Collection of Poems, Eclogue 2
The Shepheards Hunting.
The ſecond Eglogue.
THE ARGVMENT.
Cuddy here relates, how all
Pitty Philarete's thrall.
Who requeſted, doth relate
The true cauſe of his eſtate;
Which broke off, becauſe 'twas long,
They begin, a three man Song.
WILLY. CVDDY. PHILARETE.
Willy.
LO, Philaret, thy old friend heere, and I,
Are come to viſit thee in theſe thy Bands,
Whil'ſt both our Flocks in an Incloſure by,
Doe picke the thin graſſe from the fallowed lands.
He tels me thy reſtraint of liberty,
Each one throughout the Country vnderſtands:
And there is not a gentle-natur'd Lad
On all theſe Downes, but for thy ſake is ſad.
Cuddy.
Not thy acquaintance, and thy friends alone,
Pitty thy cloſe reſtraint, as friends ſhould doe:
But ſome that hauehave but ſeene thee, for thee moane:
Yea, many that did neuer ſee thee to.
Some deeme thee in a fault, and moſt in none;
So diuers wayes doe diuers Rumors goe
And at all meetings where our Shepheards bee,
Now the maine Newes that's extant, is of thee.
Philarete.
Why, this is ſomewhat yet: had I but kept
Sheepe on the Mountaines, till the day of doome,
My name ſhould in obſcuritie hauehave ſlept
In Brakes, in Briars, ſhrubbed Furze and Broome.
Into the Worlds wide eare it had not crept,
Nor in ſo many mens thoughts found a roome:
But what cauſe of my ſufferings doe they know?
Good Cuddy, tell me, how doth rumour goe?
Cuddy.
Faith 'tis vncertaine; ſome ſpeake this, ſome that:
Some dare ſay nought, yet ſeeme to thinke a cauſe,
And many a one prating he knowes not what;
Comes out with Prouerbes and old ancient ſawes,
As if he thought thee guiltleſſe, and yet not:
Then doth he ſpeake halfe Sentences, then pawſe:
That what the moſt would ſay, we may ſuppoſe;
But, what to ſay, the Rumour is, none knowes.
Philarete.
Nor care I greatly; for, it skils not much,
What the vnſteady common-people deemes,
His Conſcience doth not alwaies feele leaſt touch,
That blameleſſe in the ſight of others ſeemes:
My cauſe is honeſt, and becauſe 'tis ſuch,
I hold it ſo, and not for mens eſteemes:
If they ſpeake iuſtly well of mee, I'me glad;
If falſely euill, it ne're makes me ſad.
Willy.
I like that mind: but, Shepheard, you are quite
Beſide the matter that I long to heare:
Remember what you promis'd yeſter-night,
Youl'd put vsus off with other talke, I feare;
Thou know'ſt that honeſt Cuddies heart's vpright;
And none but he, except my ſelfe, is neere:
Come therefore, and betwixt vsus two relate,
The true occaſion of thy preſent ſtate.
Philarete.
My Friends I will: You know I am a Swaine,
The kept a poore Flocke on a barren Plaine:
Who though it ſeemes, I could doe nothing leſſe,
Can make a Song, and woe a Shepheardeſſe.
And not alone the faireſt where I liue,
HaueHave heard me ſing, and fauours daign'd to giuegive:
But, though I ſay't, the nobleſt Nymph of Thame,
Hath grac'd my Verſe, vntounto my greater fame.
Yet, being young, and not much ſeeking prayſe,
I was not noted out for Shepheards layes:
Nor feeding Flocks, as, you know, others be:
For the delight that moſt poſſeſſed me
Was hunting Foxes, Wolues, and Beaſts of Prey:
That ſpoyle our Foulds, and beare our Lambs away.
For this, as alſo for the louelove I beare
VntoUnto my Country, I laid by all care
Of gaine, or of preferment, with deſire
OnelyOnly to keepe that ſtate I had entire.
And like a true growne Huntſman ſought to ſpeed
My ſelfe with Hounds of rare and choyſeſt breed,
Whoſe Names and Natures ere I further goe,
Becauſe you are my friends I'le let you know.
My firſt eſteemed Dogge that I did finde,
Was by deſcent of olde Acteons kinde;
A Brache, which if I doe not aime amiſſe,
For all the world is iuſt like one of his:
She's named LoueLove, and ſcarce yet knowes her duty;
Her Damme's my Ladies pretty Beagle, Beauty.
I bred her vp my ſelfe with wondrous charge,
Vntill ſhe grew to be exceeding large,
And waxt ſo wanton, that I did abhorre it,
And put her out amongſt my neighbours for it.
