Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748)/Second Pastoral

by Ambrose Philips

For other versions of this work, see Second Pastoral (Philips).

 

THE

SECOND PASTORAL.

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THENOT, COLINET.

THENOT.
S it not Colinet I lonesome see,
Leaning with folded arms against the tree?
Or is it age of late bedims my fight?
'Tis Colinet, indeed, in woeful plight. 4

Thy cloudy look why melting into tears,
Unseemly, now the sky so bright appears?
Why in this mournful manner art thou found,
Unthankful lad, when all things smile around? 8
Or hear'st not lark and linnet jointly sing,
Their notes blithe-warbling to salute the spring?

COLINET.
Though blithe their notes, not so my wayward fate;
Nor lark would sing, nor linnet, in my state. 12
Each creature, Thenot, to his task is born,
As they to mirth and musick, I to mourn.
Waking, at midnight, I my woes renew,
My tears oft' mingling with the falling dew. 16

THENOT.
Small cause, I ween, has lusty youth to plain:
Or who may, then, the weight of eld sustain,
When every slackening nerve begins to fail,
And the load presseth as our days prevail? 20
Yet, though with years my body downward tend,
As trees beneath their fruit, in autumn, bend
Spite of my snowy head and icy veins,
My mind a chearful temper still retains: 24
And why should man, mishap what will, repine,
Sour every sweet, and mix with tears his wine?
But tell me then: it may relieve thy woe,
To let a friend thine inward ailment know. 28

COLINET.
Idly 'twill waste thee, Thenot, the whole day,
Should'st thou give ear to all my grief can say.
Thine ewes will wander; and the heedless lambs,
In loud complaints, requise their absent dams. 32

THENOT.
See Lightfoot; he shall tend them close: and I,
'Tween whiles, across the plain will glance mine eye.

COLINET.
Where to begin I know not, where to end.
Does there one smiling hour my youth attend? 36
Though few my days, as well my follies show,
Yet are those days all clouded o'er with woe:
No happy gleam of sunshine doth appear,
My lowering sky, and wintery months, to chear. 40
My piteous plight in yonder naked tree,
Which bears the thunder-scar, too plain I see:
Quite destitute it stands of shelter kind,
The mark of storms, and sport of every wind: 44
The riven trunk feels not th' approach of spring;
Nor birds among the leafless branches sing:
No more, beneath thy shade, shall shepherds throng
With jocund tale, or pipe, or pleasing song. 48
Ill-fated tree! and more ill fated I!
From thee, from me, alike the shepherds fly.

THENOT.
Sure thou in hapless hour of time wast born,
When blighting mildews spoil the rising corn, 52
Or blasting winds o'er blossom'd hedge-rows pass,
To kill the promis'd fruits, and scorch the grass,
Or when the moon, by wizard charm'd, foreshows,
Blood-stain'd in foul eclipse, impending woes. 56
Untimely born, ill lack betides thee still.

COLINET.
And can there, Thenot, be a greater Ill?

THENOT.
Nor fox, nor wolf, nor rot among our sheep:
From these good shepherd's care his flock may keep: 60
Against ill luck, alas! all forecast fails;
Nor toil by day, nor watch by night, avails.

COLINET.
Ah me, the while! ah me, the luckless day!
Ah luckless lad! befits me more to say. 64
Unhappy hour! when fresh in youthful bud,
I lest, Sabrina fair, thy silvery flood.
Ah, silly I! more silly than my sheep,
Which, on thy flowery banks, I wont so keep. 68
Sweet are thy banks! Oh, when shall I, once more,
With ravish'd eyes review thine amell'd shore?
When, in the crystal of thy water, scan
Each feature faded, and my colour wan? 72
When shall I see my hut, the small abode
Myself did raise, and cover o'er with sod?
Small though it be, a mean and humble cell,
Yet is there room for peace, and me, to dwell. 76

THENOT.
And what enticement charm'd thee, far away,
From thy lov'd home, and led thy heart astray?

COLINET.
A lewd desire strange lands, and swains, to know:
Ah God! that ever I should covet woe. 80
With wandering feet unblest, and fond of fame,
I sought I know not what besides a name.

THENOT.
Or, sooth to say, did'st thou not hither rome
In search of gains more plenty than at home? 84
A rolling stone is, ever, bare of moss;
And, to their cost, green years old proverbs cross.

COLINET.
Small need there was, in random search of gain,
To drive my pining flock athwart the plain, 88
To distant Cam. Fine gain at length, I trow,
To hoard up to myself such deal of woe!
My sheep quite spent, through travel and ill fare,
And, like their keeper, ragged grown and bare, 92
The damp, cold greensward, for my nightly bed,
And some flaunt willow's trunk to rest my head.
Hard is to bear of pinching cold the pain;
And hard is want to the unpracticed swain: 96
But neither want, nor pinching cold, is hard,
To blasting storms of calumny compar'd:
Unkind as hail it falls; the pelting shower
Destroys the tender herb, and budding flower. 100

THENOT.
Slander we shepherds count the vilest wrong:
And what wounds sorer than an evil tongue?

COLINET.
Untoward lads, the wanton imps of spite,
Make mock of all the ditties I endite, 104
In vain, O Colinet, thy pipe, so thrill,
Charms every vale, and gladdens every hill:
In vain thou seek'st the coverings of the grove,
In the cool shade to sing the pains of love: 108
Sing what thou wilt, ill-nature will prevail;
And every elf hath skill enough to rail:
But yet, though poor and artless be my vein,
Menalcas seems to like my simple strain: 112
And, while that He delighteth in my song,
Which to the good Menalcas doth belong,
Nor night, nor day, shall my rude musick cease;
I ask no more, so I Menalcas please. 116

THENOT.
Menalcas, lord of these fair, fertile, plains,
Preserves the sheep, and o'er the shepherds reigns:
For him our yearly wakes, and feasts, we hold,
And choose the fairest firstling from the fold: 120
He, good to all, who Good deserve, shall give
Thy flock to feed, and thee at ease to live,
Shall curb the malice of unbridled tongues,
And bounteously reward thy rural songs. 124

COLINET.
First, then, shall lightsome birds forget to fly,
The briny ocean turn to pastures dry,
And every rapid river cease to flow,
E're I unmindful of Menalcas grow. 128

ΤHENOT.
This night thy care with me forget, and fold
Thy flock with mine, to ward th' injurious cold.
New milk, and clouted cream, mild cheese and curd,
With some remaining fruit of last year's hoard, 132
Shall be our evening fare, and, for the night,
Sweet herbs and moss, which gentle sleep invite:
And now behold the sun's departing ray,
O'er yonder hill, the sign of ebbing day: 136
With songs the jovial hinds return from plow;
And unyok'd heifers, loitering homeward, low.

 

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