The Shepheardes Calender Read Online

day of the seuenth moneth, which before that time was the first.

But our Authour respecting nether the subtiltie of thone parte, nor the antiquitie of thother, thinketh it fittest according to the simplicitie of commen vnderstanding, to begin with Ianuarie, wening it perhaps no decorum, that Shepheard should be seene in matter of so deepe insight, or canuase a case of so doubtful iudgment. So therefore beginneth he, and so continueth he throughout.

Januarye.

Ægloga prima.

Argvment.

In this fyrst Æglogue Colin cloute a shepheardes boy complaineth him of his vnfortunate loue, being but newly (as semeth) enamoured of a countrie lasse called Rosalinde: with which strong affection being very sore traueled, he compareth his carefull case to the sadde season of the yeare, to the frostie ground, to the frosen trees, and to his owne winterbeaten flocke. And lastlye, fynding himselfe robbed of all former pleasaunce and delights, hee breaketh his Pipe in peeces, and casteth him selfe to the ground.

Colin Cloute.

1

A Shepeheards boye (no better doe him call)

When Winters wastful spight was almost spent,

All in a sunneshine day, as did befall,

Led forth his flock, that had bene long ypent.

So faynt they woxe, and feeble in the folde,

That now vnnethes2 their feete could them vphold.

All as the Sheepe, such was the shepeheards looke,

For pale and wanne he was, (alas the while,)

May seeme he lovd, or els some care he tooke:

Well couth3 he tune his pipe, and frame his stile.

Tho to a hill his faynting flocke he ledde,

And thus him playnd, the while his shepe there fedde.

Ye Gods of loue, that pitie louers payne,

(If any gods the paine of louers pitie:)

Looke from aboue, where you in ioyes remaine,

And bowe your eares vnto my dolefull dittie.

And Pan thou shepheards God, that once didst loue,

Pitie the paines, that thou thy selfe didst proue.

Thou barrein ground, whome winters wrath hath wasted,

Art made a myrrhour, to behold my plight:

Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and after hasted

Thy sommer prowde with Daffadillies dight.

And now is come thy wynters stormy state,

Thy mantle mard, wherein thou maskedst late.

Such rage as winters, reigneth in my heart,

My life bloud friesing with vnkindly cold:

Such stormy stoures do breede my balefull smart,

As if my yeare were wast, and woxen old.

And yet alas, but now my spring begonne,

And yet alas, yt is already donne.

You naked trees, whose shady leaues are lost,

Wherein the byrds were wont to build their bowre:

And now are clothd with mosse and hoary frost,

Instede of bloosmes, wherwith your buds did flowre:

I see your teares, that from your boughes doe raine,

Whose drops in drery ysicles remaine.

All so my lustfull leafe is drye and sere,4

My timely buds with wayling all are wasted:

The blossome, which my braunch of youth did beare,

With breathed sighes is blowne away, and blasted,

And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend,

As on your boughes the ysicles depend.

Thou feeble flocke, whose fleece is rough and rent,

Whose knees are weake through fast and euill fare:

Mayst witnesse well by thy ill gouernement,

Thy maysters mind is ouercome with care.

Thou weake, I wanne: thou leane, I quite forlorne:

With mourning pyne I, you with pyning mourne.

A thousand sithes5 I curse that carefull hower,

Wherein I longd the neighbour towne6 to see:

And eke tenne thousand sithes I blesse the stoure,7

Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight, as shee.

Yet all for naught: such sight hath bred my bane.

Ah God, that loue should breede both ioy and payne.

It is not Hobbinol, wherefore I plaine,

Albee my loue he seeke with dayly suit:

His clownish gifts8 and curtsies I disdaine,

His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early fruit.

Ah foolish Hobbinol,9 thy gyfts bene vayne:

Colin them giues to Rosalind10 againe.

I loue thilke lasse, (alas why doe I loue?)11

And am forlorne, (alas why am I lorne?)

Shee deignes not my good will, but doth reproue,

And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne.