The next is Luſt, a Hound that's kept abroad
Mongſt ſome of mine acquaintance, but a Toad
Is not more loathſome: 'tis a Curre will range
Extreamely, and is euer full of mange:
And cauſe it is infectious, ſhe's not wunt
To come among the reſt, but when they hunt.
Hate is the third, a Hound both deepe and long:
His Sire is True, or elſe ſuppoſed Wrong.
He'le hauehave a ſnap at all that paſſe him by,
And yet purſues his game moſt eagerly.
With him goes Enuie coupled, a leane Curre,
And yet ſhe'le hold out, hunt we ne're ſo farre:
She pineth much, and feedeth little to,
Yet ſtands and ſnarleth at the reſt that doe.
Then there's Reuenge, a wondrous deep-mouth'd dog,
So fleet, I'me faine to hunt him with a clog,
Yet many times he'le much out-ſtrip his bounds,
And hunts not cloſely with the other Hounds:
He'le venter on a Lyon in his ire;
Curſt Choller was his Damme, and Wrong his Sire.
This Choller, is a Brache, that's very old,
And ſpends her mouth too-much to hauehave it hold:
She's very teaſty; an vnpleaſing Curre.
That bites the very Stones, if they but ſturre:
Or when that ought but her diſpleaſure moues,
She'le bite and ſnap at any one ſhe loues.
But my quicke ſcented'ſt Dogge is Iaelouſie,
The trueſt of this breede's in Italie.
The Damme of mine would hardly fill a Gloue,
It was a Ladies little Dogge, cal'd LoueLove:
The Sire a poore deformed Curre, nam'd Feare;
As ſhagged and as rough as is a Beare:
And yet the Whelpe turn'd after neither kinde,
For he is very large, and nere-hand blinde,
Farre off, hee ſeemeth of a pretty culler,
But doth not proue ſo, when you view him fuller.
A vile ſuſpitious Beaſt; whoſe lookes are bad,
And I doe feare in time he will grow mad.
To him I couple Auarice, ſtill poore;
Yet ſhee deuoures as much as twenty more:
A thouſand Horſe ſhee in her paunch can put,
Yet whine, as if ſhe had an emptie gut;
And hauing gorg'd what might a Land hauehave found,
Shee'le catch for more, and, hide it in the ground.
Ambition is a Hound as greedy full;
But hee for all the daintieſt bits doth cull:
Hee ſcornes to licke vp Crumbs beneath the Table,
Hee'le fetch't from boards and ſhelues, if he be able:
Nay, hee can climbe, if neede be; and for that
With him I hunt the Martine, and the Cat:
And yet ſometimes in mounting, hee's ſo quicke,
I ſee fetches falls, are like to breake his necke.
Feare is wel-mouth'd, but ſubiect to Diſtrust;
A Stranger cannot make him take a Cruſt:
A little thing will ſoone his courage quaile,
And 'twixt his legges hee euer claps his Taile.
With him, Deſpaire, now, often coupled goes,
Which by his roring mouth each hunts man knowes.
None hath a better minde vntounto the game;
But hee giues off, and alwaies ſeemeth lame.
My bloud-hound Cruelty, as ſwift as wind,
Hunts to the death, and neuer comes behind;
Who, but ſhe's ſtrapt, and muſled to, withall,
Would eate her fellowes and the prey and all.
And yet, ſhe cares not much for any food;
Vnleſſe it be the pureſt harmeleſſe blood.
All theſe are kept abroad at charge of meny,
They doe not coſt me in a yeare a penny.
But there's two couple of a midling ſize,
That ſeldome paſſe the ſight of my owne eyes.
Hope, on whoſe head I'ue laid my life to pawne;
Compaſſion, that on eueryevery one will fawne.
This would, when 'twas a whelpe, with Rabets play
Or Lambes, and let them goe vnhurt away:
Nay, now ſhe is of growth, ſhee'le now and then
Catch you a Hare, and let her goe agen.
The two laſt, Ioy, and Sorrow; make me wonder,
For they can ne're agree, nor bide aſunder.
Ioy's euer wanton and no order knowes,
She'le run at Larkes, or ſtand and barke at Crowes.
Sorrow goes by her, and ne're moues his eye:
Yet both doe ſerue to helpe make vp the cry:
Then comes behinde all theſe to beare the baſe,
Two couple more of a farre larger Race,
Such wide-mouth'd Trollops, that 'twould doe you good,
To heare their loud-loud Ecchoes teare the Wood:
There's Vanity, who by her gaudy Hide,
May farre away from all the reſt be ſpide,
Though huge, yet quicke, for ſhe's now here, now there;
Nay, looke about you, and ſhe's eueryevery where:
Yet euer with the reſt, and ſtill in chace,
Right ſo, Inconſtancie fils eueryevery place;
And yet ſo ſtrange a fickle natur'd Hound,
Looke for her, and ſhe's no where to be found.
