Selected quad for the lemma: city_n
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A56839
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The shepheards oracles delivered in certain eglogues. By Fra: Quarles.
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Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.; Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644. Shepheards oracle. aut
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1645
(1645)
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Wing Q115A; ESTC R200445
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54,381
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150
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Shepheards story For frolick Roundelayes and past'rall Songs And all those quaint devises that belongs To Shepheards mirth she bore the bell away Had Thracian Orpheus liv'd to seen her day How had the glory of his Art been dim Sure he had follow'd her as beasts did him Seaven yeares I serv'd this jolly Dame and she At seaven yeares end was pleas'd to set me free Ere since I fisht in troubled streams to get Some poor imployment as she thought me fit After my seaven yeares bonds to entertain Out fisht my patience and yet fisht again My float lay still whil'st other anglers took Indeed I fisht not with a golden hook As others did whereby I was compel'd To flag my sailes which late ambition swel'd Above the power of my purse and serve Like a poore hireling better stoop then sterve SCHIS 'T is true Adelphus times are grown so bad Without that hook there 's nothing to be had But say young Swaine what stipend does reward Thy yearely paines I know thy paines are hard ADEL There 's nothing cheaper now then poor mens sweat Indeed my paines are not esteem'd too great For twice ten yearly Royalls to requite And yet I ward all day and watch all night SCHIS Gold dearely purchas'd Does thy paines obtain No by-commendaes no collaterall gain To raise and heighten up the slender wall Of thy low fortunes ADEL Shepheard none at all And that which grieves me most my straggling sheep Are apt to roame abroad they will not keep Their owne appointed limits But they stray Rambling some one and some another way They love to change wander God knowes whither Like other flocks they seldome feed together Whereby to my great grief they neither show their Good will to me nor loves to one another SCHIS Thou art but greene Adelphus and as yet A very Novice in the trade of wit Time was Adelphus that my wants would whine And whimper in poore rags as well as thine As small a girdle circled and embrac'd The empty casket of my hidebound wast My visage was as thin my hollow cheeks As faithfull Almanacks of Emberweeks But wise Experience the beloved child Of Time and Observation soone exil'd My green wit folly and endu'd my heart With the true knowledge of the Shepheards art She taught me new devises to enrich My flocks and me waies far above the pitch Of plaine and triviall wits and far exceeding The downright discipline of common feeding I tell thee Swaine before I learn'd this way My rambling flocks would never fadge to stay Within my pastures every thorne would beare A costly witnesse that they had been there I sought about but often sought in vaine Some would be lost and ne'er come home againe Others unsought for would perchance return With bags new strain'd and fleeces newly shorn Some hang'd on crooked bryers where unfed Some were discover'd dying others dead Thus being a foole like thee I lost my sheep They could not keep me that I could not keep But when as wise Experience had school'd me And purg'd that common error that befool'd me My flocks could love their feed and leave to roame In stead of straying there would thousands come From other folds that daily su'd to be Accounted mine and own'd no Swaine but me That in short time my fold was grown so full That lamb was held no dainty and my wooll Waxt so abundant that one moity fill'd A spacious room which tother halfe did build ADEL I envy not not thy wel-deserved store Ingenious Shepheard I admire more The secret of thy art which if it be To be repos'd repose the trust in me My better'd fortunes shall have cause to pay Their vowes and blesse thy soule another day SCHIS Come then sit down Adelphus and attend Thou hast desir'd thou hast obtain'd a friend Who in a word shall give thee briefe direction Wherein thy practice must produce perfection There is a glorious Island cal'd by name The Isle of Man a place of noted fame For Merchants trading rich and fairely stor'd With all that forain Kingdomes can afford Vpon that Island is a City cal'd By th' name of Kephalon round richly wal'd