Shepheards deuise she hateth as the snake,

And laughes the songes, that Colin Clout doth make.

Wherefore my pype, albee rude Pan thou please,

Yet for thou pleasest not, where most I would:

And thou vnlucky Muse, that wontst to ease

My musing mynd, yet canst not, when thou should:

Both pype and Muse, shall sore the while abye.

So broke his oaten pype, and downe dyd lye.

By that, the welked Phœbus gan auaile12

His weary waine, and nowe the frosty Night

Her mantle black through heauen gan ouerhaile.13

Which seene, the pensife boy halfe in despight

Arose, and homeward droue his sonned sheepe,

Whose hanging heads did seeme his carefull case to weepe.

Colins Embleme.

Anchôra Speme.

Glosse.

1 Colin Cloute) is a name not greatly vsed, and yet haue I sene a Poesie of M. Skeltons vnder that title. But indeede the word Colin is Frenche, and vsed of the French Poete Marot (if he be worthy of the name of a Poete) in a certein Æglogue. Vnder which name this Poete secretly shadoweth himself, as sometime did Virgil vnder the name of Tityrus, thinking it much fitter, then such Latine names, for the great vnlikelyhoode of the language.

2 vnnethes) scarcely.

3 couthe) commeth of the verbe Conne, that is, to know or to haue skill. As well interpreteth the same the worthy Sir Tho. Smith in his booke of gouerment: wherof I haue a perfect copie in wryting, lent me by him kinseman, and my verye singular good freend, M. Gabriel Haruey: as also of some other his most graue and excellent wrytings.

4 Sere) withered.

5 Sythe) time.

6 Neighbour towne) the next towne: expressing the Latine Vicina.

7 Stoure) a fitt.

8 His clownish gyfts) imitateth Virgils verse, Rusticus es Corydon, nec munera curat Alexis.

9 Hobbinol) is a fained country name, whereby, it being so commune and vsuall, seemeth to be hidden the person of some his very speciall and most familiar freend, whom he entirely and extraordinarily beloued, as peraduenture shall be more largely declared hereafter. In thys place seemeth to be some sauour of disorderly loue, which the learned call pæderastice: but it is gathered beside his meaning. For who that hath red Plato his dialogue called Alcybiades, Xenophon and Maximus Tyrius of Socrates opinions, may easily perceiue, that such loue is muche to be alowed and liked of, specially so meant, as Socrates vsed it: who sayth, that in deede he loued Alcybiades extremely, yet not Alcybiades person, but hys soule, which is Alcybiades owne selfe. And so is pæderastice much to be præferred before gynerastice, that is the loue whiche enflameth men with lust toward woman kind. But yet let no man thinke, that herein I stand with Lucian or hys deuelish disciple Vnico Aretino, in defence of execrable and horrible sinnes of forbidden and vnlawful fleshlinesse. Whose abominable errour is fully confuted of Perionius, and others.

10 Rosalinde) is also a feigned name, which being wel ordered, wil bewray the very name of hys loue and mistresse, whom by that name he coloureth. So as Ouide shadoweth hys loue vnder the name of Corynna, which of some is supposed to be Iulia, themperor Augustus his daughter, and wyfe to Agryppa. So doth Aruntius Stella euery where call his Lady Asteris and Ianthis, albe it is wel knowen that her right name was Violantilla: as witnesseth Statius in his Epithalamium. And so the famous Paragone of Italy, Madonna Cœlia in her letters enuelopeth her selfe vnder the name of Zima: and Petrona vnder the name of Bellochia. And this generally hath bene a common custome of counterfeicting the names of secret Personages.

11 I loue) a prety Epanorthosis in these two verses, and withall a Paronomasia or playing with the word, where he sayth (I loue thilke lasse (alas etc.

12 Auail) bring downe.

13 Ouerhaile) drawe ouer.

Embleme.

His Embleme or Poesye is here vnder added in Italian, Anchóra speme: the meaning wherof is, that notwithstande his extreme passion and lucklesse loue, yet leaning on hope, he is some what recomforted.

