Volume Viii Part 4 (1/2)

But whether they logicians be or no, Cynics they are, for they will snarl and bite; Right courtiers to flatter and to fawn; Valiant to set upon the[ir] enemies; Most faithful and most constant to their friends.

Nay, they are wise, as Homer witnesseth Who, talking of Ulysses' coming home, Saith all his household but Argus his dog Had quite forgot him: ay, his deep insight[65]

Nor Pallas' art in altering his shape, Nor his base weeds, nor absence twenty years, Could go beyond or any way delude.

That dogs physicians are, thus I infer; They are ne'er sick, but they know their disease, And find out means to ease them of their grief; Special good surgeons to cure dangerous wounds: For, stricken with a stake into the flesh, This policy they use to get it out: They trail one of their feet upon the ground, And gnaw the flesh about where the wound is Till it be clean drawn out: and then, because Ulcers and sores kept foul are hardly cur'd, They lick and purify it with their tongue, And well observe Hippocrates' old rule, The only medicine for the foot is rest: For if they have the least hurt in their feet, They bear them up and look they be not stirr'd.

When humours rise, they eat a sovereign herb, Whereby what cloys their stomachs they cast up; And as some writers of experience tell, They were the first invented vomiting.

Sham'st thou not, Autumn, unadvisedly To slander such rare creatures as they be?

SUM. We call'd thee not, Orion, to this end, To tell a story of dogs' qualities.

With all thy hunting how are we enrich'd?

What tribute pay'st thou us for thy high place?

ORION. What tribute should I pay you out of nought?

Hunters do hunt for pleasure, not for gain.

While dog-days last, the harvest safely thrives; The sun burns hot to finish up fruits' growth; There is no blood-letting to make men weak.

Physicians in their Cataposia Or little Elinctoria, Masticatorum, and Cataplasmata: Their gargarisms, clysters, and pitch'd-cloths, Their perfumes, syrups, and their triacles, Refrain to poison the sick patients, And dare not minister, till I be out.

Then none will bathe, and so are fewer drown'd.

All l.u.s.t is perilsome, therefore less us'd!

In brief, the year without me cannot stand.

Summer, I am thy staff and thy right hand.

SUM. A broken staff, a lame right hand I had, If thou wert all the stay that held me up, _Nihil violentum perpetuum_.

No violence that liveth to old age.

Ill-govern'd star, that never bod'st good luck, I banish thee a twelvemonth and a day Forth of my presence; come not in my sight, Nor show thy head so much as in the night.

ORION. I am content: though hunting be not out, We will go hunt in h.e.l.l for better hap.

One parting blow, my hearts, unto our friends, To bid the fields and huntsmen all farewell.

Toss up your bugle-horns unto the stars: Toil findeth ease, peace follows after wars.

[_Exit_.

[_Here they go out, blowing their horns, and hallooing as they came in_.

WILL SUM. Faith, this scene of Orion is right _prandium caninum_, a dog's dinner which, as it is without wine, so here's a coil about dogs without wit. If I had thought the s.h.i.+p of fools[66] would have stay'd to take in fresh water at the Isle of Dogs, I would have furnish'd it with a whole kennel of collections to the purpose. I have had a dog myself, that would dream and talk in his sleep, turn round like Ned fool, and sleep all night in a porridge-pot. Mark but the skirmish between Sixpence and the fox, and it is miraculous how they overcome one another in honourable courtesy. The fox, though he wears a chain, runs as though he were free; mocking us (as it is a crafty beast), because we, having a lord and master to attend on, run about at our pleasures, like masterless men. Young Sixpence, the best page his master hath, plays a little, and retires. I warrant he will not be far out of the way when his master goes to dinner. Learn of him, you diminutive urchins, how to behave yourselves in your vocation: take not up your standings in a nut-tree, when you should be waiting on my lord's trencher. Shoot but a bit at b.u.t.ts; play but a span at points. Whatever you do, _memento mori_--remember to rise betimes in the morning.

SUM. Vertumnus, call Harvest.

VER. Harvest, by west and by north, by south and by east, Show thyself like a beast.

Goodman Harvest, yeoman, come in and say what you can. Boom for the scythe and the sickle there.

_Enter_ HARVEST, _with a scythe on his neck, and all his reapers with sickles, and a great black bowl with a posset in it, borne before him; they come in singing.

The Song.

Merry, merry, merry: cheery, cheery, cheery, Trowl the blade bowl[67] to me; Hey derry, derry, with a poup and a lerry, I'll trowl it again to thee:

Hooky, hooky, we have shorn, And we have bound, And we have brought Harvest Home to town_.