The Shepherd's Week : Monday; or the Squabble
Lobbin Clout, Cuddy, Cloddipole
Lobbin Clout.
Thy younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,
No thrustles shrill the bramble-bush forsake
No chirping lark the welkin sheen invokes,
No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes;
O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear,
Then why does Cuddy leave his cott so rear?
Cuddy.
Ah Lobbin Clout! I ween, my plight is guest,
'For he that loves, a stranger is to rest;'
If swains belye not, thou hast prov'd the smart
And Blouzelinda's mistress of thy heart.
This rising rear betokeneth well thy mind,
Those arms are folded for thy Blouzelind.
And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree,
Thee Blouzelinda smiles, Buxoma me.
Lobbin Clout.
Ah Blouzelind! I love thee more by half,
Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fallen calf;
Wo worth the tongue! may blisters sore it gall,
That names Buxoma, Blouzelind withal.
Cuddy.
Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise,
Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.
Lo yonder Cloddipole, the blithesome swain,
The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain!
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies,
To know when hail will fall, or winds arise.
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view,
When stuck aloft, that show'rs would straight ensue;
He first that useful secret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gath'ring rain.
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air,
He told us that the welkin would be clear.
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse.
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.
Lobbin Clout.
See this tobacco-pouch that's lin'd with hair,
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow deer.
This pouch, that's tied with tape of reddest hue,
I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.
Cuddy.
Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch,
Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch.
Lobbin Clout.
My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass.
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows,
Fair is the gillyflow'r, of gardens sweet,
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
But Blouzelind's than gillyflow'r more fair,
Than daisy, marigold, or king-cup rare.
Cuddy.
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
That e'er at Wake delightsome gambol play'd.
Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down,
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain,
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain,
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
And my cur Tray play deftest feats around;
But neither lamb nor kid, nor calf nor Tray,
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.
Lobbin Clout.
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near,
Of her bereft 'tis winter all the year.
With her no sultry summer's heat I know;
In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire,
My summer's shadow and my winter's fire!
Cuddy.
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noon-tide labour seem'd a holiday;
And holidays, if haply she were gone,
Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.
Eftsoons, O sweet-heart kind, my love repay,
And all the year shall then be holiday.
Lobbin Clout.
As Blouzelinda in a gamesome mood,
Behind a haycock loudly laughing stood,
I slily ran, and snatch'd a hasty kiss,
She wip'd her lips, nor took it much amiss.
Believe me, Cuddy, while I'm bold to say,
Her breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay.
Cuddy.
As my Buxoma in a morning fair,
With gentle finger strok'd her milky care,
I quaintly stole a kiss; at first, 'tis true,
She frown'd, yet after granted one or two.
Lobbin, I swear, believe who will my vows,
Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cows.
Lobbin Clout.
Leek to the Welsh, to Dutchmen butter's dear,
Of Irish swains potato is the cheer;
Oats for their feasts, the Scottish shepherds grind,
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind.
While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise,
Nor leeks nor oatmeal nor potato prize.
Cuddy.
In good roast-beef my landlord sticks his knife,
The capon fat delights his dainty wife,
Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.
Lobbin Clout.
As once I play'd at Blindman's-Buff, it hapt
About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt.
I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind;
True speaks that ancient proverb, Love is blind.
Cuddy.
As at Hot-Cockles once I laid me down,
And felt the weighty hand of many a clown;
Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I
Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye.
Lobbin Clout.
On two near elms, the slacken'd cord I hung,
Now high, now low my Blouzelinda swung.
With the rude wind her rumpled garment rose,
And show'd her taper leg, and scarlet hose.
Cuddy.
Across the fallen oak the plank I laid,
And myself pois'd against the tottering maid,
High leapt the plank; adown Buxoma fell;
I spy'd - but faithful sweethearts never tell.
Lobbin Clout.
This riddle, Cuddy, if thou canst, explain,
This wily riddle puzzles every swain.
'What flower is that which bears the Virgin's name,
The richest metal joined with the same?'
Cuddy.
Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right,
I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight.
'What flower is that which royal honour craves,
Adjoin the Virgin, and 'tis strown on graves?'
Cloddipole.
Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains,
An oaken staff each merits for his pains.
But see the sun-beams bright to labour warn,
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodges' barn.
Your herds for want of water stand adry,
They're weary of your songs-and so am I.
Related quotes
The Shepherd's Week (excerpt)
MONDAY, OR, THE SQUABBLE
Lobbin Clout, Cuddy, CloddipoleCUDDY
Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise,
Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.
Lo yonder Cloddipole, the blithesome swain,
The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain!
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies,
To know when hail will fall, or winds arise.
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view,
When stuck aloft, that show'rs would straight ensue;
He first that useful secret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gath'ring rain.
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air,
He told us that the welkin would be clear.
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse.
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.LOBBIN CLOUT
See this tobacco-pouch that's lin'd with hair,
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow deer.
This pouch, that's tied with tape of reddest hue,
I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.CUDDY
Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch,
Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch.LOBBIN CLOUT
My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass.
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows,
Fair is the gillyflow'r, of gardens sweet,
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
But Blouzelind's than gillyflow'r more fair,
Than daisy, marigold, or king-cup rare.CUDDY
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
That e'er at Wake delightsome gambol play'd.
Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down,
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain,
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain,
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
And my cur Tray play deftest feats around;
But neither lamb nor kid, nor calf nor Tray,
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.LOBBIN CLOUT
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near,
Of her bereft 'tis winter all the year.
With her no sultry summer's heat I know;
In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire,
My summer's shadow and my winter's fire!CUDDY
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noon-tide labour seem'd a holiday;
And holidays, if haply she were gone,
Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.
Eftsoons, O sweet-heart kind, my love repay,
And all the year shall then be holiday.LOBBIN CLOUT
As Blouzelinda in a gamesome mood,
Behind a haycock loudly laughing stood,
I slily ran, and snatch'd a hasty kiss,
She wip'd her lips, nor took it much amiss.
Believe me, Cuddy, while I'm bold to say,
Her breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay.CUDDY
As my Buxoma in a morning fair,
With gentle finger strok'd her milky care,
I quaintly stole a kiss; at first, 'tis true,
She frown'd, yet after granted one or two.
Lobbin, I swear, believe who will my vows,
Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cows.LOBBIN CLOUT
Leek to the Welsh, to Dutchmen butter's dear,
Of Irish swains potato is the cheer;
Oats for their feasts, the Scottish shepherds grind,
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind.
While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise,
Nor leeks nor oatmeal nor potato prize.CUDDY
In good roast-beef my landlord sticks his knife,
The capon fat delights his dainty wife,
Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.
....CLODDIPOLE
Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains,
An oaken staff each merits for his pains.
But see the sun-beams bright to labour warn,
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodges' barn.
Your herds for want of water stand adry,
They're weary of your songs--and so am I.
Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale
Ay, beshrew you! By my fay,
These wanton clerks be nice alway!
Avaunt, avaunt, my popinjay!
What, will ye do nothing but play?
Tilly, vally, straw, let be I say!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
By God, ye be a pretty pode,
And I love you an whole cart-load.
Straw, James Foder, ye play the fode,
I am no hackney for your rod:
Go watch a bull, your back is broad!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Ywis ye deal uncourteously;
What, would ye frumple me? Now fy!
What, and ye shall be my pigesnye?
By Christ, ye shall not, no hardely:
I will not be japed bodily!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Walk forth your way, ye cost me nought;
Now I have found what I have sought:
The best cheap flesh that ever I bought.
Yet, for His love that all hath wrought,
Wed me, or else I die for thought.
Gup, Christian Clout, your breath is stale!
Go, Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale!
Gup, Christina Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
poem by John Skelton
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Our Lady's Song
Iesu, swete sone dere!
On porful bed list thou here,
And that me greveth sore;
For thi cradel is ase a bere,
Oxe and asse beth thi fere:
Weepe ich mai tharfore.
Iesu, swete, beo noth wroth,
Thou ich nabbe clout ne cloth
The on for to folde,
The on to folde ne to wrappe,
For iche nabbe clout ne lappe;
Bote ley thou thi fet to my pappe,
And wite the from the colde.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Epitah on the Politician Himself
Here richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician's corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
Another on the Same
This, the last ornament among the peers,
Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:
But Death's what even Politicians fail
To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.
On Another Politician
The Politician, dead and turned to clay,
Will make a clout to keep the wind away.
I am not fond of draughts, and yet I doubt
If I could get myself to touch that clout.
On Yet Another
Fame to her darling Shifter glory gives;
And Shifter is immortal while he lives.
Epitah Upon Himself
Lauda tu Ilarion audacem et splendidum,
Who was always beginning things and never ended 'em.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Jumping to Conclusions
No sir...
I did not say,
You were clearly out of your mind.
You are jumping to conclusions!
This is what I said...
And I quote my exact statement.
'You have used your political clout,
To ruin my reputation.
You've destroyed my ability,
To seek meaningful employment.
You and your associates,
Have campaigned to slander...
And smear any attempts I've made,
To make progress among my own people.
In this community.
There are more living in poverty in this area,
Since your last election.
And...
One in which has the highest crime rate.
Least amount of representation,
For the tax dollars that are spent.
And...
You have been in office for three terms,
Doing absolutely nothing...
For the betterment of your constituents here!
Plus your use of racial tactics,
Speaks for itself.
And you seek my endorsement?
Where is the advantage? '
THAT is what I said!
Now...
How you take that,
Can be interpreted any way you wish!
But those are my comments,
About how I feel regarding you....
Your political clout and influence.
Anything else you'd like to add...
Would come out of 'your' mouth,
Sir.
And not mine.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To The Meandering Lion
Paws scorching the ground
leaving a rivulet of fire
a map for the meandering
Illustrious gilt of a skin
tawny as the sun's sheen
euphoniously sewn to the bones
And your proud head
bobbing with an arrogant crown
and roaring with a subtle clout
A steadfast monolith in the cracks
of the brittle bones and incendiary sand
I want to be who you are - meandering in blithe
poem by Norman Santos
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The Answer
An answer felt so deep and true.
I know it's real.
It came from you.
I'll not deny this sacred vow.
Lest I forsake such greatness now.
I'll bide my time.
I'll fear no doubts.
What you've said holds awesome clout.
Knowing of this wonderful fate.
My heart is whole, it's not too late.
Please keep me true,
with dilligence through.
Knowing what I need to do.
I thank thee for such splendid bliss.
Giving me an answer such as this.
The time will come, I know it now.
I'll stay the course with loving force.
poem by Michael McParland
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Never go to the devil and a dish-clout in your hand.
I'm playing one of the principal roles, which gives you more clout and more confidence.
quote by Charles Dance
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's tough watching a good idea lose because its backers are less eloquent or have less clout than its opponents.
quote by Lester Case
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It's tough watching a good idea lose because its backers are less eloquent or have less clout than its opponents.
quote by Patrick Blackett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The history of American politics is littered with bodies of people who took so pure a position that they had no clout at all.
quote by Benjamin C. Bradlee
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There is no such thing as several Romanias, but only politicians who divide Romania depending on the interests of their parties and their clout.
quote by Traian Basescu
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In the end, we may be hurting the very people we should be concerned about - the inner-city poor, those who already have to live with many risks in their daily lives, those who do not have clout here in Washington.
quote by Fred Thompson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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