The Royal Lady's Magazine/Series 1/Volume 2/July 1831/Cuddy Clew
CUDDY CLEW;
A PASTORAL.
By the Ettrick Shepherd.
Cuddy rasé ae morn in June,
Clear the sky, an' sweet the weather;
Man an' beast was light an' boon,
An' the birds o' ilka feather:
Cuddy don'd his hase an' shoon,
Gae a grane wi langsame croon,
Then a sigh that tawld o'er soon,
His paar heart was aut o' tune,
An' a' gane wrang wi him thegither.
Clear the sky, an' sweet the weather;
Man an' beast was light an' boon,
An' the birds o' ilka feather:
Cuddy don'd his hase an' shoon,
Gae a grane wi langsame croon,
Then a sigh that tawld o'er soon,
His paar heart was aut o' tune,
An' a' gane wrang wi him thegither.
Cuddy kaimed his yellow hair,
Gant it o'er his shoulders scatter;
Shaved his beard completely bare,
Wash'd his face wi' saep an' watery
Dried it wi' his laiby well,
Fawdit back his braid lapell,
Pray'd a prayer, as I heard tell,
For defence against a spell,
O' the which he'd gat a smatter.
Gant it o'er his shoulders scatter;
Shaved his beard completely bare,
Wash'd his face wi' saep an' watery
Dried it wi' his laiby well,
Fawdit back his braid lapell,
Pray'd a prayer, as I heard tell,
For defence against a spell,
O' the which he'd gat a smatter.
Cuddy took his kent an' plaid,
On his colley gae a whew,
Took the brae wi aching head,
Heavy heart and sickly hue;
Love had play'd him sic a smirl,
Ae blink frae a pawky girl,
Through his heart gaed wi' a thirl,
That gurt a' his veetals dirl,
Wae's my heart for Cuddy Clew.
On his colley gae a whew,
Took the brae wi aching head,
Heavy heart and sickly hue;
Love had play'd him sic a smirl,
Ae blink frae a pawky girl,
Through his heart gaed wi' a thirl,
That gurt a' his veetals dirl,
Wae's my heart for Cuddy Clew.
Cappy[1] Cuddy's colley true,
Caper'd round an' round uncum'erd;
Trawkin mawkins 'mang the dew,
Snawkin' after tod or soumart;
Sometimes paintin like a setter,
Free o' fear an' free o' fetter,
At a laverock or whenchetter,
Or a mouse for lack o' better,
Cappy was nae gowk nor gloamart.
Caper'd round an' round uncum'erd;
Trawkin mawkins 'mang the dew,
Snawkin' after tod or soumart;
Sometimes paintin like a setter,
Free o' fear an' free o' fetter,
At a laverock or whenchetter,
Or a mouse for lack o' better,
Cappy was nae gowk nor gloamart.
"My brave tike ye little trow,
What your master's doom'd to dree;
Love is a' unkind to you,
An' the pangs that torture me."
Cappy gae a look sae slee,
There was meaning in his e'e,
Language plain, as plain could be;
I could read it—so could ye—
Haslins guess it certainlye.
What your master's doom'd to dree;
Love is a' unkind to you,
An' the pangs that torture me."
Cappy gae a look sae slee,
There was meaning in his e'e,
Language plain, as plain could be;
I could read it—so could ye—
Haslins guess it certainlye.
"Master, mine ye little ken,
What we thole for female messans;
Tikes are ten times waur nor men,
Only they despise confessin's;
But little said will soonest mend,
Keenest love will quickest end;
Still on this ye may depend,
Whate'er maidens may pretend,
Nought delights them mair than pressin's.'
What we thole for female messans;
Tikes are ten times waur nor men,
Only they despise confessin's;
But little said will soonest mend,
Keenest love will quickest end;
Still on this ye may depend,
Whate'er maidens may pretend,
Nought delights them mair than pressin's.'
At that moment, Cappy's tail
Heaved up like a bendit bow,
He smelt a smell alangst the gale,
Or heard a voice ayant the knowe;
An' wha was this but Robin Rhynde?
Gala's young an' blithesome hind,
Wi' his dog of savage mind,
Of the pepper mustard kind,
Blithesome sight to Cuddy Clew.
Heaved up like a bendit bow,
He smelt a smell alangst the gale,
Or heard a voice ayant the knowe;
An' wha was this but Robin Rhynde?
Gala's young an' blithesome hind,
Wi' his dog of savage mind,
Of the pepper mustard kind,
Blithesome sight to Cuddy Clew.
