Books: Playful Poems
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Henry Morley >> Playful Poems
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Then shall be pourtrayed a company of men coming towards this beast
Bicornis, and say these four ballads:-
"Fellows, take heed and ye may see
How Bicorn casteth him to devour
All humble men, both you and me,
There is no gain may us succour;
Wo be therefore in hall and bower
To all those husbands which, their lives,
Make mistresses of their wives.
"Who that so doth, this is the law,
That this Bicorn will him oppress
And devouren in his maw
That of his wife makes his mistress;
This will us bring in great distress,
For we, for our humility,
Of Bicorn shall devoured be.
"We standen plainly in such case,
For they to us mistresses be;
We may well sing and say, 'Alas,
That we gave them the sovereigntie!
For we ben thrall and they be free.
Wherefore Bicorn, this cruel beast,
Will us devouren at the least.
"But who that can be sovereign,
And his wife teach and chastise,
That she dare not a word gainsain
Nor disobey in no manner wise,
Of such a man I can devise
He stands under protection
From Bicornis jurisdiction."
Then shall there be a woman devoured in the mouth of Chichevache,
crying to all wives, and say this verse:-
"O noble wives, be well ware,
Take example now by me;
Or else affirme well I dare
Ye shall be dead, ye shall not flee;
Be crabbed, void humilitie,
Or Chichevache ne will not fail
You for to swallow in his entrail."
Then shall there be pourtrayed a long-horned beast, slender and
lean, with sharp teeth, and on her body nothing but skin and bone.
"Chichevache, this is my name,
Hungry, meagre, slender, and lean,
To show my body I have great shame,
For hunger I feel so great teen; {88c}
On me no fatness will be seen,
Because that pasture I find none,
Therefore I am but skin and bone.
"For my feeding in existence
Is of women that be meek,
And like Grisield in patience
Or more their bounty for to eke;
But I full long may go and seek
Ere I can find a good repast,
A morrow to break with my fast.
"I trow there be a dear year
Of patient women now-a-days.
Who grieveth them with word or cheer
Let him beware of such assays;
For it is more than thirty Mays
That I have sought from lond to lond,
But yet one Grisield ne'er I fond.
"I found but one in all my live,
And she was dead ago full yore;
For more pasture I will not strive
Nor seeke for my food no more.
Ne for vitail me to restore;
Women ben woxen so prudent {88a}
They will no more be patient."
Then shall be pourtrayed, after Chichevache, an old man with a baton
on his back, menacing the beast for devouring of his wife.
"My wife, alas, devoured is,
Most patient and most pesible!
She never said to me amiss,
Whom now hath slain this beast horrible!
And for it is an impossible
To find again e'er such a wife
I will live sole all my life.
"For now of newe, for their prow, {88b}
The wives of full high prudence
Have of assent made their avow
T' exile for ever patience,
And cried wolfs-head obedience,
To make Chichevache fail
Of them to finde more vitail.
Now Chichevache may fast long
And die for all her cruelty,
Women have made themselves so strong
For to outrage humility.
O silly husbands, wo ben ye!
Such as can have no patience
Against your wives violence.
If that ye suffer, ye be but dead,
Bicorn awaiteth you so sore;
Eke of your wives go stand in dread,
If ye gainsay them any more!
And thus ye stand, and have done yore,
Of life and death betwixt coveyne {89}
Linked in a double chain.
BEST TO BE BLYTH
BY WILLIAM DUNBAR.
Full oft I muse, and hes in thocht
How this fals Warld is ay on flocht,
Quhair no thing ferme is nor degest; {91a} {91d}
And when I haif my mynd all socht,
For to be blyth me think it best.
This warld ever dois flicht and wary, {91b}
Fortoun sa fast hir quheill dois cary,
Na tyme but turning can tak rest; {91e}
For quhois fats change suld none be sary,
For to be blyth me think it best.
