University of Virginia Library

THE DOLEFUL SWAINS:

A Pastoral Poem

William.
Alas! quoth William, if my Grief you knew,
With Sympathy you'd be distracted too.
Betty, the Sweet, the Beautiful, the Young,
By me, alas! lov'd, kiss'd, and courted long,
Has play'd the Jilt, and join'd another Swain.

David.
What's that, quoth David, to my mighty Pain?
A Lamb, the Pride of all my little Flock,
Was worried yonder on a rugged Rock.

Mungo.
How little Cause have some to be perplex'd?
My Mind hath greater Reason to be vex'd.
My Landlord, plague consume his fawning Tongue!
Pled, 'till I parted with my Money, long,
He swore, if I wou'd put it in the Stocks,
That some kind Broker, cunning as a Fox,
Wou'd soon improve it to a large Estate,
But all is lost, and I must curse my Fate.

William.
I wonder, Sirs, to see you have a Face,
To equal Trifles to a lovely Lass!
None use with Lambs or Money to compare,
A precious Soul.—

David.
Refer it to Bellair.
Whether his Mistress, or your Money lost,
Or I for my dead Lamb-kin suffer most.

Mungo.
So be it—let Bellair the Case decide,
For he's a Scholar, and yet has no Pride.
But first, let each some worthy Wager lay,
That he who wins may bear a Prize away.
I for my Part will stake my ruddy Ox,
I suffer most by putting Gold in Stocks.

William.
And I this Ring will pledge whene'er you please,
In my behalf, he will decide the Case.
'Tis all the Gift that e'er my Betty gave,
More priz'd by me than all the Herds you have.

David.
I have nor Ox, nor Ring indeed to stake,
But all my Goods ye shall have leave to take,
If I the Dispute lose,—so sure I am,
My Loss is greatest who have lost a Lamb.

Bellair.
Your kindness moves me, Shepherds, for your sake,
Grateful whate'er I can to undertake.
But first, as Judge, 'tis requisite I know
The Aggravations of your various Woe,
Before I can impartial Sentence pass—

William.
Let me begin, who lost a lovely Lass?
The greatest Cause should first of all be heard,
And he, that sweetest Sings, enjoy the best Reward.

Bellair.
Let Mungo first rehearse his mournful Tale,
(For Bubbles more than Lasses now prevail;)
You next, and David last of all reply—
The Muses love alternate Melody.
And, as a Premium for the Shepherd's Pains,
Who best resembles Ramsay 's rural Strains;
In Burchet 's Name, I here engage to give
Twice twenty Crowns, his Courage to revive.

Mungo.
What shall I say? Five Pounds I had and more,
All yellow Gold, laid up in secret Store;
Behind the Chimney, pent from Face of Day,
Long in the Wall it undiscover'd lay;
It lay well hid, 'till Stocks begun to rise,
O if I had it back! I would be Wise.

William.
I thought false Betty was my own secure,
And, when we should be married, in my Pow'r.
But ah! how oft have Shepherds soon believ'd,
And, by the Jilts they trusted, been deceiv'd.

David.
My Lamb was grown a strong, a blooming Beast,
(My Landlord ne'er enjoy'd a fatter Feast;)
Oft have I answer'd to my neighb'ring Swains,
Who ask'd its growth,—The best on all the Plains.
But Fate, relentless, met it on the Rock,
And I alas! am quite undone and broke.

Mungo.
I took my Landlord for an honest Man,
(But there's no trusting those that use to bann.)
And oft the Brokers gave me ground to hope,
My Grains should spring up to a plenteous Crop;
Yet, 'mongst 'em all, I poor unlucky Lad!
Instead of gathering more, have lost the Goods I had.

William.
My Neighbour Tom pretended still to be
An upright Man and faithful Friend to me;
Yet he has play'd a base, a treach'rous Part,
To steal away, so slyly, Betty's Heart.
This aggravates alas! my cutting Woe,
The Thought that stabs, and keeps me tortur'd so.

David.
If any Dog, to whom I ne'er was kind,
Had kill'd my Lamb, it would have eas'd my Mind:
But Coly, whom I most indulg'd, was he,
That hath reduc'd me to this Poverty.
Oft have I patted with my Hand his Head,
And from my Pockets thrown him Lumps of Bread;
And he most kindly us'd to wag his Tail,
Nor baulk'd my Business on the Hill or Dale.
But now, vile Cur! for all my Favours past,
He playd the Rogue, and serv'd me so at last.
Let ne'er a Shepherd trust his Dog again,—

Mungo.
It might have soften'd much my inward Pain,
And long ere now my Mourning had been o'er,
If they had said they would my Gold restore.
But who can bear with Patience to be robb'd?
Both out of Stock and Interest to be jobb'd?
As soon shall Frost congeal the surging Sea,
As those Deceivers be forgiv'n by me.

William.
If Betty had not sworn and sworn again,
That she ne'er lov'd so much another Swain;
And that the Sea should sooner cease to roar,
Than she prove false, and give her William o'er,
I could have born with greater Ease my Grief,
And catch'd the smallest Cordial for Relief.

