If fwains belye not, thou haft prov'd the smart,
And Blouzelinda's miftrefs of thy heart.
This rifing rear betokeneth well thy mind,
Thofe arms are folded for thy Blouzelind.
And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree:
Thee Blouzelinda fmites, Buxoma me.
Ah, Blouzelind! I love thee more by half,
Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fall'n-calf:
Woe worth the tongue! may blifters fore it gall,
That names Buxoma Blouzelind withal.
Hold, witlefs Lobbin Clout, I thee advife,
Left blifters fore on thy own tongue arife.
Lo yonder, Cloddipole, the blithfome fwain,
The wifeft lout of all the neighbouring plain !
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies,
To know when hail will fall, or winds arife.
He taught us erft the heifer's tail to view,
When ftuck aloft, that fhowers would ftraight enfue;
He firft that useful fecret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain.
When fwallows fleet foar high and sport in air,
He told us that the welkin would be clear.
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praife his fweetheart in alternate verfe.
I'll wager this fame oaken ftaff with thee,
That Cloddipole fhall give the prize to me.
Ver. 25. Erft, a contraction of ere this; it fignifies fome time ago, or formerly.
See this tobacco-pouch, that's lin'd with hair,
Made of the fkin of fleekeft fallow-deer.
This pouch, that 's ty'd with tape of reddeft hue,
I'll wager, that the prize fhall be my due.
Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting flouch! Be thine the oaken ftaff, or mine the pouch.
My Blouzelinda is the blitheft lafs,
Than primrofe fweeter, or the clover-grafs.
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the dailie that befide her grows;
Fair is the gilliflower, of gardens fweet,
Fair is the mary-gold, for pottage meet:
But Blouzalind 's than gilliflower more fair,
Than daifie, mary-gold, or king-cup rare.
CUDDY.
My brown Buxoma is the feateft 'maid,
That e'er at wake delightfome gambol play'd.
Clean as young lambkins or the goofe's down,
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The witlefs lamb may fport upon the plain,
The frifking kid delight the gaping fwain,
The wanton calf may fkip with many a bound,
And my cur Tray play defteft feats around;
But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray,
Dance like Buxoma on the firft of May.
Ver. 56. Deft, an old word, fignifying brifk or nimble.
LOBBIN CLOUT.
toil when Blouzelind is near;
Sweet is my
Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.
With her, no fultry fùmmer's heat I know
In winter, when the 's nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy fwain's defire,
My fummer's fhadow, and my winter's fire !`
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noon-tide labour feem'd an holiday ;
And holidays, if haply fhe were gone,
Like worky-days I wish'd would foon be done.
Eftfoons, Q fweet-heart kind, my love repay,
And all the year fhall then be holiday.
As Blouzelinda, in a gamesome mood,
Behind a haycock loudly laughing stood,
I flily ran, and fnatch'd a hasty kiss;
She wip'd her lips, nor took it much amifs.
Believe me, Cuddy, while I 'm bold to say,
Her breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay.
CUDDY.
As my Buxoma, in a morning fair,
With gentle finger ftroak'd her milky care,
Ver. 69. Eftfoons, from eft, an ancient British word, fignifying foon. So that eftfoons is a doubling of the word foon; which is, as it were, to fay twice foon, or very foon.
I queintly ftole a kifs; at first, 'tis true,
She frown'd, yet after granted one or two.
Lobbin, I fwear, believe who will my vows,
Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cows.
LOBBIN CLOUT.
Leek to the Welsh, to Dutchmen butter 's dear,
Of Irish fwains potatoe is the chear;
Oats for their feafts the Scottish fhepherds grind,
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind.
While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise,
Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potatoe, prize.
In good roaft-beef my landlord fticks his knife,
The capon
fat delights his dainty wife,
Pudding our parfon eats, the fquire loves hare,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While fhe loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.
Ver. 79. Queint has various fignifications in the ancient English authors. I have used it in this place in the fame fenfe as Chaucer hath done in his Miller's Tale "As Clerkes being full fubtle and queint," (by which he means arch or waggish); and not in that obscene sense wherein he useth it in the line immediately following.
"Populus Alcidæ gratiffima, vitis Iaccho,
"Formofæ Myrtus Veneri, fua Laurea Phoebo,
"Phillis amat Corylos. Illas dum Phillis amabit,
"Nec Myrtus vincet Corylos nec Laurea Phoebi,"
As once I play'd at blindman's buff, it hapt
About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt.
I miss'd the fwains, and feiz'd on Blouzelind.
True fpeaks that ancient proverb, "Love is blind."
As at hot-cockles once I laid me down, And felt the weighty hand of many a clown; Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I
Quick rofe, and read soft, mischief in her eye.
On two near elms the flacken'd cord I hung, Now high, now low, my Blouzelinda fwung. With the rude wind her rumpled garment rofe, And show'd her taper leg, and fcarlet hofe.
Across the fallen oak the plank I laid,
And myfelf pois'd against the tottering maid.
High leapt the plank; adown Buxoma fell;
I fpy'd but faithful fweet-hearts never tell.
This riddle, Cuddy, if thou canft, explain,
This wily riddle puzzles every swain.
"What flower is that which bears the virgin's name, "The richest metal joined with the fame?"
Ver. 103-110. were not in the early editions. N.
Ver. 113. Marygold.
|
