14
SECOND PASTORAL.
For yearning love the witless maid employs.
And love; say swains, all busy heed destroys.
Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart,
A lass that Cic'ly hight, had won his heart; 20
Cic'ly the western lass that tends the kee,[1]
The rival of the parson's maid was she.
In dreary shade now Marian lies along,
And mixt with sighs thus wails in plaining song.
Ah woful day! ah woful noon and morn! 25
When first by thee my younglings white were shorn;
Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eve,
My sheep were silly, but more silly I:
Beneath the shears they felt no lasting smart,
They lost but fleeces while I lost a heart. 30
Ah Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart true!
What I have done for thee will Cic'ly do?
Will she thy linnen wash or hosen darn,
And knit thee gloves made of her own-spun yarn?
Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat, 35
And ev'ry Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait?
Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide,
In service-time drew Cic'ly's eyes aside.
Where-e'er I gad I cannot hide my care,
My new disasters in my look appear. 40
White as the curd my ruddy cheek is grown,
So thin my features that I'm hardly known;
Our neighbours te!l me oft in joking talk
Of ashes, leather, oatmeal, bran and chalk;
Unwittingly of Marian they divine; 45
And wist not that with thoughtful love I pine.
Yet Colin Clout, untoward Shepherd Swain,
Walks whistling blithe, whilst pitiful I plain.
Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight
To moil all day, and merry make at night. 50
And love; say swains, all busy heed destroys.
Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart,
A lass that Cic'ly hight, had won his heart; 20
Cic'ly the western lass that tends the kee,[1]
The rival of the parson's maid was she.
In dreary shade now Marian lies along,
And mixt with sighs thus wails in plaining song.
Ah woful day! ah woful noon and morn! 25
When first by thee my younglings white were shorn;
Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eve,
My sheep were silly, but more silly I:
Beneath the shears they felt no lasting smart,
They lost but fleeces while I lost a heart. 30
Ah Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart true!
What I have done for thee will Cic'ly do?
Will she thy linnen wash or hosen darn,
And knit thee gloves made of her own-spun yarn?
Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat, 35
And ev'ry Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait?
Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide,
In service-time drew Cic'ly's eyes aside.
Where-e'er I gad I cannot hide my care,
My new disasters in my look appear. 40
White as the curd my ruddy cheek is grown,
So thin my features that I'm hardly known;
Our neighbours te!l me oft in joking talk
Of ashes, leather, oatmeal, bran and chalk;
Unwittingly of Marian they divine; 45
And wist not that with thoughtful love I pine.
Yet Colin Clout, untoward Shepherd Swain,
Walks whistling blithe, whilst pitiful I plain.
Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight
To moil all day, and merry make at night. 50
- ↑ Line 21. Kee, a west-country word for kine or cows.
If