David.
How foolish is it for an honest Clown,
To trust a Dog when he's gray-bearded grown?
Coly, when Young, unpractis'd in Deceit,
Was still good-natur'd, and ne'er prov'd a Cheat;
Oft all my Flocks I trusted to his Care,
And thought he ne'er would plunge me in despair.
But, like a Statesman, he betray'd his Trust,
Before I had provok'd him to disgust.

Mungo.
Oft have I thought, before I knew their Tricks,
T'have had fine Lodgings, and a Coach with Six.
So high my Hopes my crafty Landlord rais'd!
So much were these unlucky Bubbles prais'd!
And yet I'm doom'd with painful Toil and Sweat,
To earn a Groat to buy my Belly Meat.
So sad it is for such a simple Swain,
To launch into the Deep, in quest of Gain.

William.
Betty and I, if she had faithful prov'd,
Had long ere now discover'd how we lov'd.
We might have lodg'd in the same House and Bed,
But she with Tom, curst Tom! has play'd the Jade.
His all the Children now alas must be,
Tormenting Thought! that should belong to me.

David.
Had Coly spar'd my blooming Lamb, I vow,
It would have prov'd a stately Creature now.
I might have sold it—for some lib'ral Men
Wou'd ne'er refuse the Price of five and ten:
Or if I chose to keep it with the rest,
It might in time have prov'd a teeming Beast.
For 'twas a Ewe, a Ewe of fruitful Kind;
Her Grandsire, if I right the Story mind,
Was sent my Father in a Gift from far,
With as fine Wool as e'er was laid with Tar.

Mungo.
What other Name than Robbers shall I give,
To those that take away my Means to live?
Tho' with a curteous Air and flatt'ring Tongue,
They made me trust I shou'd not want them long.
I wonder those, that their own selves disgrace,
By doing Wrong, can look us in the Face.

Williiam.
It should not half so much have vex'd my Mind,
If they had only kiss'd—Folk may be kind;
An unseen Slip, through Love, allow I can—
But to the Curate openly they ran.
Sometime before I saw them in a Grove,
I heard them tell some wondrous Tales of Love;
Mean while, for all that past betwixt them there,
She said she'd Marry me,—I was a Fool, I swear.

David.
Coly, false Cur! like an establish'd Rake,
(I wish the Law my Choler may not break!)
In open Day, perform'd the wicked Deed,
Cock'd up his Tail, and fleet o'er Mountains fled.
Whitefoot and Bawtie both beholding stood,
And Ill, ye know, is easier learn'd than Good.
If, after his Example, they pursue
And worry Sheep, what shall their Master do?

Mungo.
How can I think upon my little Store,
And yet my Heart be not afflicted sore?
'Twas Pleasure once to take the Guineas out,
And on the Table hurl them round about.
O! how each Piece glanc'd sweetly in my Eyes.
I'll curse those Brokers ev'ry Day I rise.

William.
O! how I'm tortur'd in my inmost Heart,
To think that ought shou'd me from Betty part;
For she was charming both in Mind and Face,
Without all Beauty and within all Grace.
Handsome and pretty was her stately Waist,
Her Legs genteel, and white as Snow her Breast;
But oh! her Cheeks, her Lips, her Eyes so rare,
She might e'en with my Lady's self compare.
None could behold her, (God forgive my Sin)
And not find Love thrill through his Veins within.

David.
O! 'twas a Pleasure, on the bushy Rock,
To see my Lamb-kin skip amidst the Flock.
O'er Stones it danc'd, and us'd to run and leap
As I to Fold convey'd my Flock of Sheep.
With Laughing once I thought t'have been undone,
When with full force upon my Dog it run.
Asleep he lay, when the facetious Beast
Rouz'd him in smart—it was a pleasant Jest!
But now my Sport is all to Sorrow turn'd,
What once delighted, now alas! is mourn'd.
If e'er my Hands can catch the Cur, I hope,
To make him rue his Manners in a Rope.

Bellair.
Shepherds, give o'er your soft complaining Lays,
All sing with Ease and merit more than Bays.
So well your various Suff'rings have been sung,
With Charms peculiar to your Native Tongue,
That, whilst I own that all of ye sing well,
'Tis hard to judge what Swain does most excel:
And did not Bus'ness make me bid adieu
To these sweet Plains, to Pastimes, and to you,
Nor have you, William, so much Cause to mourn,
Since Betty cou'd from you to Thomas turn.
The Swain's most happy, who has least to do
With Lasses, who can Jilt and break a Vow.
To other Strains adapt your tuneful Reed,
And joy that you from Misery are freed.
But David is a Sufferer, I own,
And hath most Ground of all the Three to moan.
David is poor, his Lamb was all his Pride,
That Lamb can ne'er revive again; beside,
He lost his Dog; and those that yet remain,
From his Example, may undo the Swain.
But let not David be oppress'd with Grief,
I'll go to Court, and thence procure Relief.
Craggs is a wise, a gen'rous Soul, I'm sure!
No Swain can suffer much, whilst he is cloath'd with Pow'r.