[HOBBINOL. DIGGON DAVIE.]
Better it were a little to feyne,
And cleanly cover that cannot be cured:
Such il as is forced mought nedes be endured.
But of sike pastoures howe done the flocks creepe?
Dig. Sike as the shepheards, sike bene her sheepe:
For they nill listen to the shepheards voyce,
But if he call hem at theyr good choyce:
They wander at wil and stray at pleasure,
And to theyr foldes yeed at their owne leasure.
But they had be better come at their cal;
For many han into mischiefe fall,
And bene of ravenous wolves yrent,
All for they nould be buxome and bent.
For they nill listen to the shepheards voyce,
But if he call hem at theyr good choyce:
They wander at wil and stray at pleasure,
And to theyr foldes yeed at their owne leasure.
But they had be better come at their cal;
For many han into mischiefe fall,
And bene of ravenous wolves yrent,
All for they nould be buxome and bent.
Hob. Fye on thee, Diggon, and all thy foule leasing!
Well is knowne that sith the Saxon king,
Never was woolfe seene, many nor some,
Nor in all Kent, nor in Christendome:
But the fewer woolves (the soth to sayne,)
The more bene the foxes that here remaine.
Never was woolfe seene, many nor some,
Nor in all Kent, nor in Christendome:
But the fewer woolves (the soth to sayne,)
The more bene the foxes that here remaine.
Dig. Yes, but they gang in more secrete wise,
And with sheepes clothing doen hem disguise:
They walke not widely as they were wont,
For feare of raungers and the great hunt,
But prively prolling to and froe,
Enaunter they mought be inly knowe.
And with sheepes clothing doen hem disguise:
They walke not widely as they were wont,
For feare of raungers and the great hunt,
But prively prolling to and froe,
Enaunter they mought be inly knowe.
Hob. Or prive or pert yf any bene,
We han great bandogs will teare their skinne.
We han great bandogs will teare their skinne.
Dig. Indeede, thy Ball is a bold bigge curre,
And could make a jolly hole in theyr furre.
But not good dogges hem needeth to chace,
But heedy shepheards to discerne their face:
For all their craft is in their countenaunce,
They bene so grave and full of mayntenaunce.
But shall I tell thee what my selfe knowe
Chaunced to Roffynn not long ygoe?
And could make a jolly hole in theyr furre.
But not good dogges hem needeth to chace,
But heedy shepheards to discerne their face:
For all their craft is in their countenaunce,
They bene so grave and full of mayntenaunce.
But shall I tell thee what my selfe knowe
Chaunced to Roffynn not long ygoe?
Hob. Say it out, Diggon, what ever it hight,
For not but well mought him betight:
He is so meeke, wise, and merciable,
And with his word his worke is convenable.
Colin Clout, I wene, be his selfe boye,
(Ah for Colin, he whilome my joye!)
Shepheards sich, God mought us many send,
That doen so carefully theyr flocks tend.
For not but well mought him betight:
He is so meeke, wise, and merciable,
And with his word his worke is convenable.
Colin Clout, I wene, be his selfe boye,
(Ah for Colin, he whilome my joye!)
Shepheards sich, God mought us many send,
That doen so carefully theyr flocks tend.
Dig. Thilk same shepheard mought I well marke:
He has a dogge to byte or to barke;
Never had shepheard so kene a kurre,
That waketh and if but a leafe sturre.
Whilome there wonned a wicked wolfe,
That with many a lambe had glutted his gulfe.
And ever at night wont to repayre
Unto the flocke, when the welkin shone faire,
Ycladde in clothing of seely sheepe,
When the good old man used to sleepe.
Tho at midnight he would barke and ball,
(For he had eft learned a curres call,)
As if a woolfe were emong the sheepe.
With that the shepheard would breake his sleepe,
And send out Lowder (for so his dog hote)
To raunge the fields with wide open throte.
Tho, when as Lowder was farre awaye,
This wolvish sheepe would catchen his pray,
A lambe, or a kidde, or a weanell wast:
With that to the wood would he speede him fast.
Long time he used this slippery pranck,
Ere Roffy could for his laboure him thanck.
At end, the shepheard his practise spyed,
(For Roffy is wise, and as Argus eyed)
And when at even he came to the flocke,
Fast in theyr folds he did them locke,
And tooke out the woolfe in his counterfect cote,
And let out the sheepes bloud at his throte.
Never had shepheard so kene a kurre,
That waketh and if but a leafe sturre.
Whilome there wonned a wicked wolfe,
That with many a lambe had glutted his gulfe.
And ever at night wont to repayre
Unto the flocke, when the welkin shone faire,
Ycladde in clothing of seely sheepe,
When the good old man used to sleepe.
Tho at midnight he would barke and ball,
(For he had eft learned a curres call,)
As if a woolfe were emong the sheepe.
