John Clare: Cottage Tales Edited by Eric Robinson, David Powell and P. M. S. Dawson |
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Opening of the Pasture—Love & Flattery
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 | John Clare: Cottage Tales |  |
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Opening of the Pasture—Love & Flattery
Within a closes nook beneath a shed
Nigh to the stack where stock in winter fed
Where black thorn thickets crowded close behind
& shielded cows & maidens from the wind
Two maidens sat free from the pasture sloughs
& told each other as they milked their cows
Their evening thoughts of love—while over head
The little Wren from its new dwelling fled
Who neath the hovels thatch with spring-hopes blest
Began to hang & build its curious nest
Of hair & feathers & root mosses green
It watched about & pickt its feathers clean
& cocked its tail & sung its evening strain
Then fluttering ventured to its nest again
While bluecaps blest the swelling buds to see
Repeated their two notes from tree to tree
The ass untethered rambling at his ease
Knapt the black budding twigs of ashen trees
& sheep the green grass champt with greedy bite
A certain sign of sudden showers at night
The mavis sung aloud & seemed to say
Arise my timid love & come away
Fear not the cold the winters gone & past
& green leaves come to hide our homes at last
The woodman humming takes his homeward track
With his night faggot bending at his back
& in his button hole he gladly bears
The firstling primrose that the forrest heirs
To show his wife & childern the glad news
That spring is hastening with her nursing dews
& while the fire light in their faces glowers
He tells his forrest tales of birds & flowers
Here sat the maids in health & beauty blest
Talking of love their leisures common guest
The Wren might think them when it tried to sing
The two first blossoms of the early spring
But when the pastures melted snow was oer
Daisey[s] were seen some dozen days before
Mary
Nigh to the stack where stock in winter fed
Where black thorn thickets crowded close behind
& shielded cows & maidens from the wind
Two maidens sat free from the pasture sloughs
& told each other as they milked their cows
Their evening thoughts of love—while over head
The little Wren from its new dwelling fled
Who neath the hovels thatch with spring-hopes blest
Began to hang & build its curious nest
Of hair & feathers & root mosses green
It watched about & pickt its feathers clean
& cocked its tail & sung its evening strain
Then fluttering ventured to its nest again
While bluecaps blest the swelling buds to see
Repeated their two notes from tree to tree
The ass untethered rambling at his ease
Knapt the black budding twigs of ashen trees
& sheep the green grass champt with greedy bite
A certain sign of sudden showers at night
The mavis sung aloud & seemed to say
Arise my timid love & come away
Fear not the cold the winters gone & past
& green leaves come to hide our homes at last
The woodman humming takes his homeward track
With his night faggot bending at his back
& in his button hole he gladly bears
The firstling primrose that the forrest heirs
To show his wife & childern the glad news
That spring is hastening with her nursing dews
& while the fire light in their faces glowers
He tells his forrest tales of birds & flowers
Here sat the maids in health & beauty blest
Talking of love their leisures common guest
The Wren might think them when it tried to sing
The two first blossoms of the early spring
112
Daisey[s] were seen some dozen days before
How sweet the lengthening eve begins to come
The grass gets green & flowers begin to bloom
& birds to build their nests—soon suns will dry
The roads that we may set our pattens bye
The chirping birds now feel the winter oer
Nor longer mope about the threshers door
“Pink pink” the bunting says I love the sound
It seems to call the daiseys oer the ground
Dear heart I love to see the quiet spring
Come teaching first the little birds to sing
Then loitering in the sunny field & street
Like people telling stories when they meet
& often pausing in a showers delay
As if she feared some danger by the way
Sending her herralds forward one by one
To try the journey she herself is on
Now starts a daisy then a buttercup
& then a little primrose trembles up
& thus she comes like to a timid maid
Of ruffling winds & dirty roads affraid
& warm light eves when lovers leisure grows
Whole hours to talk & meet in ere they close
When Richard will have penned his sheep ere dark
