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النشر الإلكتروني

Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat:
While other rustics, less attent

To prayers than to merriment,

Run after with their breeches rent.

Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth,
Glittering with fire, where, for your mirth,
Ye shall see first the large and chief
Foundation of your feast, fat beef:
With upper stories, mutton, veal
And bacon (which makes full the meal),
With several dishes standing by,

As here a custard, there a pie,
And here all-tempting frumenty1.
And for to make the merry cheer,
If smirking wine be wanting here,

There's that which drowns all care, stout beer;
Which freely drink to your lord's health,

Then to the plough, the commonwealth,
Next to your flails, your fans, your fats2,
Then to the maids with wheaten hats:
To the rough sickle, and crook'd scythe,
Drink, frolic, boys, till all be blithe.
Feed, and grow fat; and as ye eat
Be mindful that the labouring neat,
As you, may have their fill of meat.
And know, besides, ye must revoke
The patient ox unto the yoke,
And all go back unto the plough

And harrow, though they're hang'd up now.
And, you must know, your lord's word's true,
Feed him ye must, whose food fills you;

And that this pleasure is like rain,

(M 80)

1 frumenty, wheat boiled with milk and raisins.
2 fats, vats.

8

Not sent ye for to drown your pain,
But for to make it spring again.

CIX. TO PHYLLIS.

An imitation of Marlowe's poem, No. xxxv.

LIVE, live with me, and thou shalt see

The pleasures I'll prepare for thee
What sweets the country can afford
Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board.
The soft, sweet moss shall be thy bed
With crawling woodbine overspread;
By which the silver-shedding streams
Shall gently melt thee into dreams.
Thy clothing, next, shall be a gown
Made of the fleece's purest down.
The tongues of kids shall be thy meat,
Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat
The paste of filberts for thy bread,
With cream of cowslips buttered;

Thy feasting tables shall be hills

With daisies spread and daffodils,
Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by
For meat shall give thee melody.

I'll give thee chains and carcanets1
Of primroses and violets.

A bag and bottle thou shalt have,
That richly wrought, and this as brave;
So that as either shall express
The wearer's no mean shepherdess.
At shearing-times, and yearly wakes2,

1 carcanets, necklaces.

2 wakes, feasts of the Vigilia, or dedication of a church.

When Themilis his pastime makes,
There thou shalt be; and be the wit,
Nay, more, the feast, and grace of it.
On holidays, when virgins meet
To dance the heyes1 with nimble feet,
Thou shalt come forth, and then appear
The queen of roses for that year;
And having danced, 'bove all the best,
Carry the garland from the rest.
In wicker baskets maids shall bring
To thee my dearest shepherling,
The blushing apple, bashful pear,

And shame-faced plum, all simpering there.
Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find
The name of Phyllis in the rind
Of every straight and smooth-skin tree;
Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.
To thee a sheep-hook I will send,
Be-prank'd with ribbons to this end;
This, this alluring hook might be
Less for to catch a sheep than me.
Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine,
Not made of ale, but spicèd wine,
To make thy maids and self free mirth,
All sitting near the glittering hearth.
Thou shalt have ribands, roses, rings,
Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings
Of winning colours, that shall move
Others to lust, but me to love.

These, nay, and more, thine own shall be

If thou wilt love, and live with me.

1 the heyes, or the hay, a country dance.

CX. LACON AND THYRSIS.

Lacon.

FOR a kiss or two, confess,

What doth cause this pensiveness,

Thou most lovely neat-herdess?

Who so lonely on the hill?

Why thy pipe by thee so still,

That erewhile was heard so shrill?
Tell me, do thy kine now fail
To full fill the milking-pail?
Say, what is 't that thou dost ail?

Thyrsis.

None of these; but out, alas!
A mischance is come to pass,
And I'll tell thee what it was:
See, mine eyes are weeping-ripe.

Lacon.

Tell, and I'll lay down my pipe.

Thyrsis.

I have lost my lovely steer,

That to me was far more dear

Than these kine which I milk here:

Broad of forehead, large of eye

Party-colour'd like a pie;

Smooth in each limb as a die;

Clear of hoof, and clear of horn:

Sharply pointed as a thorn,

With a neck by yoke unworn;

From the which hung down by strings,

Balls of cowslips, daisy rings,
Interplaced with ribbonings:
Faultless every way for shape;
Not a straw could him escape;
Ever gamesome as an ape,
But yet harmless as a sheep.
Pardon, Lacon, if I weep;

Tears will spring where woes are deep.
Now, ah me! ah me! Last night

Came a mad dog and did bite,

Aye, and kill'd my dear delight.

Lacon.

Alack, for grief!

Thyrsis.

But I'll be brief.

Hence I must, for time doth call

Me, and my sad playmates all,

To his evening funeral.

Live long, Lacon, so adieu!

Lacon.

Mournful maid, farewell to you;

Earth afford ye flowers to strew.

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