Hob. Or prive or pert yf any bene,
We han great bandogs will teare their skinne.
Dig. Indeede, thy Ball is a bold bigge curre,
And could make a jolly hole in theyr furre. 165
But not good dogges hem needeth to chace,
But heedy shepheards to discerne their face:
For all their craft is in their countenaunce,
They bene so grave and full of mayntenaunce.
But shall I tell thee what my selfe knowe 170
Chaunced to Roffynn not long ygoe?
Hob. Say it out, Diggon, what ever it hight,
For not but well mought him betight:
He is so meeke, wise, and merciable,
And with his word his worke is convenable. 175
Colin Clout, I wene, be his selfe boye,
(Ah for Colin, he whilome my joye!)
Shepheards sich, God mought us many send,
That doen so carefully theyr flocks tend.
Dig. Thilk same shepheard mought I well marke: 180
He has a dogge to byte or to barke;
Never had shepheard so kene a kurre,
That waketh and if but a leafe sturre.
Whilome there wonned a wicked wolfe,
That with many a lambe had glutted his gulfe. 185
And ever at night wont to repayre
Unto the flocke, when the welkin shone faire,
Ycladde in clothing of seely sheepe,
When the good old man used to sleepe.
Tho at midnight he would barke and ball, 190
(For he had eft learned a curres call,)
As if a woolfe were emong the sheepe.
With that the shepheard would breake his sleepe,
And send out Lowder (for so his dog hote)
To raunge the fields with wide open throte. 195
Tho, when as Lowder was farre awaye,
This wolvish sheepe would catchen his pray,
A lambe, or a kidde, or a weanell wast:
With that to the wood would he speede him fast.
Long time he used this slippery pranck, 200
Ere Roffy could for his laboure him thanck.
At end, the shepheard his practise spyed,
(For Roffy is wise, and as Argus eyed)
And when at even he came to the flocke,
Fast in theyr folds he did them locke, 205
And tooke out the woolfe in his counterfect cote,
And let out the sheepes bloud at his throte.
Hob. Marry, Diggon, what should him affraye
To take his owne where ever it laye?
For had his wesand bene a little widder, 210
He would have devoured both hidder and shidder.
Dig. Mischiefe light on him, and Gods great curse!
Too good for him had bene a great deale worse:
For it was a perilous beast above all,
And eke had he cond the shepherds call, 215
And oft in the night came to the shepecote,
And called Lowder, with a hollow throte,
As if it the old man selfe had bene.
The dog his maisters voice did it weene,
Yet halfe in doubt he opened the dore, 220
And ranne out, as he was wont of yore.
No sooner was out, but, swifter then thought,
Fast by the hyde the wolfe Lowder caught:
And had not Roffy renne to the steven,
Lowder had be slaine thilke same even. 225
Hob. God shield, man, he should so ill have thrive,
All for he did his devoyre belive.
If sike bene wolves as thou hast told,
How mought we, Diggon, hem behold?
Dig. How, but with heede and watchfulnesse 230
Forstallen hem of their wilinesse?
Forthy with shepheard sittes not playe,
Or sleepe, as some doen, all the long day:
But ever liggen in watch and ward,
From soddein force theyr flocks for to gard. 235
Hob. Ah, Diggon! thilke same rule were too straight,
All the cold season to wach and waite:
We bene of fleshe, men as other bee:
Why should we be bound to such miseree?
What ever thing lacketh chaungeable rest, 240
Mought needes decay, when it is at best.
Dig. Ah! but Hobbinol, all this long tale
Nought easeth the care that doth me forhaile.
What shall I doe? what way shall I wend,
My piteous plight and losse to amend? 245
Ah, good Hobbinol! mought I thee praye
Of ayde or counsell in my decaye.
Hob. Now by my soule, Diggon, I lament
The haplesse mischief that has thee hent.
Nethelesse thou seest my lowly saile, 250
That froward fortune doth ever availe.
But were Hobbinoll as God mought please,
Diggon should soone find favour and ease.