With polisht Ivory wherein does stand The beauty and the strength of all the land At th' upper end of Microcosmos streit Neare to the Palace where the Muses meet In counsell as the heathnish Poets fain There dwels wel known to many a Shepheard swain A man by trade a Gardner hight by name Phantasmus one whose curious hand can frame Rare knots and quaint devises that can make Confounding Labyrinths will undertake To carve the lively shapes of fowle or beast In running streames nay what exceeds the rest Will make ye gardens full of dainty flowers Of strawbery banks and sun-resisting bowers Like cobwebs flying in the flitting aire There is no seed of any thing that 's rare Forein or native which by sea or land Is not conveigh'd to his enquiring hand Among the rest to draw a step more neare To what suspends thy long expecting eare This Gardner has a seed which schollers call Idea sweet in tast and very small It is a seed well known and much despis'd By vulgar judgments but as highly priz'd By men of art a seed of wondrous might And soverain vertue being us'd aright But most of all to Shepheards that have care T' encrease their flocks and keep their pastures faire ADEL Neglect of what is good is goods abuse But tell me how it makes for Shepheards use SCHIS This seed being scatter'd on the barest grounds Shoots up a sudden leafe which leafe abounds With pretious moisture 'T is at first but slender Like spiney grasse of nature soft and tender And apt to chill with every blast of aire Vnlesse the skilfull Swaine take speciall care To keep it close and cover'd from the blast Of Easterne winds and then it thrives so fast And spreads abroad so rank that frost nor fire Can make it fade and trod it mounts the higher 'T is call'd Opinion 'T is a curious feed That sheep doe most delight in and indeed Is so delicious pleasing to the tast That they account it but a second fast To feed or graze on any food but that It makes them in a fortnights space as fat As full of thriving moisture and appeare As faire as those that pasture all the yeare It is so fragrant that the sent provokes The lingring appetite of neighb'ring flocks To prove unknown delight nor hedge nor ditch Can be a fence sufficient to the Itch Of their invited stomacks they will come From other folds and make thy fold their home ADEL But wher 's the profit Shepheard where 's the gains He feedes but ill that finds no price but pains SCHIS He 's but a silly Cook that wists not how To lick his fingers she deserves no Cow That kens not how to milke nor he a fold That cannot sheare he that complaines of cold And has a lib'rall woodstack in his yard May
the bright eye of day That in twelve measur'd howers does survay The moity of this earth did ne'er behold More glorious Pastures Nay I dare be bold With awefull reverence to our great God Pan To say that heaven could not devise on man A Good we had not nor augment our store If earth makes happy with one blessing more Our flocks were faire and fruitfull and stood sound Our grounds enricht them they enricht the ground The Alpine mountaines could not boast nor show So pure a whitenesse white surpassing snow Our ub'rous Ewes were evermore supply'd With twins attending upon either side Whose milk-abounding bags did overflow They fed our Lambs and fill'd our dayry too In those past daies our Shepheards knew not what Red-water meant that common language Rott Was neither fear'd nor knowne nor did they feare That heart-confounding name of Massacre There was no putrid Scabbe to exercise The malice of the maggot-blowing flies Whose Prince Belzebub if report be true Breath'd forth his loud Retreat and raging drew His buzzing Army thence and for a time Led them to forage in another Clime And to conclude no Shepheard ere did keep More thriving grounds nor grounds more dainty sheep O my Britannus in those halcyon daies Our jolly Shepheards thirsted after praise Not servil wages They were then ambitious Of Fame whose flocks should be the most auspicious Who by most care should most encrease their fold They hunted after faire report not Gold They were good Shepheards and they lov'd their sheep Watch'd day and night One eye would never sleep Small Cottages would serve their turnes That day Knew no such things as Robes A Shepheards gray Would cloath their backs for being homly drest Their sheep whose fleece they wore would know them best They were good Shepheards seldome durst they feed On Cates or drink the Juice that does proceed From dangerous vines for feare the fumes should steep Their braines too much and they neglect their sheep They were good Shepheards these would every day Twise tell their flocks and then at night convay A secret