The Shepherd's Week (excerpt) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AB CCDDCCEEDDFGHHIB FGEI JB KKLLBBFI BBMMDDBBNB GGOOPI NNQRNB BBSSNI FFEETB GGBBCB UUFFBBO VVWXFY| MONDAY 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)
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