But if to my cotage thou wilt resort,
So as I can I wil thee comfort: 255
There mayst thou ligge in a vetchy bed,
Till fayrer fortune shewe forth her head.
Dig. Ah, Hobbinol, God mought it thee requite!
Diggon on fewe such freendes did ever lite.
DIGGONS EMBLEME.
Inopem me copia fecit.
GLOSSE
The dialecte and phrase of speache, in this dialogue, seemeth somewhat to differ from the comen. The cause whereof is supposed to be, by occasion of the party herein meant, who, being very freend to the author hereof, had bene long in forraine countryes, and there seene many disorders, which he here recounteth to Hobbinoll.
Bidde her, bidde good morrow. For to bidde, is to praye, whereof commeth beades for prayers, and so they say, to bidde his beades, sc. to saye his prayers.
Wightly, quicklye, or sodenlye.
Chaffred, solde.
Dead at mischiefe, an unusuall speache, but much usurped of Lidgate, and sometime of Chaucer.
Leefe, deare.
Ethe, easie.
Thrise thre moones, nine monethes.
Measured, for traveled.
Wae, woe, Northernly.
Eeked, encreased.
Carven, cutte.
Kenne, know.
Cragge, neck.
State, stoutely.
Stanck, wearie or fainte.
And nowe. He applieth it to the tyme of the yeare, which is in thend of harvest, which they call the fall of the leafe: at which tyme the westerne wynde beareth most swaye.
A mocke, imitating Horace, ‘Debes ludibrium ventis.’
Lorne, lefte.
Soote, swete.
Uncouthe, unknowen.
Here by there, here and there.
As the brighte, translated out of Mantuane.
Emprise, for enterprise. Per syncopen.
Contek, strife.
Trode, path.
Marrie that, that is, their soules, which by popish exorcismes and practices they damne to hell.
Blacke, hell.
Gange, goe.
Mister, maner.
Mirke, obscure.
Warre, worse.
Crumenall, purse.
Brace, compasse.
Encheson, occasion.
Overgrast, overgrowen with grasse.
Galage, shoe.
The grosse, the whole.
Buxome and bent, meeke and obedient.
Saxon king, King Edgare that reigned here in Brytanye in the yeare of our Lord [957–975] which king caused all the wolves, whereof then was store in thys countrye, by a proper policie to be destroyed. So as never since that time there have ben wolves here founde, unlesse they were brought from other countryes. And therefore Hobbinoll rebuketh him of untruth, for saying there be wolves in England.
Nor in Christendome. This saying seemeth to be strange and unreasonable: but indede it was wont to be an olde proverbe and comen phrase. The origina
l whereof was, for that most part of England in the reigne of King Ethelbert was christened, Kent onely except, which remayned long after in mysbeliefe and unchristened. so that Kent was counted no part of Christendome.
Great hunt, executing of lawes and justice.
Enaunter, least that.
Inly, inwardly: afforesayde.
Prevely or pert, openly, sayth Chaucer.
Roffy, the name of a shepehearde in Marot his Æglogue of Robin and the Kinge. Whome he here commendeth for greate care and wise governance of his flock.
Colin Cloute. Nowe I thinke no man doubteth but by Colin is ever meante the authour selfe: whose especiall good freend Hobbinoll sayth he is, or more rightly Mayster Gabriel Harvey: of whose speciall commendation, aswell in poetrye as rhetorike and other choyce learning, we have lately had a sufficient tryall in diverse his workes, but specially in his Musarum Lachrymæ, and his late Gratulationum Valdinensium, which boke, in the progresse at Audley in Essex, he dedicated in writing to her Majestie, afterward presenting the same in print unto her Highnesse at the worshipfull Maister Capells in Hertfordshire. Beside other his sundrye most rare and very notable writings, partely under unknown tytles, and partly under counterfayt names, as hys Tyrannomastix, his Ode Natalitia, his Rameidos, and esspecially that parte of Philomusus, his divine Anticosmopolita, and divers other of lyke importance. As also, by the names of other shepheardes, he covereth the persons of divers other his familiar freendes and best acquayntaunce.