Wald men considdir in mynd richt weill,
Or Fortoun on him turn hir quheill,
That erdly honour may nocht lest,
His fall less panefull he suld feill;
For to be blyth me think it best.
Quha with this warld dois warsill and stryfe, {91c}
And dois his dayis in dolour dryfe,
Thocht he in lordschip be possest,
He levis bot ane wrechit lyfe:
For to be blyth me think it best.
Off warldis gud and grit richess,
Quhat fruct hes man but merriness?
Thocht he this warld had eist and west,
All wer povertie but glaidness:
For to be blyth me think it best.
Quho suld for tynsall drowp or de, {92a}
For thyng that is bot vanitie;
Sen to the lyfe that evir dois lest,
Heir is bot twynkling of an ee:
For to be blyth me think it best.
Had I for warldis unkyndness
In hairt tane ony heviness,
Or fro my plesans bene opprest;
I had bene deid lang syne dowtless:
For to be blyth me think it best.
How evir this warld do change and vary,
Lat us in hairt nevir moir be sary,
But evir be reddy and addrest
To pass out of this frawfull fary: {92b}
For to be blyth me think it best.
DOWSABELL
BY MICHAEL DRAYTON.
Far in the country of Arden
There woned a knight, hight Cassamen, {93d}
As bold as Isenbras:
Fell was he and eager bent
In battle and in tournament
As was good Sir Topas.
He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleped Dowsabell,
A maiden fair and free.
And for she was her fathers heir,
Full well she was yconned the leir {93a} {93b}
Of mickle courtesie.
The silk well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine marche pine, {93c}
And with the needle work;
And she couth help the priest to say
His matins on a holiday,
And sing a psalm in kirk.
She ware a frock of frolic green
Might well become a maiden queen,
Which seemly was to see;
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the columbine,
Inwrought full featously.
Her features all as fresh above
As is the grass that grows by Dove,
And lithe as lass of Kent.
Her skin as soft as Lemster wool, {94a}
And white as snow on Peakish hull, {94b}
Or swan that swims in Trent.
This maiden, in a morn betime,
Went forth, when May was in the prime,
To get sweet setiwall, {94c}
The honeysuckle, the harlock, {94d}
The lily and the lady-smock, {94k}
To deck her summer-hall. {94e}
Thus, as she wandered here and there,
And picked of the bloomy brere,
She chanced to espy
A shepherd sitting on a bank,
Like chanticleer he crowed crank, {94f}
And piped full merrily.
He learned his sheep as he him list, {94g}
When he would whistle in his fist,
To feed about him round,
Whilst he full many a carol sang,
Until the fields and meadows rang,
And that the woods did sound.
In favour this same shepherd swain
Was like the bedlam Tamburlaine
Which held proud kings in awe.
But meek as any lamb mought be,
And innocent of ill as he
Whom his lewd brother slaw.
This shepherd ware a sheep-gray cloke,
Which was of the finest loke
That could be cut with shear;
His mittens were of bauzon's skin, {94h}
His cockers were of cordiwin, {94i} {94j}
His hood of minivere.
His awl and lingell in a thong; {95a}
His tarbox on his broadbelt hung,
His breech of Cointree blue.
Full crisp and curled were his locks,
His brows as white as Albion rocks,
So like a lover true.
And piping still he spent the day
So merry as the popinjay,
Which liked Dowsabell,
That would she ought, or would she nought,
This lad would never from her thought,
She in love-longing fell.
At length she tucked up her frock,
White as the lily was her smock;
She drew the shepherd nigh;
But then the shepherd piped a good,
That all the sheep forsook their food,
To hear his melodie.
"Thy sheep," quoth she, "cannot be lean
That have a jolly shepherd swain
The which can pipe so well."
"Yea, but," saith he, "their shepherd may,
If piping thus he pine away
In love of Dowsabell."
"Of love, fond boy, take then no keep," {95b}
Quoth she; "Look well unto thy sheep,
Lest they should hap to stray."
