The Shepherd's Week : Monday; Or The Squabble Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCCDDEE FG HHIIFF IJJAA FKKLLKKMMLLNEOOFF INEMM FPP IQQRRIINN FIISSLLIITT IEEUUVV FTTWXTT IIIYYTT FNNMMZZ IEEIIKK IA2A2NNII IIIII ISSB2B2 IC2C2RR IIIAA ILLD2 IIIE2 AF2F2G2H2NB2Lobbin Clout Cuddy Cloddipole | A |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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Cuddy | F |
Begin thy carols then thou vaunting slouch | P |
Be thine the oaken staff or mine the pouch | P |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 ' | - |
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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 ' | - |
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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
(1)
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