The Works of Michael Drayton :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of Michael Drayton

Edited by J. William Hebel

Drayton, Michael (1563-1631)

VOLUME I

II.

VOLUME II

III.

VOLUME III

IV.

VOLUME IV

POLY-OLBION.

THE SECOND PART, OR A CONTINVANCE OF POLY-OLBION

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IV. VOLUME IV

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Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

POLY-OLBION.

or A Chorographicall Description of Tracts, Riuers, Mountaines, Forests, and other Parts of this renowned Isle of Great Britaine, With intermixture of the most Remarquable Stories, Antiquities, Wonders, Rarityes, Pleasures, and Commodities of the same: Digested in a Poem By MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esq. With a Table added, for direction to those occurrences of Story and Antiquitie, whereunto the Course of the Volume easily leades not.

TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTIE, HENRIE, PRINCE OF WALES.

UPON THE FRONTISPICE.

Through a Triumphant Arch, see Albion plas't,
In Happy site, in Neptunes armes embras't,
In Power and Plenty, on hir Cleevy Throne
Circled with Natures Ghirlands, being alone
Stil'd th'Oceans

Insula Cæruli.

Island. On the Columnes beene
(As Trophies raiz'd) what Princes Time hath seene
Ambitious of her. In hir yonger years,
Vast Earth-bred Giants woo'd her: but, who bears
In

So Havillan & Upton anciently delivered. I justifie it not; yet, as well as others can his other attributed Arms, I might.

Golden field the Lion passantred,
Æneas Nephew (Brute) them conquered.
Next, Laureat Cæsar, as a Philtre, brings,
On's shield, his Grandame

Object not, that it should be the Eagle, because it is now borne by the Emperors; and that some Heralds ignorantly publish it, as J. Cæsars Coat, Double headed. They move me not; for plainly the Eagle was single at that time (unles you call it Οιωνων Βασιληα διδυμον, as Pindar doth Joves Eagle) and but newly us'd among the Romans (first by Marius) as their Standard, not otherwise, untill afterward Constantine made it respect the two Empires: and since, it hath beene borne on a Shield. I tooke Venus proper to him, for that the stamp of hir face (she being his Ancestor Æneas his mother) in his Coins is frequent; and can so maintaine it here fitter, then many of those invented Coats (without colour of reason) attributed to the old Heroes. As for matter of Armory, Venus being a Goddesse may be as good Bearing, if not better then Atalanta, which, by expresse Authority of Euripides, was borne, in the Theban warre by Parthenopœus.

Venus: Him hir Kings
Withstood. At length, the Roman, by long sute,
Gain'd her (most Part) from th'ancient race of Brute.
Divors't from Him, the Saxon

Hengist hath other Armes in some traditions, which are to be respected as Old wives fictions. His name expresses a Horse, and the Dukes of Saxony are said to have borne it anciently, before their Christianity, Sable: therfore, if you give him any, with most reason, let him have this.

sable Horse,
Borne by sterne Hengist, wins her: but, through force
Garding the

The common Blazon of the Norman Armes justifies it. And, if you please, see for it to the XI. Canto.

Norman Leopards bath'd in Gules,
She chang'd hir Love to Him, whose Line yet rules.

[Britaine, behold here portray'd, to thy sight]

Britaine, behold here portray'd, to thy sight,
Henry, thy best hope, and the world's delight;
Ordain'd to make thy eight Great Henries, nine:
Who, by that vertue in the trebble Trine,
To his owne goodnesse (in his Being) brings
These severall Glories of th'eight English Kings;
Deep (1) Knowledge, (2) Greatnes, (3) long Life, (4) Policy,
(5) Courage, (6) Zeale, (7) Fortune, (8) awfull Majestie.

The severall happinesses of the eight Henries.

He like great Neptune on

The West, North, and East Ocean.

three Seas shall rove,
And rule three Realms, with triple power like Jove;
Thus in soft Peace, thus in tempestuous Warres,
Till from his foote, his Fame shall strike the starres.

POLY-OLBION.

The first Song.

The Argument.

The sprightly Muse her wing displaies,
And the French Ilands first survaies;
Beares-up with Neptune, and in glory
Transcends proud Cornwalls Promontorie;
There crownes Mount-Michaell, and discries
How all those Riverets fall and rise;
Then takes in Tamer, as shee bounds
The Cornish and Devonian grounds.
And whilst the Devonshire-Nymphes relate
Their loves, their fortunes, and estate,
Dert undertaketh to revive
Our Brute, and sings his first arrive:
Then North-ward to the verge shee bends,
And her first Song at Ax shee ends.

Of Albions glorious Ile the Wonders whilst I write,
The sundry varying soyles, the pleasures infinite
(Where heate kills not the cold, nor cold expells the heat,
The calmes too mildly small, nor winds too roughly great,
Nor night doth hinder day, nor day the night doth wrong,
The Summer not too short, the Winter not too long)
What helpe shall I invoke to ayde my Muse the while?

Thou Genius of the place (this most renowned Ile)
Which livedst long before the All-earth-drowning Flood,
Whilst yet the world did swarme with her Gigantick brood;
Goe thou before me still thy circling shores about,
And in this wandring Maze helpe to conduct me out:
Direct my course so right, as with thy hand to showe
Which way thy Forrests range, which way thy Rivers flowe;
Wise Genius, by thy helpe that so I may discry
How thy faire Mountaines stand, and how thy Vallyes lie;

From those cleere pearlie Cleeves which see the Mornings pride,
And check the surlie Impes of Neptune when they chide,
Unto the big-swolne waves in the

The Western or Spanish Ocean.

Iberian streame,
Where Titan still unyokes his fiery-hoofed Teame,
And oft his flaming locks in lushious Nectar steepes,
When from Olympus top he plungeth in the Deepes:
That from

The coast of little Britaine in France.

th'Armorick sands, on surging Neptunes leas
Through the Hibernick Gulfe (those rough Vergivian seas)
My verse with wings of skill may flie a loftie gate,
As Amphitrite clips this Iland Fortunate,
Till through the sleepy Maine to

The furthest Ile in the British Ocean.

Thuly I have gone,
And seene the frozen Iles, the cold

The Sea upon the north of Scotland.

Ducalidon,
Amongst whose Iron rockes grym Saturne yet remaines,
Bound in those gloomie Caves with Adamantine chaines.

Yee sacred

The old British Poets.

Bards, that to your Harps melodious strings
Sung th'ancient Heroës deeds (the monuments of Kings)
And in your dreadfull verse ingrav'd the prophecies,
The aged worlds descents, and Genealogies;
If, as those

Priests amongst the ancient Britaines.

Druides taught, which kept the British rites,
And dwelt in darksome Groves, there counsailing with sprites
(But their opinions faild, by error led awry,
As since cleere truth hath shew'd to their posteritie)
When these our soules by death our bodies doe forsake,
They instantlie againe doe other bodies take;
I could have wisht your spirits redoubled in my breast,
To give my verse applause, to times eternall rest.

Thus scarcelie said the Muse, but hovering while she hung
Upon the

The French Seas.

Celtick wastes, the Sea-Nymphes loudlie sung:
O ever-happie Iles, your heads so high that beare,
By Nature stronglie fenc't, which never need to feare
On Neptunes watry Realmes when Eolus raiseth warres,
And every billow bounds, as though to quench the starres:
Faire Jersey first of these heere scattred in the Deepe,
Peculiarlie that boast'st thy double-horned sheepe:
Inferior nor to thee, thou Jernsey, bravelie crown'd
With rough-imbatteld rocks, whose venom-hating ground
The hardned Emerill hath, which thou abroad doost send:
Thou Ligon, her belov'd, and Serk, that doost attend
Her pleasure everie howre; as Jethow, them at need,
With Phesants, fallow Deere, and Conies that doost feed:

Yee seaven small sister Iles, and Sorlings, which to see
The halfe-sunk sea-man joyes, or whatsoe're you be,
From fruitfull Aurney, neere the ancient Celtick shore,
To Ushant and the Seames, whereas those Nunnes of yore
Gave answers from their Caves, and tooke what shapes they please:
Ye happie Ilands set within the British Seas,
With shrill and jocund shouts, th'unmeasur'd deepes awake,
And let the Gods of Sea their secret Bowres forsake,
Whilst our industrious Muse great Britaine forth shall bring,
Crown'd with those glorious wreathes that beautifie the Spring;
And whilst greene Thetis Nymphes, with many an amorous lay
Sing our Invention safe unto her long-wisht Bay.
Upon the utmost end of Cornwalls furrowing beake,
Where

A small Iland upon the very point of Cornwall.

Bresan from the Land the tilting waves doth breake;
The shore let her transcend, the

A hill lying out, as an elbowe of land, into the Sea.

Promont to discry,
And viewe about the Point th'unnumbred Fowle that fly.
Some, rising like a storme from off the troubled sand,
Seeme in their hovering flight to shadow all the land;
Some, sitting on the beach to prune their painted breasts,
As if both earth and aire they onelie did possesse.
Whence, climing to the Cleeves, her selfe she firmlie sets
The Bourns, the Brooks, the Becks, the Rills, the Rivilets,
Exactlie to derive; receiving in her way
That straightned tongue of Land, where, at Mount-Michaells Bay,
Rude Neptune cutting in, a cantle forth doth take;
And, on the other side, Hayles vaster mouth doth make
A Chersonese thereof, the corner clipping in:
Where to th'industrious Muse the Mount doth thus begin;

Before thou further passe, and leave this setting shore,
Whose Townes unto the Saints that lived heere of yore
(Their fasting, works, & pray'rs, remaining to our shames)
Were rear'd, and justly call'd by their peculiar names,
The builders honour still; this due and let them have,
As deigne to drop a teare upon each holie Grave;
Whose charitie and zeale, in steed of knowledge stood:
For, surely in themselves they were right simply good.
If, credulous too much, thereby th'offended heaven
In their devout intents, yet be their sinnes forgiven.
Then from his rugged top the teares downe trickling fell;
And in his passion stirr'd, againe began to tell

Strange things, that in his daies times course had brought to pass,
That fortie miles now Sea, sometimes firme fore-land was;
And that a Forrest then, which now with him is Flood,
Whereof he first was call'd the Hoare-Rock in the Wood;
Relating then how long this soile had laine forlorne,
As that her Genius now had almost her forsworne,
And of their ancient love did utterly repent,
Sith to destroy her selfe that fatall toole she lent
By which th'insatiate slave her intrailes out doth draw,
That thrusts his gripple hand into her golden mawe;
And for his part doth wish, that it were in his power
To let the Ocean in, her wholly to devoure.

Which, Hayle doth over-heare, and much doth blame his rage,
And told him (to his teeth) hee doated with his age.
For Hayle (a lustie Nymph, bent all to amorous play,
And having quicke recourse into the Severne Sea
With Neptunes Pages oft disporting in the Deepe;
One never touch't with care; but how her selfe to keepe
In excellent estate) doth thus againe intreate;
Muse, leave the wayward Mount to his distempred heate,
Who nothing can produce but what doth taste of spight:
Ile shew thee things of ours most worthy thy delight.
Behold our Diamonds heere, as in the quarr's they stand,
By Nature neatly cut, as by a skilfull hand,
Who varieth them in formes, both curiouslie and oft;
Which for shee (wanting power) produceth them too soft,
That vertue which she could not liberallie impart,
Shee striveth to amend by her owne proper Art.
Besides, the Seaholme heere, that spreadeth all our shore,
The sick consuming man so powerfull to restore:
Whose roote th'Eringo is, the reines that doth inflame
So stronglie to performe the Cytheræan game,
That generally approov'd, both farre and neere is sought.
And our Main-Amber heere, and Burien Trophy, thought
Much wrongd, not yet preferd for wonders with the rest.

