The Shepherd's Week : Monday; Or The Squabble Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Lobbin Clout Cuddy Cloddipole	A
	-
	-
Lobbin Clout	B
Thy younglings Cuddy are but just awake	C
No thrustles shrill the bramble bush forsake	C
No chirping lark the welkin sheen invokes	D
No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes	D
O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear	E
Then why does Cuddy leave his cott so rear	E
	-
Cuddy	F
Ah Lobbin Clout I ween my plight is guest	G
'For he that loves a stranger is to rest '	-
If swains belye not thou hast prov'd the smart	H
And Blouzelinda's mistress of thy heart	H
This rising rear betokeneth well thy mind	I
Those arms are folded for thy Blouzelind	I
And well I trow our piteous plights agree	F
Thee Blouzelinda smiles Buxoma me	F
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
Ah Blouzelind I love thee more by half	J
Than does their fawns or cows the new fallen calf	J
Wo worth the tongue may blisters sore it gall	A
That names Buxoma Blouzelind withal	A
	-
Cuddy	F
Hold witless Lobbin Clout I thee advise	K
Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise	K
Lo yonder Cloddipole the blithesome swain	L
The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain	L
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies	K
To know when hail will fall or winds arise	K
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view	M
When stuck aloft that show'rs would straight ensue	M
He first that useful secret did explain	L
That pricking corns foretold the gath'ring rain	L
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air	N
He told us that the welkin would be clear	E
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse	O
And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse	O
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee	F
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me	F
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
See this tobacco pouch that's lin'd with hair	N
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow deer	E
This pouch that's tied with tape of reddest hue	M
I'll wager that the prize shall be my due	M
	-
Cuddy	F
Begin thy carols then thou vaunting slouch	P
Be thine the oaken staff or mine the pouch	P
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass	Q
Than primrose sweeter or the clover grass	Q
Fair is the king cup that in meadow blows	R
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows	R
Fair is the gillyflow'r of gardens sweet	I
Fair is the marigold for pottage meet	I
But Blouzelind's than gillyflow'r more fair	N
Than daisy marigold or king cup rare	N
	-
Cuddy	F
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid	I
That e'er at Wake delightsome gambol play'd	I
Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down	S
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown	S
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain	L
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain	L
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound	I
And my cur Tray play deftest feats around	I
But neither lamb nor kid nor calf nor Tray	T
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May	T
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near	E
Of her bereft 'tis winter all the year	E
With her no sultry summer's heat I know	U
In winter when she's nigh with love I glow	U
Come Blouzelinda ease thy swain's desire	V
My summer's shadow and my winter's fire	V
	-
Cuddy	F
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay	T
Ev'n noon tide labour seem'd a holiday	T
And holidays if haply she were gone	W
Like worky days I wish'd would soon be done	X
Eftsoons O sweet heart kind my love repay	T
And all the year shall then be holiday	T
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
As Blouzelinda in a gamesome mood	I
Behind a haycock loudly laughing stood	I
I slily ran and snatch'd a hasty kiss	Y
She wip'd her lips nor took it much amiss	Y
Believe me Cuddy while I'm bold to say	T
Her breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay	T
	-
Cuddy	F
As my Buxoma in a morning fair	N
With gentle finger strok'd her milky care	N
I quaintly stole a kiss at first 'tis true	M
She frown'd yet after granted one or two	M
Lobbin I swear believe who will my vows	Z
Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cows	Z
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
Leek to the Welsh to Dutchmen butter's dear	E
Of Irish swains potato is the cheer	E
Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind	I
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind	I
While she loves turnips butter I'll despise	K
Nor leeks nor oatmeal nor potato prize	K
	-
Cuddy	I
In good roast beef my landlord sticks his knife	A2
The capon fat delights his dainty wife	A2
Pudding our parson eats the squire loves hare	N
But white pot thick is my Buxoma's fare	N
While she loves white pot capon ne'er shall be	I
Nor hare nor beef nor pudding food for me	I
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
As once I play'd at Blindman's Buff it hapt	I
About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt	I
I miss'd the swains and seiz'd on Blouzelind	I
True speaks that ancient proverb Love is blind	I
	-
Cuddy	I
As at Hot Cockles once I laid me down	S
And felt the weighty hand of many a clown	S
Buxoma gave a gentle tap and I	B2
Quick rose and read soft mischief in her eye	B2
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
On two near elms the slacken'd cord I hung	C2
Now high now low my Blouzelinda swung	C2
With the rude wind her rumpled garment rose	R
And show'd her taper leg and scarlet hose	R
	-
Cuddy	I
Across the fallen oak the plank I laid	I
And myself pois'd against the tottering maid	I
High leapt the plank adown Buxoma fell	A
I spy'd but faithful sweethearts never tell	A
	-
Lobbin Clout	I
This riddle Cuddy if thou canst explain	L
This wily riddle puzzles every swain	L
'What flower is that which bears the Virgin's name	D2
The richest metal joined with the same '	-
	-
Cuddy	I
Answer thou carle and judge this riddle right	I
I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight	I
'What flower is that which royal honour craves	E2
Adjoin the Virgin and 'tis strown on graves '	-
	-
Cloddipole	A
Forbear contending louts give o'er your strains	F2
An oaken staff each merits for his pains	F2
But see the sun beams bright to labour warn	G2
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodges' barn	H2
Your herds for want of water stand adry	N
They're weary of your songs and so am I	B2

John Gay

The Shepherd's Week : Monday; Or The Squabble Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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