Quoth he, "So had I done full well,
Had I not seen fair Dowsabell
Come forth to gather may."
With that she 'gan to vail her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she said.
With that the shepherd 'gan to frown,
He threw his pretty pipes adown,
And on the ground him laid.
Saith she, "I may not stay till night
And leave my summer-hall undight,
And all for love of thee."
"My cote," saith he, "nor yet my fold
Shall neither sheep nor shepherd hold,
Except thou favour me."
Saith she, "Yet liever were I dead
Than I should [yield me to be wed],
And all for love of men."
Saith he, "Yet are you too unkind
If in your heart you cannot find
To love us now and then.
"And I to thee will be as kind
As Colin was to Rosalind
Of courtesy the flower."
"Then will I be as true," quoth she,
"As ever maiden yet might be
Unto her paramour."
With that she bent her snow-white knee
Down by the shepherd kneeled she,
And him she sweetly kist.
With that the shepherd whooped for joy.
Quoth he, "There's never shepherd's boy
That ever was so blist."
NYMPHIDIA, THE COURT OF FAIRY
By MICHAEL DRAYTON.
Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell,
Mad Rabelais of Pantagruel,
A later third of Dowsabel
With such poor trifles playing;
Others the like have laboured at,
Some of this thing and some of that,
And many of they knew not what,
But what they may be saying.
Another sort there be, that will
Be talking of the Fairies still,
For never can they have their fill,
As they were wedded to them;
No tales of them their thirst can slake,
So much delight therein they take,
And some strange thing they fain would make,
Knew they the way to do them.
Then since no Muse hath been so bold,
Or of the later, or the old,
Those elvish secrets to unfold,
Which lie from others' reading;
My active Muse to light shall bring
The court of that proud Fairy King,
And tell there of the revelling.
Jove prosper my proceeding!
And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay,
Which, meeting me upon the way,
These secrets didst to me bewray,
Which now I am in telling;
My pretty, light, fantastic maid,
I here invoke thee to my aid,
That I may speak what thou hast said,
In numbers smoothly swelling.
This palace standeth in the air,
By necromancy placed there,
That it no tempest needs to fear,
Which way soe'er it blow it.
And somewhat southward tow'rds the noon,
Whence lies a way up to the moon,
And thence the Fairy can as soon
Pass to the earth below it.
The walls of spiders' legs are made
Well mortised and finely laid;
It was the master of his trade
It curiously that builded;
The windows of the eyes of cats,
And for the roof, instead of slats,
Is covered with the skins of bats,
With moonshine that are gilded.
Hence Oberon him sport to make,
Their rest when weary mortals take,
And none but only fairies wake,
Descendeth for his pleasure;
And Mab, his merry Queen, by night
Bestrides young folks that lie upright,
(In elder times the mare that hight),
Which plagues them out of measure.
Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes,
Of little frisking elves and apes
To earth do make their wanton scapes,
As hope of pastime hastes them;
Which maids think on the hearth they see
When fires well-nigh consumed be,
There dancing hays by two and three, {98}
Just as their fancy casts them.
These make our girls their sluttery rue,
By pinching them both black and blue,
And put a penny in their shoe
The house for cleanly sweeping;
And in their courses make that round
In meadows and in marshes found,
Of them so called the Fairy Ground,
Of which they have the keeping.
These when a child haps to be got
Which after proves an idiot
When folk perceive it thriveth not,
The fault therein to smother,
Some silly, doting, brainless calf
That understands things by the half,
Say that the Fairy left this oaf
And took away the other.
But listen, and I shall you tell
A chance in Faery that befell,
Which certainly may please some well,
In love and arms delighting,
Of Oberon that jealous grew
Of one of his own Fairy crew,
Too well, he feared, his Queen that knew,
His love but ill requiting.
Pigwiggin was this Fairy Knight,
One wondrous gracious in the sight
Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night
He amorously observed;
Which made King Oberon suspect
His service took too good effect,
His sauciness had often checkt,
And could have wished him sterved.
