Eclogue Entitled Cuddy
ENTITLED CUDDY .
A little herdgroom, for he was no bett,
When course of year returned the pleasant spring,
At break of day, withouten further let,
Cast with himself his flock afield to bring;
And for they had so long been pent with pain,
At sight of sun they seemed to live again.
Such was the flock, all bent to browse and play,
But nothing such their master was to see:
Down hung his drooping head like rainy day;
His cheeks with tears like springs bedewed be;
His wringed hand such silent moan did make,
Well may you guess he was with love y'take.
The while his flock went feeding on the green,
And wantonly for joy of summer played;
All in despight, as if he n'ould be seen,
He cast himself to ground full ill apaid.
Should seem their pleasance made him more complain,
For joy in sight, not felt, is double pain.
“Unhappy boy! why liv'st thou still,” quoth he,
“And hast thy deadly wound so long ago?
What hope of afterhap sustaineth thee,
As if there might be found some ease of woe?
Nay, better die ten thousand times than live,
Since every hour new cause of death doth give.
“The joyful Sun, whom cloudy Winter's spight
Had shut from us in watery Fishes' haske,
Returns again to lend the world his light,
And red as rose begins his yearly task:
His fiery steeds the steepy welkin beat,
And both the horns of climbing Bull do heat.
“But ah! no Sun of grace appears to me;
Close hid she lies, from whom I should have light;
The clouds of black disdain so foggy be,
That blind I lie, poor boy, bereft of sight:
And yet I see the Sun I seek to find:
And yet the more I see, the more am blind.
“Thrice happy ground! whom, spoiled with winter's rage,
The heat of pleasant spring renews again:
Unhappy I, who, in my spring of age,
The frost of cold despair hath well nigh slain;
How shall I bide your stormy winter's smart,
When spring itself hath froze my bloodless heart?
“I see the beauty of thy flow'rs renew;
Thy mantle green with sundry colours spread:
Thou see'st in me a change of former hue,
Paleness for white, blackness for lively red.
What hope of harvest fruit, or summer flowers,
Since that my spring is drowned with tears like showers?
“And last of all, but liev'st of all to me,
Thou leany flock that didst of late lament,
And witness wast for shepherds all to see;
Thy knees so weak, thy fleece so rough and rent,
That thou with pain didst pine away unfed,
All for thy master was with love misled.
“Thou 'ginst as erst forget thy former state,
And range amid the busks thyself to feed:
Fair fall thee, little flock! both rathe and late;
Was never lover's sheep that well did speed.
Thou free, I bound; thou glad, I pine in pain;
I strive to die, and thou to live full fain.
“Woe worth the stund, wherein I took delight
To frame the shifting of my nimble feet
To cheerful sound of pipe in moonshine night!
Such pleasance past at erst now makes me greet;
I weened by night have shunned the parching ray;
But night itself was twice more hot than day.
“Then first of all, and all too soon for me,
I saw thilke Lass, nay graved her in my breast;
Her crystal eyes more bright than moon to see,
Her eyes, her eyes, that have robbed me of rest:
On them I gazed, then saw I to my cost,
Through too much sight mine only sight is lost.
“Where been the dapper ditties that I dight,
And roundelays, and virelays so soot?
Whilom with Colin's self compare I might,
For other swain to strive was little boot,
Such skill I had in making all above;
But all too little still to conquer love.
“What helps it to me to have my piping praised
Of all save her, whom I would only please?
Nought care I, though my fame to sky be raised
For pleasant song that brings my heart no ease,
Wherefore both pipe and song I all forswear,
And former pleasance wilfully forbear.”
With that he cast his look to welkin high,
And saw the double shadows flit away:
And as he glanced half in despight awry,
He spied the shepherds' star shut in the day;
Then rose, and homeward with his flock he went,
Whose voice did help their master's case lament.
A little herdgroom, for he was no bett,
When course of year returned the pleasant spring,
At break of day, withouten further let,
Cast with himself his flock afield to bring;
And for they had so long been pent with pain,
At sight of sun they seemed to live again.
Such was the flock, all bent to browse and play,
But nothing such their master was to see:
Down hung his drooping head like rainy day;
His cheeks with tears like springs bedewed be;
His wringed hand such silent moan did make,
Well may you guess he was with love y'take.
The while his flock went feeding on the green,
And wantonly for joy of summer played;
All in despight, as if he n'ould be seen,
He cast himself to ground full ill apaid.
Should seem their pleasance made him more complain,
For joy in sight, not felt, is double pain.
“Unhappy boy! why liv'st thou still,” quoth he,
“And hast thy deadly wound so long ago?
What hope of afterhap sustaineth thee,
As if there might be found some ease of woe?
Nay, better die ten thousand times than live,
Since every hour new cause of death doth give.
“The joyful Sun, whom cloudy Winter's spight
Had shut from us in watery Fishes' haske,
Returns again to lend the world his light,
And red as rose begins his yearly task:
His fiery steeds the steepy welkin beat,
And both the horns of climbing Bull do heat.
“But ah! no Sun of grace appears to me;
Close hid she lies, from whom I should have light;
The clouds of black disdain so foggy be,
That blind I lie, poor boy, bereft of sight:
And yet I see the Sun I seek to find:
And yet the more I see, the more am blind.
“Thrice happy ground! whom, spoiled with winter's rage,
The heat of pleasant spring renews again:
Unhappy I, who, in my spring of age,
The frost of cold despair hath well nigh slain;
How shall I bide your stormy winter's smart,
When spring itself hath froze my bloodless heart?
“I see the beauty of thy flow'rs renew;
Thy mantle green with sundry colours spread:
Thou see'st in me a change of former hue,
Paleness for white, blackness for lively red.
What hope of harvest fruit, or summer flowers,
Since that my spring is drowned with tears like showers?
“And last of all, but liev'st of all to me,
Thou leany flock that didst of late lament,
And witness wast for shepherds all to see;
Thy knees so weak, thy fleece so rough and rent,
That thou with pain didst pine away unfed,
All for thy master was with love misled.
“Thou 'ginst as erst forget thy former state,
And range amid the busks thyself to feed:
Fair fall thee, little flock! both rathe and late;
Was never lover's sheep that well did speed.
Thou free, I bound; thou glad, I pine in pain;
I strive to die, and thou to live full fain.
“Woe worth the stund, wherein I took delight
To frame the shifting of my nimble feet
To cheerful sound of pipe in moonshine night!
Such pleasance past at erst now makes me greet;
I weened by night have shunned the parching ray;
But night itself was twice more hot than day.
“Then first of all, and all too soon for me,
I saw thilke Lass, nay graved her in my breast;
Her crystal eyes more bright than moon to see,
Her eyes, her eyes, that have robbed me of rest:
On them I gazed, then saw I to my cost,
Through too much sight mine only sight is lost.
“Where been the dapper ditties that I dight,
And roundelays, and virelays so soot?
Whilom with Colin's self compare I might,
For other swain to strive was little boot,
Such skill I had in making all above;
But all too little still to conquer love.
“What helps it to me to have my piping praised
Of all save her, whom I would only please?
Nought care I, though my fame to sky be raised
For pleasant song that brings my heart no ease,
Wherefore both pipe and song I all forswear,
And former pleasance wilfully forbear.”
With that he cast his look to welkin high,
And saw the double shadows flit away:
And as he glanced half in despight awry,
He spied the shepherds' star shut in the day;
Then rose, and homeward with his flock he went,
Whose voice did help their master's case lament.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.