Wherefore to keepe him till he should have need,
The silly creature utterly forlorne,
He brings into a Brake of Bryers and Thorne,
And so entangles by the mane and tayle,
That he might pluck, and struggle there, and hale,
Till his breath left him, unlesse by great chance
Some one might come for his deliverance.
At length the people grievously annoy’d
By this vile Woolfe, so many that destroy’d,
Determined a Hunting they would make,
To see if they by any meanes could take
This ravenous War-Woolfe: and with them they bring
Mastiffes, and Mungrells, all that in a string
Could be gott out, or could but lugg a Hogg,
Ball, Eateall, Cuttaile, Blackfoot, Bitch, and Dogg,
Bills, Batts, and Clubs, the Angry men doe beare,
The women eager as their husbands were
With Spits, and Fireforkes, sware if they could catch him,
It should goe hard, but they would soone dispatch him.
This subtile Woolfe by Passengers that heard,
What Forces thus against him were prepar’d,
And by the noyse, that they were neere at hand,
Thinking this Asse did nothing understand,
Goes downe into a Spring that was hard by,
(Which the Asse noted) and immediatly
He came out perfect man, his Wolves shape left,
In which so long he had committed theft.
The silly Asse, so wistly then did view him,
And in his fancie so exactly drew him,
That he was sure to owne this Theefe agen,
If he should see him mongst a thousand men.
This Woolfe turn’d man, him instantly doth shrowd,
In a neere thicket, till the boystrous crowd,
Had somewhat past him, then he in doth fall
Upon the Reare, not any of them all,
Makes greater stirre, nor seemes to them to be,
More diligent to finde the Woolfe then he:
They beate each brake, and tuft o’r all the ground,
But yet the War-Woolfe was not to be found:
But a poore Asse entangled in the Bryers,
In such strange sort, as every one desires
To see the manner, and each one doth gather
How he was fastned so, how he came thither.
The silly Asse yet being still in holde,
Makes all the meanes, that possibly he could,
To be let loose, he hummes, he kneeles, and cryes,
Shaketh his head, and turneth up his eyes,
To move their pitty: that some said, t’was sure
This Asse had sence of what he did endure:
And at the last amongst themselves decreed
To let him loose; the Asse no sooner freed,
But out he goes the company among,
And where he sawe the people thick’st to throng:
There he thrusts in, and looketh round about:
Here he runnes in, and there he rusheth out;
That he was likely to have throwne to ground
Those in the way, which when the people found,
Though the poore Asse they seemed to disdaine,
Follow’d him yet, to finde what he should meane,
Untill by chance that he this Villaine mett;
When he upon him furiously doth sett,
Fastning his teeth upon him with such strength
That he could not be loosed, till at the length
Railing them in, the people make a ring,
Strooke with the wonder of so strange a thing;
Whilst they are cadg’d, contending whether can
Conquer, the Asse some cry, some cry the man;
Yet the Asse drag’d him, and still forward drue,
Towards the strange Spring, which yet they never knewe:
Yet to what part the strugling seem’d to sway,
The people made a lane, and gave them way.
At length the Asse, had tug’d him neere thereto,
The people wondring what he meant to doe;
He seem’d to show them with his foote the Well,
Then with an Asse-like noise he seem’d to tell
The Story, now by pointing to the men,
Then to the Theefe, then to the Spring agen;
At length wext angry, growing into passion,
Because they could not finde his demonstration,
T’ expresse it more, he leapes into the Spring,
When on the suddaine, O most wondrous thing,
To change his shape he presently began,
And at an instant became perfect man,
Recovering speech; and comming forth, accus’d
The bloody murtherer, who had so abus’d
The honest people, and such harme had done;
Before them all, and presently begunne
To shew them, in what danger he had beene,
And of this Woolfe the cruelty and sinne;
How he came chang’d agen as he had prov’d:
Whereat the people being strangely moov’d,
Some on the head, some one the backe doe clape him,
And in their armes, with shoutes and kisses hap him:
Then all at once, upon the Warre-woolfe flue,
And up and downe him on the earth they drewe;
Then from his bones the flesh in Collops cut,
And on their weapons points in Triumph put;
Returning backe with a victorious song,
Bearing the man aloft with them along.
Quoth Gammer Gurton, on my honest word,
You have told a Tale doth much conceit afford:
Good neighbour Howlet, and as ye have done,
Each one for other, since our tales begun,
And since our Stand of Ale, so well endures,
As you have moral’d Bumbyes, I will yours.
The fable of the War-woolfe I apply,
To a man, given to blood, and cruelty,
And upon spoile doth only set his rest;
Which by a wolfes shape livelyest is exprest.
