Geron and Mastix -

GERON .

Downe, downe, Melampus! what, your fellow bite!
I set you ore the flocke I dearely loue,
Them to defend, not with your selues to fight
Doe you not thinke this will the wolues remoue
From former feare they had of your good minds,
When they shall such diuided weakenesse proue?
What if Laelaps a better morsell find
Than you earst knew? rather take part with him
Than iarle — Lo, lo, euen these how enuie blindes! —
And thou, Laelaps, let not pride make thee brim,
Because thou hast thy fellow ouergone,
But thanke the cause — thou seest, where he is dim
Here, Laelaps, here! indeed, against the foen
Of my good sheepe thou neuer truce-time tooke:
Be as thou art, but be with mine at one:
For though Melampus like a wolfe do looke —
For age doth make him of a woluish hew —
Yet haue I seene when well a wolfe he shooke. —
Foole that I am, that with my dogges speake grew! —
Come neere, good Mastix — 'tis now full tway score
Of yeares, alas, since I good Mastix knew! —
Thou heardst euen now a yong man sneb me sore
Because I red him, as I would my sonne:
Youth will haue will; age must to age therefore.

MASIIX .

What maruell if in youth such faults be done,
Since that we see our saddest shepheards out,
Who haue their lesson so long time begonne?
Quickly secure, and easilie in doubt,
Either asleepe be all if nought assaile,
Or all abroade if but a cub start out.
We shepherds are like them that vnder saile
Doe speake high words when all the coast is cleare,
Yet to a passenger will bonnet vaile.
I con thee thanke to whom thy dogges be deare,
But commonly like curres we them entreat,
Saue when greate need of them perforce appeare;
Then him we kisse whom late before we beatt,
With such intemperance, that each way growes
Hate of the first, contempt of latter feate,
And such discord 'twixt greatest shepheards flowes,
That sport it is to see with how great arte
By iustice' worke they their owne faults disclose.
Like busie boyes, to win their tutor's heart,
One saith he mockes, the other saith he playes,
The third his lesson mist; till all doe smart.
As for the rest, how shepheards spend their dayes,
At blow-point, hot-cockles, or else at keeles,
While " Let vs passe our time," each shepheard sayes!
So small account of time the shepheard feeles,
And doth not feele that life is nought but time,
And when that time is past, death holds his heeles.
To age thus do they draw their youthfull prime,
Knowing no more then what poore tryall showes;
As fish sure tryall hath of muddie slime!
This paterne good vnto our children goes;
For what they see their parents loue or hate,
Their first-caught sence prefers to teachers' blows.
These coklings cokred we bewaile too late,
When that we see our offspring gaily bent,
Women man-wood, and men effeminate.

GERON .

Fy, man, fy, man, what words hath thy tongue lent!
Yet thou art mickle warse then ere was I;
Thy too much zeale I feare thy braine hath spent.
We oft are angrier with the feeble flie
For businesse where it pertaines him not,
Then with the poisnous todes that quiet lie.
I pray thee, what hath ere the parret got? —
And yet they say he talkes in great men's bowers, —
A cage (gilded perchance) is all his lot.
Who of his tongue the lickour gladly powrs,
A good foole call'd with paine perhaps may be,
But euen for that shall suffer mightie lowers.
Let swanne's example siker serue for thee,
Who once all birdes in sweetly singing past,
But now to silence turn'd his minstrelsie.
For he nould sing, but others were defaste;
The peacock's pride, the pye's pild flatterie,
Cormorant's glut, kite's spoile, king-fisher's waste,
The faulcon's fiercenesse, sparrowe's letcherie,
The coockowe's shame, the goose's good intent,
Euen turtle toucht he with hypocrisie,
And worse of other more; till, by assent
Of all the birds, but namely those were grieued,
Of fowles there called was a parliament.
There was the swan of dignitie depriued,
And statute made he neuer should haue voyce;
Since when I thinke he hath in silence liued
I warne thee, therefore, since thou maist haue choice,
Let not thy toung become a firy match;
No sword so bites as that euill toole annoyes.
Let our vnpartiall eyes a little watch
Our owne demeane, and soone we wonder shall,
That hunting faultes, our selues wee did not catch.
Into our mindes let vs a little fall,
And we shall finde more spots than leopard's skin.
Then who makes vs such iudges ouer all?
But farewell now, thy fault is no great sinne —
Come, come, my curres, 'tis late, I will go in.
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