POEM: A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS

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DICK. Her care is to prevent My freedom, with show of her beams, with virtue, my content.

DICK. Oh hence! O cruel word! which even dogs do hate: But hence, even hence, I must needs go; such is my dogged fate.

DICK. Love, my lord.

WILL. A time there is for all, my mother often says, When she, with skirts tucked very high, with girls at football plays When thou hast mind to weep, seek out some smoky room: Now let those lightsome sights we see thy darkness overcome.

WILL. If wages make you want, what food is that she gives?

Uttered in a Pastoral Show at Wilton.

WILL. Dick, since we cannot dance, come, let a cheerful voice Show that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoice.

DICK. Disdain; but just disdain; So have I cause myself to plain, but no cause to complain.

WILL. What care takes she for thee?

DICK. Remembrance is the chest Lockd fast with knowing that she is of worldly things the best.

WILL. What? Is thy bagpipe broke, or are thy lambs miswent; Thy wallet or thy tar-box lost; or thy new raiment-rent?

WILL. What? These are riddles sure: art thou then bound to her?

DICK. Faith in myself, and Worth in her, which no proof can undo.

WILL. Then, Dick, let us go hence lest we great folks annoy: For nothing can more tedious be than plaint in time of joy.

DICK. Bound as I neither power have, nor would have power, to stir.

WILL. What witnesses thereto?

DICK. Ah Will, though I grudge not, I count it feeble glee, With sight made dim with daily tears anothers sport to see. Whoever lambkins saw, yet lambkins love to play, To play when that their loved dams are stolen or gone astray? If this in them be true, as true in men think I, A lustless song forsooth thinks he that hath more lust to cry.

WILL. What keepeth safe thy band?

WILL. Who bound thee?

DICK. I would it were but thus, for thus it were too well.

DICK. What joy the joyful sun gives unto bleared eyes; That comfort in these sports you like, my mind his comfort tries.

DICK. My heart deep graven.

DICK. Hear then, and learn to sigh: a mistress I do serve, Whose wages make me beg the more, who feeds me till I starve; Whose livery is such, as most I freeze apparelled most, And looks so near unto my cure, that I must needs be lost.

WILL. God shield us from such dames! If so our dames be sped, The shepherds will grow lean I trow, their sheep will be ill-fed. But Dick, my counsel mark: run from the place of woo: The arrow being shot from far doth give the smaller blow.

WILL. Who made the band so fast?

WILL. What seal?

DICK. Good Will, I cannot take thy good advice; before That foxes leave to steal, they find they die therefore.

WILL. Thou seest my ears do itch at it: good Dick thy sorrow tell.

WILL. Thou late of wages plaindst: what wages maysh thou have?

DICK. Her heavenly looks, which more and more do give me cause to crave.

DICK. Wonder that, by two so black eyes the glittring stars be past.

DICK. Tears drink, sorrows meat, wherewith not I, but in me my death lives.

WILL. What living get you then?

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