But hardly sae to honest Cappy,
Wha aroused him to his mettle;
Weel he ken'd that terrier snappy,
But a drubbing wad na settle;
Often had he shaked him, flung him,
Taw'd him, towzled him, and wrung him,
But had never fairly dung him;
An' though Robin Rhynde wad rung him,
He wad at the thrapple hing,
Hoffat lug or ony thing,
While his een wad five-flaughts fling,
Cappy wish'd the folks had strung him.
Wha aroused him to his mettle;
Weel he ken'd that terrier snappy,
But a drubbing wad na settle;
Often had he shaked him, flung him,
Taw'd him, towzled him, and wrung him,
But had never fairly dung him;
An' though Robin Rhynde wad rung him,
He wad at the thrapple hing,
Hoffat lug or ony thing,
While his een wad five-flaughts fling,
Cappy wish'd the folks had strung him.
Leaving these twa tikes to grumble,
Round an' round wi' birsy backs,
Or in deadly tulzie tumble,
Eiry o' the coming thwacks;
Let us list wi' patient seeming,
Our twa herds wi' wisdom teeming,
In their blaming or esteeming,
Nature's loveliest work the women,
What sae grand as shepherd's cracks.
Round an' round wi' birsy backs,
Or in deadly tulzie tumble,
Eiry o' the coming thwacks;
Let us list wi' patient seeming,
Our twa herds wi' wisdom teeming,
In their blaming or esteeming,
Nature's loveliest work the women,
What sae grand as shepherd's cracks.
ROBIN.
Good-morrow, honest Cuddy Clew,
What for looks your nose sae blue?
Say, has your spirit been in pain,
Or ha'ye been dead an' risen again,
For something has befa'n uncommon?
Ah! 'tis woman! woman! woman!
Good-morrow, honest Cuddy Clew,
What for looks your nose sae blue?
Say, has your spirit been in pain,
Or ha'ye been dead an' risen again,
For something has befa'n uncommon?
Ah! 'tis woman! woman! woman!
CUDDY.
I'll tell you Robin what I think,
Your hame surmise I winna blink;
I think that a' fate's pranks an' peals,
That a' the gods an' a' the deils,
Hae not the power sic grief to gie men,
As hae these curs'd confoundit women.
I'll tell you Robin what I think,
Your hame surmise I winna blink;
I think that a' fate's pranks an' peals,
That a' the gods an' a' the deils,
Hae not the power sic grief to gie men,
As hae these curs'd confoundit women.
ROBIN.
Now by—that thing the maist endearing—
(An' Gude forgive me for 'maist swearing)
There's nought sae blasphemous to me,
As such a sweeping calumny;
Ah, lovely woman! Thou wast sent,
For man's delight, and temperament;
Without thy beauty, and thy grace,
This world had been a dreary place;
Without thy smile an' angel mein,
What savages had mankind been!
Now by—that thing the maist endearing—
(An' Gude forgive me for 'maist swearing)
There's nought sae blasphemous to me,
As such a sweeping calumny;
Ah, lovely woman! Thou wast sent,
For man's delight, and temperament;
Without thy beauty, and thy grace,
This world had been a dreary place;
Without thy smile an' angel mein,
What savages had mankind been!
CUDDY.
Stop Robin, stop, if but for shame,
An' tak' some reason wi' your rhame;
Answer these questions if you can:
Wha was't lost Paradise to man,
And all our race to ruin hurl'd?
Wha lost Mark Anthony the world?
Wha was't the capital betray'd?
And ancient Troy, in ashes laid?
An' wha has led the way to crime
An' error, since the birth o' time.
Stop Robin, stop, if but for shame,
An' tak' some reason wi' your rhame;
Answer these questions if you can:
Wha was't lost Paradise to man,
And all our race to ruin hurl'd?
Wha lost Mark Anthony the world?
Wha was't the capital betray'd?
And ancient Troy, in ashes laid?
An' wha has led the way to crime
An' error, since the birth o' time.
ROBIN.
'Tis most ungenerous, Cuddy Clew,
To rake up chances, far and few;
An' blame the flower of nature's reign,
For mankind's faults an' crimes profane.
You should remember, she's our own,
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
And never to be trampled on.
Such language would have been unmeet,
Had she been taken from man's feet;
But as she's taken from that part,
The portion nearest to the heart,
'Tis hers, to be most fondly nourish'd,
Beloved, an' in his bosom cherish'd.
