Eclogue the Third
Wouldst thou kenn nature in her better parte?
Goe, serche the logges [1] and bordels[2] of the hynde[3];
Gyff[4] theie have anie, itte ys roughe-made arte,
Inne hem[5] you see the blakied[6] forme of kynde[7].
Haveth your mynde a lycheynge[8] of a mynde?
Woulde it kenne everich thynge, as it mote[9] bee?
Woulde ytte here phrase of the vulgar from the hynde,
Withoute wiseegger[10] wordes and knowlache[11] free?
Gyf soe, rede thys, whyche Iche dysporteynge[12] pende;
Gif nete besyde, yttes rhyme maie ytte commende.
MANNE.
Botte whether, fayre mayde, do ye goe?
O where do ye bende yer waie?
I wille knowe whether you goe,
I wylle not bee asseled[13] naie.
WOMANNE.
To Robyn and Nell, all downe in the delle,
To hele[14] hem at makeynge of haie.
MANNE.
Syr Rogerre, the parsone, hav hyred mee there,
Comme, comme, lett us tryppe ytte awaie,
We’lle wurke[15] and we’lle synge, and wylle drenche[16] of stronge beer
As longe as the merrie sommers daie.
Womanne
How harde ys mie dome to wurch!
Moke is mie woe.
Dame Agnes, whoe lies ynne the Chyrche
With birlette[17] golde,
Wythe gelten[18] aumeres[19] stronge ontolde,
What was shee moe than me, to be soe?
Manne
I kenne Syr Roger from afar
Tryppynge over the lea;
Ich ask whie the loverds[20] son
Is moe than mee.
Syr Rogerre
The sweltrie[21] sonne dothe hie apace hys wayne[22],
From everich beme a seme[23]; of lyfe doe falle;
Swythyn[24] scille[25] oppe the haie uponne the playne;
Methynckes the cockes begynneth to gre[26] talle.
Thys ys alyche oure doome[27]; the great, the smalle,
Mofte withe[28] and bee forwyned[29] by deathis darte.
See! the swote[30] flourette[31] hathe noe swote at alle;
Itte wythe the ranke wede bereth evalle[32] parte.
The cravent[33], warrioure, and the wyse be blente[34],
Alyche to drie awaie wythe those theie dyd bemente[35].
Manne
All-a-boon[36], Syr Priest, all-a-boon,
Bye yer preestschype nowe saye unto mee;
Syr Gaufryd the knyghte, who lyvethe harde bie,
Whie shoulde hee than mee
Bee moe greate,
Inne honnoure, knyghtehoode and estate?
Syr Rogerre
Attourne[37] thine eyne arounde thys haied mee,
Tentyflie[38] loke arounde the chaper[39] delle[40];
An answere to thie barganette[41] here see,
Thys welked[42] flourette wylle a leson telle:
Arist[43] it blew[44], itte florished, and dyd welle,
Lokeynge ascaunce[45] upon the naighboure greene;
Yet with the deigned[46] greene yttes rennome[47] felle,
Eftsoones[48] ytte shronke upon the daie-brente[49] playne,
Didde not yttes loke, whilest ytte there dyd stonde,
To croppe ytte in the bodde move somme dred honde.
Syke[50] ys the waie of lyffe; the loverds[51] ente[52]
Mooveth the robber hym therfor to slea[53];
Gyf thou has ethe[54], the shadowe of contente,
Beleive the trothe[55], theres none moe haile[56] yan thee.
Thou wurchest[57]; welle, canne thatte a trobble bee?
Slothe moe wulde jade thee than the roughest daie.
Couldest thou the kivercled[58] of soughlys[59] see,
Thou wouldst eftsoones[60] see trothe ynne whatte I saie;
Botte lette me heere thie waie of lyffe, and thenne
Heare thou from me the lyffes of odher menne.
Manne
I ryse wythe the sonne,
Lyche hym to dryve the wayne[61],
And eere mie wurche is don
I synge a songe or twayne[62].
I followe the plough-tayle,
Wythe a longe jubb[63] of ale.
Botte of the maydens, oh!
Itte lacketh notte to telle;
Syr Preeste mote notte crie woe,
Culde hys bull do as welle.
I daunce the beste heiedeygnes[64],
And foile[65] the wysest feygnes[66].
On everych Seynctes hie daie
Wythe the mynstrelle[67] am I seene,
All a footeynge it awaie,
Wythe maydens on the greene.
But oh! I wyshe to be moe greate,
In rennome, tenure, and estate.
Syr Rogerre
Has thou ne seene a tree uponne a hylle,
Whose unliste[68] braunces[69] rechen far toe fyghte;
Whan fuired[70] unwers[71] doe the heaven fylle,
Itte shaketh deere[72] yn dole[73] and moke affryghte.
Whylest the congeon[74] flowrette abessie[75] dyghte[76],
Stondethe unhurte, unquaced[77] bie the storme:
Syke is a picte[78] of lyffe: the manne of myghte
Is tempest-chaft[79], hys woe greate as hys forme,
Thieselfe a flowrette of a small accounte,
Wouldst harder felle the wynde, as hygher thee dydste mounte.
Notes
9 might. The sense of this line is, Would you see every thing in its primæval state.
17 a hood, or covering for the back part of the head.
19 borders of gold and silver, on which was laid thin plates of either metal counterchanged, not unlike the present spangled laces.
36 a manner of asking a favour.
38 carefully, with circumspection.
58 the hidden or secret part of.