This tale of Roffy seemeth to coloure some particular action of his. But what, I certeinlye know not.
Wonned, haunted.
Welkin, skie: afforesaid.
A weanell waste, a weaned youngling.
Hidder and shidder, he and she, male and female.
Steven, noyse.
Belive, quickly.
What ever, Ovids verse translated.
‘Quod caret alterna requie durabile non est.’
Forehaile, drawe or distresse.
Vetchie, of pease strawe.
EMBLEME.
This is the saying of Narcissus in Ovid. For when the foolishe boye, by beholding hys face in the brooke, fell in love with his owne likenesse: and not hable to content him selfe with much looking thereon, he cryed out, that plentye made him poore, meaning that much gazing had bereft him of sence. But our Diggon useth it to other purpose, as who that by tryall of many wayes had founde the worst, and through greate plentye was fallen into great penurie. This poesie I knowe to have bene much used of the author, and to suche like effecte as fyrste Narcissus spake it.
October
ÆGLOGA DECIMA
ARGUMENT
IN Cuddie is set out the perfecte paterne of a poete, whiche, finding no maintenaunce of his state and studies, complayneth of the contempte of Poetrie, and the causes thereof: specially having bene in all ages, and even amongst the most barbarous, alwayes of singular accounpt and honor, and being indede so worthy and commendable an arte: or rather no arte, but a divine gift and heavenly instinct, not to bee gotten by laboure and learning, but adorned with both, and poured into the witte by a certain [Greek] and celestiall inspiration; as the author hereof els where at large discourseth in his booke called The English Poete, which booke being lately come to my hands, I mynde also by Gods grace, upon further advisement, to publish.
PIERCE. CUDDIE.
Piers. Cuddie, for shame! hold up thy heavye head,
And let us cast with what delight to chace
And weary thys long lingring Phoebus race.
Whilome thou wont the shepheards laddes to leade
In rymes, in ridles, and in bydding base: 5
Now they in thee, and thou in sleepe art dead.
Cud. Piers, I have pyped erst so long with payne,
That all mine oten reedes bene rent and wore:
And my poore Muse hath spent her spared store,
Yet little good hath got, and much lesse gayne. 10
Such pleasaunce makes the grashopper so poore,
And ligge so layd, when winter doth her straine.
The dapper ditties that I wont devise,
To feede youthes fancie and the flocking fry,
Delighten much: what I the bett forthy? 15
They han the pleasure, I a sclender prise:
I beate the bush, the byrds to them doe flye:
What good thereof to Cuddie can arise?
Piers. Cuddie, the prayse is better then the price,
The glory eke much greater then the gayne: 20
O what an honor is it, to restraine
The lust of lawlesse youth with good advice,
Or pricke them forth with pleasaunce of thy vaine,
Whereto thou list their trayned willes entice!
Soone as thou gynst to sette thy notes in frame, 25
O how the rurall routes to thee doe cleave!
Seemeth thou doest their soule of sense bereave,
All as the shepheard, that did fetch his dame
From Plutoes balefull bowre withouten leave:
His musicks might the hellish hound did tame. 30
Cud. So praysen babes the peacoks spotted traine,
And wondren at bright Argus blazing eye;
But who rewards him ere the more forthy?
Or feedes him once the fuller by a graine?
Sike prayse is smoke, that sheddeth in the skye, 35
Sike words bene wynd, and wasten soone in vayne.
Piers. Abandon then the base and viler clowne:
Lyft up thy selfe out of the lowly dust,
And sing of bloody Mars, of wars, of giusts:
Turne thee to those that weld the awful crowne, 40
To doubted knights, whose woundlesse armour rusts,
And helmes unbruzed wexen dayly browne.
There may thy Muse display her fluttryng wing,
And stretch her selfe at large from east to west:
Whither thou list in fayre Elisa rest, 45
Or if thee please in bigger notes to sing,
Advaunce the worthy whome shee loveth best,
That first the white beare to the stake did bring.