'Tis most ungenerous, Cuddy Clew,
To rake up chances, far and few;
An' blame the flower of nature's reign,
For mankind's faults an' crimes profane.
You should remember, she's our own,
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
And never to be trampled on.
Such language would have been unmeet,
Had she been taken from man's feet;
But as she's taken from that part,
The portion nearest to the heart,
'Tis hers, to be most fondly nourish'd,
Beloved, an' in his bosom cherish'd.
CUDDY.
Stop, lad, again—consult your brief:
Man had nae hand in this mischief;
But just lay snoozing, weel content,
Else, he had never gi'en consent.
But soon did she frae faith estrange,
Impatient then, as now, for change,
The very first deil that she saw,
She took the blink, an' brak the law;
Now wha can show a creature grace,
That for an apple, d———'d her race?
Stop, lad, again—consult your brief:
Man had nae hand in this mischief;
But just lay snoozing, weel content,
Else, he had never gi'en consent.
But soon did she frae faith estrange,
Impatient then, as now, for change,
The very first deil that she saw,
She took the blink, an' brak the law;
Now wha can show a creature grace,
That for an apple, d———'d her race?
ROBIN.
Sic blasphemy, I canna hear,
Gainst all that's lovely, all that's dear.
Man, when created, there's nae doubt,
Just wander'd like a stump about,
Amang his vassal beasts forlorn,
Gaping an' glowring ilka morn,
As birds sat cooing on the tree,
Hymning their love-sick melody.
But when the heaven-born maid was framed,
And first by him embraced and named,
Methinks, I see the ardour rise,
In gleams of his impassion'd eyes,
And list the pathos of his tongue,
When words were few, and love was young.
The virgin's soft an' sunny eye,
The downcast look, the blush, the sigh,
The floating hair, the modest frame,
The thousand beauties yet to name;
What glories both in heaven and earth,
His soul that moment brought to birth.
Love look'd through maze of nameless blisses,
Of thousand joys, and thousand kisses.
Sic blasphemy, I canna hear,
Gainst all that's lovely, all that's dear.
Man, when created, there's nae doubt,
Just wander'd like a stump about,
Amang his vassal beasts forlorn,
Gaping an' glowring ilka morn,
As birds sat cooing on the tree,
Hymning their love-sick melody.
But when the heaven-born maid was framed,
And first by him embraced and named,
Methinks, I see the ardour rise,
In gleams of his impassion'd eyes,
And list the pathos of his tongue,
When words were few, and love was young.
The virgin's soft an' sunny eye,
The downcast look, the blush, the sigh,
The floating hair, the modest frame,
The thousand beauties yet to name;
What glories both in heaven and earth,
His soul that moment brought to birth.
Love look'd through maze of nameless blisses,
Of thousand joys, and thousand kisses.
CUDDY.
Why, Rob, 'tis kend you're woman mad,
But ere we part, I'll make you glad
In my opinion to combine,
And brand the sex with woes condign.
First, tell me this, and tell me true,
What is it woman cannot do?
Whoever tries to sum, or reads
The onward course of her misdeeds,
Right downward from the rueful time,
That beauty register'd with crime,
Will find, that woman's power alone,
Can change the church, pervert the throne,
Bring down the conqueror to his knee,
And baffle pomp and pedigree.
Nay, she can nature's course defy,
Make cowards fight, and heroes fly;
Draw back the miser from the mine,
The bigot from his holy shrine,
To plunge in sins, denounced and fear'd,
And lead the prelate by the beard;
Make armies rally, or disperse,
And so derange the universe,
That man might ween o'er his domain,
Nature had dropp'd the regal rein,
And given up the supreme command,
To woman's weak and erring hand.
Refute these dogmas, if you can,
Or own, that she's the plague of man.
Why, Rob, 'tis kend you're woman mad,
But ere we part, I'll make you glad
In my opinion to combine,
And brand the sex with woes condign.
First, tell me this, and tell me true,
What is it woman cannot do?
Whoever tries to sum, or reads
The onward course of her misdeeds,
Right downward from the rueful time,
That beauty register'd with crime,
Will find, that woman's power alone,
Can change the church, pervert the throne,
Bring down the conqueror to his knee,
And baffle pomp and pedigree.
