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Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, Or dame, the sole additions she did hear; Yet these she challeng'd, these she held right dear: Ne would esteem him act as mought behove, Who should not honour'd eld with these revere: For never title yet so mean could prove, But there was eke a mind which did that title love.
One ancient hen she took delight to feed,
For well she knew, and quaintly could expound, What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb she
Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak
And more I fain would sing, disdaining here to
Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung,
That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around; And pungent radish, biting infants' tongue; And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound; And marjoram sweet, in shepherd's posie found; And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, ere-while, in arid bundles bound, To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle rare perfume.
And here trim rosemarine, that whilom crown'd
Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere:
Nor ever would she more with thane and lordling dwell.
Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did mete. If winter 't were, she to her hearth did cleave, But in her garden found a summer-seat: Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a song entreat, All, for the nonce, untuning every string, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had they
For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore,
Ah! dearest Lord, forefend, thilk days should e'er
In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defac'd, In which, when he receives his diadem, Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is plac'd, The matron sate; and sonie with rank she grac'd, (The source of children's and of courtiers' pride!) Redress'd affronts, for vile affronts there pass'd; And warn'd them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them betide.
Right well she knew each temper to descry; To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise; Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high, And some entice with pittance small of praise And other some with baleful sprig she 'frays: E'en absent, she the reins of power doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways: Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold, 'T will whisper in her ear, and all the scene unfold.
Lo now with state she utters the command!
The work so gay that on their back is seen, St. George's high achievements does declare; On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been, Kens the forth-coming rod, unpleasing sight, I ween!
Ah luckless he, and born beneath the beam Of evil star! it irks me whilst I write : As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream, Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight, Sigh'd as he sung, and did in tears indite. For brandishing the rod, she doth begin To loose the brogues, the stripling's late delight! And down they drop; appears his dainty skin, Fair as the furry-coat of whitest ermilin.
O ruthful scene! when from a nook obscure,
All playful as she sate, she grows demure;
No longer can she now her shrieks command;
On thee she calls, on thee her parent dear!
But ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace?
When he, in abject wise, implores the dame, Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gain; Or when from high she levels well her aim, And, through the thatch, his cries each falling stroke proclaim.
The other tribe, aghast, with sore dismay, Attend, and conn their tasks with mickle care: By turns, astony'd, every twig survey, And, from their fellows' hateful wounds, beware; Knowing, I wist, how each the same may share ; Till fear has taught them a performance meet, And to the well-known chest the dame repair; Whence oft with sugar'd cates she doth thein greet, And ginger-bread y-rare; now certes, doubly sweet!