& I shall hear his old dogs happy bark
As from the heaths furze-hill he hastens down
To milk my cows & join me to the town
I dearly love the evenings sober hue
That from her hazey garments scatters dew
While night creeps on by stealth & never shows
A track to tell us whence he comes & goes
Love in such partings feel[s] more joy then pain
That hopes next evening hours to meet again
113
Well I am sick of plough mens vulgar ways
Teazing ones sunday evenings walk with praise
Their cuckoo-songs of “ducky” “love” & “dear”
So oft repeated sicken me to hear
Three grains of common sense they dont possess
& they're such down right hobbies in their dress
A scarlet waist coat is their common wear
Tis ploughmens livery—that I cannot bear
& then a ribbon dangles from his hat
He thinks himself a down right squire with that
I hate such tawdry whims & blockhead taste
A gipsey looks much better when hes drest
I cannot bear the dirty loves of clowns
Sullying ones kerchief & ones sunday gowns
Crumpling ones bonnet every now & then
To steal a kiss—I hate such clownish men
Theyve no more manners then a colt broke loose
& no more sense then is a silly goose
Bold brazen talk is down right wit with them
& gentry with good manners they condemn
They call them evil names & stand & laugh
Like a rude jack ass & a brawling calf
But ask them one plain thing in reasons way
They yawn & cough say “hah” or nothing say
Commend me to a tinker if you will
But these clot hoppers I dislike them still
M[ary]
Aye scornful Lucy what has Simon done
That you his love & all his kind should shun
I fear from higher life some dressy beau
Has urged your love to scorn poor Simon so
Beware of cox combs wench what says the song
“Theres mischief lurks beneath a flatterers tongue”
A pedlar once ran his door story oer
& spread his wares agen our kitchen door
Young Farmer Folly passing saw the shews
114
Though I chose nought not caring to be free
He stoopt & bought this ivory case for me
He would have bought a broach but none was left
& knife with silver heart upon the heft
He took it first then said it would not do
As they would cut the closest love in two
Then paid the gabbering man & laghed away
To every offer I had said him nay
But the poor pedlar seeing me afraid
Said honour honest callings pretty maid
Far do I walk & poorly am I paid
& if such rosey cheeks are turned to frown
Upon my calling—I am broken down
So for pedlars sake & not for his
I took the gift nor thought the fault amiss
& heres a knitting sheath one carved for me
Out of the brown heart of the damsin tree
Nor would I give it would it buy the place
This simple token for this ivory case
L[ucy]
Well I see nothing in the shape of pride
To put good offers when their met aside
The sloe & crab are hedgrows common wear
But plumbs & apples gardens only bear
& if a fortune finding met my eye
Who would be fool to pass it you or I
M[ary]
For fortunes gifts folk oft wrong names employ
As every finder meets not fortunes joy
As seeds will vary from the finest tree
So beautys baits will often poison be
The haughty maid by gazing on the skies
May miss the love gift that beneath her lies
To turn your back on honesty may show
Worse luck at last then passing an odd crow
115
Danger lays traps—good fortune nothing lays
But honest truth disdaining all disguise
& truth tho poor is still esteemed a prize
To look for luck to rise above ourselves
Is just as vain as if yon man that delves
In the wood ditch should look around his toil
To turn up buried money with the soil
Tis infants only that will pule & cry
For flickering stars that spangle in the sky
Some trust to moles & dreams—I think it well
To link no hope with every idle spell
For doubt & sorrow are two dangerous weeds
Whose roots strike deep whose flowers shed bitterest seeds
—Look heres a mole hid underneath my gown
Upon my breast—& shall I double down
The fortune boook that tells such spots to be
Omens of good or evil unto me
& if it speaks of wealth—wealth may not come
So who'd deck rooms to make such guests a home
Where dissapointments following hopes & fears
Is sure to change hopes laughter into tears
For pride is always neighbour to consciet
& ignorance just makes the thing compleat
That looks on beauty as a common toy
Which brings to fancy momentary joy
That sees it fade & weary with the view
Sickens & hankers after somthing new
But truth of love will always wear a smile
The coarsest jointure & the hardest toil
Is ever sweet while theres a friend to share
The heavy lot thats fallen to our care
