MAUDLIN

HAve I not left they in a brave confusion? Amazed their expectation? God their Venison? Troubled their mirth, and meeting? made them doubtful, And jealous of each other? all distracted? And, in the close, uncertain of themselves? This can your Mother do my dainty Douce! Take any shape upon her! and delude The senses, best acquainted with their Owners! The jolly Robin, who' hath bid this feast, And made this solemn invitation; I have possessed so, with syke dislikes Of his own Marian, that all-bee 'he know her, As does the vaulting heart, his venting hind, He nêre from hence, shall neis her in the wind, To his first liking. As far as her proud scorning him, could abate Or blunt the edge of any Lovers temper. So Like Douce, As had she seen me her sel', her sell had doubted Whither had been the liker off the twâ! This can your Mother do, I tell you Daughter! I have but dight ye, yet; i'the out-dresse; And 'parraile of Earine! but this raiment, These very weeds, shall make ye, as but coming In view or ken of Aeglamour, your form Shall show too slippery to be looked upon! And all the Forest swear you to be she! They shall rin after ye, and wage the odds, Upon their own deceived sights, yee' are her! While she (poor Lass) is stocked up in a tree: Your brother Lorells prize! For so my largess, Hath lotted her, to be your brother's Mistress; Give she can be reclaimed: give not, his Prey! And here he comes, new claithed, Like a Prince Of Swine ards! sike he seems! dight i'the spoils Of those he feeds! A mighty Lord of Swine! He is command now, to woo. Lets step aside, And hear his love-craft! See, he opens the door! And takes her by the hand, and helps her forth! This is true courtship, and becomes his ray. She likes it not: but it is boasted well! A tu lucky end She wishend thee, fowl Limmer! drittie Lown! Good faith, it duills me that I am thy Mother! And see, thy Sister scorns thee, for her Brother! Thou woo thy Love? thy Mistress? with twa Hedgehogs? A stinkand brock? a polecat? out thou howlet! Thou shoul'dst ha'given her, a Madge-Owle! and then though hadst made a present of thy self, Owle-spiegle! I know well, It is a witty partly, sum-times, to give. But what? to whame? no monsters! nor to maidens! He should present them with mare pleasand things, Things natural, and what all Women covet To see: the common Parent of us all! Which Maids will twire at, between their fingers, thus! With which his Sire got him! He's get another! And so beget posterity upon her! This he should do! (false Gelden) gang thy gait And du thy turns, betimes: or, I'is gar take Thy new breikes from thee, and thy duib let tu. The Talleur, and the Sowter shall undu' All they have made; except thou manlier woo! Lorell goes out. Hang him: I geif him to the Devils eirs. But, ye my Douce, I charge ye, show your fell, Tu all the Sheep'ards, baudly: gaing amang'hem. Be mickle in their eye, frequent, and fuge and. And, give they ask ye of Earine, Or of these claithes; say, that I give hem ye, And say no more. I have that work in hand, That web upon the Luime, shall gar them think By then, they feelin their own frights, and fears, I'is pu' the world, or Nature, bout their ears. But, hear ye Douce, because, ye may meet me In money shapes tu day; where ere you spy This browdred belt, with Characters, 'tis I. A Gypsan Lady, and a right Beldame, Wrought it by Moonshine for me, and Starlight, Upon your Granams grave, that very night We earthed her, in the shades; when our Dame Hecat, Made it her gaing-night, over the Kirkyard, Withal the bark and parish tykes set at her, While I sat whyrland, of my brazen spindle: At every twisted third my rock let fly Unto the sew'ster, who did fit me nigh, Under the towne-turne-pike; which ran each spell She stitched in the work, and knit it well. See, ye take tent to this, and ken your Mother. Send me a Stag! A whole Stag, Madam! and so fat a Dear! So fairly hunted, and at such a time too! When all your Friends were here! 'Twas such a bounty And honour done to your poor Bedes-woman, I know not how to owe it, but to thank you. And that I come to du: I shall go round, She turns round, till she falls. And giddy with the toy of the good turn. Look out, look out, gay folk about, And see me spin; the ring In am in Of mirth, & glee, with thanks for fee The heart putts on, for the Venison My Lady sent, which shall be spent In draughts of Wine, to fume up fine Into the brain, and down again Fallen in a Swoon, upon the grown. But I knaw ye, a right freehearted Lady, Can spare it out of superfluity: I have departit it among my poor Neighbours To speak your Largess. Count you this thrown away? Do you give a thing, and take a thing, Madam? The Spit stand still, no Broaches turn Before the fire, The first Charm. but let it burn Both sides, and haunches, till the whole Converted be into one Coal. The Swilland Dropsy enter in The Lazy Cuke, and swell his skin; And the old Mort-malon his shin Now prick, and itch, withouten blind. The Paene, we call S. Antons fire The Gout, or what we can desire, To cramp a Cuke, in every limb, Before they dine, yet; seize on him. What then? Are there not flowers as sweet, and fair, as men? The Lily is fair! and Rose is sweet! What then? Are there not Birds sing sweeter far, then Men? Then why? then why, alone, Should his notes please you? Yet Like the Bees it had a little sting. She goes murmuring out. But, I will keep him of if Charms will do it. Not in your gripe. I shall make them sport And send some home, without their legs, or arms. I'll teach them to climb Stile, leap Ditches, Ponds, And lie in the Waters, if they follow me. I must use all my powers, Lay all my wits to piecing of this lose. Things run unluckily, Where's my Puck-hairy? Hath he forsook me? Oh Puck, my Goblin! I have lost my belt, The strong thief, Robin Outlaw, forced it from me. What rock's about me? Lucky, my loved Goblin! Where are you gaang, now? Gang thy gait, and try Thy turns, with better luck, or hang thy sel'. grows high in evil, And thinks she doe's all, when it's I, her Devil, That both delude her, and must yet protect her: She's confident in mischief, and presumest The changing of her shape will still secure her. But that may fail, and diverse hazards meet Of other consequence, which I must look to. Not let her be surprised on the first catch. I must go dance about the Forest, now, And firk it Like a Goblin, till I find her. Then will my service come worth acceptation; When not expected of her, when the help Meets the necessity, and both do kiss It's called the timing of a duty, this. My Son hath sent you A pot of Strawberries, gathered in the wood (His Hogs would else have rooted up, or trod) With a choice dish of wildings here, to scald And mingle with your Cream.