Februarie.

Ægloga Secunda.

Argvment.

This Æglogue is rather morall and generall, then bent to any secrete or particular purpose. It specially conteyneth a discourse of old age, in the persone of Thenot an olde Shepheard, who for his crookednesse and vnlustinesse, is scorned of Cuddie an vnhappy Heardmans boye. The matter very well accordeth with the season of the moneth, the yeare now drouping, and as it were, drawing to his last age. For as in this time of yeare, so then in our bodies there is a dry and withering cold, which congealeth the crudled blood, and frieseth the wetherbeaten flesh, with stormes of Fortune, and hoare frosts of Care. To which purpose the olde man telleth a tale of the Oake and the Bryer, so liuely and so feelingly, as if the thing were set forth in some Picture before our eyes, more plainly could not appeare.

Cvddie and Thenot.

Ah for pittie, wil rancke Winters rage,

These bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage?

The kene1 cold blowes through my beaten hyde,

All as I were through the body gryde.2

My ragged rontes3 all shiver and shake,

As doen high Towers in an earthquake:

They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle tailes,

Perke as Peacock: but nowe it auales.

Thenot.

Lewdly complainest thou laesie ladde,

Of Winters wracke,4 for making thee sadde.

Must not the world wend in his commun course

From good to badd, and from badde to worse,

From worse vnto that is worst of all,

And then returne to his former fall?

Who will not suffer the stormy time,

Where will he liue tyll the lusty prime?

Selfe haue I worne out thrise threttie yeares,

Some in much ioy, many in many teares:

Yet neuer complained of cold nor heate,

Of Sommers flame, nor of Winters threat:

Ne euer was to Fortune foeman,5

But gently tooke, that vngently came.

And euer my flocke was my chiefe care,

Winter or Sommer they mought well fare.

Cvddie.

No marueile Thenot,6 if thou can beare

Cherefully the Winters wrathfull cheare:

For Age and Winter accord full nie,

This chill, that cold, this crooked, that wrye.

And as the lowring Wether lookes downe,

So semest thou like good fryday to frowne.

But my flowring youth is foe to frost,

My shippe vnwont in stormes to be tost.

Thenot.

The soueraigne of seas7 he blames in vaine,

That once seabeate, will to sea againe.

So loytring liue you little heardgroomes,8

Keeping your beastes in the budded broomes:

And when the shining sunne laugheth once,

You deemen, the Spring is come attonce.

Tho gynne you, fond flyes,9 the cold to scorne,

And crowing in pypes made of greene corne,

You thinken to be Lords of the yeare.

But eft, when10 ye count you freed from feare,

Comes the breme11 winter with chamfred browes,

Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes:

Drerily shooting his stormy darte,

Which cruddles the blood, and pricks the harte.

Then is your careless corage accoied,12

Your carefull heards with cold bene annoied.

Then paye you the price of your surquedrie,13

With weeping, and wayling, and misery.

Cvddie.

Ah foolish old man, I scorne thy skill,

That wouldest me, my springing youngth to spil.

I deeme, thy braine emperished bee

Through rusty elde,14 that hath rotted thee:

Or sicker15 thy head veray tottie is,

So on thy corbe16 shoulder it leanes amisse.

Now thy selfe hast lost both lopp and topp,

Als my budding braunch thou wouldest cropp:

But were thy yeares greene, as now bene myne,

To other delights they would encline.

Tho wouldest thou learne to caroll of Loue,

And hery17 with hymnes thy lasses gloue.

Tho wouldest thou pype of Phyllis18 prayse:

But Phyllis is myne for many dayes:

I wonne her with a gyrdle of gelt,

Embost with buegle about the belt.19

Such an one shepeheards woulde make full faine:

Such an one would make thee younge againe.

Thenot.

Thou art a fon,20 of thy loue to boste,

All that is lent to loue, wyll be lost.

Cvddie.

Seest, howe brag yond Bullocke beares,

So smirke, so smoothe, his pricked eares?

