Classic Poem

PIERS PALINODE .

Dicite, Io paean, et, Io, bis dicite, paean!

In patriam rediit magnus Apollo suam.

PALINODE .

Herdgroom, what gars thy pipe to go so loud?
Why bin thy looks so smicker and so proud?
Perdy, plain Piers, but this couth ill agree
With thilk bad fortune that aye thwarteth thee.

PIERS .

That thwarteth me, good Palinode, is fate,
Y-born was Piers to be infortunate;
Yet shall my bag-pipe go so loud and shrill
That heaven may entertain my kind good-will;
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

Sot, I say, losel, lewdest of all swains,
Sing'st thou proud paeans on these open plains?
So ill sitteth this strain, this lofty note,
With thy rude tire and grey russet coat.

PIERS .

Grey as my coat is, green all are my cares,
My grass to dross, my corn is turn'd to tares;
Yet even and morrow will I never lin
To make my crowd speak as it did begin;
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

Thou art too crank, and crowdest all too high;
Beware a chip fall not into thine eye:
Man, if triumphals here be in request,
Then let them chant them that can chant them best.

PIERS .

Thou art a sour swain, Palinode, perdy;
My bag-pipe vaunteth not of victory:
Then give me leave sonizance to make
For chivalry and lovely learning's sake!
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

Thou hardy herdsman, darest thou of arms chant?
Sike verse, I tell thee, ought have a great vaunt:
Then how may thy boldness scape a fine frump?
War's laud is matter for the brazen trump.

PIERS .

Of arms to sing I have nor lust nor skill;
Enough is me to blazon my good will,
To welcome home that long hath lacked been,
One of the jolliest shepherds of our green;
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

Tell me, good Piers, I pray thee tell it me,
What may thilk jolly swain or shepherd be,
Or whence y-comen, that he thus welcome is,
That thou art all so blithe to see his bliss?

PIERS .

Palinode, thou makest a double demand,
Which I will answer as I understand;
Yet will I not forget, so God me mend,
To pipe loud paeans as my stanzas end;
Io, io paean!
Thilk shepherd, Palinode, whom my pipe praiseth,
Whose glory my reed to the welkin raiseth,
He's a great herdgroom, certes, but no swain,
Save hers that is the flower of Phaebe's plain;
Io, io paean!
He's well-allied and loved of the best,
Well-thew'd, fair and frank, and famous by his crest;
His Rain-deer, racking with proud and stately pace,
Giveth to his flock a right beautiful grace;
Io, io paean!
He waits where our great shepherdess doth wun,
He playeth in the shade, and thriveth in the sun;
He shineth on the plains, his lusty flock him by,
As when Apollo kept in Arcady;
Io, io paean!

Fellow in arms he was in their flow'ring days
With that great shepherd, good Philisides;
And in sad sable did I see him dight,
Moaning the miss of Pallas' peerless knight;
Io, io paean!

With him he served, and watch'd, and waited late,
To keep the grim wolf from Eliza's gate;
And for their mistress, thoughten these two swains,
They moughten never take too mickle pains;
Io, io paean!

But, ah for grief! that jolly groom is dead,
For whom the Muses silver tears have shed;
Yet in this lovely swain, source of our glee,
Mun all his virtues sweet reviven be;
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

So moughten they, Piers, and happily thrive
To keepen this herdsman after death alive:
But whence, I pray thee tell me, come is he,
For whom thy pipe and paeans make such glee?

PIERS .

Certes, sir shepherd, comen he is fro far,
Fro wrath of deepest seas and storm of war,
Safe is he come — O, swell, my pipe, with joy! —
To the old buildings of new-reared Troy;
Io, io paean!

Fro sea, fro shore, where he with swink and sweat
Felt foeman's rage and summer's parching heat,
Safe is he come, laden with honour's spoil:
O, swell, my pipe, with joy, and break the while;
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

Thou foolish swain that thus art overjoy'd,
How soon may here thy courage be accoy'd!
If he be one come new fro western coast,
Small cause hath he, or thou for him, to boast.

I see no palm, I see no laurel-boughs
Circle his temple or adorn his brows;
I hear no triumphs for this late return,
But many a herdsman more disposed to mourn.

PIERS .

Pale lookest thou, like spite, proud Palinode;
Venture doth loss, and war doth danger bode:
But thou art of those harvesters, I see,
Would at one shock spoil all the filberd-tree;
Io, io paean!

For shame, I say, give virtue honours due!
I'll please the shepherd but by telling true:
Palm mayst thou see and bays about his head,
That all his flock right forward hath led;
Io, io paean!

But woe is me lewd lad, fame's full of lies,
Envy doth aye true honour's deeds despise;
Yet chivalry will mount with glorious wings,
Spite all, and nestle near the seat of kings;
Io, io paean!

Base thrall is he that is foul slander's slave:
To pleasen all what wight may him behave?
Yea, Jove's great son, though he were now alive,
Mought find no way thilk labour to achive;
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

Well plead'st thou, gentle lad, for this great peer:
Then tell me, sith but thou and I am here,
Did not thilk bag-pipe, man, which thou dost blow,
A Farewell on our soldiers erst bestow?

How is't, then, thilk great shepherd of the field,
To whom our swains sike humble 'beisance yield,
And thou these lauds and labours seriously,
Was in that work not mention'd specially?

PIERS .

Hark, Palinode, me dare not speak too loud;
Hence was he raught, wrapt in a fiery cloud,
With Mars his viceroy and a golden drake,
So that of him me durst no notice take;
Io, io paean!

But now return'd, to royalize his fame,
Whose mighty thoughts at honour's trophies aim,
Lest worthily I moughten witned be,
I welcome him with shepherd's country glee;
Io, io paean!

And of his dread adventures here sing I,
Equivalent with the Punic chivalry,
That brake his lance with terror and renown
Against the gates of slaughter'd Remus' town;
Io, io paean!

And was the first of many thousands more
That at Penichia waded to the shore:
There couth he lead his landed flock so far,
Till 'a was left of men approved in war;
Io, io paean!

O honour's fire, that not the brackish sea
Mought quench, nor foeman's fearful 'larums lay!
So high those golden flakes done mount and climb
That they exceed the reach of shepherd's rhyme;
Io, io paean!

PALINODE .

What boot thy welcomes, foolish-hardy swain?
Louder pipes than thine are going on this plain;
Fair Eliza's lasses and her great grooms
Receive this shepherd with unfeign'd welcomes.

Honour is in him that doth it bestow;
Thy reed is rough, thy seat is all too low,
To writen sike praise: hadst thou blithe Homer's quill,
Thou moughtst have matter equal with thy skill.

PIERS .

Twit me with boldness, Palin, as thou wilt,
My good mind be my glory and my guilt;
Be my praise less or mickle, all is one,
His high deserts deserven to be known; Io, io paean!

So cease, my pipe, the worthies to record
Of thilk great shepherd, of thilk fair young lord;
Leave him with luck to those well-tuned lays
That better ken to sound sike shepherd's praise;
Io, io paean!

Now time is near to pen our sheep in fold,
And evening air is rheumatic and cold,
For my late songs plead thou, my pure good-will!
Though new-come once, brave earl, yet welcome still!
Io, io paean!