The Shepheardes Calender: Februarie Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A ABBAACCDD AAADDEEFFDDAAGHII AJJGKGGAA AGGDDDDGGJJDDAAAAJJ ALLJJDDMMGGLLDDAAGG AAA ADDAAAAGGAADDAA AAANNDDOOA AADDC ACJLAGGAAAAAAGGDDJJA AJJDDAAAAACCAAGGAAOO PJGGAAAAAAAAQQAAJJKH LLAACCLLAAHHCCJJAAAA LLAAAABBJFebruarie gloga Secunda CVDDIE THENOT | A |
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CVDDIE | A |
AH for pittie wil ranke Winters rage | B |
These bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage | B |
The keene cold blowes throug my beaten hyde | A |
All as I were through the body gryde | A |
My ragged rontes all shiver and shake | C |
As doen high Towers in an earthquake | C |
They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle tailes | D |
Perke as Peacock but nowe it auales | D |
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THENOT | A |
Lewdly complainest thou laesie ladde | A |
Of Winters wracke for making thee sadde | A |
Must not the world wend in his commun course | D |
From good to badd and from badde to worse | D |
From worse vnto that is worst of all | E |
And then returne to his former fall | E |
Who will not suffer the stormy time | F |
Where will he liue tyll the lusty prime | F |
Selfe haue I worne out thrise threttie yeares | D |
Some in much ioy many in many teares | D |
Yet never complained of cold nor heate | A |
Of Sommers flame nor of Winters threat | A |
Ne euer was to Fortune foeman | G |
But gently tooke that vngently came | H |
And euer my flocke was my chiefe care | I |
Winter or Sommer they mought well fare | I |
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CVDDIE | A |
No marueile Thenot if thou can not beare | J |
Cherefully the Winters wrathfull cheare | J |
For Age and Winter accord full nie | G |
This chill that cold this crooked that wrye | K |
And as the lowring Wether lookes downe | G |
So semest thou like good fryday to frowne | G |
But my flowring youth is foe to frost | A |
My shippe vnwont in stormes to be tost | A |
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THENOT | A |
The soueraigne of seas he blames in vaine | G |
That once seabeate will to sea againe | G |
So loytring liue you little heardgroomes | D |
Keeping your beastes in the budded broomes | D |
And when the shining sunne laugheth once | D |
You deemen the Spring is come attonce | D |
Tho gynne you fond flyes the cold to scorn | G |
And crowing in pypes made of greene corne | G |
You thinken to be Lords of the yeare | J |
But eft when ye count you freed from feare | J |
Comes the breme winter with chamfred browes | D |
Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes | D |
Drerily shooting his stormy darte | A |
Which cruddles the blood and pricks the harte | A |
Then is your carelesse corage accoied | A |
Your carefull heards with cold bene annoied | A |
Then paye you the price of your surqedrie | J |
With weeping and wayling and misery | J |
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CVDDIE | A |
Ah foolish old man I scorne thy skill | L |
That wouldest me my springing yougth to spil | L |
I deeme thy braine emperished bee | J |
Through rusty elde that hath rotted thee | J |
Or sicker thy head veray tottie is | D |
So on thy corbe shoulder it leanes amisse | D |
Now thy selfe hast lost both lopp and topp | M |
Als my budding branch thou wouldest cropp | M |
But were thy yeares greene as now bene myne | G |
To other delights they would encline | G |
Tho wouldest thou learne to caroll of Loue | L |
And hery with hymnes thy lasses gloue | L |
Tho wouldest thou pype of Phyllis prayse | D |
But Phyllis is myne for many dayes | D |
I wonne her with a girdle of gelt | A |
Embost with buegle about the belt | A |
Such an one shepeheards woulde make full faine | G |
Such an one would make thee younge againe | G |
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THENOT | A |
Thou art a fon of thy loue to boste | A |
All that is lent to loue wyll be lost | A |
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CVDDIE | A |
Seest howe brag yond Bullocke beares | D |
So smirke so smoothe his pricked eares | D |
His hornes bene as broade as Rainebowe bent | A |
His dewelap as lythe as lasse of Kent | A |
See howe he venteth into the wynd | A |
Weenest of loue is not his mynd | A |
Seemeth thy flock thy counsell can | G |
So lustlesse bene they so weake so wan | G |
Clothed with cold and hoary wyth frost | A |
Thy flocks father his corage hath lost | A |
Thy Ewes that wont to haue blowen bags | D |
Like wailful widdowes hangen their crags | D |
The rather Lambes bene starued with cold | A |
All for their Maister is lustlesse and old | A |
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THENOT | A |