But, the laborious Muse, upon her journey prest,
Thus uttereth to her selfe; To guide my course aright,
What Mound or steddie Mere is offered to my sight
Upon this out-stretcht Arme, whilst sayling heere at ease,
Betwixt the Southern waste, and the Sabrinian seas,

I view those wanton Brookes, that waxing, still doe wane;
That scarcelie can conceive, but brought to bed againe;
Scarce rising from the Spring (that is their naturall Mother)
To growe into a streame, but buried in another.
When Chore doth call her on, that wholly doth betake
Her selfe unto the Loo; transform'd into a Lake,
Through that impatient love shee had to entertaine
The lustfull Neptune oft; whom when his wracks restraine,
Impatient of the wrong, impetuouslie hee raves:
And in his ragefull flowe, the furious King of waves,
Breaks foming o're the Beach, whom nothing seemes to coole,
Till he have wrought his will on that capacious Poole:
Where Menedge, by his Brookes, a

A place almost invironed with water, welneer an Iland.

Chersonese is cast,
Widening the slender shore to ease it in the wast;
A Promont jutting out into the dropping South,
That with his threatning cleeves in horrid Neptunes mouth,
Derides him and his power: nor cares how him he greets.
Next, Roseland (as his friend, the mightier Menedge) meets
Great Neptune when he swells, and rageth at the Rocks
(Set out into those seas) inforcing through his shocks
Those armes of Sea, that thrust into the tinny strand,
By their Meandred creeks indenting of that Land
Whose fame by everie tongue is for her Myneralls hurld,
Neere from the mid-daies point, throughout the Westerne world.
Heere Vale, a livelie flood, her nobler name that gives
To

The bravery of Flamouth Haven.

Flamouth; and by whom, it famous ever lives,
Whose entrance is from sea so intricatelie wound,
Her haven angled so about her harbrous sound,
That in her quiet Bay a hundred ships may ride,
Yet not the tallest mast, be of the tall'st descri'd;
Her braverie to this Nymph when neighbouring rivers told,
Her mind to them againe shee brieflie doth unfold;

Let

This hath also the name of Alan.

Camell, of her course, and curious windings boast,
In that her Greatness raignes sole Mistress of that coast
Twixt Tamer and that Bay, where Hayle poures forth her pride:
And let us (nobler Nymphs) upon the mid-daie side,
Be frolick with the best. Thou Foy, before us all,
By thine owne named Towne made famous in thy fall,
As Low, amongst us heere; a most delicious Brooke,
With all our sister Nymphes, that to the noone-sted looke,

Which glyding from the hills, upon the tinny ore,
Betwixt your high-rear'd banks, resort to this our shore:
Lov'd streames, let us exult, and thinke our selves no lesse
Then those upon their side, the Setting that possesse.

Which, Camell over-heard: but what doth she respect
Their taunts, her proper course that loosely doth neglect?
As frantick, ever since her British Arthurs blood,
By Mordreds murtherous hand was mingled with her flood.
For, as that River, best might boast that Conquerours breath,
So sadlie shee bemoanes his too untimelie death;
Who, after twelve proud fields against the Saxon fought,
Yet back unto her banks by fate was lastly brought:
As though no other place on Britaines spacious earth,
Were worthie of his end, but where he had his birth:
And carelesse ever since how shee her course doe steere,
This muttreth to her selfe, in wandring here and there;
Even in the agedst face, where beautie once did dwell,
And nature (in the least) but seemed to excell,
Time cannot make such waste, but something wil appeare,
To shewe some little tract of delicacie there.
Or some religious worke, in building manie a day,
That this penurious age hath suffred to decay,
Some lim or modell, dragd out of the ruinous mass,
The richness will declare in glorie whilst it was:
But time upon my waste committed hath such theft,
That it of Arthur heere scarce memorie hath left:

The Nine-ston'd Trophie thus whilst shee doth entertaine,
Proude Tamer swoopes along, with such a lustie traine
As fits so brave a flood two Countries that divides:
So, to increase her strength, shee from her equall sides
Receives their severall rills; and of the Cornish kind,
First, taketh Atre in: and her not much behind
Comes Kensey: after whom, cleere Enian in doth make,
In Tamers roomthier bankes, their rest that scarcelie take.
Then Lyner, though the while aloofe shee seem'd to keepe,
Her Soveraigne when shee sees t'approach the surgefull deepe,
To beautifie her fall her plentious tribute brings.
This honours Tamer much: that shee whose plentious springs,
Those proud aspyring hills, Bromwelly and his frend
High Rowter, from their tops impartiallie commend,

And is by

A worthy Gentleman, who writ the description of Cornwall.

Carewes Muse, the river most renound,
Associate should her grace to the Devonian ground,
Which in those other Brookes doth Emulation breed.
Of which, first Car comes crown'd, with oziar, segs and reed:
Then Lid creeps on along, and taking Thrushel, throwes
Her selfe amongst the rocks; and so incavern'd goes,
That of the blessed light (from other floods) debarr'd,
To bellowe under earth, she onelie can be heard,
As those that view her tract, seemes strangelie to affright:
So, Toovy straineth in; and Plym, that claimes by right
The christning of that Bay, which beares her nobler name.
Upon the British coast, what ship yet ever came

The praise of Plymouth.

That not of Plymouth heares, where those brave Navies lie,
From Canons thundring throats, that all the world defie?
Which, to invasive spoile, when th'English list to draw,
Have checkt Iberias pride, and held her oft in awe:
Oft furnishing our Dames, with Indias rar'st devices,
And lent us gold, and pearle, rich silks, and daintie spices.
But Tamer takes the place, and all attend her here,
A faithfull bound to both; and two that be so neare
For likeliness of soile, and quantitie they hold,
Before the Roman came; whose people were of old
Knowne by one generall name, upon this point that dwell,
All other of this Ile in wrastling that excell:
With collars be they yokt, to prove the arme at length,
Like Bulls set head to head, with meere delyver strength:
Or by the girdles graspt, they practise with the hip,

The words of Art in wrastling.

The forward, backward, falx, the mare, the turne, the trip,
When stript into their shirts, each other they invade
Within a spacious ring, by the beholders made,
According to the law. Or when the Ball to throw,
And drive it to the Gole, in squadrons forth they goe:
And to avoid the troupes (their forces that fore-lay)
Through dikes and rivers make, in this robustious play;
By which, the toiles of warre most livelie are exprest.

But Muse, may I demaund, Why these of all the rest
(As mightie Albyons eld'st) most active are and strong?
From

Our first great wrastler ariving heere with Brute.

Corin came it first, or from the use so long?
Or that this fore-land lies furth'st out into his sight,
Which spreads his vigorous flames on everie lesser light?

With th'vertue of his beames, this place that doth inspire:
Whose pregnant wombe prepar'd by his all-powerful fire,
Being purelie hot and moist, projects that fruitfull seed,
Which stronglie doth beget, and doth as stronglie breed:
The weldisposed heaven heere prooving to the earth,
A Husband furthering fruite; a Midwife helping birth.

