The Shepherd's Week (excerpt) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AB CCDDCCEEDDFGHHIB FGEI JB KKLLBBFI BBMMDDBBNB GGOOPI NNQRNB BBSSNI FFEETB GGBBCB UUFFBBO VVWXFYMONDAY OR THE SQUABBLE | A |
Lobbin Clout Cuddy CloddipoleCUDDY | B |
- | |
Hold witless Lobbin Clout I thee advise | C |
Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise | C |
Lo yonder Cloddipole the blithesome swain | D |
The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain | D |
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies | C |
To know when hail will fall or winds arise | C |
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view | E |
When stuck aloft that show'rs would straight ensue | E |
He first that useful secret did explain | D |
That pricking corns foretold the gath'ring rain | D |
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air | F |
He told us that the welkin would be clear | G |
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse | H |
And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse | H |
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee | I |
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me LOBBIN CLOUT | B |
- | |
See this tobacco pouch that's lin'd with hair | F |
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow deer | G |
This pouch that's tied with tape of reddest hue | E |
I'll wager that the prize shall be my due CUDDY | I |
- | |
Begin thy carols then thou vaunting slouch | J |
Be thine the oaken staff or mine the pouch LOBBIN CLOUT | B |
- | |
My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass | K |
Than primrose sweeter or the clover grass | K |
Fair is the king cup that in meadow blows | L |
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows | L |
Fair is the gillyflow'r of gardens sweet | B |
Fair is the marigold for pottage meet | B |
But Blouzelind's than gillyflow'r more fair | F |
Than daisy marigold or king cup rare CUDDY | I |
- | |
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid | B |
That e'er at Wake delightsome gambol play'd | B |
Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down | M |
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown | M |
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain | D |
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain | D |
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound | B |
And my cur Tray play deftest feats around | B |
But neither lamb nor kid nor calf nor Tray | N |
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May LOBBIN CLOUT | B |
- | |
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near | G |
Of her bereft 'tis winter all the year | G |
With her no sultry summer's heat I know | O |
In winter when she's nigh with love I glow | O |
Come Blouzelinda ease thy swain's desire | P |
My summer's shadow and my winter's fire CUDDY | I |
- | |
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay | N |
Ev'n noon tide labour seem'd a holiday | N |
And holidays if haply she were gone | Q |
Like worky days I wish'd would soon be done | R |
Eftsoons O sweet heart kind my love repay | N |
And all the year shall then be holiday LOBBIN CLOUT | B |
- | |
As Blouzelinda in a gamesome mood | B |
Behind a haycock loudly laughing stood | B |
I slily ran and snatch'd a hasty kiss | S |
She wip'd her lips nor took it much amiss | S |
Believe me Cuddy while I'm bold to say | N |
Her breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay CUDDY | I |
- | |
As my Buxoma in a morning fair | F |
With gentle finger strok'd her milky care | F |
I quaintly stole a kiss at first 'tis true | E |
She frown'd yet after granted one or two | E |
Lobbin I swear believe who will my vows | T |
Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cows LOBBIN CLOUT | B |
- | |
Leek to the Welsh to Dutchmen butter's dear | G |
Of Irish swains potato is the cheer | G |
Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind | B |
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind | B |
While she loves turnips butter I'll despise | C |
Nor leeks nor oatmeal nor potato prize CUDDY | B |
- | |
In good roast beef my landlord sticks his knife | U |
The capon fat delights his dainty wife | U |
Pudding our parson eats the squire loves hare | F |
But white pot thick is my Buxoma's fare | F |
While she loves white pot capon ne'er shall be | B |
Nor hare nor beef nor pudding food for me | B |
CLODDIPOLE | O |
- | |
- | |
Forbear contending louts give o'er your strains | V |
An oaken staff each merits for his pains | V |
But see the sun beams bright to labour warn | W |
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodges' barn | X |
Your herds for want of water stand adry | F |
They're weary of your songs and so am I | Y |
John Gay
(1)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation