. An opera written by this author, called The World in the Sun, or the Kingdom of Birds; he is also famous for his song on the Newmarket horse-race, and several others that are sung by the British swains.

Ver. 9.

Yet suffer me, thou bard of wond'rous meed,
Amid thy bays to weave this rural weed.

"Sooner shall cats disport in waters clear, And speckled mack'rel graze the meadows fair; Sooner shall screech-owls bask in sunny day, 20 And the slow ass on trees, like squirrels, play; 70 Sooner shall snails on insect pinions rove; Than I forget my shepherd's wonted love.

Now the Sun drove adown the western road,
And oxen, laid at rest, forgot the goad,
The clown, fatigu'd, trudg'd homeward with his
spade,

Across the meadows stretch'd the lengthen'd shade;
When Sparabella, pensive and forlorn,
Alike with yearning love and labor worn,
Lean'd on her rake, and straight with doleful guise
Did this sad plaint in mournful notes devise :

"Come Night, as dark as pitch, surround my head,
From Sparabella Bumkinet is fled;
The ribbon that his valorous cudgel won,
Last Sunday happier Clumsilis put on.
Sure if he'd eyes (but Love, they say, has none)
I whilom by that ribbon had been known.
Ah, well-a-day! I'm shent with baneful smart,
For with the ribbon he bestow'd his heart.

"My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

80

"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 shame; My lip he kiss'd, and prais'd my healthful look, Then from his purse of silk a guinea took, 30 Into my hand he forc'd the tempting gold, While I with modest struggling broke his hold. He swore that Dick, in livery strip'd with lace, Should wed me soon, to keep me from disgrace; But I nor footman priz'd, nor golden fee; For what is lace or gold, compar'd to thee? "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, "Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' "Now plain I ken whence Love his rise begun

"My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, • 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' "Shall heavy Clumsilis with me compare? View this, ye lovers, and like me despair. Her blubber'd lip by smutty pipes is worn, And in her breath tobacco whiffs are borne! The cleanly cheese-press she could never turn, Her awkward fist did ne'er employ the churn; If e'er she brew'd, the drink would straight go sour, Before it ever felt the thunder's power; No huswifery the dowdy creature knew; To sum up all, her tongue confess'd the shrew. "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

Sure he was born some bloody butcher's son,
40 Bred up in shambles, where our younglings slain
Erst taught him mischief, and to sport with pain.
The father only silly sheep annoys,
The son the sillier shepherdess destroys.
Does son or father greater mischief do?
The sire is cruel, so the son is too.

90

"My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid,
"Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'
"Farewell, ye woods, ye meads, ye streams tha
flow;

100

50 A sudden death shall rid me of my woe.
This penknife keen my windpipe shall divide.
What! shall I fall as squeaking pigs have died?
No-To some tree this carcass I'll suspend.
But worrying curs find such untimely end!
I'll speed me to the pond, where the high stool
On the long plank hangs o'er the muddy pool;
That stool, the dread of every scolding quean;
Yet, sure a lover should not die so mean!
There plac'd aloft, I'll rave and rail by fits,
Though all the parish say I've lost my wits; 110
And thence, if courage holds, myself I'll throw,
And quench my passion in the lake below.

"I've often seen my visage in yon lake,
Nor are my features of the homeliest make:
Though Clumsilis may boast a whiter dye,
Yet the black sloe turns in my rolling eye;
And fairest blossoms drop with every blast,
But the brown beauty will like hollies last.
Her wan complexion's like the wither'd leek,
While Katharine pears adorn my ruddy cheek.
Yet she, alas! the witless lout hath won,
And by her gain poor Sparabell's undone !
Let hares and hounds in coupling straps unite,
The clucking hen make friendship with the kite;
Let the fox simply wear the nuptial noose,
61
And join in wedlock with the waddling goose;
For love hath brought a stranger thing to pass,
The fairest shepherd weds the foulest lass.