With that the shepheard would breake his sleepe,
And send out Lowder (for so his dog hote)
To raunge the fields with wide open throte.
Tho, when as Lowder was farre awaye,
This wolvish sheepe would catchen his pray,
A lambe, or a kidde, or a weanell wast:
With that to the wood would he speede him fast.
Long time he used this slippery pranck,
Ere Roffy could for his laboure him thanck.
At end, the shepheard his practise spyed,
(For Roffy is wise, and as Argus eyed)
And when at even he came to the flocke,
Fast in theyr folds he did them locke,
And tooke out the woolfe in his counterfect cote,
And let out the sheepes bloud at his throte.
Hob. Marry, Diggon, what should him affraye
To take his owne where ever it laye?
For had his wesand bene a little widder,
He would have devoured both hidder and shidder.
To take his owne where ever it laye?
For had his wesand bene a little widder,
He would have devoured both hidder and shidder.
Dig. Mischiefe light on him, and Gods great curse!
Too good for him had bene a great deale worse:
For it was a perilous beast above all,
And eke had he cond the shepherds call,
And oft in the night came to the shepecote,
And called Lowder, with a hollow throte,
As if it the old man selfe had bene.
The dog his maisters voice did it weene,
Yet halfe in doubt he opened the dore,
And ranne out, as he was wont of yore.
No sooner was out, but, swifter then thought,
Fast by the hyde the wolfe Lowder caught:
And had not Roffy renne to the steven,
Lowder had be slaine thilke same even.
Too good for him had bene a great deale worse:
For it was a perilous beast above all,
And eke had he cond the shepherds call,
And oft in the night came to the shepecote,
And called Lowder, with a hollow throte,
As if it the old man selfe had bene.
The dog his maisters voice did it weene,
Yet halfe in doubt he opened the dore,
And ranne out, as he was wont of yore.
No sooner was out, but, swifter then thought,
Fast by the hyde the wolfe Lowder caught:
And had not Roffy renne to the steven,
Lowder had be slaine thilke same even.
Hob. God shield, man, he should so ill have thrive,
All for he did his devoyre belive.
If sike bene wolves as thou hast told,
How mought we, Diggon, hem behold?
All for he did his devoyre belive.
If sike bene wolves as thou hast told,
How mought we, Diggon, hem behold?
Dig. How, but with heede and watchfulnesse
Forstallen hem of their wilinesse?
Forthy with shepheard sittes not playe,
Or sleepe, as some doen, all the long day:
But ever liggen in watch and ward,
From soddein force theyr flocks for to gard.
Forstallen hem of their wilinesse?
Forthy with shepheard sittes not playe,
Or sleepe, as some doen, all the long day:
But ever liggen in watch and ward,
From soddein force theyr flocks for to gard.
Hob. Ah, Diggon! thilke same rule were too straight,
All the cold season to wach and waite:
We bene of fleshe, men as other bee:
Why should we be bound to such miseree?
What ever thing lacketh chaungeable rest,
Mought needes decay, when it is at best.
All the cold season to wach and waite:
We bene of fleshe, men as other bee:
Why should we be bound to such miseree?
What ever thing lacketh chaungeable rest,
Mought needes decay, when it is at best.
Dig. Ah! but Hobbinol, all this long tale
Nought easeth the care that doth me forhaile.
What shall I doe? what way shall I wend,
My piteous plight and losse to amend?
Ah, good Hobbinol! mought I thee praye
Of ayde or counsell in my decaye.
Nought easeth the care that doth me forhaile.
What shall I doe? what way shall I wend,
My piteous plight and losse to amend?
Ah, good Hobbinol! mought I thee praye
Of ayde or counsell in my decaye.
Hob. Now by my soule, Diggon, I lament
The haplesse mischief that has thee hent.
Nethelesse thou seest my lowly saile,
That froward fortune doth ever availe.
But were Hobbinoll as God mought please,
Diggon should soone find favour and ease.
But if to my cotage thou wilt resort,
So as I can I wil thee comfort:
There mayst thou ligge in a vetchy bed,
Till fayrer fortune shewe forth her head.
The haplesse mischief that has thee hent.
Nethelesse thou seest my lowly saile,
That froward fortune doth ever availe.
But were Hobbinoll as God mought please,
Diggon should soone find favour and ease.
But if to my cotage thou wilt resort,
So as I can I wil thee comfort:
There mayst thou ligge in a vetchy bed,
Till fayrer fortune shewe forth her head.
Dig. Ah, Hobbinol, God mought it thee requite!
Diggon on fewe such freendes did ever lite.
~~
Edmund Spenser (1552-1599)
from Complete Poetical Works, 1908
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
Diggon on fewe such freendes did ever lite.
~~
Edmund Spenser (1552-1599)
from Complete Poetical Works, 1908
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
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