But whilst th'industrious Muse thus labours to relate
Those rillets that attend proud Tamer and her state,
A neighbourer of this Nymphes, as high in Fortunes grace,
And whence calme Tamer trippes, cleere Towridge in that place
Is poured from her spring; and seemes at first to flowe
That way which Tamer straines: but as she great doth growe
Remembreth to fore-see, what Rivalls she should find
To interrupt her course: whose so unsettled mind
Ock comming in perceives, & thus doth her perswade;

Now Neptune shield (bright Nymph) thy beautie should be made
The object of her scorne, which (for thou canst not be
Upon the Southern side so absolute as shee)
Will awe thee in thy course. Wherefore, faire flood recoile:
And where thou maist alone be soveraigne of the soile,
There exercise thy power, thy braveries and displaie:
Turne Towridge, let us back to the Sabrinian sea;
Where Thetis handmaids still in that recoursefull deepe
With those rough Gods of Sea, continuall revells keepe;
There maist thou live admir'd, the mistress of the Lake.

Wise Ock shee doth obey, returning, and doth take
The Tawe: which from her fount forc't on with amorous gales,
And easely ambling downe through the Devonian dales,
Brings with her Moule and Bray, her banks that gentlie bathe;
Which on her daintie breast, in many a silver swathe
Shee beares unto that Bay, where Barstable beholds,
How her beloved Tawe cleere Towridge there enfolds.

The confluence of these Brooks divulg'd in Dertmoore, bred
Distrust in her sad breast, that shee, so largelie spred,
And in this spacious Shire the neer'st the Center set
Of anie place of note; that these should bravelie get
The praise, from those that sprung out of her pearlie lap;
Which, nourisht and bred up at her most plentious pap,
No sooner taught to dade, but from their Mother trip,
And in their speedie course, strive others to out-strip.

The Yalme, the Awne, the Aume, by spacious Dertmoore fed,
And in the Southern Sea, b'ing likewise brought to bed;
That these were not of power to publish her desert,
Much griev'd the ancient Moore: which understood by Dert
(From all the other floods that onely takes her name,
And as her eld'st (in right) the heire of all her fame)
To shew her nobler spirit it greatlie doth behove.

Deare Mother, from your breast this feare (quoth she) remove:
Defie their utmost force: ther's not the proudest flood,
That falls betwixt the Mount and Exmore, shall make good
Her royaltie with mine, with me nor can compare:
I challenge any one, to answere me that dare;
That was, before them all, predestinate to meet
My Britaine-founding Brute, when with his puissant fleet
At Totnesse first he toucht: which shall renowne my streame
(Which now the envious world doth slander for a dreame.)
Whose fatall flight from Greece, his fortunate arrive
In happy Albyon heere whilst stronglie I revive,
Deare Harburne at thy hands this credit let me win,
Quoth she, that as thou hast my faithfull hand-maid bin:
So now (my onelie Brooke) assist me with thy spring,
Whilst of the God-like Brute the storie thus I sing.

When long-renowned Troy lay spent in hostile fire,
And aged Priams pompe did with her flames expire,
Aeneas (taking thence Ascanius, his young sonne,
And his most reverent Sire, the grave Anchises, wonne
From sholes of slaughtering Greeks) set out from Simois shores;
And through the Tirrhene Sea, by strength of toyling ores,
Raught Italie at last: where, King Latinus lent
Safe harbor for his ships, with wrackfull tempests rent:
When, in the Latine Court, Lavinia young and faire
(Her Fathers onely child, and kingdoms onely heire)
Upon the Trojan Lord her liking stronglie plac't,
And languisht in the fiers that her faire breast imbrac't:
But, Turnus (at that time) the proud Rutulian King,
A suter to the maid, Aeneas malicing,
By force of Armes attempts, his rivall to extrude:
But, by the Teucrian power courageouslie subdu'd,
Bright Cythereas sonne the Latine crowne obtain'd;
And dying, in his stead his sonne Ascanius raign'd.

Next, Silvius him succeeds, begetting Brute againe:
Who in his Mothers wombe whilst yet he did remaine,
The Oracles gave out, that next borne Brute should bee
His Parents onelie death: which soone they liv'd to see.
For, in his painfull birth his Mother did depart;
And ere his fifteenth yeere, in hunting of a Hart,
He with a lucklesse shaft his haplesse Father slew:
For which, out of his throne, their King the Latines threw.