His hornes bene as broade, as Rainebowe bent,

His dewelap as lythe,21 as lasse of Kent.

See howe he venteth22 into the wynd.

Weenest of loue is not his mynd?

Seemeth thy flocke thy counsell can,

So lustlesse bene they, so weake so van,

Clothed with cold, and hoary wyth frost.

Thy flocks father23 his corage hath lost:

Thy Ewes, that wont to haue blowen bags,

Like wailefull widdowes hangen their crags:24

The rather Lambes25 bene starued with cold,

All for their Maister is lustlesse and old.

Thenot.

Cuddie, I wote thou kenst little good,

So vainely taduaunce thy headlesse hood.

For Youngth is26 a bubble blown vp with breath,

Whose witt is weakenesse, whose wage is death,

Whose way is wildernesse, whose ynne Penaunce,

And stoopegallaunt Age the hoste of Greeuaunce.

But shall I tel thee a tale of truth,

Which I cond of Tityrus27 in my youth,

Keeping his sheepe on the hils of Kent?

Cvddie.

To nought more Thenot, my mind is bent,

Then to heare nouells of his deuise:

They bene so well thewed,28 and so wise,

What euer that good old man bespake.

Thenot.

Many meete tales of youth did he make,

And some of loue, and some of cheualrie:

But none fitter then this to applie.

Now listen a while, and hearken the end.

There grewe29 an aged Tree on the greene,

A goodly Oake sometime had it bene,

With armes full strong and largely displayd,

But of their leaues they were disarayde:

The bodie bigge, and mightely pight,

Throughly rooted, and of wonderous hight:

Whilome had bene the King of the field,

And mochell mast to the husband did yielde,

And with his nuts larded many swine.

But now the gray mosse marred his rine,

His bared boughes were beaten with stormes,

His toppe was bald, and wasted with wormes,

His honor decayed, his braunches sere.

Hard by his side grewe a bragging brere,

Which proudly thrust into Thelement,

And seemed to threat the Firmament.

Yt was embellisht30 with blossomes fayre,

And thereto aye wonned31 to repayre

The shepheards daughters, to gather flowres,

To peinct their girlonds with his colowres.

And in his small bushes vsed to shrowde

The sweete Nightingale singing so lowde:

Which made this foolish Brere wexe so bold,

That on a time he cast him to scold,

And snebbe32 the good Oake, for he was old.

Why standst33 there (quoth he) thou brutish blocke?

Nor for fruict, nor for shadowe serues thy stocke:

Seest, how fresh my flowers bene spredde,

Dyed in Lilly white, and Cremsin redde,

With Leaues engrained34 in lusty greene,

Colours meete to clothe a mayden Queene.

Thy wast bignes but combers the grownd,

And dirks the beauty of my blossomes rownd.

The mouldie mosse, which thee accloieth,35

My Sinamon smell too much annoieth.

Wherefore soone I rede thee, hence remoue,

Least thou the price of my displeasure proue.

So spake this bold brere with great disdaine:

Little him answered the Oake againe,

But yielded, with shame and greefe adawed,36

That of a weede he was ouerawed.

Yt chaunced after vpon a day,

The Husbandman selfe to come that way,

Of custome for to seruewe his grownd,

And his trees of state37 in compasse rownd.

Him when the spitefull brere had espyed,

Causlesse complained, and lowdly cryed

Vnto his Lord, stirring vp sterne strife:38

O my liege39 Lord, the God of my life,

Pleaseth you ponder your Suppliants plaint,

Caused of wrong, and cruell constraint,

Which I your poore Vassall dayly endure:

And but your goodnes the same recure,

Am like for desperate doole to dye,

Through felonous force of mine enemie.

Greatly aghast with this piteous plea,

Him rested the goodman on the lea,

And badde the Brere in his plaint proceede.

With painted words tho gan this proude weede,

(As most vsen Ambitious folke:)

His colowred crime with craft to cloke.

