Classic Poem

Philos of his dog doth brag
For having many feats:
The while the cur undoes his bag,
And all his dinner eats.

JOCKIE

The other day it fell,
Leaving my sheep to graze on yonder plain,
I went to fill my bottle at the well,
And, ere I could return, two lambs were slain.

PHILOS

Then was thy dog ill-taught, or else asleep;
Such curs as those shall never watch my sheep.

WILLIE

Yet Philos hath a dog not of the best;
He seems too lazy, and will take no pains;
More fit to lie at home and take his rest,
Than catch a wandering sheep upon the plains.

JOCKIE

'Tis true indeed; and, Philos, wot ye what?
I think he plays the fox, he grows so fat.

PHILOS

Yet hath not Jockie, nor yet Willie, seen
A dog more nimble than is this of mine,
Nor any of the fox more heedful been
When in the shade I slept, or list to dine.
And, though I say't, hath better tricks in store
Than both of yours, or twenty couples more.

How often have the maidens strove to take him!
When he hath crossed the plain to bark at crows!
How many lasses have I known to make him
Garlands to gird his neck, with which he goes
Vaunting along the lands so wondrous trim,
That not a dog of yours durst bark at him!
And when I list (as often time I use)
To tune a hornpipe, or a morris-dance,
The dog (as he by nature could not choose)
Seeming asleep before, will leap and dance.

WILLIE

Belike your dog came of a pedlar's brood,
Or Philos' music is exceeding good.

PHILOS

I boast not of his kin, nor of my reed
(Though of my reed, and him I well may boast),
Yet if you will adventure that some meed
Shall be to him that is in action most,
As for a collar of shrill sounding bells,
My dog shall strive with yours, or any's else.

JOCKIE

Philos, in truth, I must confess your Wag
(For so you call him) hath of tricks good store,
To steal the victuals from his master's bag
More cunningly, I ne'er saw dog before.
See, Willie, see! I prithee, Philos, note
How fast thy bread and cheese goes down his throat.

WILLIE

Now, Philos, see how mannerly your cur.
Your well-taught dog, that hath so many tricks,
Devours your dinner.

PHILOS

I wish 'twere a bur
To choke the mongrel!

JOCKIE

See how he licks
Your butter-box; by Pan, I do not meanly
Love Philos' dog, that loves to be so cleanly.

PHILOS

Well flouted, Jockie.

WILLIE

Philos, run amain,
For in your scrip he now hath thrust his head
So far, he cannot get it forth again;
See how he blindfold strags along the mead;
And at your scrip your bottle hangs, I think:
He loves your meat, but cares not for your drink.

JOCKIE

Ay, so it seems: and Philos now may go
Unto the wood, or home for other cheer.

PHILOS

'Twere better he had never served me so,
Sweet meat, sour sauce, he shall a-buy it dear.
What, must he be aforehand with his master?

WILLIE

Only in kindness he would be your taster.

PHILOS

Well, Willie, you may laugh, and urge my spleen:
But by my hook I swear he shall it rue,
And had fared better had he fasting been.
But I must home for my allowance new.