Sixe idillia that is, sixe small, or petty poems, or aeglogves, chosen out of the right famous Sicilian Poet Theocritus, and translated into English verse |
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| THE XXI. JDILLION.
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 | Sixe idillia |  |
THE XXI. JDILLION.
Netehearde.
Argument.
A Neteheard is brought in chafing, that Eunîca a maid of the cittie disdained to kisse him. Wherby it is thought that Theocritus seemeth to checke them, that thinke this kinde of writing in Poetry, to be too base & rustical. And therfore this Poeme is termed Neteheard.
Evnîca skorned me, when her I would haue sweetly kist,
And railing at me said, goe with a mischiefe where thou list.
Thinkst thou a wretched Neteheard mee to kisse? I haue no will
After the Countrie guise to smouch, of Cittie lips I skill.
My louely mouth, so much as in thy dreame thou shalt not touch.
How dost thou look? How dost thou talke? How plaiest thou the slouch?
How daintilie thou speakst? What courting words thou bringest out?
Howe soft a beard thou hast? How faire thy locks hang round about?
Thy lips are like a sickmans lips, thy hands, so black they be,
And rankely thou dost smel, awaie, least thou defilest me.
And railing at me said, goe with a mischiefe where thou list.
Thinkst thou a wretched Neteheard mee to kisse? I haue no will
After the Countrie guise to smouch, of Cittie lips I skill.
My louely mouth, so much as in thy dreame thou shalt not touch.
How daintilie thou speakst? What courting words thou bringest out?
Howe soft a beard thou hast? How faire thy locks hang round about?
Thy lips are like a sickmans lips, thy hands, so black they be,
And rankely thou dost smel, awaie, least thou defilest me.
Hauing thus sed, shee spatterd on her bosome twise or thrise,
And still beholding me from top to toe, in skorneful wise,
She mutterd with her lips, and with her eies she lookte aside,
And of her beutie wondrous coy she was, her mouth she wride,
And proudly mockt me to my face, my blud boild in each vaine,
And red I woxe for griefe, as doth the rose with dewye raine.
Thus leauing me, awaie she flung; since when, it vexeth me,
That J should be so skornde, of such a filthie drab as she.
And still beholding me from top to toe, in skorneful wise,
She mutterd with her lips, and with her eies she lookte aside,
And of her beutie wondrous coy she was, her mouth she wride,
And proudly mockt me to my face, my blud boild in each vaine,
And red I woxe for griefe, as doth the rose with dewye raine.
Thus leauing me, awaie she flung; since when, it vexeth me,
That J should be so skornde, of such a filthie drab as she.
Ye Shepeheards, tel me true, am I not fair as any swan?
Hath of a sodaine anie God, made me another man?
For well J wote before, a cumlie grace in me did shine,
Like luy round about a tree, and dekt this bearde of mine.
My crisped lockes, like Parslie on my temples wont to spred,
And on my eiebrowes black, a milke white forhed glistered.
More seemelie were mine eies, than are Mineruas eies I know.
My mouth for sweetnes passed cheese, and from my mouth did flow
A voice more sweete than hunniecombes. Sweete is my rundelaie,
When on the whistle, flute, or pipe, or cornet I doe plaie.
And all the weemen on our hills, doe saie that I am faire,
And al do loue me well. But these that breath the citty aire
Did neuer loue me yet. And why? The cause is this I know,
That I a Neteheard am. They heare not, how in vales below
Faire Bacchus kept a heard of beastes; nor can these nice ones tell,
How Venus rauing for a Neteheards loue, with him did dwell
Vpon the hills of Phrygia, and how she lovde againe
Adonis in the woods, and mournde in woods, when hee was slaine.
What was Endymion? Was he not a Netehearde? Yet the Moone
Did love this Neteheard so, that from the heauens descending soone,
She came to Latmos groue, where with the daintie lad she laie.
And Rhea, thou a Neteheard dost bewaile, and thou al daie
O mightie Jupiter, but for a Shepeheardes boie didst straie.
Eunîca only dained not, a Neteheard for to loue.
Better forsooth then Cybel, Venus, or the Moone aboue.
And Venus, thou hereafter must not loue thy faire Adone
In cittie, nor on hill, but al the night must sleepe alone.
Hath of a sodaine anie God, made me another man?
For well J wote before, a cumlie grace in me did shine,
Like luy round about a tree, and dekt this bearde of mine.
My crisped lockes, like Parslie on my temples wont to spred,
And on my eiebrowes black, a milke white forhed glistered.
More seemelie were mine eies, than are Mineruas eies I know.
My mouth for sweetnes passed cheese, and from my mouth did flow
A voice more sweete than hunniecombes. Sweete is my rundelaie,
When on the whistle, flute, or pipe, or cornet I doe plaie.
And all the weemen on our hills, doe saie that I am faire,
And al do loue me well. But these that breath the citty aire
Did neuer loue me yet. And why? The cause is this I know,
That I a Neteheard am. They heare not, how in vales below
Faire Bacchus kept a heard of beastes; nor can these nice ones tell,
How Venus rauing for a Neteheards loue, with him did dwell
Vpon the hills of Phrygia, and how she lovde againe
Adonis in the woods, and mournde in woods, when hee was slaine.
What was Endymion? Was he not a Netehearde? Yet the Moone
Did love this Neteheard so, that from the heauens descending soone,
She came to Latmos groue, where with the daintie lad she laie.
And Rhea, thou a Neteheard dost bewaile, and thou al daie
O mightie Jupiter, but for a Shepeheardes boie didst straie.
Eunîca only dained not, a Neteheard for to loue.
Better forsooth then Cybel, Venus, or the Moone aboue.
And Venus, thou hereafter must not loue thy faire Adone
In cittie, nor on hill, but al the night must sleepe alone.
Embleme.
Habitarunt Dij quoque Syluas.
| Sixe idillia | |