University of Virginia Library

PASTORAL THE THIRD. THE SERVANT.

LOBBIN. PERIGOT.
PERIGOT.
See, Lobbin, what a numerous flock I keep;
And see, how much the flies torment the sheep:
They gad about so much, that Tray and I
Have work enough all day to keep them nigh:
And almost every minute, as you view,—
Look there—a plague on that old black-fac'd ewe,
She always leads them wrong:—hark—fetch 'em, Tray:
I cannot keep them from the wheat away.
Oh that the time of harvest were but come,
Then might I sit at ease, and see them roam!

LOBBIN.
Phoh! Shepherd, never mind, they do no harm;
Or corn or grass, 'tis all your master's farm.
What matters which they eat—or how they're fed?
Come, come, let's hasten to Duke William's head:
Besides the hat at nine-pins, all who choose
May run in sacks, boy—for a pair of shoes,
New, neat's-skin, and well-nail'd,—but, better still,
Our Surry Dick has challeng'd Kentish Will
To try a bout at single-stick, they say;
Then, Perigot,—what lad would be away?

PERIGOT.
That lad am I;—for tho'—as you can tell
At nine-pins few could Perigot excel:
Tho' well I lov'd our village sports to share,
The first, in merriment, at wake or fair;
My duty, Lobbin, now I better know,
Than to forsake my charge, and idling go
At every call, without my master's leave,
Wasting the moments I can ne'er retrieve;
And bringing home at night—the spend-thrift's part,
A muddled head, and discontented heart.

LOBBIN.
Rare maxims truly! and where got you these?
Preach to your sheep, my boy, and talk to trees!
Our shepherd lads will only laugh to hear
—A master's interests to our sports prefer!—
That will not Lobbin, ever: for I trow
They to our sports such preference will not shew.
Then be they pleas'd or not, I'l have my day:
For if one will not do, another may.

PERIGOT.
Rare maxims too! but know an honest swain
Hears and rejects such maxims with disdain!
Remember, lad, a saying of your own,
“No moss is gather'd by a rolling stone:”
So once you told me, with a piteous face,
When, wand'ring up and down, from place to place,
Your purse was empty, and your cloaths were naught,
And your vain heart was humble, as it ought.
Now, since at Argol's board you live so well,
Your naughty heart again begins to swell,
But, swain, be careful, or too sure you'll find,
You sow the billows, and will reap the wind!

LOBBIN.
Something I reap—for on my back I bear
Cloaths, full as good as thou didst ever wear:
My hat's as fine, my stockings are not worse,
And here, here's money, grey-beard, in this purse!
So cease your saws:—To-day's delights I'll share;
The doubtful morrow for itself may care!

PERIGOT.
Ah silly swain,—and to the future blind,
Sure some black demon hath possess'd your mind!
For grant—tho' Lobbin, I have doubts and fears,—
Your honest hire in that same purse appears:
Yet what you boast is all that you possess;
And how you long to make that little less!
But think, my friend, from service if dismist,
Where will you live, and how will you subsist?
Will the old landlord at yon same Duke's Head,
Who courts your money now, then give you bread?
No, no, be sure, he'll turn you from his door,
When once he finds you pennyless and poor.
Or, if by sickness to your bed confin'd,
What secret anguish will oppress your mind,
To view no hospitable master nigh,
No gentle mistress with a pitying eye,
Anxious their good domestic to restore,
Repaying thus each service o'er and o'er.
Oh pleasing state!—how different thine, to moan
Sick, faint, and poor, neglected and alone.

LOBBIN.
No fancy'd ills, impossible and vain,
Disturb my peace, or give a moment's pain:
We shall catch larks, my lad, when fall the skies;
So save your breath, nor be so wondrous wise:
For, think not, friend, to teach me what to do;
I can both read and write as well as you.

PERIGOT.

LOBBIN.
Why Perigot, my lad, thy flock forsake,
And like the cobler Dick, to preaching take;
Get a joint stool, like his: thou'lt drive a trade,
Nor him alone, but thou wilt much exceed
The bawling parson, who, the other day,
So long on our wind-mill did sing and preach and pray!
There thou hast learnt this gravity, I trow,
And rather after him would'st, groaning, go,
Than share the pastimes at the house below.

PERIGOT.
Spare your vain jibes, for, shepherd, be it known,
I gad not after preachers up and down:
Nor time have I, nor need,—content to hear,
Two sermons every Sabbath thro' the year:
And our good vicar—But why tell it thee,
Who'd'st rather sleep, than at a sermon be?
—Well, well, laugh on:—but they who win should jest;
And sure I am, that Perigot is blest
Far beyond Lobbin in his present state.
In future hopes the difference how great!
—My master's love by confidence is shown,
And all his interests thus become my own:
One of his houshold, his delights I share;
And feel his pleasure, as I feel his care.
Dear are his children; dearer still they prove,
As I experience their unartful love:
And dearer yet they grow, when pleas'd I find
Their gentle mother to my wants so kind.
Connected thus, I act a social part,
And live a life quite suited to my heart!
No solitary elf,—and here I trust
At length to mingle with my native dust:
Rejoic'd if, like Petruchio , who of late
In his good master's house resign'd to fate,
I too,—thrice happy,—should my master have,
With all his family, attend my grave;
Smiting their breasts, and saying, with a tear,
“A good and faithful servant resteth here.”
This be my praise; and for this praise I'll live:
Your pastimes, Lobbin, no such joys can give.

LOBBIN.
Why, Perigot, 'tis truth:—you touch my heart;
Shepherd, indeed you chuse the better part,
I'll think to-morrow well of what you say,—
—But can't forego—the pleasures of to-day!

Thus, with a laugh, the dolt departing cry'd;
While the good shepherd shook his head, and sigh'd!