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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Shepherd's Week : Thursday; or, The Spell</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hobnelia.<br>Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale,<br>In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale,<br>Her piteous tale the wind in sighs bemoan,<br>And pining echo answers groan for groan.<br>I rue the day, a rueful day I trow,<br>The woful day, a day indeed of wo!<br>When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove,<br>A maiden fine bedight he hap'd to love;<br>The maiden fine bedight his love retains,<br>And for the village he forsakes the plains.<br>Return, my Lubberkin, these ditties hear;<br>Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>When first the year, I heard the cuckoo sing,<br>And call with welcome note the budding spring,<br>I straightway set a running with such haste,<br>Deborah that won the smock scarce ran so fast.<br>'Till spent for lack of breath quite weary grown,<br>Upon a rising bank I sat adown,<br>Then doff'd my shoe, and by my troth I swear,<br>Therein I spy'd this yellow frizzled hair,<br>As like to Lubberkin's in curl and hue,<br>As if upon his comely pate it grew.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>At eve last midsummer no sleep I sought,<br>But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought,<br>I scatter'd round the seed on every side,<br>And three times in a trembling accent cried,<br>'This hemp-seed with my virgin hand I sow,<br>Who shall my true-love be, the crop shall mow.'<br>I straight look'd back, and if my eyes speak truth,<br>With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind<br>Their paramours with mutual chirpings find;<br>I rearly rose, just at the break of day,<br>Before the sun had chas'd the stars away,<br>A-field I went, amid the morning dew,<br>To milk my kine (for so should huswifes do)<br>Thee first I spy'd, and the first swain we see,<br>In spite of fortune shall our true-love be;<br>See, Lubberkin, each bird his partner take,<br>And canst thou then thy sweet-hear dear forsake?<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>Last May-day fair I search'd to find a snail<br>That might my secret lover's name reveal;<br>Upon a gooseberry bush a snail I found,<br>For always snails near sweetest fruit abound.<br>I seiz'd the vermin, home I quickly sped,<br>And on the hearth the milk-white embers spread<br>Slow crawl'd the snail, and if I right can spell,<br>In the soft ashes mark'd a curious L :<br>Oh, may this wondrous omen lucky prove!<br>For L is found in Lubberkin and Love.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>Two hazel-nuts I threw into the flame,<br>And to each nut I gave a sweet-heart's name.<br>This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd,<br>That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd.<br>As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow,<br>For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>As peascods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see<br>One that was closely fill'd with three times three,<br>Which when I crop'd I safely home convey'd,<br>And o'er the door the spell in secret laid,<br>My wheel I turn'd, and sung a ballad new,<br>While from the spindle I the fleeces drew;<br>The latch mov'd up, when who should first come in,<br>But in his proper person - Lubberkin.<br>I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see,<br>Sure sign that he would break his word with me.<br>Eftsoons I join'd it with my wonted slight,<br>So may again his love with mine unite!<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>This lady-fly I take from off the grass,<br>Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass.<br>'Fly, lady-bird, North, South, or East, or West,<br>Fly where the man is found that I love best.'<br>He leaves my hand, see to the West he's flown,<br>To call my true-love from the faithless town.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>I pare this pippin round and round again,<br>My shepherd's name to flourish on the plain,<br>I fling the unbroken paring o'er my head,<br>Upon the grass a perfect L is read;<br>Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen<br>Than what the paring makes upon the green.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>This pippin shall another trial make,<br>See from the core two kernels brown I take;<br>This on my cheek for Lubberkin's is worn,<br>And Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground,<br>A certain token that his love's unsound,<br>While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last;<br>Oh were his lips to mine but join'd so fast!<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree,<br>I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee;<br>He wist not when the hempen string I drew,<br>Now mine I quickly doff of inkle blue;<br>Together fast I tie the garters twain,<br>And while I knit the knot repeat this strain.<br>'Three times a true-lover's knot I tie secure,<br>Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure.'<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>As I was wont, I trudg'd last market day<br>To town, with new laid eggs, preserv'd in hay.<br>I made my market long before 'twas night,<br>My purse grew heavy, and my basket light.<br>Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went,<br>And in love-powder all my money spent;<br>Behap what will, next Sunday after prayers,<br>When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs,<br>These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,<br>And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow.<br>'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,<br>And turn me thrice around, around, around.'<br>But hold - our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his ears,<br>O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears.<br>He comes, he comes, Hobnelia's not bewray'd,<br>Nor shall she, crown'd with willow, die a maid.<br>He vows, he swears, he'll give me a green gown,<br>Oh dear! I fall adown, adown, adown!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Gay">John Gay</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420388" data-title="The Shepherd's Week : Thursday; or, The Spell de John Gay" data-description="Hobnelia.
Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale,
In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale,
Her piteous tale the wind in sighs bemoan,
And pining echo answers groan for groan.
I rue the day, a rueful day I trow,
The woful day, a day indeed of wo!
Whe..."></div>
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