Cuddie I wote thou kenst little good | A |
So vainely taduance thy headlesse hood | A |
For Youngth is a bubble blown vp with breath | N |
Whose witt is weakenesse whose wage is death | N |
Whose way is wildernesse whose ynne Penaunce | D |
And stoopegallaunt Age the hoste of Greeuance | D |
But shall I tel thee a tale of truth | O |
Which I cond of Tityrus in my youth | O |
Keeping his sheepe on the hils of Kent | A |
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CVDDIE | A |
To nought more Thenot my mind is bent | A |
Then to heare nouells of his deuise | D |
They bene so well thewed and so wise | D |
What euer that good old man bespake | C |
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THENOT | A |
Many meete tales of youth did he make | C |
And some of loue and some of cheualrie | J |
But none fitter than this to applie | L |
Now listen a while and hearken the end | A |
THere grewe an aged Tree on the greene | G |
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene | G |
With armes full strong and largely displayd | A |
But of their leaues they were disarayde | A |
The bodie bigge and mightily pight | A |
Throughly rooted and of wonderous hight | A |
Whilome had bene the King of the field | A |
And mochell mast to the husband did yielde | A |
And with his nuts larded many swine | G |
But now the gray mosse marred his rine | G |
His bared boughes were beaten with stormes | D |
His toppe was bald wasted with wormes | D |
His honor decayed his braunches sere | J |
Hard by his side grew a bragging brere | J |
Which proudly thrust into Thelement | A |
And seemed to threat the Firmament | A |
Yt was embellisht with blossomes fayre | J |
And thereto aye wonned to repayre | J |
The shepheards daughters to gather flowres | D |
To peinct thir girlonds with his colowres | D |
And in his small bushes vsed to shrowde | A |
The sweete Nightingale singing so lowde | A |
Which made this foolish Brere wexe so bold | A |
That on a time he cast him to scold | A |
And snebbe the good Oake for he was old | A |
Why standst there quoth he thou brutish blocke | C |
Nor for fruict nor for shadowe serues thy stocke | C |
Seest how fresh my flowers bene spredde | A |
Dyed in Lilly white and Cremsin redde | A |
With leaves engrained in lusty greene | G |
Colours meete to clothe a mayden Queene | G |
Thy wast bignes but combers the grownd | A |
And dirks the beauty of my blossomes rownd | A |
The mouldie mosse which thee accloieth | O |
My Sinnamon smell too much annoieth | O |
Wherefore soone I rede thee hence remove | P |
Least thou the price of my displeasure proue | J |
So spake this bold brere with great disdaine | G |
Little him answered the Oake againe | G |
But yielded with shame and greefe adawed | A |
That of a weede he was ouerawed | A |
Yt chaunced after vpon a day | A |
The Hus bandman selfe to come that way | A |
Of custome to seruewe his grownd | A |
And his trees of state in compasse rownd | A |
Him when the spitefull brere had espyed | A |
Causlesse complained and lowdly cryed | A |
Vnto his Lord stirring vp sterne strife | Q |
O my liege Lord the God of my life | Q |
Pleaseth you ponder your Suppliants plaint | A |
Caused of wrong and cruell constraint | A |
Which I your poore Vassall dayly endure | J |
And but your goodnes the same recure | J |
Am like for desperate doole to dye | K |
Through felonous force of mine enemie | H |
Greatly aghast with this piteous plea | L |
Him rested the goodman on the lea | L |
And badde the Brere in his plaint proceede | A |
With painted words tho gan this proude weede | A |
As most vsen Ambitious folke | C |
His colowred crime with craft to cloke | C |
Ah my soueraigne Lord of creatures all | L |
Thou placer of plants both humble and tall | L |
Was not I planted of thine owne hand | A |
To be the primrose of all thy land | A |
With flowring blossomes to furnish the prime | H |
And scarlot berries in Sommer time | H |
How falls it then that this faded Oake | C |
Whose bodie is sere whose braunches broke | C |
Whose naked Armes stretch vnto the fyre | J |
Vnto such tyrannie doth aspire | J |
Hindering with his shade my louely light | A |
And robbing me of the swete sonnes sight | A |
So beate his old boughes my tender side | A |
That oft the bloud springeth from wounds wyde | A |
Vntimely my flowres forced to fall | L |
That bene the honor of your Coranall | L |
And oft he lets his cancker wormes light | A |
Vpon my braunches to worke me more spight | A |
And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast | A |
Where with my fresh flowretts bene defast | A |
For this and many more such outrage | B |
Crauing your goodlihead to aswage | B |
The ranckor | J |
Edmund Spenser
(1)
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