Part 65 (1/2)

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.