"My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

Ver. 17. Meed, an old word for fame, or renown.

Ver. 18. -Hanc sine tempora circum

Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros.

"Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to moan. And, by my case forewarn'd, go mind your own."

Ver. 67.

Ante leves ergo pascentur in æthere cervi,
Et freta destituent nudos in littore pisces-
Quàm nostro illius labatur pectore vultus.

Ver. 33. Shent, an old word, signifying hurt, or harmed. Danis kiende. Islandis kunna. Belgis kennen. This word

is of general use, but not very common, though not unknown to the vulgar. Ken, for prospicere, is well known, and used to discover by the eye. Ray, F. R. S.

The Sun was set; the night came on apace, And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarse owl his woful dirges sings; The prudent maiden deems it now too late, And, till to-morrow comes, defers her fate.

THURSDAY; OR, THE SPELL.

HOBNELIA.

HOBNELIA, seated in a dreary vale,
In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale;
Her piteous tale the winds in sighs bemoan,
And pining echo answers groan for groan.

"I rue the day, a rueful day, I trow,
The woful 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 forsakes the plains.
Return, my Lubberkin, these ditties hear;
Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "Last May-day fair I search'd to find a snail, That might my secret lover's name reveal. 120 Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found, (For always snails near sweetest fruit abound). I seiz'd the vermin, whom I quickly sped, And on the earth the milk-white embers spread. Slow crawl'd the snail; and, if I right can spell, In the soft ashes mark'd a curious L. Oh, may this wondrous omen lucky prove! For L is found in Lubberkin and Love.

50

With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
"Two hazel-nuts I threw into the flame,
And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name;
This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd,
That in a flame of brightest color blaz'd.

10 As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow;
For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow.
With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

"When first the year I heard the cuckoo sing,
And call with welcome note the budding spring,
I straightway set a running with such haste,
Deborah that won the smock scarce ran so fast;
Till spent for lack of breath, quite weary grown,
Upon a rising bank I sat adown,
Then doff'd my shoe, and, by my troth, I swear,
Therein I spied this yellow frizzled hair,
As like to Lubberkin's in curl and hue,
As if upon his comely pate it grew.

20

With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
"At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought,
But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought;
I scatter'd round the seed on every side,
And three times in a trembling accent cried,
This hemp-seed with my virgin hand I sow,
Who shall my true-love be, the crop shall mow.'
I straight look'd back, and, if my eyes speak truth,
With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.

30

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,

68

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
"As peascods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see
One that was closely fill'd with three times three:
Which, when I cropp'd, I safely home convey'd,
And o'er the door the spell in secret laid;
My wheel I turn'd, and sung a ballad new,
While from the spindle I the fleeces drew;
The latch mov'd up, when, who should first come in,
But, in his proper person-Lubberkin.
I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see;
Sure sign that he would break his word with me.
Eftsoons I join'd it with my wonted sleight:
So may again his love with mine unite!

4

80

With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
"This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass.
Fly, lady-bird, North, South, or East, or West,
Fly where the man is found that I love best.
He leaves my hand; see, to the West he's flown,
To call my true-love from the faithless town.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
"I pare this pippin round and round again,
My shepherd's name to flourish on the plain,
I fling th' unbroken paring o'er my head,
Upon the grass a perfect L is read;
Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen

40 Than what the paring makes upon the green.

And turn me thrice around, around, around.'
"Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind
Their paramours with mutual chirpings find;
I early rose, just at the break of day,
Before the Sun had chas'd the stars away;
A-field I went, amid the morning dew,
To milk my kine (for so should huswives do);
Thee first I spied; and the first swain we see,
In spite of Fortune, shall our true-love be.
See, Lubberkin, each bird his partner take;
And canst thou then thy sweetheart dear forsake ?

Ver. 8. Dight, or bedight, from the Saxon word dightan, which signifies to set in order.

Ver. 21. Doff and don, contracted from the words do off and do on

90