Late 'twas in June, the fleece when fully grown,
In the full compass of the passed year,
The season well by skilful shepherds known,
That them provide immediately to shear.
Their lambs late waxed so lusty and so strong,
That time did them their mothers' teats forbid,
And in the fields, the common flocks among,
Eat of the same grass that the greater did.
When not a shepherd any thing that could,
But greased his start-ups black as autumn's sloe,
And for the better credit of the wold,
In their fresh russets every one doth go.
Who now a posy pins not in his cap?
And not a garland baldric-wise doth wear?
Some, of such flowers as to his hand doth hap;
Others, such as a secret meaning bear.
He from his lass him lavender hath sent,
Showing her love, and doth requital crave;
Him rosemary his sweet heart, whose intent
Is that he her should in remembrance have.
Roses his youth and strong desire express;
Her sage doth show his sovereignty in all;
The July-flower declares his gentleness;
Thyme, truth; the pansy, heart's-ease maidens call.
In cotes such simples, simply in request,
Wherewith proud courts in greatness scorn to mell,
For country toys become the country best,
And please poor shepherds, and become them well.
When the new-washed flock from the river's side
Come in as white as January's snow,
The ram with nosegays bears his horns in pride,
And no less brave the bell-wether doth go.
After their fair flocks in a lusty rout,
Came the gay swains with bag-pipes strongly blown,
And busied though this solemn sport about,
Yet had each one an eye unto his own.
And by the ancient statutes of the field,
He that his flocks the earliest lamb should bring,
(As it fell out then, Rowland's charge to yield)
Always for that year was the shepherd's king.
And soon preparing for the shepherd's board,
Upon a green that curiously was squared,
With country cates being plentifully stored,
And 'gainst their coming handsomely prepared;
New whig, with water from the clearest stream,
Green plums, and wildings, cherries chief of feast,
Fresh cheese, and doucets, curds, and clouted cream,
Spiced sillabubs, and cider of the best;
And to the same down solemnly they sit,
In the fresh shadow of their summer bowers,
With sundry sweets them every way to fit,
The neighbouring vale despoiled of her flowers.
And whilst together merry thus they make,
The sun to west a little 'gan to lean,
Which the late fervour soon again did slake,
When as the nymphs came forth upon the plain.
Here might you many a shepherdess have seen,
Of which no place, as Cotswold, such doth yield;
Some of it native, some for love, I ween,
Thither were come from many a fertile field.
There was the widow's daughter of the glen,
Dear Rosalind, that scarcely brooked compare,
The Moorland maiden, so admired of men,
Bright Goldy-Locks, and Phillida the fair;
Lettice and Parnell, pretty lovely peats,
Cusse of the fold, the virgin of the well,
Fair Ambry with the alabaster teats,
And more, whose names were here too long to tell;
Which now came forward following their sheep,
Their battening flocks on grassy leas to hold,
Thereby from scathe and peril them to keep,
Till evening come, that it were time to fold.
When now, at last, as liked the shepherds' king,
(At whose command they all obedient were)
Was 'pointed, who the roundelay should sing,
And who again the under-song should bear.
The first whereof he Batte doth bequeath,
A wittier wag on all the wold's not found;
Gorbo, the man, that him should sing beneath,
Which his loud bag-pipe skilfully could sound.
When, amongst all the nymphs that were in sight,
Batte his dainty Daffodil there missed,
Which, to inquire of, doing all his might,
Him his companion kindly doth assist.
batte:Gorbo, as thou camest this way,
By yonder little hill,
Or as thou through the fields didst stray,
Saw'st thou my Daffodil?
She 's in a frock of Lincoln green,
Which colour likes her sight,
And never hath her beauty seen,
But through a veil of white.
Than roses richer to behold,
That trim up lovers' bowers,
The pansy and the marigold,
Though Phoebus' paramours.
gorbo: Thou well describest the daffodil,
It is not full an hour,
Since by the spring, near yonder hill,
I saw that lovely flower.
batte:Yet my fair flower thou didst not meet,
Nor news of her didst bring,
And yet my Daffodil's more sweet
Than that by yonder spring.
gorbo:I saw a shepherd, that doth keep
In yonder field of lilies,
Was making (as he fed his sheep)
A wreath of daffodillies.
batte:Yet, Gorbo, thou deludest me still,
My flower thou didst not see;
For, know, my pretty Daffodil
Is worn of none but me.
To show itself but near her seat
No lily is so bold,
Except to shade her from the heat,
Or keep her from the cold.
gorbo:Through yonder vale as I did pass,
Descending from the hill,
I met a smirking bonny lass,
They call her Daffodil;
Whose presence, as along she went,
The pretty flowers did greet,
As though their heads they downward bent,
With homage to her feet.
And all the shepherds that were nigh,
From top of every hill,
Unto the valleys loud did cry,
"There goes sweet Daffodil.'
batte:Ay, gentle shepherd, now with joy
Thou all my flocks dost fill,
That 's she alone, kind shepherd's boy;
Let us to Daffodil.
The easy turns and quaintness of the song,
And slight occasion whereupon 'twas raised,
Not one this jolly company among,
As most could well judge, highly that not praised.
When Motto next with Perkin pay their debt,
The Moorland maiden Sylvia that espied,
From th' other nymphs a little that was set,
In a near valley by a river's side;
Whose sovereign flowers her sweetness well expressed,
And honoured sight a little not them moved;
To whom their song they reverently addressed,
Both as her loving, both of her beloved.
motto:Tell me, thou skilful shepherd swain,
Who's yonder in the valley set?
perkin:O! it is she, whose sweets do stain
The lily, rose, the violet.
motto:Why doth the sun against his kind
Stay his bright chariot in the skies?
perkin:He pauseth, almost strooken blind,
With gazing on her heavenly eyes.
motto:Why do thy flocks forbear their food,
Which sometime was their chief delight?
perkin:Because they need no other good,
That live in presence of her sight.
motto:How come those flowers to flourish still,
Not withering with sharp winter's breath?
perkin:She hath robbed Nature of her skill,
And comforts all things with her breath.
motto:Why slide these brooks so slow away,
As swift as the wild roe that were?
perkin:O! muse not, shepherd, that they stay,
When they her heavenly voice do hear.
motto:From whence come all these goodly swains,
And lovely girls attired in green?
perkin:From gathering garlands on the plains,
To crown thy Sylvia shepherd's queen.
motto:The sun that lights this world below,
Flocks, brooks, and flowers can witness bear.
perkin:These shepherds, and these nymphs do know,
Thy Sylvia is as chaste as fair.
Lastly, it came unto the clownish king,
Who, to conclude this shepherd's yearly feast,
Bound as the rest, his roundelay to sing,
As all the other him were to assist.
When she (whom then they little did expect,
The fairest nymph that ever kept in field)
Idea did her sober pace direct
Towards them, with joy that every one beheld.
And whereas other drove their careful keep,
Hers did her follow duly at her will,
For through her patience she had learnt her sheep,
Where'er she went, to wait upon her still.
A milk-white dove upon her hand she brought,
So tame, 'twould go, returning at her call,
About whose neck was in a collar wrought,
"Only like me, my mistress hath no gall.'
To whom her swain (unworthy though he were)
Thus unto her his roundelay applies,
To whom the rest the under part did bear,
Casting upon her their still-longing eyes.
rowland:Of her pure eyes (that now is seen)
chorus: Come, let us sing, ye faithful swains.
rowland:O! she alone the shepherds' queen,
chorus: Her flock that leads,
The goddess of these meads,
These mountains and these plains.
rowland:Those eyes of hers that are more clear,
chorus: Than can poor shepherds' songs express,
rowland:Than be his beams that rules the year.
chorus: Fie on that praise,
In striving things to raise,
That doth but make them less.
rowland:That do the flowery spring prolong,
chorus: So all things in her sight do joy,
rowland:And keep the plenteous summer young;
chorus: And do assuage
The wrathful winter's rage,
That would our flocks annoy.
rowland:Jove saw her breast that naked lay,
chorus: A sight most fit for Jove to see,
rowland:And swore it was the Milky Way,
chorus: Of all most pure,
The path (we us assure)
To his bright court to be.
rowland:He saw her tresses hanging down,
chorus: That moved with the gentle air,
rowland:And said that Ariadne's crown,
chorus: With those compared,
The gods should not regard,
Nor Berenice's hair.
rowland:When she hath watched my flocks by night,
chorus: O happy flocks that she did keep,
rowland:They never needed Cynthia's light,
chorus: That soon gave place,
Amazed with her grace,
That did attend thy sheep.
rowland:Above, where Heaven's high glories are,
chorus: When she is placed in the skies,
rowland:She shall be called the shepherds' star,
chorus: And evermore,
We shepherds will adore
Her setting and her rise.
