The Shepheardes Calender: Februarie Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Edmund Spenser

The Shepheardes Calender: Februarie Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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Februarie gloga Secunda CVDDIE THENOT	A
	-
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
	-
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
	-
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
	-
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
	-
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
	-
THENOT	A
Thou art a fon of thy loue to boste	A
All that is lent to loue wyll be lost	A
	-
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
	-
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
	-
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
	-
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