Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 65

6 I do scorn to vow a duty Where each l.u.s.tful lad may woo; Give me her whose sun-like beauty Buzzards dare not soar unto: She, she it is Affords that bliss For which I would refuse no pain: But such as you, Fond fools, adieu!

You seek to captive me in vain.

7 Leave me then, you Siren, leave me: Seek no more to work my harms: Crafty wiles cannot deceive me, Who am proof against your charms: You labour may To lead astray The heart that constant shall remain; And I the while Will sit and smile To see you spend your time in vain.

THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING.

ARGUMENT.

Cuddy tells how all the swains Pity Roget on the plains; Who, requested, doth relate The true cause of his estate; Which broke off, because 'twas long, They begin a three-man song.

w.i.l.l.y. CUDDY. ROGET.

w.i.l.l.y.

Roget, thy old friend Cuddy here, and I, Are come to visit thee in these thy bands, Whilst both our flocks in an enclosure by Do pick the thin gra.s.s from the fallowed lands.

He tells me thy restraint of liberty, Each one throughout the country understands: And there is not a gentle-natured lad, On all these downs, but for thy sake is sad.

CUDDY.

Not thy acquaintance and thy friends alone Pity thy close restraint, as friends should do: But some that have but seen thee for thee moan: Yea, many that did never see thee too.

Some deem thee in a fault, and most in none; So divers ways do divers rumours go: And at all meetings where our shepherds be, Now the main news that's extant is of thee.

ROGET.

Why, this is somewhat yet: had I but kept Sheep on the mountains till the day of doom, My name should in obscurity have slept, In brakes, in briars, shrubbed furze and broom.

Into the world's wide care it had not crept, Nor in so many men's thoughts found a room: But what cause of my sufferings do they know?

Good Cuddy, tell me how doth rumour go?

CUDDY.

Faith, 'tis uncertain; some speak this, some that: Some dare say nought, yet seem to think a cause, And many a one, prating he knows not what, Comes out with proverbs and old ancient saws, As if he thought thee guiltless, and yet not: Then doth he speak half-sentences, then pause: That what the most would say, we may suppose: But what to say, the rumour is, none knows.

ROGET.

Nor care I greatly, for it skills not much What the unsteady common-people deems; His conscience doth not always feel least touch, That blameless in the sight of others seems: My cause is honest, and because 'tis such I hold it so, and not for men's esteems: If they speak justly well of me, I'm glad; If falsely evil, it ne'er makes me sad.

w.i.l.l.y.

I like that mind; but, Roget, you are quite Beside the matter that I long to hear: Remember what you promised yesternight, You'd put us off with other talk, I fear; Thou know'st that honest Cuddy's heart's upright, And none but he, except myself, is near: Come therefore, and betwixt us two relate, The true occasion of thy present state.

ROGET.

My friends, I will; you know I am a swain, That keep a poor flock here upon this plain: Who, though it seems I could do nothing less, Can make a song, and woo a shepherdess; And not alone the fairest where I live Have heard me sing, and favours deigned to give; But though I say't, the n.o.blest nymph of Thame, Hath graced my verse unto my greater fame.

Yet being young, and not much seeking praise, I was not noted out for shepherds' lays, Nor feeding flocks, as you know others be: For the delight that most possessed me Was hunting foxes, wolves, and beasts of prey; That spoil our folds, and bear our lambs away.

For this, as also for the love I bear Unto my country, I laid by all care Of gain, or of preferment, with desire Only to keep that state I had entire, And like a true-grown huntsman sought to speed Myself with hounds of rare and choicest breed, Whose names and natures ere I further go, Because you are my friends, I'll let you know.

My first esteemed dog that I did find, Was by descent of old Actaeon's kind; A brach, which if I do not aim amiss, For all the world is just like one of his: She's named Love, and scarce yet knows her duty; Her dam's my lady's pretty beagle Beauty, I bred her up myself with wondrous charge, Until she grew to be exceeding large, And waxed so wanton that I did abhor it, And put her out amongst my neighbours for it.

The next is l.u.s.t, a hound that's kept abroad, 'Mongst some of mine acquaintance, but a toad Is not more loathsome: 'tis a cur will range Extremely, and is ever full of mange; And 'cause it is infectious, she's not wont To come among the rest, but when they hunt.

Hate is the third, a hound both deep and long.

His sire is true or else supposed Wrong.

He'll have a snap at all that pa.s.s him by, And yet pursues his game most eagerly.

With him goes Envy coupled, a lean cur, And she'll hold out, hunt we ne'er so far: She pineth much, and feedeth little too, Yet stands and snarleth at the rest that do.

Then there's Revenge, a wondrous deep-mouthed dog, So fleet, I'm fain to hunt him with a clog, Yet many times he'll much outstrip his bounds, And hunts not closely with the other hounds: He'll venture on a lion in his ire; Curst Choler was his dam, and Wrong his sire.

This Choler is a brach that's very old, And spends her mouth too much to have it hold: She's very testy, an unpleasing cur, That bites the very stones, if they but stur: Or when that ought but her displeasure moves, She'll bite and snap at any one she loves: But my quick-scented'st dog is Jealousy, The truest of this breed's in Italy: The dam of mine would hardly fill a glove, It was a lady's little dog, called Love: The sire, a poor deformed cur, named Fear, As s.h.a.gged and as rough as is a bear: And yet the whelp turned after neither kind, For he is very large, and near-hand blind; At the first sight he hath a pretty colour, But doth not seem so, when you view him fuller; A vile suspicious beast, his looks are bad, And I do fear in time he will grow mad.