blessing got by fervent prayer Into their peacefull bosomes unaware They were good Shepheards They would even lay downe Their dearest lives nay more the eternall Crowne Of promis'd Immortality to keep Their lambs from danger and preserve their sheep But now ah now those precious daies are done With us poore Shepheards ah those times are gone Gone like our joyes and never to returne Our joyes are gone and we left here to mourne Let this relation of those times of old Suffice the rest were better be untold BRIT My dearest Gallio had it pleased heaven I wish no further matter had been given To thy discourse it would have pleas'd mine eare And eas'd thy tongue t' have pitch'd thy period here But since our God that can doe nothing ill Hath sent a Change we must submit our will What he hath made the subject of thy story Feare not to tell his ends are his own glory There 's nothing constant here the States of Kings As well as Shepheards are but tickle things Good daies on earth continue but a while We must have vinegar as well as oyle There must be rubs can earth admit all levell The hist'ry of a State is good and evill Speake then my Gallio this attentive eare Can not heare worse then 't is prepar'd to heare GALL Know'st thou Britannus what in daies of old Our great God Pan by Oracle foretold Of that brave City whose proud buildings stood As firme as earth till stain'd with Shepheards blood That there 's a time should come wherein not one Should live to see a stone upon a stone And is not now that prophecy made good Growes not grasse there where these proud buildings stood Nay my Britannus what concernes us more Did not that Oracle in times of yore Threaten to send his Foxes from their Holds Into our Vines and Wolves into our Folds To breake our Fences and to make a way For the wilde Boare to ramble and to prey Where ere he pleas'd O gentle Shepheard thus Thus that prophetick evill 's made good in us Our Hedge is broken and our Pastures yeeld But slender profit All 's turn'd Common-field Our Trenches are fill'd up our crystall Springs Are choak'd with Earth and Trash and baser things Our Shepheards are growne Plough-men all and now Our generous Crooke is turn'd a crooked Plough Shepheards build Halls and carry Princely ports Their woolls are chang'd to silks their Cotts to Courts They must have hospitable Barnes to keep Riot on foot no matter now for Sheep Turne them to graze upon the common Fallowes Whilst the luxurious Shepheard swills and wallowes In his own vomit Having swallowed downe Goblets of wine he snorts in beds of Doun Whilst his poore Lambs his poore neglected Lambs Bend fruitless knees before their milkless Dams Nay my Britannus now these pamper'd Swaines Are grown so idle that they think it paines To sheare their fleeces No they must be pickt And rins'd in holy-water they are strict To touch defiled things must be presented Upon the knee as if they had repented Their service and for which they must deserve But what A Dispensation now to sterve BRIT But stay my Gallio let not my attention Too farre exceed my slower apprehension 'T is better manners t' interrupt then heare Things serious with an ill-instructed eare Make me conceive your forain acceptation Of that ambiguous word of Dispensation GALL It is a tearm that forain Shepheards use Too much I was about to say abuse In elder times when Pastors tooke delight To feed their flocks and not their appetite It was a word exprest now faln asleep To that true sense A feeding of the sheep But now 't is alter'd and it does appeare Diffring as much as they from what they were And if your gentle patience will excuse it A word too much shall tell you how they use it In times of yore the pious minded Swaine Finding base Sodomy and Incest raigne In looser brests taught their obedient Sheep T' observe those laws that Goats refus'd to keep Forbidding Twins to couple and the Rams To take a â—arnall knowledge of their Dams To which intent it was their studious care To severall such flocks as might not paire So much those holy Swaines abominated Unnaturall Incest as we finde related That even among their sheep they thought it good To punish such enormous crimes with bloud Not to be us'd for sacrifice nor food But now Britannus times are growne more course Declin'd from good to bad from bad to worse Those rules are broke by these licentious times Lawes are esteem'd no lawes and crimes no crimes 'T is true our Rascall-sheep whose fly-blown skin Hath lost her fleece and brings no profit in To such the law continues firm and strict On such the hand of justice does inflict The height of law But those whose fleecy loines Beare thriving burdens there th' Edict injoines An easie