Cicely, the western lass, that tends the kee, 30 Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart What I have done for thee, will Cicely do? "Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care, 40 60 "Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight To moil all day, and merry-make at night. 50 If in the soil you guide the crooked share, Your early breakfast is my constant care; And when with even hand you strow the grain, I fright the thievish rooks from off the plain. In misling days, when I my thresher heard, With nappy beer I to the barn repair'd; Lost in the music of the whirling flail, To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail : In harvest, when the Sun was mounted high, My leathern bottle did thy draught supply; Whene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake, And have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake: When in the welkin gathering showers were seen, I lagg'd the last with Colin on the green; And when at eve returning with thy car, Awaiting heard the jingling bells from far, Straight on the fire the sooty pot I plac'd, To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste. When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf, I slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf; With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mess. Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less! 70 Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set, I, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met. Upon my hand they cast a poring look, Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook: They said, that many crosses I must prove; Some in my worldly gain, but most in love. Next morn I miss'd three hens and our old cock; And off the hedge two pinners and a smock; I bore these losses with a Christian mind, And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind. But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scorn, I've known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn. Help me, ye gypsies; bring him home again, And to a constant lass give back her swain. Ver. 21. Kee, a west-country word for kine, or cows. 80 "Have I not sat with thee full many a night, When dying embers were our only light, When every creature did in slumbers lie, Besides our cat, my Colin Clout, and I? No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin move, While I alone am kept awake by love. "Remember, Colin! when at last year's wake I bought the costly present for thy sake; Couldst thou spell o'er the posy on thy knife, And with another change thy state of life? If thou forgett'st, I wot, I can repeat, My memory can tell the verse so sweet: As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine, So is thy image on this heart of mine.' But woe is me! such presents luckless prove, For knives, they tell me, always sever love.” 90 100 Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimful, When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull. With apron blue to dry her tears she sought, Then saw the cow wellserv'd, and took a groat. WEDNESDAY; OR, THE DUMPS.* SPARABELLA. THE wailings of a maiden I recite, A maiden fair, that Sparabella hight. Such strains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat, Nor the gay goldfinch chants so sweet a note. No magpye chatter'd, nor the painted jay, No ox was heard to low, nor ass to bray; No rustling breezes play'd the leaves among, While thus her madrigal the damsel sung. A while, O D'Urfey! lend an ear or twain, Nor, tho' in homely guise, my verse disdain; Whether thou seek'st new kingdoms in the Sun, Whether thy Muse does at Newmarket run, Or does with gossips at a feast regale, And heighten her conceits with sack and ale, Or else at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice, Where D'Urfey's lyrics swell in every voice; 10 Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a fit of the sullens. Some have pretended that it is derived from Dumops, a king of Egypt, that built a pyramid, and died of melancholy. So mopes, after the same manner, is thought to have come from Merops, another Egyptian king, that died of the same distemper. But our English antiquaries have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous heaviness of spirits, comes from the word dumpling, the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this country, much used in Norfolk, and other counties of England. 30 "Come Night, as dark as pitch, surround my head, From Sparabella Bumkinet is fled; The ribbon that his valorous cudgel won, Last Sunday happier Clumsilis put on. Sure if he'd eyes (but Love, they say, has none) I whilom by that ribbon had been known. Ah, well-a-day! I'm shent with baneful smart, For with the ribbon he bestow'd his heart. "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, "Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' 80 'Ah! didst thou know what proffers I withstood, 'My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' Now plain I ken whence Love his rise begun ; "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, 100 50 A sudden death shall rid me of my woe. Nor are my features of the homeliest make: "My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, "Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' Ver. 17. Meed, an old word for fame, or renown. Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros. "Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to moan. And, by my case forewarn'd, go mind your own." Ver. 67. Ante leves ergo pascentur in æthere cervi, Virg. Ver. 89. To ken. Scire. Chaucer, to ken, and kende, notus A. S. cunnam. Goth, kunnam. Germanis kennen Danis kiende. Islandis kunna. Belgis kennen. This word is of general use, but not very common, though not un known to the vulgar. Ken, for prospicere, is well known, and used to discover by the eye. Ray, F. R. S. Nunc scio quid sit amor, &c. Ver. 99. Ver. 59. Jungentur jam gryphes equis; ævoque sequenti -vivite sylvæ: Præceps aërii speculâ de montis in undas Deferar. Virg Vug. HOBNELIA, seated in a dreary vale, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "When first the year I heard the cuckoo sing, Then doff'd my shoe, and, by my troth, I swear, As if upon his comely pate it grew. (For always snails near sweetest fruit abound). 