Weakeneſſe is no faire Dogge vntounto the eye,
And yet ſhe hath her proper qualitie.
But there's Preſumption, when he heat hath got,
He drownes the Thunder, and the Cannon-ſhot:
And when at Start, he his full roaring makes,
The Earth doth tremble, and the Heauen ſhakes:
Theſe were my Dogs, ten couple iuſt in all,
Whom by the name of Satyres I doe call:
Mad Curs they be, and I can ne're come nigh them,
But I'me in danger to be bitten by them.
Much paines I tooke, and ſpent dayes not a few,
To make them keept together, and hunt true:
Which yet I doe ſuppoſe had neuer bin,
But that I had a Scourge to keepe them in.
Now when that I this Kennell firſt had got,
Out of mine owne Demeanes I hunted not,
Saue on theſe Downes, or among yonder Rocks,
After thoſe beaſts that ſpoyl'd our Pariſh Flockes:
Nor during that time, was I euer wont,
With all my Kennell in one day to hunt:
Nor had done yet, but that this other yeere,
Some Beaſts of Prey that haunt the Deſerts heere,
Did not alone for many Nights together
Deuoure, ſometime a Lambe, ſometime a Weather:
And ſo diſquiet many a poore mans Heard,
But thereof looſing all were much afeard.
Yea, I among the reſt, did fare as bad,
Or rather worſe; for the beſt *Hopes.Ewes I had,
(Whoſe breed ſhould be my meanes of life and gaine,
Were in one Euening by theſe Monſters ſlaine:
Which miſchiefe I reſolued to repay,
Or elſe grow deſperate and hunt all away.
For in a furie ſuch as you ſhall ſee
Hunts-men, in miſſing of their ſport will be)
I vow'd a Monſter ſhould not lurke about
In all this Prouince, but I'de finde him out.
And thereupon without reſpect or care,
How lame, how full, or how vnfit they were,
In haſt vnkennell'd all my roaring crew,
Who were as mad, as if my mind they knew;
And e're they trail'd a flight-ſhot, the fierce Curres,
Had rous'd a Hart, and through Brakes, Bryars, and Furres
Follow'd at gaze ſo cloſe, that LoueLove and Feare
Got in together, and had ſurely, there
Quite ouerthrowne him, but that Hope thruſt in
'Twixt both, and ſau'd the pinching of his skin.
Whereby he ſcap't, till courſing ouerth wart,
Deſpaire came in, and grip't him to the hart.
I hallowed in the reſdue to the fall,
And for an entrance, there I fleſh't them all:
Which hauing done, I dip'd my ſtaffe in blood
And onward led my Thunder to the Wood;
Where what they did, I'le tell you out anon,
My keeper calles me, and I muſt be gon.
Goe, if you pleaſe a while, attend your Flocks,
And when the Sunne is ouer yonder Rocks,
Come to this Caue againe, where I will be,
If that my Gardian, ſo much fauour me.
Yet if you pleaſe, let vsus three ſing a ſtraine,
Before you turne your ſheepe into the Plaine.
Willie.
Iam content.—
Cuddy.
—As well content am I.
Philarete.
Then Will begin, and wee'le the reſt ſupply.
Song.
Willie.
SHepheard, would theſe Gates were ope,
Thou might'ſt take with vsus thy fortunes.
Philarete.
No, I'le make this narrow ſcope,
(Since my Fate doth ſo importune)
Meanes vntounto a wider Hope.
Cuddy.
Would thy Shepheardeſſe were here,
Who belou'd, loues ſo dearely?
Philarete.
Not for both your Flocks, Iſweare,
And the gaine they yeeld you yeerely,
Would I ſo much wrong my Deare.
Yet, to me, nor to this Place,
Would ſhe now be long a ſtranger:
She would hold it in diſgrace,
(If ſhe fear'd not more my danger)
Where I am to ſhew her face.
Willie.
Shepheard, we would wiſh no harmes,
But ſomething that might content thee.
Philarete.
Wiſh me then within her armes;
And that wiſh will ne're repent me,
If your miſhes might proue charmes.
Willie.
Be thy Priſon her embrace,
Be thy ayre her ſweeteſt breathing.
Cuddy.
Be thy proſpect her ſweet Face,
For each looke a kiſſe bequeathing,
And appoint thy ſelfe the place.
Philarete.
Nay pray, hold there, for I ſhould ſcantly then,
Come meete you here this afternoone agen:
But fare you well ſince wiſhes hauehave no power,
Let vsus depart and keepe the pointed houre.