Ah my soueraigne, Lord of creatures all,

Thou placer of plants both humble and tall,

Was not I planted of thine owne hand,

To be the primrose40 of all thy land,

With flowring blossomes, to furnish the prime,

And scarlot berries in Sommer time?

How falls it then, that this faded Oake,

Whose bodie is sere, whose braunches broke,

Whose naked Armes41 stretch vnto the fyre,

Vnto such tyrannie doth aspire:

Hindering with his shade my louely light,

And robbing me of the swete sonnes sight?

So beate his old boughes my tender side,

That oft the bloud42 springeth from wounds wyde:

Vntimely my flowres forced to fall,

That bene the honor of your Coronall.43

And oft he lets his cancker wormes light

Vpon my braunches, to worke me more spight:

And oft his hoarie locks44 downe doth cast,

Where with my fresh flowretts45 bene defast.

For this, and many more such outrage,

Crauing your goodlihead to aswage

The ranckorous rigour of his might,

Nought aske I, but onely to hold my right:

Submitting me to your good sufferance,

And praying to be garded from greeuance.

To this the Oake cast him to replie

Well as he couth: but his enemie

Had kindled such coles of displeasure,

That the good man noulde stay his leasure,

But home him hasted with furious heate,

Encreasing his wrath with many a threate.

His harmefull Hatchet he hent46 in hand,

(Alas, that it so ready should stand)

And to the field alone he speedeth.

(Ay47 little helpe to harme there needeth)

Anger nould48 let him speake to the tree,

Enaunter49 his rage mought cooled bee:

But to the roote bent his sturdy stroke,

And made many wounds50 in the wast Oake.

The Axes edge did oft turne againe,

As halfe vnwilling to cutte the graine:

Semed, the sencelesse yron dyd feare,

Or to wrong holy eld did forbeare.

For it had bene an auncient tree,

Sacred with many a mysteree,

And often crost with the priestes crewe,51

And often halowed with holy water dewe.

But sike fancies weren foolerie,

And broughten this Oake to this miserye.

For nought mought they quitten him from decay:

For fiercely the good man at him did laye.

The blocke oft groned52 vnder the blow,

And sighed to see his neare ouerthrow.

In fine the steele had pierced his pitth,

Tho downe to the earth he fell forthwith:

His wonderous weight made the grounde to quake,

Thearth shronke vnder him, and seemed to shake.

There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none.

Now stands the Brere like a Lord alone,

Puffed vp with pryde and vaine pleasaunce:

But all this glee53 had no continuaunce.

For eftsones Winter gan to approche,

The blustring Boreas54 did encroche,

And beate vpon the solitarie Brere:

For nowe no succoure was seene him nere.

Now gan he repent his pryde to late:

For naked left and disconsolate,

The byting frost nipt his stalke dead,

The watrie wette weighed downe his head,

And heaped snowe burdned him so sore,

That nowe vpright he can stand no more:

And being downe, is trodde in the durt

Of cattell, and brouzed, and sorely hurt.

Such was thend of this Ambitious brere,

For scorning Eld55

Cvddie.

Now I pray thee shepheard, tel it not forth:

Here is a long tale, and little worth.

So longe haue I listened to thy speche,

That graffed to the ground is my breche:

My hartblood is welnigh frorne I feele,

And my galage56 growne fast to my heele:

But little ease of thy lewd tale I tasted.

Hye thee home shepheard, the day is nigh wasted.

Thenots Embleme.

Iddio perche è vecchio,

Fa suoi al suo essempio.

Cuddies Embleme.

Niuno vecchio,

Spaventa Iddio.

Glosse.

1 Kene) sharpe.

2 Gride) perced: an olde word much vsed of Lidgate, but not found (that I know of) in Chaucer.

3 Ronts) young bullockes.

4 Wracke) ruine or Violence, whence commeth shipwracke: and not wreake, that is vengeaunce or wrath.

5 Foeman) a foe.

6 Thenot) the name of a shepheard in Marot his Æglogues.

7 The soueraigne of Seas) is Neptune the God of the seas. The saying is borowed of Mimus Publianus, which vsed this prouerb in a verse.

