University of Virginia Library

Pastoral 2nd—Jealousy

Mary
Well Lucy heres the thistle by our side
Shows how weak blossoms may be stung by pride
See how it taunts its head with nought to fear
The very cows seem loath to venture near
But heres these daiseys—o so low they spring
They seem to fear the little tiniest thing
Heres one crushed here beneath old Collys tread
The dews seem tears for very anguish shed
So have I thought when tracking mornings dew
& Ive smiled too to see it smile anew
& so it is with maids like you & I
Who go beyond themselves & look too high
Theyre sure to stumble ere the journeys oer
Brused like the flower & may be bloom no more

[Lucy]
Your hints are easy understood but still
They make a mountain of a little hill
—As to these daiseys crushed by cows—they lie
Mid common things beneath the open skie
While neath this thistle—cut your troubles short
Heres many blooms & not a daisy hurt
So turn you[r] idle fancies out of doors
If wealths bad luck—what is it to be poor

Mary
Some have met fortune in a masters house
& in an honest suitor fo[u]nd a spouse
Who proud of worth deckt humbleness in silk
To make them mistress of the cows they milk
—& though chance says such chances still may be
For one in favour theres against it three
Some have found golden findings at a fair
Some in old ruins met with money there
& some may seek a life time out in vain
Nor find a farthings profit as their gain
So some in blindfold accident may meet
By love & marriage fortune at their feet
While others trusting far & hoping all
Instead of rising into ruin fall
—Well call your cows—I feel we yet are friends
If your offended may be truth offends

L[ucy]
Nay mary nay I am not vext a jot
But your own foibles have you all forgot
Last may I heard you say—“the vulgar set”
Where none but ploughmen ro[u]nd the garland met
& even yester night did I not see
You scorn the hobnail clowns as well as me
Who at their idle praise no notice took
& when they reached your kerchief from the brook
Which the unmannered winds had flirted in
You valued all their kindness not a pin
& when they said “here Mary” turned aside
You was not deaf what could it be but pride
& then kind Simon whose good natured ways
Might win a ladys tongue to speak his praise
Did you not scorn him upon may day morn

M[ary]
No Lucy no I did not Simon scorn
& as for clowns they are not so by dress
Tis down right ignorance & nothing less
That makes the clown & if I turned away
Twas from their praises which they pleased to pay
Me for the trouble they themselves had taen
To thank them Lucy manners were in vain
Had I been free they then had lost their fears
& words had come illsuiting womans ears
Pride some may call it—tis no matter what
You shun low fellows when you notice not
For time keeps growing more & more the clown
Wearing to rags like memorys wedding gown
When she & summer married merry may
& la[u]ghed till autumn drove the bride away
For all the praise that wont our tastes to hit
Weve lowlived jests fools best mistakes for wit
These in our paths & pastures ever come
& maidens fears must leave their ears at home
A strangers speech gives womans heart alarms
& well meant manners seem intended harms
This I alow but follys no disguise
Which any one may know & shut her eyes
But as to Simon you as well might bring
Proofs that I scorn the song I cannot sing
As friend & partner of our evening game
Im proud to own him & should feel a shame
To say I scorned one of such gentle ways
Who wins far better folks to speak his praise
The songs he makes I dearly love to hear
& only shun when meddlers interfere
How can I help when people make so free
But blush to hear his songs were made on me
—Tis not for me to read mans smiles or sighs
Yet if he loves me tis in this disguise
For never when alone or in a crowd
His love escaped him whispered or alowed
For let me tell you I too have my pride
Station can make no gentleman nor hide
True worth from reason—had he spoke in time
This let me say I had not called it crime
In one to praise me who so well can praise
Yet he too flatters so my reason says
For in the ballads which the shepherds sing
In pasture huts & by the bubbling spring
His milkmaids show like ladys in such scenes
& if he sings of us he makes us queens
His praise of humble life can hardly mean
Yet nought but humble life himself hath seen
& if tis flattery who can think it wrongs
That makes when read or sung such pleasant songs
True when that song was sung in which he says
So much of Marys beauty & her praise
I could not think to let him bear the blame
Of praising me—so I denied the name
& if I did could I offend him less
I only save his trouble to confess
For if all rumours right & none are wrong
He courts full twenty girls in every song

[Lucy]
Last valentine you know a letter came
Inscribed to Mary—you denied the name
& said that many owned that name indeed
& I knew that—you too can write & read
& they who can do neither might know more
Twas meant for them who found it at their door
Yet you already won by clowns—in pride
Disda[i]ned to read & cast the thing aside
& when we praised the verses that was read
You blushed with scornful shame & nothing said
& tore it up no doubt as many tear
Their lovers letters when they curl their hair

[Mary]

[Lucy]
What not in love wheres reason to deny
Last valentine who saw you read but I
The prayer book—aye you blush & well you may
For when I looked you put the book away
I wondered—& nowonder almost stares
When people seem ashamed to read their prayers
So when your back was turned I went to look
Beyond excuses—though you shut the book
This mark dropt out compare it with your gown
& where folks marry—leaves was doubled down
Tis all as plain as print beyond a guess
Nor can your best denials make it less
For love & marriage if our thoughts incline
Are pleasant prayers to read at valentine
& if young maidens think so wheres the harm
But Simon was the spell that worked the charm

[Mary]
Well now I see you're jealous—& must I
To please ones fancies throw all pleasure bye
& when May plays at “crookhorn” saunter near
& bite my thumbs anothers frowns to fear
& hunt the slipper cant I merry be
Without the whisper urged & cast at me
The Prayer books self no matter where I read
Could surely stir no fancies in your head
& jokes about such books are far from wise
Truth love & prayer from the same bosom rise
No matter how such things are understood
Prayers are not prayers unless our thoughts are good
Nor had you heeded thoughts you fancied mine
Nor filled your head so long with valentine
Had not some other cause below the rest
Lay there consealed—the matter may be guest
Tis when I meet old friends in field & town
& laugh & talk that makes another frown
To please all tastes we might ourselves denie
Of daylight & go blind fold neath the sky
Thank day my eyes are good—the springs begun
& Ill not shut them for I love the sun
Unless when at the Blindmans bluff we play
At may day eve or when weve got the hay
& ere one blind fold man mistakes the prize
Ill pull myself the kerchief from his eyes
So that no maiden may have room to say
She had one cause to frown on such a day

Lucy
Yes Mary certain favours will prevail
Whose cow deserved a mawkin at her tail
But yours when last & yet no shaming thorn
Betrayed the Sluggabed that lay till morn
& Simon who pretends his love to me
By doing favours—I can easy see
He was of all the rest the only cause
That broke for you last year the pasture laws
You got the garland—twas a shameful sin
That the last comer should a garland win
I almost hated Simon in my spite
Well Lucy well I know that right is right
Said he but who could have the heart to trail
A dangling thorn at poor old Collys tail
Though she was last—you was not first—yet friends
Should make a stranger to the place amends
& shes so fair that milks old Colly now
I could not tie a mawkin to her cow
—He called you but his friend—pretence to prove
Where friendship went there was not room for love
But yet the shepherd shows more pleasant ways
He made a busk & flowered it for your stays
& begged the old one which your play did break
Not for a pattern only—but your sake