With some old sorowe that made a newe breache; 210 Seemed she sawe in her younglings face The old lineaments of his fathers grace. At last her solein silence she broke, And gan his newe budded beard to stroke. "Kiddie (quoth shee) thou kenst the great care I have of thy health and thy welfare, Which many wyld beastes liggen in waite For to entrap in thy tender state : But most the Foxe, maister of collusion;
For he has voued thy last confusion. For thy, my Kiddie, be rulde by mee, And never give trust to his trecheree; And, if he chaunce come when I am abroade, Sperre the yate fast for fear of fraude;
Ne for all his worst, nor for his best,
Open the dore at his request."
So schooled the Gate her wanton sonne, That answer'd his mother, all should be done. Tho went the pensife Damme out of dore, And chaunst to stomble at the threshold flore; Her stombling steppe some what her amazed, (For such, as signes of ill luck, bene dispraised ;) Yet forth shee yode, thereat half aghast; And Kiddie the dore sperred after her fast. It was not long, after shee was gone, But the false Foxe came to the dore anone; Not as a Foxe, for then he had be kend, But all as a poore pedler he did wend, Bearing a trusse of tryfles at his backe, As bells, and babes, and glasses, in hys packe: A Biggen he had got about his brayne, For in his headpeace he felt a sore payne: His hinder heele was wrapt in a clout, For with great cold he had gotte the gout. There at the dore he cast me downe hys pack, And layd him downe, and groned, "Alack! alack! Ah, deare Lord! and sweete Saint Charitee! That some good body woulde once pitie mee!"
Well heard Kiddie al this sore constraint; And lengd to know the cause of his complaint; 250 Tho, creeping close behinde the Wickets clink, Privelie he peeped out through a chinck, Yet not so privilie but the Foxe him spyed; For deceitfull meaning is double eyed.
"Ah, good young maister!" (then gan he cryc) "Jesus blesse that sweete face I espye, And keepe your corpse from the carefull stounds That in my carrion carcas abounds."
The Kidd, pittying hys heavinesse, Asked the cause of his great distresse, And also who, and whence that he were?
Tho he, that had well ycond his lere, Thus medled his talke with many a teare: "Sicke, sicke, alas! and little lack of dead, But I be relieved by your beastlyhead.
I am a poore sheepe, albe my coloure donne, For with long traveile I am brent in the sonne; And if that my grandsire me sayd be true, Sicker, I am very sybbe to you;
So be your goodlihead do not disdayne The base kinred of so simple swaine. Of mercy and favour, then, I you pray With your ayd to forestall my neere decay." Tho out of his packe a glasse he tooke, Wherein while Kiddie unwares did looke, He was so enamored with the newell, That nought he deemed deare for the jewell:
Tho opened he the dore, and in came
The false Foxe, as he were starke lame : His tayle he clapt betwixt his legs twayne,
Lest he should be descried by his trayne. Being within, the Kidde made him good glee, All for the love of the glasse he did see. After his chere the pedler can chat, And tell many lesinges of this and that, And how he could shewe many a fine knack. Tho shewed his ware and opened his packe,
All save a bell, which he left behind In the basket for the Kidde to fynd;
Which when the Kidde stooped downe to catch, 290 He popt him in, and his basket did latch : Ne stayed he once the dore to make fast, But ranne awaye with him in all hast.
Home when the doubtfull Damme had her hyde, She mought see the dore stand open wyde. All agast, lowdly she gan to call
Her Kidde; but he nould aunswere at all: Tho on the flore she saw the merchaundise Of which her sonne had sette to [o] deere a prise. What help? her Kidde she knewe well was gone: 300 She weeped, and wayled, and made great mone. Such end had the Kidde, for he nould warned be Of craft, coloured with simplicitie; And such end, perdie, does all hem remayne, That of such falsers freendship bene fayne. Pal. Truely, Piers, thou art beside thy wit, Furthest fro the marke, weening it to hit. Now, I pray thee, lette me thy tale borrowe For our Sir John, to say tomorowe At the Kerke, when it is holliday; For well he meanes, but little can say. But, and if foxes bene so crafty as so, Much needeth all shepheards hem to knowe.
Piers. Of their falshode more could I recount, But now the bright Sunne gynneth to dismount; And, for the deawie night now doth nye, I hold it best for us home to hye.
PALINODES EMBLEME.
Πᾶς μεν ἄπιστος άπιστει.
PIERS HIS EMBLEME.
Τις δ' ἄρα πίστις ἀπίστῳ.
THIS Æglogue is wholly vowed to the complayning of Colins ill successe in his love. For being (as is aforesaid) enamoured of a country lasse, Rosalind, and having (as seemeth) founde place in her heart, hee lamenteth to his deare frend Hobbinoll, that he is now forsaken unfaithfully, and in his steede Menalcas, another shepheard, received disloyally. And this is the whole Argument of this Æglogue.
HOBBINOLL. COLIN CLOUT
$O! Collin, here the place whose plesaunt From other shades hath weand my wan
Tell me, what wants me here to worke delyte? The simple ayre, the gentle warbling wynde, So calme, so coole, as no where else I fynde; The grassye ground with daintye Daysies dight, The Bramble bush, where Byrds of every kynde To the waters fall their tunes attemper right.
Col. O happy Hobbinoll! I blesse thy state, That Paradise hast founde whych Adam lost : Here wander may thy flocke, early or late, Withouten dreade of wolves to bene ytost; Thy lovely layes here mayst thou freely boste But I, unhappy Man! whom cruell fate And angry gods pursue from coste to coste, Can no where fynd to shroude my lucklesse pate.
Hob. Then, if by me thou list advised be, Forsake the soyle that so doth thee bewitch; Leave me those hilles where harbrough nis to see, Nor holy bush, nor brere, nor winding witche ; And to the dales resort, where shipheards ritch, And fruictfull flocks, bene every where to see :
Here no night-ravens lodge, more black then pitche,
Nor elvish ghosts, nor gastly owles doe flee;
But frendly Faeries, met with many Graces, And lightfote Nymphes, can chace the lingring Night With heydeguyes, and trimly trodden traces, Whilst systers nyne, which dwell on Parnasse hight, Doe make them musick for their more delight; And Pan himselfe, to kisse their christall faces, Will pype and daunce when Phœbe shineth bright: Such pierlesse pleasures have we in these places.
Col. And I, whylst youth, and course of carelesse
Did let mee walke withouten lincks of love, In such delights did joy amongst my peeres; But ryper age such pleasures doth reprove: My fancye eke from former follies move To stayed steps; for time in passing weares, (As garments doen, which wexen olde above,) And draweth newe delightes with hoary heares.
Tho couth I sing of love, and tune my pype Unto my plaintive pleas in verses made; Tho would I seeke for queene-apples unrype, To give my Rosalind; and in sommer shade Dight gaudy girlonds was my comen trade, To crowne her golden locks: but yeeres more rype, And losse of her, whose love as lyfe I wayd, Those weary wanton toyes away did wype.
Hob. Colin, to heare thy rymes and roundelayes, Which thou wert wont on wastfull hylls to singe, 50
« PreviousContinue » |