But when we stumble on a mirey road
& the staff breaks that should have born the load
Our lot & life is wear[i]some & we
Have the true lot of falsehoods misery
—Upon the chimney top wake when I will
The morn-watch swallows are “twit tweeing” still
116
Theres sure to be a sky lark in the sky
Gay natures always laughing—things may die
She never goes in mourning where they lie
Nor true love ever hath a cause for grief
For providence will give to truth relief
Unlooked for troubles often may arise
But greatest griefs will often whipe their eyes
& roughest days find out their journeys end
& those most lonely find at last a friend
But dissapointment like a worm in may
Lives on & nothing drives the grief away
L[ucy]
Well smiles that with the sunniest pleasures dwell
May often meet with sorrows tears as well
Yet things I like not shant abuse my feet
Ill never run an enemy to meet
Bees often labour in a rainy hour
& gather honey from a poisonous flower
Nor in the sunshine of youths fairy dreams
Will I dread shadows where no shadow seems
For if you stand at that—whats happiness
But half way troubles in a different dress
Mere trifling parents of a laugh or smile
To cheat our hearts & sooth our hopes awhile
Mere sundays left between a working day
To catch our breath & give us time to play
Most joys beginnings have one tale to tell
Whose common ends an heart ach & farewell
The kisses pressed upon mere prudish lips
May be loves bees that for mock honey sips
& emblems oft of the decievers game
& just no more of loving but the name
For oaths like china ware—a brittle token
Tho full as fair are just as easy broken
Loves merry sorrows I shall never mind
Tho bees have stings & pain is left behind
117
& frown no shadows cause I fear a sting
One that is poor mere fortune seldom steals
& bonds are safe that warm affection seals
A narrow oak plank oer a flood washed stream
Looks dismal as a danger in a dream
But if we pass safe oer it—never mind
The brig & danger both have acted kind
& if good fortunes mine Ill use it well
& never think Im fallen till Ive fell
M[ary]
Good fortune comes of merit more then wealth
Caution brings both—as medicine brings us health
& if we do not look before we leap
We may fall headlong down some dizzy steep
Indeed we may—& rocks were dangers dwell
Lie often pashed to fragments were they fell
To prove a person of inferior kind
Is only proving of their want of mind
By looks the gentleman is poorly told
As bad as pinch backs glitter taen for gold
Yet [hide] a clown in gold you hide in vain
His brazen speech the very gold would stain
& pride alone what is it but the fop
That stands for somthing when he leaves his shop
Yet of so little value with the great
—They seem as free as your young mistress Kate
—A man on horseback passed me tother night
I dropt a courtsey as good manners might
He instant touched his hat & made a bow
Tho I was dressed as plain as I am now
I thought it somthing strange yet nothing knew
Till our old hedger down his faggot threw
To ask me if I knew him—no said I
“Why thats his Lordship—aye it is beguy”
I burnt with wonder so I scarce could speak
You might have lit a candle in my cheek
118
Lords would not make such manners to a maid
“Yes yes” said he “how high so ere they be
“He shows good manners even unto me[”]
—So now I know however some decide
Real gentlefolks are never made of pride
Such pleasant actions better shows a man
Then proud pretending cox comb fooleries can
We often throw a stone to ford a stream
& try with sticks where deeper places seem
—But straws & dust & feathers & such kind
Are ever thrown to tell us wheres the wind
& proud young fops I still dislike & shun
& think it rude tho masters joke in fun
“Mary” he'll stand & say “tis somewhat quere
“But in my house theres roseys all the year
“How is it wench” he'll ask then stand & stare
—“Look in the glass & you will find them there[”]
& thus he would his vain tomfooleries move
& thought I took his poor consciet for love
He would with sneering smile my looks extoll
& scold the Parrot when it called me “Poll”
& oft he'll call me from my work at night
To mend his fire & candle fresh to light
—& then he needs me not—& there I stand
Just like a post with door latch in my hand
& then he'll do't himself & joke the while
That my fair looks was never made for toil
& says tis pity that so fine a face
Neer met with favours for a better place
I sneak away & blush out right for shame
& mutter madness tho I fear to blame
Yet he shall never make my weakness win
