Aprill / Edmund Spenser (1)

from The Shepheardes Calender, 1579:

Aprill. Æglogia Quarta. 

ARGUMENT. This Æglogue is purposely intended to the honor and prayse of our most gracious sovereigne, Queene Elizabeth. The speakers herein be Hobbinoll and Thenott, two shepheardes: the which Hobbinoll, being before mentioned greatly to have loved Colin, is here set forth more largely, complayning him of that boyes great misadventure in love, whereby his mynd was alienate and withdrawen not onely from him, who moste loved him, but also from all former delightes and studies, aswell in pleasaunt pyping as conning ryming and singing, and other his laudable exercises. Whereby he taketh occasion, for proofe of his more excellencie and skill in poetrie, to recorde a songe which the sayd Colin sometime made in honor of her Majestie, whom abruptely he termeth Elysa.

THENOT. HOBBINOLL.

The. Tell me, good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete?
        What! hath some wolfe thy tender lambes ytorne?
Or is thy bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete?
        Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne?

Or bene thine eyes attempred to the yeare.
        Quenching the gasping furrowes thirst with rayne?
Like April shoure, so stremes the trickling teares
        Adowne thy cheeke, to quenche thy thristye payne.

Hob. Nor thys, nor that, so muche doeth make me mourne,
        But for the ladde whome long I lovd so deare
Nowe loves a lasse that all his love doth scorne:
        He, plongd in payne, his tressed locks dooth teare.

Shepheards delights he dooth them all forsweare,
        Hys pleasaunt pipe, whych made us meriment,
He wylfully hath broke, and doth forbeare
        His wonted songs, wherein he all outwent.

The. What is he for a ladde you so lament?
        Ys love such pinching payne to them that prove?
And hath he skill to make so excellent,
        Yet hath so little skill to brydle love?

Hob. Colin thou kenst, the southerne shepheardes boye:
        Him Love hath wounded with a deadly darte.
Whilome on him was all my care and joye,
        Forcing with gyfts to winne his wanton heart.

But now from me hys madding mynd is starte,
        And woes the widdowes daughter of the glenne:
So nowe fayre Rosalind hath bredde hys smart,
        So now his frend is chaunged for a frenne.

The. But if hys ditties bene so trimly dight,
        I pray thee, Hobbinoll, recorde some one,
The whiles our flockes doe graze about in sight,
        And we close shrowded in thys shade alone.

Hob. Contented I: then will I singe his laye
        Of fayre Elisa, queene of shepheardes all;
Which once he made, as by a spring he laye,
        And tuned it unto the waters fall.

[continued in part 2 . . .]