To him I couple Avarice, still poor; Yet she devours as much as twenty more: A thousand horse she in her paunch can put, Yet whine as if she had an empty gut: And having gorged what might a land have found, She'll catch for more, and hide it in the ground.

Ambition is a hound as greedy full; But he for all the daintiest bits doth cull: He scorns to lick up crumbs beneath the table, He'll fetch 't from boards and shelves, if he be able: Nay, he can climb if need be; and for that, With him I hunt the martin and the cat: And yet sometimes in mounting he's so quick, He fetches falls are like to break his neck.

Fear is well-mouth'd, but subject to distrust; A stranger cannot make him take a crust: A little thing will soon his courage quail, And 'twixt his legs he ever claps his tail; With him Despair now often coupled goes, Which by his roaring mouth each huntsman knows.

None hath a better mind unto the game, But he gives off, and always seemeth lame.

My bloodhound Cruelty, as swift as wind, Hunts to the death, and never comes behind; Who but she's strapp'd and muzzled too withal, Would eat her fellows, and the prey and all; And yet she cares not much for any food, Unless it be the purest harmless blood.

All these are kept abroad at charge of many, They do not cost me in a year a penny.

But there's two couple of a middling size, That seldom pa.s.s the sight of my own eyes.

Hope, on whose head I've laid my life to p.a.w.n; Compa.s.sion, that on every one will fawn.

This would, when 'twas a whelp, with rabbits play Or lambs, and let them go unhurt away: Nay, now she is of growth, she'll now and then Catch you a hare, and let her go again.

The two last, Joy and Sorrow, 'tis a wonder, Can ne'er agree, nor ne'er bide far asunder.

Joy's ever wanton, and no order knows: She'll run at larks, or stand and bark at crows.

Sorrow goes by her, and ne'er moves his eye; Yet both do serve to help make up the cry.

Then comes behind all these to bear the base, Two couple more of a far larger race, Such wide-mouth'd trollops, that 'twould do you good To hear their loud loud echoes tear the wood.

There's Vanity, who, by her gaudy hide, May far away from all the rest be spied, Though huge, yet quick, for she's now here, now there; Nay, look about you, and she's everywhere: Yet ever with the rest, and still in chase.

Right so, Inconstancy fills every place; And yet so strange a fickle-natured hound, Look for her, and she's nowhere to be found.

Weakness is no fair dog unto the eye, And yet she hath her proper quality; But there's Presumption, when he heat hath got, He drowns the thunder and the cannon-shot: And when at start he his full roaring makes, The earth doth tremble, and the heaven shakes.

These were my dogs, ten couple just in all, Whom by the name of Satyrs I do call: Mad curs they be, and I can ne'er come nigh them, But I'm in danger to be bitten by them.

Much pains I took, and spent days not a few, To make them keep together, and hunt true: Which yet I do suppose had never been, But that I had a scourge to keep them in.

Now when that I this kennel first had got, Out of my own demesnes I hunted not, Save on these downs, or among yonder rocks, After those beasts that spoiled our parish flocks; Nor during that time was I ever wont With all my kennel in one day to hunt: Nor had done yet, but that this other year, Some beasts of prey, that haunt the deserts here, Did not alone for many nights together Devour, sometime a lamb, sometime a wether, And so disquiet many a poor man's herd, But that of losing all they were afeard: Yea, I among the rest did fare as bad, Or rather worse, for the best ewes[1] I had (Whose breed should be my means of life and gain) Were in one evening by these monsters slain: Which mischief I resolved to repay, Or else grow desperate, and hunt all away; For in a fury (such as you shall see Huntsmen in missing of their sport will be) I vowed a monster should not lurk about, In all this province, but I'd find him out, And thereupon, without respect or care, How lame, how full, or how unfit they were, In haste unkennell'd all my roaring crew, Who were as mad as if my mind they knew, And ere they trail'd a flight-shot, the fierce curs Had roused a hart, and thorough brakes and furs Follow'd at gaze so close, that Love and Fear Got in together, so had surely there Quite overthrown him, but that Hope thrust in 'Twixt both, and saved the pinching of his skin, Whereby he 'scaped, till coursing o'erthwart, Despair came in, and griped him to the heart: I hallowed in the res'due to the fall, And for an entrance, there I fleshed them all: Which having done, I dipped my staff in blood, And onward led my thunder to the wood; Where what they did, I'll tell you out anon, My keeper calls me, and I must be gone.

Go if you please a while, attend your flocks, And when the sun is over yonder rocks, Come to this cave again, where I will be, If that my guardian so much favour me.

Yet if you please, let us three sing a strain, Before you turn your sheep into the plain.

w.i.l.l.y.

I am content.

CUDDY.

As well content am I.

ROGET.

Then, Will, begin, and we'll the rest supply.

SONG.

w.i.l.l.y.

Shepherd, would these gates were ope, Thou might'st take with us thy fortune.

ROGET.

No, I'll make this narrow scope, Since my fate doth so importune Means unto a wider hope.