HERACLITƲS Dream.
WHen powerfull sleep had in his numming span,
Seized the Watch-men of the Isle of man,
Sick with beholding the worlds vanity,
Hoping in sleep to finde some sanity;
Morpheus presents my fancy with a Theam.
To work on, which may prove onely a Dream,
Methought I walked in a goodly Plain,
Like to Thessalian Tempe, where amain
The Flocks were wont to feed, the jolly Herd
To pipe, the while neither of ought afeard.
Here did I see a very uncouth sight,
Which did my 'mazed minde somewhat affright,
A
Upon a hill there sate a Shepherd Swain;
His hands fast bound, and from his eyn did rain
A shower of tears, to see his silly Sheep
So mad to wrong him, who themselves did keep;
For they did poll his head, and clipt his chin,
Because 'twas long since he had polled bin:
They being shorn once a yeer, could finde no reason
But he might be poll'd too in a hot Season.
'Twas a mad Flock methought; they had surely eat
Melampod, Wolfe-bane, or such poysonous meat,
Which made them rave: If he but stirr'd to rise,
Both Ram, and Lamb, and Ewe us'd batteries,
B
To keep him down:
Melampus runs away:
C
The
Bell-Wether's ty'd up; he'd spoyl the play.
D
His Crook is broke, his
Anchor-mark thrown by,
E
All hold, all hope of them they now deny.
His
Tarre-box hath no use, they'll not be smear'd
F
Nor Tarr'd, nor told, for they be not afeard
Of Flyes, or Maggots, they can cure themselves;
Who would have thought Sheep were such peevish elves?
The Shepherd may go whistle with his fist,
And Pipe; but they will ramble as they list:
The whisking Sling with which he wont to scare
With humming stones, the Lion and the Bear,
The Leopard, Fox, Wolfe, and all Beasts of prey,
Ere they came neer his Flock, now stands in stay;
But for a Scare-Crow, and himself may starve,
If Bag and Bottle cannot his turn serve.
The watled Folds broke down, that Whilom kept
The couching Sheep in safety while they slept:
And all this stir was for a lock of Wool,
Which Shepherds yeerly from their coats do pull.
O silly Sheep, and Flock perverse! said I,
Who to save Fleece, will in the Shambles die:
For if the Shepherd will you not defend,
The Butcher, or wilde Beast will be your end.
G
I lookt for some to help, but there was none:
I saw a Shepherd who did sigh and grone,
H
With wondring, weeping looks; two Satyres jeer;
I
Two Shepherds (which did ill become them) fleer;
K
Some Sheep did graze, and some did gaze whilers
L
At this sad sight. Those Shepherds I accoast,
Who pensive seem'd, as if a friend were lost,
And them saluted thus, Hail Shepherd Swains,
That seed your Flocks upon these verdant Plains:
Why help you not you wofull wight distrest,
And made the scorn of every simple beast?
Friend, quoth the one, that others wrongs dost mone,
If thou a Shepherd be, look to thine own;
For Sheep grown mannish, maddish by a weed,
Sown by you Shepherds 'mongst their wholsome feed,
Who laugh to see the work which they have wrought,
Bring Shepherds and their Flocks and all to nought.
But what care they if the mad Sheep rebell
Against their Shepherds, so themselves fare well;
For they can Fleece them more then once a yeer,
And oft with Muttons make themselves good cheer;
Feeding their Flocks still with the ranker grasse,
Which rots them, though a while it makes them passe
For goodly great ones; yet grow worse and worse,
And never will be cur'd by Shepherds purse,
Though some do hold so, nor by Shepherds pains,
Except great Pan with herb Grace cure their brains:
We gladly would assay to set him free,
But that for evill eyes which we do see
Set on our Flocks, to drive them quite away,
Or to make them and us a common prey
To
Sylvans, Satyres, wilde beasts of the Wood,
M
Or to some Shepherds that ne'er watcht for good;
But how to set dissention 'twixt the Flock,
Or to rob Shepherds of Pans down and stock.
For what hath your Herd done to be abused,
Except's for doing what good Shepherds used?
What did his yeerly polling you displease,
What he clips off, if on, 'twould breed disease?
Or else you'ld hang your locks on every bush;
Some clip you closer, whom you never push;
Or is't because his Crook did seldome fail
To catch and pull the Brambles from your tail?
Or are you angry at his Anchor mark,
Which gave him hope to finde you, save i'th dark?
Or at his Tarre-box doth your passion rise,
Because it cur'd your Fly-blown maladies?
Or did he pipe plain Song, without Division,
Good sober Musick, causing no derision?
Or did his rapid Sling offend your ears,
Though whirling stones delivered you from fears?
If these were all his faults, forbear for shame,
Unbinde your Shepherd, and redeem your fame;
Lest Pan, the Shepherds god, who loves no fray,
Leave you to those that watch but for a prey.
With that it thundred, and a voice I knew,
Said, If you will smite these, I'll scatter you.
Which words (I waking) wisht to those that hate
The Churches Peace, and Weal of ENGLANDS State.