WILLYE. PERIGOT. CUDDIE.
Wil. Tell me, Perigot, what shalbe the game, | |
| Wherefore with myne thou dare thy musick matche? | |
| Or bene thy bagpypes renne farre out of frame? | |
| Or hath the crampe thy joynts benomd with ache? | |
| Per. Ah! Willye, when the hart is ill assayde, | 5 |
| How can bagpipe or joynts be well apayd? | |
| |
| Wil. What the foule evill hath thee so bestadde? | |
| Whilom thou was peregall to the best, | |
| And wont to make the jolly shepeheards gladde | |
| With pyping and dauncing, didst passe the rest. | 10 |
| Per. Ah! Willye, now I have learnd a newe daunce: | |
| My old musick mard by a newe mischaunce. | |
| |
| Wil. Mischiefe mought to that newe mischaunce befall, | |
| That so hath raft us of our meriment! | |
| But reede me, what payne doth thee so appall? | 15 |
| Or lovest thou, or bene thy younglings miswent? | |
| Per. Love hath misled both my younglings and mee: | |
| I pyne for payne, and they my payne to see. | |
| |
| Wil. Perdie and wellawaye! ill may they thrive: | |
| Never knewe I lovers sheepe in good plight. | 20 |
| But and if in rymes with me thou dare strive, | |
| Such fond fantsies shall soone be put to flight. | |
| Per. That shall I doe, though mochell worse I fared: | |
| Never shall be sayde that Perigot was dared. | |
| |
| Wil. Then loe, Perigot, the pledge which I plight! | 25 |
| A mazer ywrought of the maple warre: | |
| Wherein is enchased many a fayre sight | |
| Of beres and tygres, that maken fiers warre; | |
| And over them spred a goodly wild vine, | |
| Entrailed with a wanton yvie-twine. | 30 |
| |
| Thereby is a lambe in the wolves jawes: | |
| But see, how fast renneth the shepheard swayne, | |
| To save the innocent from the beastes pawes; | |
| And here with his shepehooke hath him slayne. | |
| Tell me, such a cup hast thou ever sene? | 35 |
| Well mought it beseme any harvest queene. | |
| |
| Per. Thereto will I pawne yonder spotted lambe; | |
| Of all my flocke there nis sike another; | |
| For I brought him up without the dambe. | |
| But Colin Clout rafte me of his brother, | 40 |
| That he purchast of me in the playne field: | |
| Sore against my will was I forst to yield. | |
| |
| Wil. Sicker, make like account of his brother. | |
| But who shall judge the wager wonne or lost? | |
| Per. That shall yonder heardgrome, and none other, | 45 |
| Which over the pousse hetherward doth post. | |
| Wil. But, for the sunnebeame so sore doth us beate, | |
| Were not better to shunne the scortching heate? | |
| |
| Per. Well agreed, Willy: then sitte thee downe, swayne: | |
| Sike a song never heardest thou but Colin sing. | 50 |
| Cud. Gynne when ye lyst, ye jolly shep-heards twayne: | |
| Sike a judge as Cuddie were for a king. | |
| |
| Per. It fell upon a holly eve, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, hollidaye! | |
| Per. When holly fathers wont to shrieve: | 55 |
| Wil. Now gynneth this roundelay. | |
| Per. Sitting upon a hill so hye, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, the high hyll! | |
| Per. The while my flocke did feede thereby, | |
| Wil. The while the shepheard selfe did spill; | 60 |
| Per. I saw the bouncing Bellibone, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, bonibell! | |
| Per. Tripping over the dale alone; | |
| Wil. She can trippe it very well: | |
| Per. Well decked in a frocke of gray, | 65 |
| Wil. Hey ho, gray is greete! | |
| Per. And in a kirtle of greene saye; | |
| Wil. The greene is for maydens meete. | |
| Per. A chapelet on her head she wore, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, chapelet! | 70 |
| Per. Of sweete violets therein was store, | |
| Wil. She sweeter then the violet. | |
| Per. My sheepe did leave theyr wonted foode, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, seely sheepe! | |
| Per. And gazd on her, as they were wood, | 75 |
| Wil. Woode as he that did them keepe. | |
| Per. As the bonilasse passed bye, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, bonilasse! | |
| Per. She rovde at me with glauncing eye, | |
| Wil. As cleare as the christall glasse: | 80 |
| Per. All as the sunnye beame so bright, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, the sunne beame! | |
| Per. Glaunceth from Phoebus face forth-right, | |
| Wil. So love into thy hart did streame: | |
| Per. Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes, | 85 |
| Wil. Hey ho, the thonder! | |
| Per. Wherein the lightsome levin shroudes, | |
| Wil. So cleaves thy soule a sonder: | |
| Per. Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, the moonelight! | 90 |
| Per. Upon the glyttering wave doth playe: | |
| Wil. Such play is a pitteous plight. | |
| Per. The glaunce into my heart did glide, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, the glyder! | |
| Per. Therewith my soule was sharply gryde: | 95 |
| Wil. Such woundes soone wexen wider. | |
| Per. Hasting to raunch the arrow out, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, Perigot! | |
