The Shepherd's Week : Friday; Or, The Dirge Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCCDDEEFFAA AGHDI BIIAAJJKL AJJBB BAABBAABBAAMEBBNNBBB BOONNAAPQRANNBBCCSSA ATTAABBBBUUNABBAAAAD IBBNNU AVDWWAAAABBBBBBBBBBX BBNNBBYYBBZZNNBBBBBB DVSSNNBBBBA2A2BBB2B2 C2D2A NNE2F2B2B2NNBBG2G2| Bumkinet Grubbinol | A |
| - | |
| - | |
| Bumkinet | B |
| Why Grubbinol dost thou so wistful seem | C |
| There's sorrow in thy look if right I deem | C |
| 'Tis true yon oaks with yellow tops appear | D |
| And chilly blasts begin to nip the year | D |
| From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne | E |
| And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn | E |
| Yet ev'n this season pleasance blithe affords | F |
| Now the squeez'd press foams with our apple hoards | F |
| Come let us hie and quaff a cheery bowl | A |
| Let cyder new wash sorrow from my soul | A |
| - | |
| Grubbinol | A |
| Ah Bumkinet since thou from hence wert gone | G |
| From these sad plains all merriment is flown | H |
| Should I reveal my grief 'twould spoil thy cheer | D |
| And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear | I |
| - | |
| Bumkinet | B |
| Hang sorrow let's to yonder hut repair | I |
| And with trim sonnets cast away our care | I |
| Gilliam of Croydon well thy pipe can play | A |
| Thou sing'st most sweet O'er hills and far away | A |
| Of Patient Grissel I devise to sing | J |
| And catches quaint shall make the valleys ring | J |
| Come Grubbinol beneath this shelter come | K |
| From hence we view our flocks securely roam | L |
| - | |
| Grubbinol | A |
| Yes blithesome lad a tale I mean to sing | J |
| But with my wo shall distant valleys ring | J |
| The tale shall make our kidlings droop their head | B |
| For wo is me our Blouzelind is dead | B |
| - | |
| Bumkinet | B |
| It Blouzelinda dead Farewell my glee | A |
| No happiness is now reserv'd for me | A |
| As the wood pigeon cooes without his mate | B |
| So shall my doleful dirge bewail her fate | B |
| Of Blouzelinda fair I mean to tell | A |
| The peerless maid that did all maids excel | A |
| Hence forth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed | B |
| And evening tears upon the grass be spread | B |
| The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow | A |
| And winds shall moan aloud when loud they blow | A |
| Henceforth as oft as autumn shall return | M |
| The dropping trees whene'er it rains shall mourn | E |
| This season quite shall strip the country's pride | B |
| For 'twas in autumn Blouzelinda died | B |
| Where'er I gad I Blouzelind shall view | N |
| Woods dairy barn and mows our passion knew | N |
| When I direct my eyes to yonder wood | B |
| Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood | B |
| Thither I've often been the damsel's guide | B |
| When rotten sticks our fuel have supply'd | B |
| There I remember how her faggots large | O |
| Were frequently these happy shoulders' charge | O |
| Sometimes this crook drew hazel boughs adown | N |
| And stuff'd her apron wide with nuts so brown | N |
| Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way | A |
| Or wallowing 'mid a feast of acorns lay | A |
| The untoward creatures to the stye I drove | P |
| And whistled all the way or told my love | Q |
| If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie | R |
| I shall her goodly countenance espy | A |
| For there her goodly countenance I've seen | N |
| Set off with kerchief starch'd and pinners clean | N |
| Sometimes like wax she rolls the butter round | B |
| Or with the wooden lily prints the pound | B |
| Whilome I've seen her skim the clouted cream | C |
| And press from spungy curds the milky stream | C |
| But now alas these ears shall hear no more | S |
| The whining swine surround the dairy door | S |
| No more her care shall fill the hollow tray | A |
| To fat the guzzling hogs with floods of whey | A |
| Lament ye swine in gruntings spend your grief | T |
| For you like me have lost your sole relief | T |
| When in the barn the sounding flail I ply | A |
| Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly | A |
| The poultry there will seem around to stand | B |
| Waiting upon her charitable hand | B |
| No succour meet the poultry now can find | B |
| For they like me have lost their Blouzelind | B |
| Whenever by yon barley mow I pass | U |
| Before my eyes will trip the tidy lass | U |
| I pitch'd the sheaves oh could I do so now | N |
| Which she in rows pil'd on the growing mow | A |