In the full compass of the passed year,
The season well by skilful shepherds known,
That them provide immediately to shear.
Their lambs late waxed so lusty and so strong,
That time did them their mothers' teats forbid,
And in the fields, the common flocks among,
Eat of the same grass that the greater did.
When not a shepherd any thing that could,
But greased his start-ups black as autumn's sloe,
And for the better credit of the wold,
In their fresh russets every one doth go.
Who now a posy pins not in his cap?
And not a garland baldric-wise doth wear?
Some, of such flowers as to his hand doth hap;
Others, such as a secret meaning bear.
He from his lass him lavender hath sent,
Showing her love, and doth requital crave;
Him rosemary his sweet heart, whose intent
Is that he her should in remembrance have.
Roses his youth and strong desire express;
Her sage doth show his sovereignty in all;
The July-flower declares his gentleness;
Thyme, truth; the pansy, heart's-ease maidens call.
In cotes such simples, simply in request,
Wherewith proud courts in greatness scorn to mell,
For country toys become the country best,
And please poor shepherds, and become them well.
When the new-washed flock from the river's side
Come in as white as January's snow,
The ram with nosegays bears his horns in pride,
And no less brave the bell-wether doth go.
After their fair flocks in a lusty rout,
Came the gay swains with bag-pipes strongly blown,
And busied though this solemn sport about,
Yet had each one an eye unto his own.
And by the ancient statutes of the field,
He that his flocks the earliest lamb should bring,
(As it fell out then, Rowland's charge to yield)
Always for that year was the shepherd's king.
And soon preparing for the shepherd's board,
Upon a green that curiously was squared,
With country cates being plentifully stored,
And 'gainst their coming handsomely prepared;
New whig, with water from the clearest stream,
Green plums, and wildings, cherries chief of feast,
Fresh cheese, and doucets, curds, and clouted cream,
Spiced sillabubs, and cider of the best;
And to the same down solemnly they sit,
In the fresh shadow of their summer bowers,
With sundry sweets them every way to fit,
The neighbouring vale despoiled of her flowers.
And whilst together merry thus they make,
The sun to west a little 'gan to lean,
Which the late fervour soon again did slake,
When as the nymphs came forth upon the plain.
Here might you many a shepherdess have seen,
Of which no place, as Cotswold, such doth yield;
Some of it native, some for love, I ween,
Thither were come from many a fertile field.
There was the widow's daughter of the glen,
Dear Rosalind, that scarcely brooked compare,
The Moorland maiden, so admired of men,
Bright Goldy-Locks, and Phillida the fair;
Lettice and Parnell, pretty lovely peats,
Cusse of the fold, the virgin of the well,
Fair Ambry with the alabaster teats,
And more, whose names were here too long to tell;
Which now came forward following their sheep,
Their battening flocks on grassy leas to hold,
Thereby from scathe and peril them to keep,
Till evening come, that it were time to fold.
When now, at last, as liked the shepherds' king,
(At whose command they all obedient were)
Was 'pointed, who the roundelay should sing,
And who again the under-song should bear.
The first whereof he Batte doth bequeath,
A wittier wag on all the wold's not found;
Gorbo, the man, that him should sing beneath,
Which his loud bag-pipe skilfully could sound.
When, amongst all the nymphs that were in sight,
Batte his dainty Daffodil there missed,
Which, to inquire of, doing all his might,
Him his companion kindly doth assist.
batte:Gorbo, as thou camest this way,
By yonder little hill,
Or as thou through the fields didst stray,
Saw'st thou my Daffodil?
She 's in a frock of Lincoln green,
Which colour likes her sight,
And never hath her beauty seen,
But through a veil of white.
Than roses richer to behold,
That trim up lovers' bowers,
The pansy and the marigold,
Though Phoebus' paramours.
gorbo: Thou well describest the daffodil,
It is not full an hour,
Since by the spring, near yonder hill,
I saw that lovely flower.
batte:Yet my fair flower thou didst not meet,
Nor news of her didst bring,
And yet my Daffodil's more sweet
Than that by yonder spring.
gorbo:I saw a shepherd, that doth keep
In yonder field of lilies,
Was making (as he fed his sheep)
A wreath of daffodillies.
batte:Yet, Gorbo, thou deludest me still,
My flower thou didst not see;
For, know, my pretty Daffodil
Is worn of none but me.
To show itself but near her seat
No lily is so bold,
Except to shade her from the heat,
Or keep her from the cold.
gorbo:Through yonder vale as I did pass,
Descending from the hill,
I met a smirking bonny lass,
They call her Daffodil;
Whose presence, as along she went,
The pretty flowers did greet,
As though their heads they downward bent,
With homage to her feet.
And all the shepherds that were nigh,
From top of every hill,
Unto the valleys loud did cry,
"There goes sweet Daffodil.'
batte:Ay, gentle shepherd, now with joy
Thou all my flocks dost fill,
That 's she alone, kind shepherd's boy;
Let us to Daffodil.
The easy turns and quaintness of the song,
And slight occasion whereupon 'twas raised,
Not one this jolly company among,
As most could well judge, highly that not praised.
When Motto next with Perkin pay their debt,
The Moorland maiden Sylvia that espied,
From th' other nymphs a little that was set,
In a near valley by a river's side;
Whose sovereign flowers her sweetness well expressed,
And honoured sight a little not them moved;
To whom their song they reverently addressed,
Both as her loving, both of her beloved.
motto:Tell me, thou skilful shepherd swain,
Who's yonder in the valley set?
perkin:O! it is she, whose sweets do stain
The lily, rose, the violet.
motto:Why doth the sun against his kind
Stay his bright chariot in the skies?
perkin:He pauseth, almost strooken blind,
With gazing on her heavenly eyes.
motto:Why do thy flocks forbear their food,
Which sometime was their chief delight?
perkin:Because they need no other good,
That live in presence of her sight.
motto:How come those flowers to flourish still,
Not withering with sharp winter's breath?
perkin:She hath robbed Nature of her skill,
And comforts all things with her breath.
motto:Why slide these brooks so slow away,
As swift as the wild roe that were?
perkin:O! muse not, shepherd, that they stay,
When they her heavenly voice do hear.
motto:From whence come all these goodly swains,
And lovely girls attired in green?
perkin:From gathering garlands on the plains,
To crown thy Sylvia shepherd's queen.
motto:The sun that lights this world below,
Flocks, brooks, and flowers can witness bear.
perkin:These shepherds, and these nymphs do know,
Thy Sylvia is as chaste as fair.
Lastly, it came unto the clownish king,
Who, to conclude this shepherd's yearly feast,
Bound as the rest, his roundelay to sing,
As all the other him were to assist.
When she (whom then they little did expect,
The fairest nymph that ever kept in field)
Idea did her sober pace direct
Towards them, with joy that every one beheld.
And whereas other drove their careful keep,
Hers did her follow duly at her will,
For through her patience she had learnt her sheep,
Where'er she went, to wait upon her still.
A milk-white dove upon her hand she brought,
So tame, 'twould go, returning at her call,
About whose neck was in a collar wrought,
"Only like me, my mistress hath no gall.'
To whom her swain (unworthy though he were)
Thus unto her his roundelay applies,
To whom the rest the under part did bear,
Casting upon her their still-longing eyes.
rowland:Of her pure eyes (that now is seen)
chorus: Come, let us sing, ye faithful swains.
rowland:O! she alone the shepherds' queen,
chorus: Her flock that leads,
The goddess of these meads,
These mountains and these plains.
rowland:Those eyes of hers that are more clear,
chorus: Than can poor shepherds' songs express,
rowland:Than be his beams that rules the year.
chorus: Fie on that praise,
In striving things to raise,
That doth but make them less.
rowland:That do the flowery spring prolong,
chorus: So all things in her sight do joy,
rowland:And keep the plenteous summer young;
chorus: And do assuage
The wrathful winter's rage,
That would our flocks annoy.
rowland:Jove saw her breast that naked lay,
chorus: A sight most fit for Jove to see,
rowland:And swore it was the Milky Way,
chorus: Of all most pure,
The path (we us assure)
To his bright court to be.
rowland:He saw her tresses hanging down,
chorus: That moved with the gentle air,
rowland:And said that Ariadne's crown,
chorus: With those compared,
The gods should not regard,
Nor Berenice's hair.
rowland:When she hath watched my flocks by night,
chorus: O happy flocks that she did keep,
rowland:They never needed Cynthia's light,
chorus: That soon gave place,
Amazed with her grace,
That did attend thy sheep.
rowland:Above, where Heaven's high glories are,
chorus: When she is placed in the skies,
rowland:She shall be called the shepherds' star,
chorus: And evermore,
We shepherds will adore
Her setting and her rise.
Reviews
No reviews yet.