Pigwiggin gladly would commend
Some token to Queen Mab to send,
If sea or land him aught could lend
Were worthy of her wearing;
At length this lover doth devise
A bracelet made of emmets' eyes,
A thing he thought that she would prize,
No whit her state impairing.
And to the Queen a letter writes,
Which he most curiously indites,
Conjuring her by all the rites
Of love, she would be pleased
To meet him, her true servant, where
They might, without suspect or fear,
Themselves to one another clear
And have their poor hearts eased.
At midnight, the appointed hour;
"And for the Queen a fitting bower,"
Quoth he, "is that fair cowslip flower
On Hient Hill that bloweth; {100}
In all your train there's not a fay
That ever went to gather may
But she hath made it, in her way,
The tallest there that groweth."
When by Tom Thumb, a Fairy Page,
He sent it, and doth him engage
By promise of a mighty wage
It secretly to carry;
Which done, the Queen her maids doth call,
And bids them to be ready all:
She would go see her summer hall,
She could no longer tarry.
Her chariot ready straight is made,
Each thing therein is fitting laid,
That she by nothing might be stayed,
For nought must be her letting;
Four nimble gnats the horses were,
Their harnesses of gossamere,
Fly Cranion the charioteer
Upon the coach-box getting.
Her chariot of a snail's fine shell,
Which for the colours did excel,
The fair Queen Mab becoming well,
So lively was the limning;
The seat the soft wool of the bee,
The cover, gallantly to see,
The wing of a pied butterfly;
I trow 'twas simple trimming.
The wheels composed of cricket's bones,
And daintily made for the nonce,
For fear of rattling on the stones
With thistle-down they shod it;
For all her maidens much did fear
If Oberon had chanced to hear
That Mab his Queen should have been there,
He would not have abode it.
She mounts her chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay, for no advice,
Until her maids that were so nice
To wait on her were fitted;
But ran herself away alone,
Which when they heard, there was not one
But hasted after to be gone,
As he had been diswitted.
Hop and Mop and Drop so clear,
Pip and Trip and Skip that were
To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear,
Her special maids of honour;
Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin,
Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin,
Tit and Nit and Wap and Win,
The train that wait upon her.
Upon a grasshopper they got
And, what with amble, what with trot,
For hedge and ditch they spared not,
But after her they hie them;
A cobweb over them they throw,
To shield the wind if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow
Lest any should espy them.
But let us leave Queen Mab awhile,
Through many a gate, o'er many a stile,
That now had gotten by this wile,
Her dear Pigwiggin kissing;
And tell how Oberon doth fare,
Who grew as mad as any hare
When he had sought each place with care,
And found his Queen was missing.
By grisly Pluto he doth swear,
He rent his clothes and tore his hair,
And as he runneth here and there
An acorn cup he greeteth,
Which soon he taketh by the stalk,
About his head he lets it walk,
Nor doth he any creature balk,
But lays on all he meeteth.
The Tuscan Poet doth advance,
The frantic Paladin of France,
And those more ancient do enhance
Alcides in his fury,
And others Aiax Telamon,
But to this time there hath been none
So Bedlam as our Oberon,
Of which I dare assure ye.
And first encountering with a Wasp,
He in his arms the fly doth clasp
As though his breath he forth would grasp,
Him for Pigwiggin taking:
"Where is my wife, thou rogue?" quoth be;
"Pigwiggin, she is come to thee;
Restore her, or thou diest by me!"
Whereat the poor Wasp quaking
Cries, "Oberon, great Fairy King,
Content thee, I am no such thing:
I am a Wasp, behold my sting!"
At which the Fairy started;
When soon away the Wasp doth go,
Poor wretch, was never frighted so;
He thought his wings were much too slow,
O'erjoyed they so were parted.
He next upon a Glow-worm light,
You must suppose it now was night,
Which, for her hinder part was bright,
He took to be a devil,
And furiously doth her assail
For carrying fire in her tail;
He thrashed her rough coat with his flail;
The mad King feared no evil.