| Per. I left the head in my hart roote: | |
| Wil. It was a desperate shot. | 100 |
| Per. There it ranckleth ay more and more, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, the arrowe! | |
| Per. Ne can I find salve for my sore: | |
| Wil. Love is a curelesse sorrowe. | |
| Per. And though my bale with death I bought, | 105 |
| Wil. Hey ho, heavie cheere! | |
| Per. Yet should thilk lasse not from my thought: | |
| Wil. So you may buye gold to deare. | |
| Per. But whether in paynefull love I pyne, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, pinching payne! | 110 |
| Per. Or thrive in welth, she shalbe mine: | |
| Wil. But if thou can her obteine. | |
| Per. And if for gracelesse greefe I dye, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, gracelesse griefe! | |
| Per. Witnesse, shee slewe me with her eye: | 115 |
| Wil. Let thy follye be the priefe. | |
| Per. And you, that sawe it, simple shepe, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, the fayre flocke! | |
| Per. For priefe thereof, my death shall weepe, | |
| Wil. And mone with many a mocke. | 120 |
| Per. So learnd I love on a hollye eve, | |
| Wil. Hey ho, holidaye! | |
| Per. That ever since my hart did greve. | |
| Wil. Now endeth our roundelay. | |
| |
| Cud. Sicker, sike a roundle never heard I none. | 125 |
| Little lacketh Perigot of the best, | |
| And Willye is not greatly overgone, | |
| So weren his undersongs well addrest. | |
| Wil. Herdgrome, I fear me thou have a squint eye: | |
| Areede uprightly, who has the victorye? | 130 |
| |
| Cud. Fayth of my soule, I deeme ech have gayned. | |
| Forthy let the lambe be Willye his owne; | |
| And for Perigot so well hath hym payned, | |
| To him be the wroughten mazer alone. | |
| Per. Perigot is well pleased with the doome, | 135 |
| Ne can Willye wite the witelesse herdgroome. | |
| |
| Wil. Never dempt more right of beautye, I weene, | |
| The shepheard of Ida that judged beauties queene. | |
| |
| Cud. But tell me, shepherds, should it not yshend | |
| Your roundels fresh to heare a doolefull verse | 140 |
| Of Rosalend, (who knowes not Rosalend?) | |
| That Colin made, ylke can I you rehearse. | |
| Per. Now say it, Cuddie, as thou art a ladde: | |
| With mery thing its good to medle sadde. | |
| |
| Wil. Fayth of my soule, thou shalt ycrouned be | 145 |
| In Colins stede, if thou this song areede: | |
| For never thing on earth so pleaseth me | |
| As him to heare, or matter of his deede. | |
| Cud. Then listneth ech unto my heavy laye, | |
| And tune your pypes as ruthful as ye may. | 150 |
| |
| ‘Ye wastefull woodes beare witnesse of my woe, | |
| Wherein my plaints did oftentimes resound: | |
| Ye carelesse byrds are privie to my cryes, | |
| Which in your songs were wont to make a part: | |
| Thou pleasaunt spring hast luld me oft a sleepe, | 155 |
| Whose streames my tricklinge teares did ofte augment. | |
| |
| ‘Resort of people doth my greefs augment, | |
| The walled townes do worke my greater woe: | |
| The forest wide is fitter to resound | |
| The hollow echo of my carefull cryes: | 160 |
| I hate the house, since thence my love did part, | |
| Whose waylefull want debarres myne eyes from sleepe. | |
| |
| ‘Let stremes of teares supply the place of sleepe: | |
| Let all, that sweete is, voyd: and all that may augment | |
| My doole drawe neare. More meete to wayle my woe | 165 |
| Bene the wild woddes, my sorrowes to resound, | |
| Then bedde, or bowre, both which I fill with cryes, | |
| When I them see so waist, and fynd no part | |
| |
| ‘Of pleasure past. Here will I dwell apart | |
| In gastfull grove therefore, till my last sleepe | 170 |
| Doe close mine eyes: so shall I not augment, | |
| With sight of such a chaunge, my restlesse woe. | |
| Helpe me, ye banefull byrds, whose shrieking sound | |
| Ys signe of dreery death, my deadly cryes | |
| |
| ‘Most ruthfully to tune. And as my cryes | 175 |
| (Which of my woe cannot bewray least part) | |
| You heare all night, when nature craveth sleepe, | |
| Increase, so let your yrksome yells augment. | |
| Thus all the night in plaints, the daye in woe | |
| I vowed have to wayst, till safe and sound | 180 |
| |
| ‘She home returne, whose voyces silver sound | |
| To cheerefull songs can chaunge my cherelesse cryes. | |
| Hence with the nightingale will I take part, | |
| That blessed byrd, that spends her time of sleepe | |
| In songs and plaintive pleas, the more taugment | 185 |
| The memory of hys misdeede, that bred her woe. | |
| |
| ‘And you that feele no woe, / when as the sound | |
| Of these my nightly cryes / ye heare apart, | |
| Let breake your sounder sleepe / and pitie augment.’ | |
| |
| Per. O Colin, Colin, the shepheards joye, | 190 |
| How I admire ech turning of thy verse! | |
| And Cuddie, fresh Cuddie, the liefest boye, | |
| How dolefully his doole thou didst re-hearse! | |
| Cud. Then blowe your pypes, shepheards, til you be at home: | |
| The night nigheth fast, yts time to be gone.
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