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The Shepheardes Calender: August

August: Ægloga Octaua. Willye. Perigot. Cuddie.

Willye.
Ell me Perigot, what shalbe the game,
Wherefore with myne thou dare thy musick matche?
Or bene thy Bagpypes renne farre out of frame?
Or hath the Crampe thy ioynts benomd with ache?
Perigot.
Ah Willye, when the hart is ill assayde,
How can Bagpipe, or ioynts be well apayd?
Willye.
What the foule euill hath thee so bestadde?
Whilom thou was peregall to the best,
And wont to make the iolly shepeheards gladde
With pyping and dauncing, didst passe the rest.
Perigot.
Ah Willye now I haue learnd a newe daunce:
My old musick mard by a newe mischaunce.
Willye.
Mischiefe mought to that newe mischaunce befall,

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poem by Edmund Spenser
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Finally, Colin Farrell showed up on my doorstep, only he wasn't Colin Farrell - he was just this Irish kid who had read the script and wanted to do it.

quote by Robert Towne
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An Orchard Dance

All work is over at the farm
And men and maids are ripe for glee;
Love slips among them sly and warm
Or calls them to the chestnut-tree.
As Colin looks askance at Jane
He draws his hand across his mouth;
She understands the rustic pain,
And something of the tender south
About her milkmaid beauty flits.
Her dress of lilac print for guide
Draws shepherd Colin where she sits,
Who, faring to her lovely side
To snatch his evening pension tries,
But skimming like a bird from clutch
The maid escapes his Cupid touch,
And speeding down a passage flies
Not fast enough to cheat his eyes.
Ah, sweet-lip ways and sweet-lip days,
And sweetheart captures of the waist,
How swiftly still the virgin runs

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poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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The Shepheardes Calender: December

December: Ægloga Duodecima.

He gentle shepheard satte beside a springe,
All in the shadowe of a bushy brere,
That Colin hight, which wel could pype and singe,
For he of Tityrus his songs did lere.
There as he satte in secreate shade alone,
Thus gan he make of loue his piteous mone.
O soueraigne Pan thou God of shepheards all,
Which of our tender Lambkins takest keepe:
And when our flocks into mischaunce mought fall,
Doest save from mischeife the vnwary sheepe:
Als of their maisters hast no lesse regarde,
Then of the flocks, which thou doest watch and ward:

I thee beseche (so be thou deigne to heare,
Rude ditties tund to shepheards Oaten reede,
Or if I euer sonet song so cleare,
As it with pleasaunce mought thy fancie feede)
Hearken awhile from thy greene cabinet,

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poem by Edmund Spenser
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Surfs You Right!

When Colin bought a computer, he didn't know a thing!
So in fact, without a tutor, he spent a lot, ker-ching!

So he plugged it in and waited... The PC screen stayed black!
For a while he hesitated and thought he'd take it back!

What's that? The on switch! There it was! The little so-and-so!
How foolish that he'd been so cross, yet now, all systems go!

An hour later, it calmed down! The Internet could start...
So Colin's forehead lost its frown, now he would soon take part.

The home page loaded, so he stared at small text on the screen,
The poor chap squinting unprepared, no longer quite as keen...

He clicked a link, saw colours change and near collapsed in shock!
'Good God! That site was really strange! ' That's one he had to block!

Another link he chose to try... This time some music played!
The volume had been set too high! He set it down to fade...

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Lucy and Colin

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face,

Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair!
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware!

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poem by Thomas Tickell
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The Shepheardes Calender: Januarie

Januarie: Ægloga Prime. Colin Cloute.

A Shepeheards boye (no better doe him call)
when Winters wastful spight was almost spent,
All in a sunneshine day, as did befall,
Led forth his flock, that had been long ypent.
So faynt they woxe, and feeble in the folde,
That now vnnethes their feete could them vphold.

All as the Sheepe, such was the shepeheards looke,
For pale and wanne he was, (alas the while,)
May seeme he lovd, or els some care he tooke:
Well couth he tune his pipe, and frame his stile.
Tho to a hill his faynting flocke he ledde,
And thus him playnd, the while his shepe there fedde.

Ye gods of loue, that pitie louers payne,
(if any gods the paine of louers pitie):
Looke from aboue, where you in ioyes remaine,
And bowe your eares vnto my doleful dittie.

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poem by Edmund Spenser
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The Shepheardes Calender: June

June: AEgloga Sexta. HOBBINOL & COLIN Cloute.

HOBBINOL.
LO! Collin, here the place, whose pleasaunt syte
From other shades hath weand my wandring mynde.
Tell me, what wants me here, to worke delyte?
The simple ayre, the gentle warbling wynde,
So calme, so coole, as no where else I fynde:
The grassye ground with daintye Daysies dight,
The Bramble bush, where Byrds of euery kynde
To the waters fall their tunes attemper right.

COLLIN.
O happy Hobbinoll, I blesse thy state,
That Paradise hast found, whych Adam lost.
Here wander may thy flock early or late,
Withouten dreade of Wolues to bene ytost:
Thy louely layes here mayet thou freely boste.
But I vnhappy man, whom cruell fate,
And angry Gods pursue from coste to coste,

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poem by Edmund Spenser
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Whiskey In The Jar

As I was goin over the cork and kerry mountains
I saw captain farrell and his money he was countin
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
I said stand and deliver or the devil he may take ya
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
Theres whiskey in the jar-o
I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny
I took all of his money and I brought it home to molly
She swore that shed love me, never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman for you know she tricked me easy
Being drunk and weary I went to mollys chamber
Takin my money with me and I never knew the danger
For about six or maybe seven in walked captain farrell
I jumped up, fired off my pistols and I shot him with both barrels
Now some men like the fishin and some men like the fowlin
And some men like ta hear a cannon ball a roarin
Me I like sleepin specially in my mollys chamber
But here I am in prison, here I am with a ball and chain yeah

song performed by Thin Lizzy
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Whisky In The Jar

As I was goin' over the Cork and Kerry mountains
I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was countin'
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
I said stand o'er and deliver or the devil he may take ya
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny
I took all of his money and I brought it home to Molly
She swore that she'd love me, never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman for you know she tricked me easy
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
Being drunk and weary I went to Molly's chamber
Takin' my money with me and I never knew the danger
For about six or maybe seven in walked Captain Farrell
I jumped up, fired off my pistols and I shot him with both barrels

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song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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