| There every deale my heart by love was gain'd | B |
| There the sweet kiss my courtship has explain'd | B |
| Ah Blouzelind that now I ne'er shall see | A |
| But thy memorial will revive in me | A |
| Lament ye fields and rueful symptoms show | A |
| Henceforth let not the smelling primrose grow | A |
| Let weeds instead of butter flowers appear | D |
| And meads instead of daisies hemlock bear | I |
| For cowslips sweet let dandelions spread | B |
| For Blouzelinda blithesome maid is dead | B |
| Lament ye swains and o'er her grave bemoan | N |
| And spell ye right this verse upon her stone | N |
| 'Here Blouzelinda lies Alas alas | U |
| Weep shepherds and remember flesh is grass ' | - |
| - | |
| Grubbinol | A |
| Albeit thy songs are sweeter to mine ear | V |
| Than to the thirsty cattle rivers clear | D |
| Or winter porridge to the labouring youth | W |
| Or bunns and sugar to the damsel's tooth | W |
| Yet Blouzelind's name shall tune my lay | A |
| Of her I'll sing for ever and for aye | A |
| When Blouzelind expir'd the weather's bell | A |
| Before the drooping flock told forth her knell | A |
| The solemn death watch click'd the hour she died | B |
| And shrilling crickets in the chimney cried | B |
| The boding raven on her cottage sate | B |
| And with hoarse croacking warn'd us of her fate | B |
| The lambkins which her wonted tendance bred | B |
| Dropp'd on the plains that fatal instant dead | B |
| Swarm'd on a rotten stick the bees I spy'd | B |
| Which erst I saw when goody Dobson died | B |
| How shall I void of tears her death relate | B |
| While on her dearling's bed her mother sate | B |
| These words the dying Blouzelinda spoke | X |
| And 'of the dead let none the will revoke ' | - |
| Mother quoth she let not the poultry need | B |
| And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed | B |
| Be these my sister's care and every morn | N |
| Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn | N |
| The sickly calf that's hous'd be sure to tend | B |
| Feed him with milk and from bleak colds defend | B |
| Yet ere I die see mother yonder shelf | Y |
| There secretly I've hid my worldly pelf | Y |
| Twenty good shillings in a rag I laid | B |
| Be ten the parson's for my sermon paid | B |
| The rest is yours my spinning wheel and rake | Z |
| Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake | Z |
| My new straw hat that's trimly lin'd with green | N |
| Let Peggy wear for she's a damsel clean | N |
| My leathern bottle long in harvests try'd | B |
| Be Grubbinol's this silver ring beside | B |
| Three silver pennies and a ninepence bent | B |
| A token kind to Bumkinet is sent | B |
| Thus spoke the maiden while her mother cried | B |
| And peaceful like the harmless lamb she died | B |
| To show their love the neighbours far and near | D |
| Followed with wistful look the damsel's bier | V |
| Sprigg'd rosemary the lads and lasses bore | S |
| While dismally the parson walk'd before | S |
| Upon her grave the rosemary they threw | N |
| The daisy butter flower and endive blue | N |
| After the good man warn'd us from his text | B |
| That none could tell whose turn would be the next | B |
| He said that heaven would take her soul no doubt | B |
| And spoke the hour glass in her praise quite out | B |
| To her sweet memory flowery garlands strung | A2 |
| O'er her now empty seat aloft were hung | A2 |
| With wicker rods we fenc'd her tomb around | B |
| To ward from man and beast the hallow'd ground | B |
| Lest her new grave the parson's cattle raze | B2 |
| For both his horse and cow the church yard graze | B2 |
| Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm | C2 |
| To drink new cyder mull'd with ginger warm | D2 |
| For gaffer Tread well told us by the by | A |
| 'Excessive sorrow is exceeding dry ' | - |
| While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow | N |
| Or lasses with soft stroakings milk the cow | N |
| While pudling ducks the standing lake desire | E2 |
| Or battening hogs roll in the sinking mire | F2 |
| Whole moles the crumbling earth in hillocks raise | B2 |
| So long shall swains tell Blouzelinda's praise | B2 |
| Thus wail'd the louts in melancholy strain | N |
| 'Till bonny Susan sped across the plain | N |
| They seiz'd the lass in apron clean array'd | B |
| And to the ale house forc'd the willing maid | B |
| In ale and kisses they forget their cares | G2 |
| And Susan Blouzelinda's loss repairs | G2 |
John Gay
(1)
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