"Oh!" quoth the Glow-worm, "hold thy hand,
Thou puissant King of Fairy-land!
Thy mighty strokes who may withstand?
Hold, or of life despair I!"
Together then herself doth roll,
And tumbling down into a hole
She seemed as black as any coal;
Which vext away the Fairy.
From thence he ran into a hive:
Amongst the bees he letteth drive,
And down their combs begins to rive,
All likely to have spoiled,
Which with their wax his face besmeared,
And with their honey daubed his beard:
It would have made a man afeared
To see how he was moiled.
A new adventure him betides;
He met an Ant, which he bestrides,
And post thereon away he rides,
Which with his haste doth stumble;
And came full over on her snout,
Her heels so threw the dirt about,
For she by no means could get out,
But over him doth tumble.
And being in this piteous case,
And all be-slurred head and face,
On runs he in this wild-goose chase,
As here and there he rambles;
Half blind, against a mole-hill hit,
And for a mountain taking it,
For all he was out of his wit
Yet to the top he scrambles.
And being gotten to the top,
Yet there himself he could not stop,
But down on th' other side doth chop,
And to the foot came rumbling;
So that the grubs, therein that bred,
Hearing such turmoil over head,
Thought surely they had all been dead;
So fearful was the jumbling.
And falling down into a lake,
Which him up to the neck doth take,
His fury somewhat it doth slake;
He calleth for a ferry;
Where you may some recovery note;
What was his club he made his boat,
And in his oaken cup doth float,
As safe as in a wherry.
Men talk of the adventures strange
Of Don Quixoit, and of their change
Through which he armed oft did range,
Of Sancho Pancha's travel;
But should a man tell every thing
Done by this frantic Fairy King,
And them in lofty numbers sing,
It well his wits might gravel.
Scarce set on shore, but therewithal
He meeteth Puck, which most men call
Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall,
With words from frenzy spoken:
"Oh, oh," quoth Hob, "God save thy grace!
Who drest thee in this piteous case?
He thus that spoiled my sovereign's face,
I would his neck were broken!"
This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt,
Still walking like a ragged colt,
And oft out of a bush doth bolt,
Of purpose to deceive us;
And leading us makes us to stray,
Long winter's nights, out of the way;
And when we stick in mire and clay,
Hob doth with laughter leave us.
"Dear Puck," quoth he, "my wife is gone:
As e'er thou lov'st King Oberon,
Let everything but this alone,
With vengeance and pursue her;
Bring her to me alive or dead,
Or that vile thief, Pigwiggin's head,
That villain hath [my Queen misled];
He to this folly drew her."
Quoth Puck, "My liege, I'll never lin,
But I will thorough thick and thin,
Until at length I bring her in;
My dearest lord, ne'er doubt it."
Thorough brake, thorough briar,
Thorough muck, thorough mire,
Thorough water, thorough fire;
And thus goes Puck about it.
This thing Nymphidia overheard,
That on this mad king had a guard,
Not doubting of a great reward,
For first this business broaching;
And through the air away doth go,
Swift as an arrow from the bow,
To let her sovereign Mab to know
What peril was approaching.
The Queen, bound with Love's powerful charm,
Sate with Pigwiggin arm in arm;
Her merry maids, that thought no harm,
About the room were skipping;
A humble-bee, their minstrel, played
Upon his hautboy, every maid
Fit for this revel was arrayed,
The hornpipe neatly tripping.
In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry,
"My sovereign, for your safety fly,
For there is danger but too nigh;
I posted to forewarn you:
The King hath sent Hobgoblin out,
To seek you all the fields about,
And of your safety you may doubt,
If he but once discern you."
When, like an uproar in a town,
Before them everything went down;
Some tore a ruff, and some a gown,
'Gainst one another justling;
They flew about like chaff i' th' wind;
For haste some left their masks behind;
Some could not stay their gloves to find;
There never was such bustling.