Repenting fondness in the arms of sin
The youth tho poor whose memory lives with me
Has got a heart of better worth then he
One day he pluckt a rosey from the tree
Saying Mary heres your sister do you see
119
To prove love lasting by a withering flower
& tother night as I sat on the bench
Beside the door he said my “rosey wench”
I think you fond of books as well as flowers
So here is one to please your leisure hours
Twas “Bloomfields Poems” they were sweet indeed
He turned a leaf down where he bid me read
It was a story called “the broken crutch”
“Theres luck” said he “your face might get as much”
—I loved the poems & the story too
But with the lady I had small to do
I owned no face to stir a poets pen
While common praise belongs to common men
& any wench who stops upon her way
May stoop at nothing twenty times a day
Twas not my inclination & desire
To set my cap at farmer Gent or Squire
But Bloomfields Poems theyre so sweet to hear
They live with me like neighbours all the year,
& when the rooks their nests & noises bring
To the tall elm trees at the early spring
So true their rapture with the tale agrees
I almost see the Hall between the trees
& when I cross the plank that strides the brook
Oer eastwell green—I even stop to look
For Mary Meldrum & the shooting squire
So green the story comes my thoughts admire
Yet cox combs flatterys can have small pretence
To blind the eyes of even common sense
To me tis nonsense—not that I pretend
To teach another how to chuse a friend
Yet truth should guide us all—& proverbs show
That truth on falshoods soil can never grow
& when proud people condescend to move
Their silly praise as make-believes for love
Like lanthern in the dark it only shows
They idly judge of people by their cloaths
120
The same like failings in a persons mind
& having little sense themselves—believe
That such low fools are easy to decieve
I scorn such poor consciet & all its ways
& show proud cox combs how I value praise
For he who has such poor contempt of me
To think me foolish can no lover be
For what are lovers but our dearest friends
Truth shows its heart at once & neer pretends
We read of servants cast in fortunes way
Who bye & bye grow ladys—so they say
One swallow makes no spring in worlds so wide
All rings are not for weddings till theyre tried
& dreams that hope for luck may end in thrall
For truth for one no harvest is for all
Therefore I look on prides soft words as lies
—Praise undeserved is flattery in disguise
& Ive seen flattery walk with dog & gun
& gilded buttons glittering in the sun
& wished it further from my milking way
He said “good morn” or tis “a charming day”
& often by my cows would talk & smile
While his bold dogs would lap the milk the while
& scared my cows I could not say “depart”
But oft abused the cox comb at my heart
Hed ope his box to offer me a pinch
But I said “nay” & neer gave way an inch
I near was fond of flatterys daubs not I
& never heeded to approach so nigh
& he would come close bye my side to walk
But I still shunned the path nor cared to talk
& he would seem anoyed to see me shun
His smiles—& instantly uncocked his gun
Or “tis not loaded Mary” he would say
As if twas that which made me steal away
& then more close hed walk down baulk or lane
While I as usual sidled off again
121
& not so much as noticed when he past
He'd talk with other girls & said though I
Had got a face that might the proof belie
Yet I was one of lifes low clownish breed
& want of manners made me plain indeed
But foolish fop if I had been so vain
As with his gay white stockings to be taen
I then had manners all & every thing
But parsons sanctions & the wedding ring
If his be signs for love theyre none for me
& “old maid Molly” I would sooner be
L[ucy]
& none but old maid Mollys past their prime
Would wish for winter in the summer time
& talk of sermons that are out of date
Like an old almanack a year too late
Men thats above your station you despise
Their manners you make rudeness in disguise
& smalls the matter if you reason well
They even then the clownish apes excell
Who have no sense to keep their rudeness in
& no more merit then a crooked pin
That soon as bent is took & tossed away
& crooked pins are just as good as they
I look upon them as a tiresome weed
& think their rudeness very rude indeed
& yet I laugh at every thing they say
But wear deaf ears where rudeness breaks away
& if good fortune should my suit commend
Mind that Id chuse no bumpkin for a friend
No more then nettles should engage my eye
In pleasant gardens when a rose was bye
