PROLOGUE.
At this, in tears was Cic'ly seen,Buxoma tore her pinners clean,In doleful dumps stood ev'ry clown,The parson rent his band and gown.
For me, when as I heard that deathHad snatch'd Queen Anne to Elizabeth,I broke my reed, and sighing sworeI'd weep for Blouzelind no more.While thus we stood as in a stound,And wet with tears, like dew, the ground,Full soon by bonfire and by bellWe learnt our liege was passing well.A skilful leach, (so God him speed)They said had wrought this blessed deed.This leach Arbuthnot was yclept,Who many a night not once had slept;But watch'd our gracious sov'reign still:For who could rest when she was ill?Oh, may'st thou henceforth sweetly sleep.Sheer, swains, oh sheer your softest sheepTo swell his couch; for well I ween,He sav'd the realm who sav'd the Queen.
Quoth I, please God, I'll hye with gleeTo court, this Arburthnot to see.I sold my sheep and lambkins too,For silver loops and garment blue;My boxen haut-boy sweet of sound,For lace that edg'd mine hat around;For Lightfoot and my scrip I gotA gorgeous sword, and eke a knot.
So forth I far'd to court with speed,Of soldiers drum withouten dreed;For peace allays the shepherd's fearOf wearing cap of granadier.
There