The spring by which he gets his former shape,
Is the evasion after every rape,
He hath to start by; and the silly Asse,
Which unregarded, every where doth passe,
Is some just soule, who though the world disdaine,
Yet he by God is strangely made the meane,
To bring his damned practises to light.
Quoth mother Howlet you have hit the white,
I thought as much quoth Gammer Gurton, then,
My turne comes next, have with you once agen.
A mighty Waste there in a countrey was,
Yet not so great as it was poore of grasse;
T’was said of old, a Saint once curst the soyle,
So barren, and so hungry, that no toyle,
Could ever make it any thing to beare;
Nor would ought prosper, that was planted there.
Upon the earth, the spring was seldome seene,
T’was winter there, when each place else was green;
When Summer did, her most aboundance yeild,
That still lay browne, as any fallow field,
Upon the same, some few trees scattering stood,
But it was Autumne, ere they us’d to bud;
And they were crookt, and knotty, and the leaves,
The niggard sap, so utterly deceives,
That sprouting forth, they drouping hung the head
And were neere withered, ere yet fully spread,
No mirthfull Birds, the boughes did ever grace,
Nor could be wonne to stay upon that place,
Onely the night-Crow sometimes, you might see,
Croking to sit upon some Ranpick-tree,
Which was but very seldome too, and then
It boded great mortality
to men;
As were the trees, which on that common grew,
So were the Cattell starvelings, and a few,
Asses, and Mules, and they were us’d to gnaw,
The very earth to fill the hungry mawe;
When they far’d best, they fed on Fearne and brack,
Their leane shrunke bellyes cleav’d up to their backe,
Of all the rest, in that great Waste that went,
Of those quicke caryons, the most eminent,
Was a poore Mule, upon that common bred,
And from his foling further never fed,
The Summer well-neare every yeare was past,
Ere he his ragged winter coate could cast,
And then the Jade would get him to a tree,
That had a rough Barke, purposely, where he
Rubbing his Buttocks, and his either side
Would get the old hayre, from his starved hyde,
And though he were as naked as my naile,
Yet he would whinny then, and wag the tayle,
In this short pasture one day as he stood,
Ready to faint amongst the rest for food;
Yet the poore Beast according to his kinde,
Bearing his nostrill up into the winde,
A sweet fresh feeding thought that he did vent,
“(Nothing as hunger sharpeneth so the sent)”
For that not far there was a goodly ground,
Which with sweet grasse, so greatly did abound,
That the fat soyle seem’d to be over fraught
Nor could bestow the Burthen that it brought,
Besides that bounteous nature did it stick,
With sundry sorts of fragrant flowers so thick,
That when the warme, and Baulmy southwinde blew
The lushyous smells ore all the region flew.
Led by his sence at length this poore Jade found,
This pasture, (fenc’d though with a mighty Mound)
A pale and quickeset, Cercling it about,
That nothing could get in, nor nothing out)
And with himselfe thus wittily doth caste,
Well, I have found good pasture yet at last,
If by some meanes accomplisht it might be,
Round with the ditch imediatly walks he;
(And long though ’twas, good luck nere comes too late,)
It was his chance to light upon a gate
That led into it, (though his hap were good)
Yet was it made of so sufficient wood,
And every barre that did to it belong,
Was so well joynted, and so wondrous strong
Besides a great locke, with a double ward,
That he thereby of entrance was debar’d
And thereby hard beset, yet thought at length,
“T’was done by sleight, that was not done by strength;”
Fast in the ground his two fore-feete doth get,
Then his hard Buttockes to the gate he set,
And thrust, and shooke, and laboured till at last,
The two great posts, that held the same so fast,
Began to loosen, when againe he takes,
Fresh foot-hould, and a fresh he shakes and shakes,
Till the great Hindges to fly off he feeles;
And heard the Gate, fall clattering at his heeles,
Then nayes, and brayes, with such an open throat,
That all the Waste resounded with his note;
The rest that did his language understand,
Knew well there was, some good to them in hand,
And tag, and rag, through thick and thin came running,
Nor dale, nor ditch, nor banke nor bushes shunning;
And so desirous to see their good hap,
That with their thrunging they stucke in the gap.
