The Shorter Poems Read Online

Is not thilke the mery moneth of May,

When loue lads masken in fresh aray?

How falles it then, we no merrier bene,

Ylike as others, girt in gawdy greene?

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Our bloncket liueryes bene all to sadde,

For thilke same season, when all is ycladd

With pleasaunce: the grownd with grasse, the Wods

With greene leaues, the bushes with bloosming Buds.

Yougthes folke now flocken in euery where,

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To gather may buskets and smelling brere:

And home they hasten the postes to dight,

And all the Kirke pillours eare day light,

With Hawthorne buds, and swete Eglantine,

And girlonds of roses and Sopps in wine.

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Such merimake holy Saints doth queme,

But we here sytten as drownd in a dreme.

For Younkers Palinode such follies fitte,

But we tway bene men of elder witt.

Sicker this morrowe, ne lenger agoe,

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I sawe a shole of shepeheardes outgoe,

With singing, and shouting, and iolly chere:

Before them yode a lusty Tabrere,

That to the many a Home pype playd,

Whereto they dauncen eche one with his mayd.

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To see those folkes make such iouysaunce,

Made my heart after the pype to daunce.

Tho to the greene Wood they speeden hem all,

To fetchen home May with their musicall:

And home they bringen in a royall throne,

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Crowned as king: and his Queene attone

Was Lady Flora, on whom did attend

A fayre flocke of Faeries, and a fresh bend

Of louely Nymphs. (O that I were there,

To helpen the Ladyes their Maybush beare)

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Ah Piers, bene not thy teeth on edge, to thinke,

How great sport they gaynen with little swinck?

Perdie so farre am I from enuie,

That their fondnesse inly I pitie.

Those faytours little regarden their charge,

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While they letting their sheepe runne at large,

Passen their time, that should be sparely spent,

In lustihede and wanton meryment.

Thilke same bene shepeheards for the Deuils stedde,

That playen, while their flockes be vnfedde.

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Well is it seene, theyr sheepe bene not their owne,

That letten them runne at randon alone.

But they bene hyred for little pay

Of other, that caren as little as they,

What fallen the flocke, so they han the fleece,

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And get all the gayne, paying but a peece.

I muse, what account both these will make,

The one for the hire, which he doth take,

And thother for leauing his Lords taske,

When great Pan account of shepeherdes shall aske.

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Sicker now I see thou speakest of spight,

All for thou lackest somedele their delight.

I (as I am) had rather be enuied,

All were it of my foe, then fonly pitied:

And yet if neede were, pitied would be,

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Rather, then other should scorne at me:

For pittied is mishappe, that nas remedie,

But scorned bene dedes of fond foolerie.

What shoulden shepheards other things tend,

Then sith their God his good does them send,

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Reapen the fruite thereof, that is pleasure,

The while they here liuen, at ease and leasure?

For when they bene dead, their good is ygoe,

They sleepen in rest, well as other moe.

Tho with them wends, what they spent in cost,

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But what they left behind them, is lost.

Good is no good, but if it be spend:

God giueth good for none other end.

Ah Palinodie, thou art a worldes childe:

Who touches Pitch mought needes be defilde.

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But shepheards (as Algrind vsed to say,)

Mought not liue ylike, as men of the laye:

With them it sits to care for their heire,

Enaunter their heritage doe impaire:

They must prouide for meanes of maintenaunce,

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And to continue their wont countenaunce.

But shepheard must walke another way,

Sike worldly souenance he must foresay.

The sonne of his loines why should he regard

To leaue enriched with that he hath spard?

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Should not thilke God, that gaue him that good,

Eke cherish his child, if in his wayes he stood?

For if he misliue in leudnes and lust,

Little bootes all the welth and the trust,

That his father left by inheritaunce:

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All will be soone wasted with misgouernaunce.

But through this, and other their miscreaunce,

They maken many a wrong cheuisaunce,

Heaping vp waues of welth and woe,

The floddes whereof shall them ouerflowe.

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Sike mens follie I cannot compare

Better, then to the Apes folish care,

That is so enamoured of her young one,

(And yet God wote, such cause hath she none)

That with her hard hold, and straight embracing,

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She stoppeth the breath of her youngling.

So often times, when as good is meant,

Euil ensueth of wrong entent.

The time was once, and may againe retorne,

(For ought may happen, that hath bene beforne)

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When shepeheards had none inheritaunce,

Ne of land, nor fee in sufferaunce:

But what might arise of the bare sheepe,

(Were it more or lesse) which they did keepe.

Well ywis was it with shepheards thoe:

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Nought hauing, nought feared they to forgoe.

For Pan himselfe was their inheritaunce,

And little them serued for their mayntenaunce.

The shepheards God so wel them guided,

That of nought they were vnprouided,

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Butter enough, honye, milke, and whay,

And their flockes fleeces, them to araye.

But tract of time, and long prosperitie:

That nource of vice, this of insolencie,

Lulled the shepheards in such securitie,

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That not content with loyall obeysaunce,

Some gan to gape for greedie gouernaunce,

And match them selfe with mighty potentates,

Louers of Lordship and troublers of states:

Tho gan shepheards swaines to looke a loft,

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And leaue to liue hard, and learne to ligge soft:

Tho vnder colour of shepeheards, somewhile

There crept in Wolues, ful of fraude and guile,

That often deuoured their owne sheepe,

And often the shepheards, that did hem keepe.

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This was the first sourse of shepheards sorowe,

That now nill be quitt with baile, nor borrowe.

Three thinges to beare, bene very burdenous,

But the fourth to forbeare, is outragious.

Wemen that of Loues longing once lust,

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Hardly forbearen, but haue it they must:

So when choler is inflamed with rage,

Wanting reuenge, is hard to asswage:

And who can counsell a thristie soule,

With patience to forbeare the offred bowle?

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But of all burdens, that a man can beare,

Moste is, a fooles talke to beare and to heare.

I wene the Geaunt has not such a weight,

That beares on his shoulders the heauens height.

Thou findest faulte, where nys to be found,

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And buildest strong warke vpon a weake ground:

Thou raylest on right withouten reason,

And blamest hem much, for small encheason.

How shoulden shepheardes liue, if not so?

What? should they pynen in payne and woe?

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Nay sayd I thereto, by my deare borrowe,

If I may rest, I nill liue in sorrowe.

Sorrowe ne neede be hastened on:

For he will come without calling anone.

While times enduren of tranquillitie,

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Usen we freely our felicitie.

For when approchen the stormie stowres,

We mought with our shoulders beare of the sharpe showres.

And sooth to sayne, nought seemeth sike strife,

That shepheardes so witen ech others life,

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And layen her faults the world beforne,

The while their foes done eache of hem scorne.

Let none mislike of that may not be mended:

So conteck soone by concord mought be ended.

Shepheard, I list none accordaunce make

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With shepheard, that does the right way forsake.

And of the twaine, if choice were to me,

Had leuer my foe, then my freend he be.

For what concord han light and darke sam?

Or what peace has the Lion with the Lambe?

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Such faitors, when their false harts bene hidde,

Will doe, as did the Foxe by the Kidde.

Now Piers, of felowship, tell vs that saying:

For the Ladde can keepe both our flocks from straying.

Thilke same Kidde (as I can well deuise)

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Was too very foolish and vnwise.

For on a tyme in Sommer season,

The Gate her dame, that had good reason,

Yode forth abroade vnto the greene wood,

To brouze, or play, or what shee thought good.

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But for she had a motherly care

Of her young sonne, and wit to beware,

Shee set her youngling before her knee,

That was both fresh and louely to see,

And full of fauour, as kidde mought be:

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His Vellet head began to shoote out,

And his wreathed homes gan newly sprout:

The blossomes of lust to bud did beginne,

And spring forth ranckly vnder his chinne.

My sonne (quoth she) (and with that gan weepe:

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For carefull thoughts in her heart did creepe)

God blesse thee poore Orphane, as he mought me,

And send thee ioy of thy iollitee.

Thy father (that word she spake with payne:

For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twaine)

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Thy father, had he liued this day,

To see the braunche of his body displaie,

How would he haue ioyed at this sweete sight?

But ah false Fortune such ioy did him spight,

And cutte of hys dayes with vntimely woe,

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Betraying him into the traines of hys foe.

Now I a waylfull widdowe behight,

Of my old age haue this one delight,

To see thee succeede in thy fathers steade,

And florish in flowres of lusty head.

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For euen so thy father his head vpheld,

And so his hauty homes did he weld.

Tho marking him with melting eyes,

A thrilling throbbe from her hart did aryse,

And interrupted all her other speache,

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With some old sorowe, that made a newe breache:

Seemed shee sawe in the younglings face

The old lineaments of his fathers grace.

At last her solein silence she broke,

And gan his newe budded beard to stroke.

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Kiddie (quoth shee) thou kenst the great care,

I haue of thy health and thy welfare,

Which many wyld beastes liggen in waite,

For to entrap in thy tender state:

But most the Foxe, maister of collusion:

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For he has voued thy last confusion.