Tixall Poetry/Mopsus and Marina
LI.
Mopsus and Marina.
Mo.Come, Marina, let's away,For both bride and bridegroome stay;Fie, for shame, are you so long,Pinning of your head geere one? Parnell neat, All com pleat,Is gone by with Amarillis; Jolly Dorus, Is before us,With his pritty blacke ey'd Phillis.
Ma.On, my loving Mopsus, on,I am ready, all is done;From my head unto my foot,I am fitted each way toot. Buskins gay, Gowne of gray,Best of all our flocks can render; Hat of straw, Platted through,Cherry lip, and middle slender.
Mo.And I think you will not findMopsus any whitt behind;For he loves as well to goe,As most part of sheapards doe: Cap of browne, Bottle crowne,With a leg I won a dancing: And a pump, Fitt to jump,When we sheapards fall a prancing.
Come along then, and let's see there,What a merry world wil be there;Ther's Alexis of the rockes,Come to shake his flaxen lockes, There's such tripping, Mounting, skipping,Hei brave boies in lively measure: Kitt, and Kate, There will waite,Tibb and Tom will take their pleasure.
Ma.How my mind doth longing run,On the merry sports begun;But, my Mopsus, much I feare,Croud the fidler is not there. Mo.If not he. There wil beDrone the piper that will trounce it; Ma.But if Croud Strucke aloud,Lord, methinks how I could bounce it.
Mo.Bounce it, Mall, if you soe please,Like a Meremaid on the seas;And I thinke, you there wil findStore of straines to please your mind: Roundelaies, Irish haies,Cogs, and Rongs, and Peggie Ramsy; Spaniletto, The venitto,John come kis me, Wilson's fancie.
Ma.But of all, there's none soe spritly,None soe sweet, as Touch me lightly.Were I at the gaspe of death,Such a charme revives my breath. There, there, there, To a haire,O, Tom Croud, methinks I heare thee: Young or old, Nere could hold,But must rouse if they come nere thee.
Mo.All too long (deare love) I ween,Have we stood upon this theame:Let each lasse, as once it was,Love her swain, and swain his lasse: So shall wee Honour'd beeIn our mating, in our meeting, While we stand Hand in hand,Honest swainling with his sweeting.Here we prate, and linger long,While we doe our selves great wrong;Wanting sence to understand,What a serious worke's in hand.
Ma.My desire is all on fire,Yet you goe to fast for Molly.
Mo.Deare the day runs away,And it is no time to dally.