Now they bestir their teeth, and doe devoure,
More sweetnesse in the compasse of one hower,
Then twice so many could in twice the time,
For now the spring was in the very prime,
Till prickt with plenty eas’d of all their lackes
Their Pampred bellies swolne above their backes
They tread and waddle all the goodly grasse,
That in the field there scarse a corner was,
Left free by them, and what they had not swallow’d
There they had dung’d, and layd them down and wallow’d;
One with another they would ly and play,
And in the deepe fog batten all the day,
Thus along while, this mery life they led
Till (even) like Lard their thickned sides were fed;
But on a time the weather being fayre,
And season fit to take the pleasant ayre,
To view his pasture the rich owner went,
And see what grasse the fruitfull yeare had sent,
Finding, the feeding for which he had toyld,
To have kept safe, by these vile cattell spoil’d,
He in a rage upon them sets his Cur,
But for his bawling, not a beast would stir;
Then whoots, and shouts, and claps his hands, but he
Might as well move the dull earth, or a tree,
As once but stir them, when all would not doe,
Last, with his goad amongst them he doth goe,
And some of them he girdeth in the Hanches;
Some in the flanks, that prickt their very panches;
But when they felt that they began to smart,
Up on a suddaine they together start,
And drive at him as fast as they could ding,
They flirt, they yerk, they backward fluce, and fling,
As though the Devill in their heeles had bin,
That to escape the danger he was in,
He back and back, into a quagmire by,
Though with much perill, forced was to flye:
But lightly treading there-upon doth shift,
Out of the bog his cumbred feete to lift,
When they the perill that doe not fore-cast,
In the stiffe mud, are quickly stabled fast:
When to the Towne he presently doth flie,
Raising the Neighbours with a suddaine crie:
With Cords and Halters that came all at once,
For now the Jades were fitted for the nonce:
For by that time th’ had sunke themselves so deepe,
That scarce their heads above ground they could keepe.
When presently they by the necks them bound,
And so they led them to the common pound.
Quoth mother Red-Cap, right well have you done
Good Gammer Gurton, and as we begun,
So you conclude: tis time we parted now;
But first of my morallity alowe.
The common that you speake of here, say I,
Is nothing else but want and beggerie;
In the World common, and the beasts that goe
Upon the same, which oft are famish’d so:
Are the poore bred in scarcitie; the Mule
The other Cattell that doth seeme to rule,
Some crafty fellow that hath slily found
A way to thrive by; and the fruitfull ground
Is wealth, which he by subtilty doth win,
In his possession which not long hath bin;
But he with Ryot and excesse doth waste,
“For goods ill gotten doe consume as fast;
And with the law they lastly doe contend,
Till at the last the Prison is the end.
Quoth Gammer Gurton, well your selfe you quite,
By this the dawne usurpt upon the night;
And at the windowe biddeth them good day
When they departed each their severall way.
MOSES’ BIRTH AND MIRACLES
CONTENTS
MOSES’ BIRTH AND MIRACLES: THE FIRST BOOKE.
MOSES’ BIRTH AND MIRACLES: THE SECOND BOOKE.
MOSES’ BIRTH AND MIRACLES: THE THIR
D BOOKE.
MOSES’ BIRTH AND MIRACLES: THE FIRST BOOKE.
The Argument.
This Canto our attracted Muse
The Prophets glorious birth pursues,
The various changes of his fate,
From humblenesse to high estate,
His beautie, more than mortall shape,
From Egypt how be doth escape,
By his faire bearing in his flight;
Obtaines the louely Midianite,
Where God vnto the Hebrew spake,
Appearing from the burning brake,
And backe doth him to Egypt send,
That mighty things doth there intend.
GIRT in bright flames, rapt from celestiall fire,
That our vnwearied faculties refine,
By zeale transported boldly we aspire
To sing a subiect gloriously diuine:
Him that of onely had the grace,
(On whom the Spirit did in such power descend)
To talke with God face, opposite to face,
Euen as a man with his familiar friend.
the vtmost of thy might,
That with an armed and auspitious wing,
Thou be obsequious in his doubtlesse right
Gainst the Atheists vituperious sting:
Where thou that industriously maist flic,
Which Nature but fainedly to goe,
Borne by a power so eminent and hie,
As in his course leaues reason farre below,
To shew how Poesie (simplie hath her praise)
That from full Ioue taken her celestiall birth,
And quicke as fire, her glorious selfe can raise
Aboue this base abhominable earth:
O if that Time haue happily reseru’d,
(Besides that sacred and canonicke writ,
What once in Slates and Barkes of trees was keru’d)
Things that our Muses grauitie may fit,
Vnclaspe the worlds great Register to mee,
That smoakie rust hath very neere defac’d,
That I in those dim Characters may see,
From common eyes that hath aside beene cast,
And thou Translator of that faithfull Muse
This ALLS creation that diuinely song,
From Courtly French (no trauaile refuse)
To make him Master of thy Genuin cong,
Salust to thee and thy friend,
Comes my high and chaste,
Your hallow’d labours humbly to attend
That wrackfull Time shall not haue power to waste.
A gallant Hebrew (in the height of life)
a Leuis honourably bred,
Of the same off-spring wan a wise,
And no lesse vertuous, goodly
So fitly pair’d that (without all ostent)
Euen of the wise it hardly could be sayd
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 155