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'dF
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 whilersL
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.