M[ary]
Well you may chuse your garden flowers & take
The rose but chuse it for its sweetness sake
122
& Ive seen sweeter roses on the hedge
Hedge briars will often make the fingers smart
But finer ones will prick you to the heart
—One evening when I went to milk my cows
Some mischief seeking boys with sticks & boughs
Had teazed a whasps nest in the pasture grass
Close to the foot path which I had to pass
& as one came & buzzed about my face
I dropt my pails & hurried from the place
Nor dare I venture nigh so chilled with fright
But stopt for Richard till he past at night
When in the mean time who should cross the brig
Tapping his boot tops with a switching twig
But Mr Pride—he gave his head a bow
Saying “heigh ho Mary whats the matter now”
& when I told him he proposed a scheme
To stay till night when he would go & team
A brimming pail of water on the nest
& drown them all—but I declined the test
Twas just to prove if hed a fool in me
To stay till sun down that he might be free
—Ive read in books that such are nothing nice
& look on girls as purchase at a price
—Tis pity that distinctions so confounds
That flimsy paper marked with many pounds
Should make its rude possessors gentlemen
& give them lisence but with tongue & pen
To deal out mischief at their idle will
& ruin maids—yet men of honour still
While men with nothing but an honest fame
Who leave the world as poor as when they came
By having nothing bear all sorts of scorn
& stand in prides way like a worthless thorn
Worth stands for nought where moneys worth stands first
& poorer folks are sure to be the worst
While wealthy cox combs—O it so provokes
I hate to seet—are always gentle folks
123
Pride sauntered too & would not go away
Holding his snuff box out with sneering smile
Nor offered once to fetch the pail the while
His dogs came round me & I feigned a fear
To sidle from him as he chattered near
Poor things it grieved me when he whipt them round
& made them howl & lye upon the ground
Swearing “such freedom he would neer alow
“So Mary stop they will not hurt you now”
I felt alarmed—but Richard crossed the lane
& glad I started off to meet the swain
When he came up & twitched me by the gown
& said I hope your lovers not a clown
Indeed he is said I & [Ill] request
The mans assistance I esteem the best
When off the cox comb went & tossed his head
& muttered somthing I was vulgar bred
Well never mind if rudeness keeps me free
From such like fops ill manners let it be
The girls he ruined witnessed in their shame
His empty praise deserved a worser name
& though the fellow is by fortune fed
Lucks purse is maybe longer then his head
& is pride so preferred with lucks pretence
To honest clowns & truth & commonsense
[_]
Peterborough MS. A 50, pp. 15–16 contains the following passage which was omitted from the final version in Peterborough MS. B 8, it is not clear whether accidentally or deliberately. It belongs between lines 461 and 462 of the text, and constitutes the final speech by Lucy; we give it here since it provides a resolution to the debate which is otherwise lacking.
Well as a weathercock agen the wind
Your lessons make me of a wavering mind
& somthing in my bosom would be fain
To call poor Simon to its rest again
His plain way never can be loves disguise
To fawn & flatter with new hatching lies
Though his best dress is but a russet brown
& hat that time has robbed of beavers down
His plain hearts like a Gem in meaner case
I cannot put a better in its place
Your lessons make me of a wavering mind
& somthing in my bosom would be fain
To call poor Simon to its rest again
His plain way never can be loves disguise
To fawn & flatter with new hatching lies
Though his best dress is but a russet brown
& hat that time has robbed of beavers down
His plain hearts like a Gem in meaner case
I cannot put a better in its place
& now the cows are milked & night agen
Leaves free the hovel to the little Wren
The maidens both the simmering brook hath past
Where more stones lie then when they left it last
& Marys expectations smiled to see
Her lover waiting neath the maple tree
So loves discourse had end—till eve again
Should call them both to milk upon the plain
Leaves free the hovel to the little Wren
The maidens both the simmering brook hath past
Where more stones lie then when they left it last
& Marys expectations smiled to see
Her lover waiting neath the maple tree
So loves discourse had end—till eve again
Should call them both to milk upon the plain
| John Clare: Cottage Tales | |