191 [from Pastorals]
The Ninth Eglogue
Late ’twas in June, the Fleece when fully growne,
In the full compasse of the passed yeere,
The Season well by skilfull Shepheards knowne,
That them provide immediately to sheere.
5 Their Lambes late wax’t so lusty and so strong,
That time did them their Mothers Teats forbid,
And in the fields the common flocks among,
Eate of the same Grasse that the greater did.
When not a Shepheard any thing that could,
10 But greaz’d his start-ups blacke as Autumns Sloe,
And for the better credit of the Wold,
In their fresh Russets every one doth goe.
Who now a Posie pins not in his Cap?
And not a Garland Baldricke-wise doth weare?
15 Some, of such Flowers as to his hand doth hap,
Others, such as a secret meaning beare:
He from his Lasse him Lavander hath sent,
Shewing her Love, and doth requitall crave,
Him Rosemary his Sweet-heart, whose intent,
20 Is that, he her should in remembrance have.
Roses, his youth and strong desire expresse,
Her Sage, doth shew his soverainty in all,
The July-Flowre declares his gentlenesse,
Time, Truth, the Pansie, Harts-ease Maydens call:
25 In Cotes such simples, simply in request,
Wherewith proud Courts in greatnesse scorne to mell,
For Countrey toyes become the Countrey best,
And please poore Shepheards, and become them well.
When the new-wash’d flocke from the rivers side,
30 Comming as white as januaries Snow,
The Ram with Nose-gaies beares his Homes in pride,
And no lesse brave, the Bell-wether doth goe.
After their faire flocks in a lusty rowt,
Came the gay Swaynes with Bag-pipes strongly blowne,
35 And busied, though this solemne sport about,
Yet had each one an eye unto his owne.
And by the ancient Statutes of the Field,
He that his Flocks the earlyest Lambe should bring,
(As it fell out then, ROWLANDS charge to yeeld)
40 Alwayes for that yeere was the Shepheards King.
And soone preparing for the Shepheards Boord,
Upon a Greene that curiously was squar’d,
With Country Cates be’ng plentifully stor’d:
And ’gainst their comming handsomely prepar’d:
45 New Whig, with Water from the cleerest streame,
Greene Plummes, and Wildings, Cherries chiefe of Feast,
Fresh Cheese, and Dowsets, Curds and clowted Creame,
Spic’d Syllibubs, and Sider of the best:
And to the same downe solemnely they sit,
50 In the fresh shaddow of their Summer Bowres,
With sundrie sweets them every way to fit,
The Neighb’ring Vale dispoyled of her Flowres.
And whil’st together merry thus they make,
The Sunne to West a little ‘gan to leane,
55 Which the late fervour, soone againe did slake,
When as the Nymphs came forth upon the Plaine,
Here might you many a Shepheardesse have seene,
Of which no place, as Cotswold, such doth yeeld,
Some of it native, some for love I weene,
60 Thither were come from many a fertill Field.
There was the Widdowes Daughter of the Glen,
Deare ROSALYND, that scarsly brook’d compare,
The Moreland-Mayden, so admir’d of Men,
Bright GOLDY-LOCKS, and PHILLIDA the faire.
65 LETTICE and PARNEL, pretty lovely Peates,
CUSSE of the Fold, the Virgin of the Well,
Faire AMBRY with the Alablaster Teates,
And more, whose Names were here to long to tell.
Which now came forward following their Sheepe,
70 Their batning Flocks on grassy Leaes to hold,
Thereby from skathe, and perill them to keepe,
Till Evening come that it were time to fold.
When now, at last, as lik’d the Shepheards King,
(At whose command they all obedient were)
75 Was pointed, who the Roundelay should sing,
And who againe the under-Song should beare:
The first whereof he BATTE doth bequeath,
A wittier Wag on all the Wold’s not found,
GORBO, the Man, that him should sing beneath,
80 Which his lowd Bag-pipe skilfully could sound.
Who amongst all the Nymphs that were in sight,
BATTE his daintie DAFFADIL there mist,
Which, to enquire of, doing all his might,
Him his Companion kindly doth assist.
BATTE.
85 GORBO, as thou cam’st this way,
By yonder little Hill,
Or, as thou, through the Fields didst stray,
Saw’st thou my DAFFADIL?
Shee’s in a Frocke of Lincolne greene,
90 Which colour likes her sight,
And never hath her beautie seene,
But through a vale of white.
Then Roses richer to behold,
That trim up Lovers Bowres,
95 The Pansie and the Marigold,
Tho PHŒBUS Paramours.
GORBO. Thou well describ’st the Daffadill,
It is not full an houre,
Since, by the Spring, neere yonder Hill,
100 I saw that lovely Flowre.
BATTE. Yet my faire Flowre thou didst not meet,
Nor newes of her didst bring,
And yet my DAFFADIL’S more sweet,
Then that by yonder Spring.
105 GORBO. I saw a Shepheard that doth keepe,
In yonder Field of Lillies,
Was making (as he fed his Sheepe)
A Wreathe of Daffadillies.
BATTE.Yet, GORBO,thou delud’st me still,
110 My Flowre thou didst not see,
For, know, my pretty DAFFADIL
Is worne of none but mee.
To shew it selfe but neere her seate,
No Lilly is so bold,
115 Except to shade her from the heate,
Or keepe her from the cold.
GORBO. Through yonder Vale as I did passe,
Descending from the Hill,
I met a smerking bonny Lasse,
120 They call her DAFFADIL:
Whose presence, as along shee went,
The pretty Flowres did greet,
As though their Heads they downeward bent,
With homage to her feet.
125 And all the Shepheards that were nie,
From top of every Hill,
Unto the Valleyes Iowa did crie,
There goes sweet DAFFADIL.
BATTE. I, gentle Shepheard, now with joy
130 Thou all my Flocks dost fill,
That’s shee alone, kind Shepheards Boy,
Let us to DAFFADIL.