Who, wandring in the world, to Greece at last doth get.
Where, whilst he liv'd unknowne, and oft with want beset,
He of the race of Troy a remnant hapt to find,
There by the Grecians held; which (having still in mind
Their tedious tenne yeeres warre, and famous Heroës slaine)
In slaverie with them still those Trojans did detaine:
Which Pyrrhus thither brought (and did with hate pursue,
To wreake Achilles death, at Troy whom Paris slew)
There, by Pandrasus kept, in sad and servile awe.
Who, when they knew young Brute, & that brave shape they saw,
They humbly him desire, that he a meane would bee,
From those imperious Greeks, his countrymen to free.

Hee, finding out a rare and sprightly Youth, to fit
His humour every way, for courage, power, and wit,
Assaracus (who, though that by his Sire he were
A Prince amongst the Greeks, yet held the Trojans deere;
Descended of their stock upon the Mothers side:
For which, he by the Greeks his birth-right was deni'd)
Impatient of his wrongs, with him brave Brute arose,
And of the Trojan youth courageous Captaines chose,
Raysd Earth-quakes with their Drummes, the ruffling Ensignes reare
And, gathering young and old that rightlie Trojan were,
Up to the Mountaines march, through straits and forrests strong:
Where, taking-in the Townes, pretended to belong
Unto that

Assaracus.

Grecian Lord, some forces there they put:
Within whose safer walls their wives and children shut,
Into the fields they drew, for libertie to stand.

Which when Pandrasus heard, he sent his strict command
To levie all the power he presentlie could make:
So, to their strengths of warre the Trojans them betake.

But whilst the Grecian Guides (not knowing how or where
The Teucrians were entrencht, or what their forces were)

In foule disordred troupes yet straggled, as secure,
This loosness to their spoyle the Trojans did allure,
Who fiercely them assail'd: where stanchlesse furie rap't
The Grecians in so fast, that scarcely one escap't:
Yea, proud Pandrasus flight, himselfe could hardlie free.
Who, when he saw his force thus frustrated to bee,
And by his present losse, his passed error found
(As by a later warre to cure a former wound)
Doth reinforce his power to make a second fight.
When they whose better wits had over-matcht his might,
Loth what they got to lose, as politiquelie cast
His Armies to intrap, in getting to them fast
Antigonus as friend, and Anaclet his pheere
(Surpriz'd in the last fight) by gifts who hired were
Into the Grecian Campe th'insuing night to goe
And faine they were stolne forth, to their Allies to show
How they might have the spoile of all the Trojan pride;
And gaining them beleefe, the credulous Grecians guide
Into th'ambushment neere, that secretlie was laid:
So to the Trojans hands the Grecians were betraid;
Pandrasus selfe surpriz'd; his Crown who to redeeme
(Which scarcely worth their wrong the Trojan race esteeme)
Their slaverie long sustain'd did willinglie release:
And (for a lasting league of amitie and peace)
Bright Innogen, his child, for wife to Brutus gave,
And furnisht them a fleete, with all things they could crave
To set them out to Sea. Who lanching, at the last
They on Lergecia light, an Ile; and, ere they past,
Unto a Temple built to great Diana there,
The noble Brutus went; wise

One of the titles of Diana.

Trivia to enquire,
To shew them where the stock of ancient Troy to place.

The Goddesse, that both knew and lov'd the Trojan race,
Reveal'd to him in dreames, that furthest to the West,
He should discrie the Ile of Albion, highlie blest;
With Giants latelie stor'd; their numbers now decaid:
By vanquishing the rest, his hopes should there be staid:
Where, from the stock of Troy, those puissant Kings should rise,
Whose conquests from the West, the world should scant suffice.

