  september SEPTEMBER. ÆGLOGA NONA. ARGUMENT. Herein Diggon Davie is devised to be a shepheard that, in hope of more gain, drove his sheep into a far country. The abuses whereof, and loose living of Popish prelates, by occasion of Hobbinol's demand, he discourseth at large. HOBBINOL. DIGGON DAVIE. HOBBINOL. Diggon Davie! I bid her good-day; Or Diggon her is, or I missay. DIG. Her was her, while it was day-light, But now her is a most wretched wight: For day, that was, is wightly past, And now at erst the dark night doth hast. HOB. Diggon, arede who has thee so dight; Never I wist thee in so poor a plight. Where is the fair flock thou wast wont to lead? Or be they chaffred, or at mischief dead? DIG. Ah! for love of that is to thee most lief, Hobbinol, I pray thee gall not my old grief; Such question rippeth up cause of new woe, For one, opened, might unfold many moe. HOB. Nay, but sorrow close shrouded in heart, I know, to keep is a burdenous smart: Each thing imparted is more eath to bear: When the rain is fallen, the clouds waxen clear. And now, sithence I saw thy head last, Thrice three moons be fully spent and past; Since when thou hast measured much ground, And wandered well about the world round, So as thou can many things relate; But tell me first of thy flock's estate. DIG. My sheep be wasted; (woe is me therefore!) The jolly shepheard that was of yore, Is now nor jolly, nor shepheard more. In foreign coasts men said was plenty; And so there is, but all of misery: I deem'd there much to have eked my store, But such eking hath made my heart sore. In those countries, whereas I have been, No being for those that truly mean; But for such, as of guile maken gain, No such country as there to remain; They setten to sale their shops of shame, And maken a mart of their good name: The shepheards there robben one another, And layen baits to beguile their brother; Or they will buy his sheep out of the cote, Or they will carven the shepheard's throat. The shepheard's swain you cannot well ken, But it be by his pride, from other men; They looken big as bulls that be bate, And bearen the crag so stiff and so state, As cock on his dunghill crowing crank. HOB. Diggon, I am so stiff and so stank, that uneath may I stand any more; And now the western wind bloweth sore, That now is in his chief sovereignty, Beating the withered leaf from the tree; Sit we down here under the hill; Then may we talk and tellen our fill, And make a mock at the blustering blast: Now say on, Diggon, whatever thou hast. DIG. Hobbin, ah Hobbin! I curse the stound That ever I cast to have lorn this ground: Well-away the while I was so fond To leave the good, that I had in hond, In hope of better that was uncouth, So lost the dog the flesh in his mouth. My silly sheep (ah! silly sheep!) That here by there I whilome us'd to keep, All were they lusty as thou didest see, Be all starved with pine and penury; Hardly myself escaped thilk pain, Driven for need to come home again. HOB. Ah! fon, now by thy loss art taught That seldom change the better brought: Content who lives with tried state, Need fear no change of frowning Fate; But who will seek for unknown gain, Oft lives by loss, and leaves with pain. DIG. I wot ne, Hobbin, how I was bewitch'd With vain desire and hope to be enrich'd: But, sicker, so it is, as the bright star Seemeth aye greater when it is far: I thought the soil would have made me rich, But now I wot it is nothing sich; For either the shepheards be idle and still, And led of their sheep what way they will, Or they be false, and full of covetise, And casten to compass many wrong emprise: But the more be fraught with fraud and spite, Ne in good nor goodness taken delight, But kindle coals of contest and ire, Wherewith they set all the world on fire; Which when they thinken again to quench, With holy water they do them all drench. They say they con to heaven the highway, But by my soul I dare undersay They never set foot in that same troad, But balk the right way, and strayen abroad. They boast they have the devil at command, But ask them therefore what they have pawn'd: Marry! that great Pan bought with dear borrow, To quit it from the black bower of sorrow. But they have sold thilk same long ago, For they woulden draw with them many moe. But let them gang alone a God's name; As they have brewed, so let them bear blame. HOB. Diggon, I pray thee speak not so dirk; Such mister saying me seemeth to mirk. DIG. Then, plainly to speak of shepheards' most what, Bad is the best; (this English is flat) Their ill haviour gars men missay Both of their doctrine, and their fay. They sayn the world is much war than it wont, All for her shepheards be beastly and blont. Other sayn, but how truly I n'ote, All for they holden shame of their cote: Some stick not to say, (hot coal on their tongue!) That such mischief graseth them among, All for they casten too much of world's care, To deck their dame, and enrich their heir; For such encheason, if you go nigh, Few chimneys reeking you shall espy. The fat ox, that wont lig in the stall, Is now fast stalled in their crumenall. Thus chatten the people in their steads, Alike as a monster of many heads: But they, that shooten nearest the prick, Sayn, other the fat from their beards doen lick: For big bulls of Bashan brace them about, That with their horns butten the more stout; But the lean souls treaden under foot, And to