Nay, she can nature's course defy,
Make cowards fight, and heroes fly;
Draw back the miser from the mine,
The bigot from his holy shrine,
To plunge in sins, denounced and fear'd,
And lead the prelate by the beard;
Make armies rally, or disperse,
And so derange the universe,
That man might ween o'er his domain,
Nature had dropp'd the regal rein,
And given up the supreme command,
To woman's weak and erring hand.
Refute these dogmas, if you can,
Or own, that she's the plague of man.
ROBIN.
Such general censure, at the best,
Is a miscellany, confest,
Of downright nonsense. Woman may,
With better proof, pretend to say,
She would have purer, happier been,
If man on earth had ne'er been seen.
Such general censure, at the best,
Is a miscellany, confest,
Of downright nonsense. Woman may,
With better proof, pretend to say,
She would have purer, happier been,
If man on earth had ne'er been seen.
CUDDY.
Sooth, Rob, there's naething truly wicked,
But what they learn mankind a trick o't.
They lead a young man like a snool,
To caper, dance, an' play the fool;
To babble nonsense, and when done,
To shoot, or hang himself, for fun.
Woman can set the world in jar,
Can turn peace into deadly war,
Can turn man's reason upside down,
And make him dance upon his crown;
Can turn a priest into a woman,
A stalwart quean afraid of no man,
Then turn him out. And as you ken,
His wig into a cloakin hen.
And lastly, in this grand appeal,
Can she not make a shepherd feel
Her sovereign power, an' stern controul,
By turning him into an owl,
A puling prig.—an' worst of a',
His nose into a lobster claw?
'Tis plain, that by their wicked craft,
They've dung me dailt, an' put you daft,
An' that's enough, as you may see,
To settle points 'tween you and me.
Sooth, Rob, there's naething truly wicked,
But what they learn mankind a trick o't.
They lead a young man like a snool,
To caper, dance, an' play the fool;
To babble nonsense, and when done,
To shoot, or hang himself, for fun.
Woman can set the world in jar,
Can turn peace into deadly war,
Can turn man's reason upside down,
And make him dance upon his crown;
Can turn a priest into a woman,
A stalwart quean afraid of no man,
Then turn him out. And as you ken,
His wig into a cloakin hen.
And lastly, in this grand appeal,
Can she not make a shepherd feel
Her sovereign power, an' stern controul,
By turning him into an owl,
A puling prig.—an' worst of a',
His nose into a lobster claw?
'Tis plain, that by their wicked craft,
They've dung me dailt, an' put you daft,
An' that's enough, as you may see,
To settle points 'tween you and me.
ROBIN.
No; though your sweeping accusation,
Deserves not, needs not, confutation;
Let me describe her, stage by stage,
Through youth, through womanhood, and age;
Virtuous and lovely, I must show her,
For these are nature's doweries to her;
A being, made for social bliss,
And all exceptions, I dismiss.
Then tell me, as I go along,
Where I am painting woman wrong.
Before fifteen,—is ought we see,
So full of innocence and glee;
The buoyant step, the eye of gladness,
The heart devoid of sin and sadness,
The slender form, approaching woman,
The stem, that shows the bud is comin'
The spring of life, with blink and shower,
The April of the female flower;
That tells in language most express,
The coming summer's loveliness.
Then mark the first vibrations kind,
That ripen in the female mind;
Fondness, for helpless infancy,
Pity, for age and poverty;
Joy o'er a flowret's opening blade,
And grief when it begins te fade;
O, I do love with all my heart,
A thing so sweet, so void of art;
And nought on earth's so pure I ween,
As blooming maid below fifteen.
No; though your sweeping accusation,
Deserves not, needs not, confutation;
Let me describe her, stage by stage,
Through youth, through womanhood, and age;
Virtuous and lovely, I must show her,
For these are nature's doweries to her;
A being, made for social bliss,
And all exceptions, I dismiss.
Then tell me, as I go along,
Where I am painting woman wrong.
Before fifteen,—is ought we see,
So full of innocence and glee;
The buoyant step, the eye of gladness,
The heart devoid of sin and sadness,
The slender form, approaching woman,
The stem, that shows the bud is comin'
The spring of life, with blink and shower,
The April of the female flower;
That tells in language most express,
The coming summer's loveliness.
Then mark the first vibrations kind,
That ripen in the female mind;
Fondness, for helpless infancy,
Pity, for age and poverty;
Joy o'er a flowret's opening blade,
And grief when it begins te fade;
O, I do love with all my heart,
A thing so sweet, so void of art;
And nought on earth's so pure I ween,
As blooming maid below fifteen.
CUDDY.