50 With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "Two hazel-nuts I threw into the flame, And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name; This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd, That in a flame of brightest color blaz'd. 10 As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow; For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow. 'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, 20 With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 30 "At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 68 "As peascods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see; 80 And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "I pare this pippin round and round again, 40 Than what the paring makes upon the green. "Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind Ver. 8. Dight, or bedight, from the Saxon word dightan, which signifies to set in order. 90 With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' Ver. 21. Doff and don, contracted from the words do off and do on. Ver. 93. Transque caput jace; ne respexeris. Virg 110 "As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree, I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee. He wist not when the hempen string I drew, Now mine I quickly doff, of inkle blue. Together fast I tie the garters twain; And while I knit the knot repeat this strain: Three times a true-love's knot I tie secure, Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure?" 'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "As I was wont, I trudg'd last market-day To town, with new-laid eggs preserv'd in hay, 120 And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow. With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' Yet ev'n this season pleasance blithe affords, GRUBBINOL. Ah, Bumkinet! since thou from hence wert gone, From these sad plains all merriment is flown; Should I reveal my grief, 'twould spoil thy cheer, And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear. Is Blouzelinda dead? farewell, my glee! As the wood-pigeon cooes without his mate, "But hold!-our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his ears, O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears. 30 Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed, And evening tears upon the grass be spread; The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow, And winds shall moan aloud-when loud they blow. Henceforth, as oft as Autumn shall return, The drooping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn; The season quite shall strip the country's pride, For 'twas in Autumn Blouzelinda died. 40 Where'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view, Woods, dairy, barn, and mows, our passion knew, When I direct my eyes to yonder wood, Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood. Thither I've often been the damsel's guide, When rotten sticks our fuel have supplied"; There I remember how her fagots large Were frequently these happy shoulders' charge. Sometimes this crook drew hazel-boughs adown, And stuff'd her apron wide with nuts so brown; 50 Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way, Or wallowing 'mid a feast of acorns lay; dirige in the popish hymn, dirige gressus meos, as some pretend; but from the Teutonic dyrke, laudare, to praise and extol. Whence it is possible their dyrke, and our dirge, was a laudatory song to commemorate and appland the dead. Cowell's Interpreter. Ver. 15. Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes *Dirge, or dyrge, a mournful ditty, or song of lamenta tion, over the dead; not a contraction of the Latin Virg. Ver. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch glooren, to recreate. ་་ Th' untoward creatures to the sty I drove, 60 When in the barn the sounding flail I ply, Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly; 70 The poultry there will seem around to stand, Waiting upon her charitable hand. No succor meet the poultry now can find, GRUBBINOL. Albeit thy songs are sweeter to mine ear, Than to the thirsty cattle rivers clear; Or winter porridge to the laboring youth, Or buns and sugar to the damsel's tooth; Yet Blouzelinda's name shall tune my lay, Of her I'll sing for ever and for aye. 90 When Blouzelind expir'd, the wether's bell Before the drooping flock toll'd forth her knell ; 100 The solemn death-watch click'd the hour she died, And shrilling crickets in the chimney cried! Ver. 84. Pro molli violá, pro purpureo narcisso, Carduus et spinis surgit paliurus acutis. The boding raven on her cottage sate, And with hoarse croaking warn'd us of her fate; And of the dead let none the will revoke: 44 120 Mother," quoth she, "let not the poultry need, And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed: Be these my sister's care-and every morn Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn; The sickly calf that's hous'd be sure to tend, Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend. Yet ere I die-see, mother, yonder shelf, There secretly I've hid my worldly pelf. Twenty good shillings in a rag I laid; Be ten the parson's, for my sermon paid. The rest is yours-my spinning-wheel and rake Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake; My new straw hat, that's trimly lin'd with green, Let Peggy wear, for she's a damsel clean. My leathern bottle, long in harvests tried, Be Grubbinol's-this silver ring beside: Three silver pennies, and a nine-pence bent, A token kind to Bumkinet is sent," Thus spoke the maiden, while the mother cried; And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, she died. 130 To show their love, the neighbors far and near Follow'd with wistful look the damsel's bier. Sprig'd rosemary the lads and lasses bore, While dismally the parson walk'd before. Upon her grave the rosemary they threw, The daisy, butter-flower, and endive blue. After the good man warn'd us from his text, 139 That none could tell whose turn would be the next; He said, that Heaven would take her soul, no doubt, And spoke the hour-glass in her praise-quite out. Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, 46 While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, Or lasses with soft strokings milk the cow; While paddling ducks the standing lake desire, Or battening hogs roll in the sinking mire; While moles the crumbled earth in hillocks raise; So long shall swains tell Blouzelinda's praise. Thus wail'd the louts in melancholy strain, Till bonny Susan sped across the plain. They seiz'd the lass in apron clean array'd, And to the ale-house forc'd the willing maid; In ale and kisses they forget their cares, And Susan Blouzelinda's loss repairs, 160 Ver. 153. Virg. Dum juga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, Dumque thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicada, Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt. Ver. 96. An imitation of Theocritus. Virg. |