And when the stubborne stroke of stronger stounds
Has somewhat slackt the tenor of thy string, 50
Of love and lustihead tho mayst thou sing,
And carrol lowde, and leade the myllers rownde,
All were Elisa one of thilke same ring.
So mought our Cuddies name to heaven sownde.
Cud. Indeede the Romish Tityrus, I heare, 55
Through his Mecænas left his oaten reede,
Whereon he earst had taught his flocks to feede,
And laboured lands to yield the timely eare,
And eft did sing of warres and deadly drede,
So as the heavens did quake his verse to here. 60
But ah! Mecœnas is yclad in claye,
And great Augustus long ygoe is dead,
And all the worthies liggen wrapt in leade,
That matter made for poets on to play:
For, ever, who in derring doe were dreade, 65
The loftie verse of hem was loved aye.
But after vertue gan for age to stoupe,
And mighty manhode brought a bedde of ease,
The vaunting poets found nought worth a pease
To put in preace emong the learned troupe. 70
Tho gan the streames of flowing wittes to cease,
And sonnebright honour pend in shamefull coupe.
And if that any buddes of poesie
Yet of the old stocke gan to shoote agayne,
Or it mens follies mote be forst to fayne, 75
And rolle with rest in rymes of rybaudrye,
Or, as it sprong, it wither must agayne:
Tom Piper makes us better melodie.
Piers. O pierlesse Poesye, where is then thy place?
If nor in princes pallace thou doe sitt, 80
(And yet is princes pallace the most fitt)
Ne bres
t of baser birth doth thee embrace.
Then make thee winges of thine aspyring wit,
And, whence thou camst, flye backe to heaven apace.
Cud. Ah, Percy! it is all to weake and wanne, 85
So high to sore, and make so large a flight;
Her peeced pyneons bene not so in plight:
For Colin fittes such famous flight to scanne:
He, were he not with love so ill bedight,
Would mount as high and sing as soote as swanne. 90
Piers. Ah, fon! for love does teach him climbe so hie,
And lyftes him up out of the loathsome myre:
Such immortall mirrhor as he doth admire
Would rayse ones mynd above the starry skie,
And cause a caytive corage to aspire; 95
For lofty love doth loath a lowly eye.
Cud. All otherwise the state of poet stands:
For lordly Love is such a tyranne fell,
That, where he rules, all power he doth expell.
The vaunted verse a vacant head demaundes, 100
Ne wont with crabbed Care the Muses dwell:
Unwisely weaves, that takes two webbes in hand.
Who ever casts to compasse weightye prise,
And thinks to throwe out thondring words of threate,
Let powre in lavish cups and thriftie bitts of meate; 105
For Bacchus fruite is frend to Phæbus wise,
And when with wine the braine begins to sweate,
The nombers flowe as fast as spring doth ryse.
Thou kenst not, Percie, howe the ryme should rage.
O if my temples were distaind with wine, 110
And girt in girlonds of wild yvie twine,
How I could reare the Muse on stately stage,
And teache her tread aloft in buskin fine,
With queint Bellona in her equipage!
But ah! my corage cooles ere it be warme; 115
Forthy content us in thys humble shade,
Where no such troublous tydes han us assayde.
Here we our slender pipes may safely charme.
Piers. And when my gates shall han their bellies layd,
Cuddie shall have a kidde to store his farme.
CUDDIES EMBLEME.
Agitante calescimus illo, &c.
GLOSSE
This Æglogue is made in imitation of Theocritus his xvi. Idilion, wherein hee reproved the tyranne Hiero of Syracuse for his nigardise towarde poetes, in whome is the power to make men immortal for theyr good dedes, or shameful for their naughty lyfe. And the lyke also is in Mantuane. The style hereof, as also that in Theocritus, is more loftye then the rest, and applyed to the heighte of poeticall witte.
Cuddie. I doubte whether by Cuddie be specified the authour selfe, or some other. For in the eyght Æglogue the same person was brought in, singing a cantion of Colins making, as he sayth. So that some doubt that the persons be different.
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 10