Weel, weel—gaung on—another feature,
I own I rather like the creature,
An' felt, what I thought ne'er to dree,
A tear-drap prinklin' in my e'e.
Weel, weel—gaung on—another feature,
I own I rather like the creature,
An' felt, what I thought ne'er to dree,
A tear-drap prinklin' in my e'e.
ROBIN.
Then Summer comes, in all her beauty,
Radiant with smiles of love and duty;
The flowers of heaven are showered around us,
That dazzle, pleasure, and confound us;
The mould so framed for love's caress,
That shrinks from its own loveliness;
The liquid eye, whose every blink,
Says more than human heart can think;
As welling from that fountain bright,
Where genuine love first springs to light;
Its language has a thrilling spell,
Beyond what tongue of man can tell:
The flowing glossy locks that shine,
With tints, that almost seem divine;
The cheeks! The lips! The arch'd eyebrow!
Slanderer insane! Where are you now?
Then Summer comes, in all her beauty,
Radiant with smiles of love and duty;
The flowers of heaven are showered around us,
That dazzle, pleasure, and confound us;
The mould so framed for love's caress,
That shrinks from its own loveliness;
The liquid eye, whose every blink,
Says more than human heart can think;
As welling from that fountain bright,
Where genuine love first springs to light;
Its language has a thrilling spell,
Beyond what tongue of man can tell:
The flowing glossy locks that shine,
With tints, that almost seem divine;
The cheeks! The lips! The arch'd eyebrow!
Slanderer insane! Where are you now?
CUDDY.
Go on—go on, man, stop not there;
That's mighty grand, I must declare;
Woman, for all her perverse nature,
Is, without doubt, a lovely creature;
I never said that she was not.
A virgin without stain or blot
Is such a treasure—one forgets,
But———the jilts, and the coquettes;
Ah, Robin, had I not believed,
That I was loved, and been deceived,
I would, like you, I must aver,
Have been a woman worshipper,
Plague on them! They have marr'd me quite,
Of temper, reason, and delight.
Go on—go on—'tis most beseemin;
Another spell at female women.
Go on—go on, man, stop not there;
That's mighty grand, I must declare;
Woman, for all her perverse nature,
Is, without doubt, a lovely creature;
I never said that she was not.
A virgin without stain or blot
Is such a treasure—one forgets,
But———the jilts, and the coquettes;
Ah, Robin, had I not believed,
That I was loved, and been deceived,
I would, like you, I must aver,
Have been a woman worshipper,
Plague on them! They have marr'd me quite,
Of temper, reason, and delight.
Go on—go on—'tis most beseemin;
Another spell at female women.
ROBIN.
Then must I paint the vale of life,
The loving and the virtuous wife;
For vinirg beauty's undefined,
And blooms beyond the bourn of mind;
A gem all other gems supreme of,
A thing that man should hardly dream of,
And sooth the married life to me
Seems fraught with such felicity,
Such chasten'd love and natural meetness,
Such multiform and holy sweetness;
That to describe it like a man,
Both as I should and as I can,—
The tender mother's eye so mild,
First turned to father, then to child;
The heavenly breathings of her tongue,
O'er her beloved and helpless young;
O, these would leave us so love-lorn,
We'd both be married ere the morn.
Then must I paint the vale of life,
The loving and the virtuous wife;
For vinirg beauty's undefined,
And blooms beyond the bourn of mind;
A gem all other gems supreme of,
A thing that man should hardly dream of,
And sooth the married life to me
Seems fraught with such felicity,
Such chasten'd love and natural meetness,
Such multiform and holy sweetness;
That to describe it like a man,
Both as I should and as I can,—
The tender mother's eye so mild,
First turned to father, then to child;
The heavenly breathings of her tongue,
O'er her beloved and helpless young;
O, these would leave us so love-lorn,
We'd both be married ere the morn.
CUDDY.
Robin, you needna fash to-day,
My heart's beginning to give way;
I find for all my stern device,
Nature too strong for prejudice;
When next we meet, you may opine,
Our sentiments will maist combine;
Farewell, dear Robin. I must run!
Come, Cappy, is your quarrel done?
Robin, you needna fash to-day,
My heart's beginning to give way;
I find for all my stern device,
Nature too strong for prejudice;
When next we meet, you may opine,
Our sentiments will maist combine;
Farewell, dear Robin. I must run!
Come, Cappy, is your quarrel done?
- ↑ Cappy.—The familiar appellative for the name Captain.