seek redress might little boot; For liker be they to pluck away more, Than ought of the gotten good to restore: For they be like foul quagmires overgrass'd, That, if thy galage once sticketh fast, The more to wind it out thou dost swink, Thou must aye deeper and deeper sink. Yet better leave off with a little loss, Than by much wrestling to lose the gross. HOB. Now, Diggon, I see thou speakest too plain; Better it were a little to feign, And cleanly cover that cannot be cured; Such ill, as is forced, must needs be endured. But of such pastors how do the flocks creep? DIG. Such as the shepheards, such be their sheep, For they nill listen to the shepheard's voice; But if he call them, at their good choice They wander at will and stay at pleasure, And to their folds yede at their own leisure. But they had be better come at their call; For many have unto mischief fall, And been of ravenous wolves yrent, All for they nould be buxom and bent. HOB. Fie on thee, Diggon, and all thy foul leasing; Well is known that, sith the Saxon king, Never was wolf seen, many nor some, Nor in all Kent, nor in Christendom; But the fewer wolves (the sooth to sayn) The more be the foxes that here remain. DIG. Yes, but they gang in more secret wise, And with sheeps' clothing doen them disguise. They walk not widely as they were wont, For fear of rangers and the great hunt, But privily prowling to and fro, Enaunter they might be inly know. HOB. Or privy or pert if any bin, We have great bandogs will tear their skin. DIG. Indeed thy Ball is a bold big cur, And could make a jolly hole in their fur: But not good dogs them needeth to chase, But heedy shepheards to discern their face; For all their craft is in their countenance, They be so grave and full of maintenance. But shall I tell thee what myself know Chanced to Roffin not long ago? HOB. Say it out, Diggon, whatever it hight, For not but well might him betight: He is so meek, wise, and merciable, And with his word his work is convenable. Colin Clout, I ween, be his self boy, (Ah, for Colin! he whilome my joy:) Shepheards such, God might us many send, That doen so carefully their flocks tend. DIG. Thilk same shepheard might I well mark, He has a dog to bite or to bark; Never had shepheard so keen a cur, That waketh and if but a leaf stur. Whilome there wonned a wicked wolf, That with many a lamb had gutted his gulf, And ever at night wont to repair Unto the flock, when the welkin shone fair, Yclad in clothing of silly sheep, When the good old man used to sleep; Then at midnight he would bark and bawl, (For he had eft learned a currËs call,) As if a wolf were among the sheep: With that the shepheard would break his sleep, And send out Lowder (for so his dog hote) To range the fields with wide open throat. Then, when as Lowder was far away, This wolvish sheep would catchen his prey, A lamb, or a kid, or a weanel wast; With that to the wood would he speed him fast. Long time he used this slippery prank, Ere Roffy could for his labour him thank. At end, the shepheard his practice spied, (For Roffy is wise, and as Argus eyed,) And, when at even he came to the flock, Fast in their folds he did them lock, And took out the wolf in his counterfeit coat, And let out the sheep's blood at his throat. HOB. Marry, Diggon, what should him affray To take his own where ever it lay? For, had his weasand been a little widder, He would have devoured both hidder and shidder. DIG. Mischief light on him, and God's great curse, Too good for him had been a great deal worse; For it was a perilous beast above all, And eke had he cond the shepheard's call, And oft in the night came to the sheep-cote, And called Lowder, with a hollow throat, As if the old man self had been: The dog his master's voice did it ween, Yet half in doubt he opened the door, And ran out as he was wont of yore. No sooner was out, but, swifter than thought, Fast by the hide the wolf Lowder caught; And, had not Roffy run to the steven, Lowder had been slain thilk same even. HOB. God shield, man, he should so ill have thrive, All for he did his devoir belive. If such be wolves, as thou hast told, How might we, Diggon, them behold? DIG. How, but, with heed and watchfulness, Forstallen them of their wiliness: Forthy with shepheard sits not play, Or sleep, as some doen, all the long day; But ever liggen in watch and ward, From sudden force their flocks for to guard. HOB. Ah! Diggon, thilk same rule were too strait, All the cold season to watch and wait: We be of flesh, men as other be, Why should we be bound to such misery? Whatever thing lacketh changeable rest, Must needs 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 do? what way shall I wend, My piteous plight and loss to amend? Ah! good Hobbinol, might I thee pray Of aid or counsel in my decay? HOB. Now by my soul, Diggon, I lament The hapless mischief that has thee hent; Natheless thou seest my lowly sail, That froward Fortune doth ever availe: But, were Hobbinol as God might please, Diggon should soon find favour and ease: But if to my cottage thou wilt resort, So as I can I will thee comfort; There mayst thou lig in a vetchy bed, Till fairer Fortune shew forth his head. DIG. Ah! Hobbinol, God may it thee requite; Diggon on few such friends did ever light. DIGGON'S EMBLEME. Inopem me copia fecit. (Plenty has made me poor.) diggon's emblem |
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