Forth ran they, by a secret way,
Into a brake that near them lay;
Yet much they doubted there to stay,
Lest Hob should hap to find them;
He had a sharp and piercing sight,
All one to him the day and night;
And therefore were resolved, by flight,
To leave this place behind them.
At length one chanced to find a nut,
In th' end of which a hole was cut,
Which lay upon a hazel root,
There scattered by a squirrel
Which out the kernel gotten had;
When quoth this Fay, "Dear Queen, be glad;
Let Oberon be ne'er so mad,
I'll set you safe from peril.
"Come all into this nut," quoth she,
"Come closely in; be ruled by me;
Each one may here a chooser be,
For room ye need not wrastle:
Nor need ye be together heaped;"
So one by one therein they crept,
And lying down they soundly slept,
And safe as in a castle.
Nymphidia, that this while doth watch,
Perceived if Puck the Queen should catch
That he should be her over-match,
Of which she well bethought her;
Found it must be some powerful charm,
The Queen against him that must arm,
Or surely he would do her harm,
For throughly he had sought her.
And listening if she aught could hear,
That her might hinder, or might fear;
But finding still the coast was clear;
Nor creature had descried her;
Each circumstance and having scanned,
She came thereby to understand,
Puck would be with them out of hand;
When to her charms she hied her.
And first her fern-seed doth bestow,
The kernel of the mistletoe;
And here and there as Puck should go,
With terror to affright him,
She night-shade strews to work him ill,
Therewith her vervain and her dill,
That hindreth witches of their will,
Of purpose to despite him.
Then sprinkles she the juice of rue,
That groweth underneath the yew;
With nine drops of the midnight dew,
From lunary distilling:
The molewarp's brain mixed therewithal; {108a}
And with the same the pismire's gall:
For she in nothing short would fall,
The Fairy was so willing.
Then thrice under a briar doth creep,
Which at both ends was rooted deep,
And over it three times she leap;
Her magic much availing:
Then on Proserpina doth call,
And so upon her spell doth fall,
Which here to you repeat I shall,
Not in one tittle failing.
"By the croaking of a frog;
By the howling of the dog;
By the crying of the hog
Against the storm arising;
By the evening curfew bell,
By the doleful dying knell,
O let this my direful spell,
Hob, hinder thy surprising!
"By the mandrake's dreadful groans; {108b}
By the lubrican's sad moans; {108c}
By the noise of dead men's bones
In charnel-houses rattling;
By the hissing of the snake,
The rustling of the fire-drake, {108d}
I charge thee thou this place forsake,
Nor of Queen Mab be prattling!
"By the whirlwind's hollow sound,
By the thunder's dreadful stound,
Yells of spirits underground,
I charge thee not to fear us;
By the screech-owl's dismal note,
By the black night-raven's throat,
I charge thee, Hob, to tear thy coat
With thorns, if thou come near us!"
Her spell thus spoke, she stept aside,
And in a chink herself doth hide,
To see thereof what would betide,
For she doth only mind him:
When presently she Puck espies,
And well she marked his gloating eyes,
How under every leaf he pries,
In seeking still to find them.
But once the circle got within,
The charms to work do straight begin,
And he was caught as in a gin;
For as he thus was busy,
A pain he in his head-piece feels,
Against a stubbed tree he reels,
And up went poor Hobgoblin's heels,
Alas! his brain was dizzy!
At length upon his feet he gets,
Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets;
And as again he forward sets,
And through the bushes scrambles,
A stump doth trip him in his pace;
Down comes poor Hob upon his face,
And lamentably tore his case,
Amongst the briars and brambles.
"A plague upon Queen Mab!" quoth he,
"And all her maids where'er they be
I think the devil guided me,
To seek her so provoked!"
Where stumbling at a piece of wood,
He fell into a ditch of mud,
Where to the very chin he stood,
In danger to be choked.
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