The Shepherds Glory:
OR,
A pleasant Song o' th Shepherd Swain,
Who feed their Flocks upon the plain:
Whose Arms and Honour far out-shines
The Coesar's and great Constantines.
To the Tune of, True love rewarded with loyalty: Or, Flora Farewel.
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NOw I am in a merry vein,
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I'le sing about the Shepherd Swain;
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Who night and day the Fields do keep,
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To wait upon the flocks of Sheep.
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In Royal Tombs some of them lye,
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And are of great Antiquity:
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Their Ancientry quite out doth run,
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To Father Adams second Son,
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Who though he was by's Brother slain,
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Yet first he was a Shepherd Swain;
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Who did a Lamb to'th Alter bring,
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And made it his burnt-Offering.
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The Lamb was innocent from harms,
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And thence became the Shepherds Arms:
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The ignorant do little know,
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The Royal Escutcheons they can show.
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The Second part, the same Tune.
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THe next man that i' th field appears,
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Was Abraham with his Ram i' th briers,
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But if he lead them in the Hain,
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A Whistle brings them back again.
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And Jacob gain'd the Cherubim,
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When th' Angel was o'recome by him:
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Where like a Prince he did prevail,
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And chang'd his name to Israel.
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The Knitter and the Taylor too,
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Without the Fleece can little do:
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Were it not for the Shepherd Swain,
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The Wheel and Loom were made in vain.
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And Moses brought the Bush on fire,
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And joyn'd to Abrahams Ram i'th Brier:
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And Judah Father of the Kings,
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The mighty Couching Lyon brings.
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A Bear and Lyon both were slain,
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When David was a Shepherd swain:
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Three Shepherds came from East so far,
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Their onely guide the Shepherds star.
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These were the tydings they did bring,
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To Israel is born a King:
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And David us'd the staff and sling,
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Before that he was Judah's King.
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But when he had Goliah slain,
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He left those Army to'th shepherd swain:
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Which in those days were of Renown,
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When Moses spurn'd at Pharoahs Crown.
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And left the Court and took the Fields,
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Which braver sport and pleasure yields:
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Which are bestrew'd with pleasant flowers,
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And are bedew'd with Chrystial showers.
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Which makes their Beauty to excell,
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And send forth a most fragrant smell:
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Where Nightingales i'th Bushes sing,
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For to salute the early spring.
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Where towering Larks do soar on high,
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In consort, making Melody:
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Where Chanting Birds i'th woods do sing
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Which makes the hallow Vallies ring.
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Where flocks of sheep slaight on the dounds,
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And shepherds guide and keep their bounds:
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And lead them into Valleys green,
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Where chrystial streams, the hills between.
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Do trickle down and freely spring,
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Which makes the shepherd swains to sing:
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A Horned sheep a Bell doth Ring,
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And guides the rest much like a King.
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And from the hot and scorching Sun,
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The Groves do shade the flock at Noon:
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The Shepherd with his Pipe and Reed,
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Makes Melody, while they do feed.
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A Box of Tar a Dog doth bear,
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Which is for Sheep an Oyntment rare:
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The use whereof all Shepherds know,
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Therefore in vain the Fly doth blow.
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Though Frost and snow do pinch with cold,
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The Shepherd will not leave his Fold:
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And carefully his flock doth feed,
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But doth supply what else they need.
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And while the Ews do eat their Hay,
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The Lambs do frisk about and play:
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The Shepherd's pleas'd for to behold,
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The Lambs a dancing round the Fold.
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None with the Shepherd may compare,
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For useful and substantial Ware:
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'Tis with the Fleece that Women Spin,
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And so the Weaving trade comes in.
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Now Shepherds I leave you all,
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To him that doth and ever shall;
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Who can alone in safety keep,
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The pleasant Shepherds and their Sheep.
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