Improbè Neptunum accusat, qui iterum naufragium facit.

8 Heardgromes) Chaucers verse almost whole.

9 Fond Flyes) He compareth carelesse sluggardes or ill husbandmen to flyes, that so soone as the sunne shineth, or yt wexeth any thing warme, begin to flye abroade, when sodeinly they be ouertaken with cold.

10 But eft when) A verye excellent and liuely description of Winter, so as may bee indifferently taken, eyther for old Age, or for Winter season.

11 Breme) chill, bitter. Chamfred) chapt, or wrinckled.

12 Accoied) plucked down and daunted.

13 Surquedrie) pryde.

14 Elde) olde age.

15 Sicker) sure. Tottie) wauering.

16 Corbe) crooked.

17 Herie) worshippe.

18 Phyllis) the name of some mayde vnknowen, whom Cuddie, whose person is secrete, loued. The name is vsuall in Theocritus, Virgile, and Mantuane.

19 Belte) a girdle or wast band.

20 A fon) a foole.

21 lythe) soft and gentile.

22 Venteth) snuffeth in the wind.

23 Thy flocks Father) the Ramme.

24 Crags) neckes.

25 Rather Lambes) that be ewed early in the beginning of the yeare.

26 Youth is) A verye moral and pitthy Allegorie of youth, and the lustes thereof, compared to a wearie wayfaring man.

27 Tityrus) I suppose he meane Chaucer, whose prayse for pleasaunt tales cannot dye, so long as the memorie of hys name shal liue, and the name of Poetrie shal endure.

28 Well thewed) that is, Bene moratæ, full of morall wisenesse.

29 There grew) This tale of the Oake and the Brere, he telleth as learned of Chaucer, but it is cleane in another kind, and rather like to Æsopes fables. It is very excellente for pleasaunt descriptions, being altogether a certaine Icon or Hypotyposis of disdainfull younkers.

30 Embellisht) beautified and adorned.

31 To wonne) to haunt or frequent.

32 Sneb) checke.

33 Why standst) The speach is scorneful and very presumptuous.

34 Engrained) dyed in grain.

35 Accloieth) encombreth.

36 Adawed) daunted and confounded.

37 Trees of state) taller trees fitte for timber wood.

38 Sterne strife) said Chaucer.s. fell and sturdy.

39 O my liege) A maner of supplication, wherein is kindly coloured the affection and speache of Ambitious men.

40 The Primrose) The chiefe and worthiest.

41 Naked armes) metaphorically ment of the bare boughes, spoyled of leaues. This colourably he speaketh, as adiudging hym to the fyre.

42 The blood) spoken of a blocke, as it were of a liuing creature, figuratively, and (as they saye) katA eikasmon.

43 Coronall) Garlande.

44 Hoarie lockes) metaphorically for withered leaues.

45 Flourets) young blossomes.

46 Hent) caught.

47 Ay) euermore.

48 Nould) for would not.

49 Enaunter) least that.

50 Wounds) gashes.

51 The priestes crewe) holy water pott, wherewith the popishe priest vsed to sprinckle and hallowe the trees from mischaunce. Such blindnesse was in those times, which the Poete supposeth, to haue bene the finall decay of this auncient Oake.

52 The blocke oft groned) A liuelye figure, whiche geueth sence and feeling to vnsensible creatures, as Virgile also sayeth: Saxa gemunt grauido etc.

53 Glee) chere and iollitie.

54 Boreas) The Northerne wynd, that bringeth the moste stormie weather.

55 For scorning Eld) And minding (as shoulde seme) to haue made ryme to the former verse, he is conningly cutte of by Cuddye, as disdayning to here any more.

56 Galage) a startuppe or clownish shoe.

Embleme.

This embleme is spoken of Thenot, as a moral of his former tale: namelye, that God, which is himselfe most aged, being before al ages, and without beginninge, maketh those, whom he loueth like to himselfe, in heaping yeares vnto theyre dayes, and blessing them wyth longe lyfe.