Thus answer'd; great with hope, to sea they put againe,
And safelie under saile, the howres doe entertaine

With sights of sundrie shores, which they from farre discrie:
And viewing with delight th'Azarian Mountaines hie,
One walking on the deck, unto his friend would say
(As I have heard some tell) So goodly Ida lay.

Thus talking mongst themselves, they sun-burnt Africk keepe
Upon the lee-ward still, and (sulking up the deepe)
For Mauritania make: where putting-in, they find
A remnant (yet reserv'd) of th'ancient Dardan kind,
By brave Antenor brought from out the Greekish spoiles
(O long-renowned Troy! Of thee, and of thy toyles,
What Country had not heard?) which, to their Generall, then
Great Corineus had, the strong'st of mortall men:
To whom (with joyfull harts) Dianas will they show.

Whoe easlie beeing wonne along with them to goe,
They altogether put into the watry Plaine:
Oft-times with Pyrats, oft with Monsters of the Maine
Distressed in their way; whom hope forbids to feare.
Those pillars first they passe which Joves great sonne did reare.
And cuffing those sterne waves which like huge Mountaines roule
(Full joy in every part possessing every soule)
In Aquitane at last the Ilion race arrive.
Whom strongly to repulse when as those recreants strive,
They (anchoring there at first but to refresh their fleet,
Yet saw those savage men so rudely them to greet)
Unshipt their warlike youth, advauncing to the shore.
The Dwellers, which perceiv'd such danger at the dore,
Their King Groffarius get to raise his powerfull force:
Who, mustring up an host of mingled foote and horse,
Upon the Trojans set; when suddainly began
A fierce and dangerous fight: where Corineus ran
With slaughter through the thick-set squadrons of the foes;
And with his armed Axe laid on such deadlie blowes,
That heapes of livelesse trunks each passage stopt up quite.

Groffarius having lost the honour of the fight,
Repaires his ruin'd powers; not so to give them breath:
When they, which must be free'd by conquest or by death,
And, conquering them before, hop't now to doe no lesse
(The like in courage still) stand for the like successe.
Then sterne and deadlie Warre put-on his horridst shape;
And wounds appear'd so wide, as if the Grave did gape

To swallow both at once; which strove as both should fall,
When they with slaughter seem'd to be encircled all:
Where Turon (of the rest) Brutes Sisters valiant sonne
(By whose approved deeds that day was chiefly wonne)
Sixe hundred slue out-right through his peculiar strength:
By multitudes of men yet over-prest at length.
His nobler Uncle there, to his immortall name,
The Citie Turon built, and well endow'd the same.

For Albion sayling then, th'arrived quicklie heere
(O! never in this world men halfe so joyful were
With shoutes heard up to heaven, when they beheld the Land)
And in this verie place where Totnesse now doth stand,
First set their Gods of Troy, kissing the blessed shore;
Then, forraging this Ile, long promisd them before,
Amongst the ragged Cleeves those monstrous Giants sought:
Who (of their dreadfull kind) t'appall the Trojans, brought
Great Gogmagog, an Oake that by the roots could teare:
So mightie were (that time) the men who lived there:
But, for the use of Armes he did not understand
(Except some rock or tree, that comming next to hand
Hee raz'd out of the earth to execute his rage)
Hee challenge makes for strength, and offereth there his gage.
Which, Corin taketh up, to answer by and by,
Upon this sonne of Earth his utmost power to try.

All, doubtful to which part the victorie would goe,
Upon that loftie place at Plimmouth call'd the Hoe,
Those mightie

The description of the wrastling betwixt Corineus and Gogmagog.

Wrastlers met; with many an irefull looke
Who threatned, as the one hold of the other tooke:
But, grapled, glowing fire shines in their sparkling eyes.
And, whilst at length of arme one from the other lyes,
Their lusty sinewes swell like cables, as they strive:
Their feet such trampling make, as though they forc't to drive
A thunder out of earth; which stagger'd with the weight:
Thus, eithers utmost force urg'd to the greatest height.
Whilst one upon his hip the other seekes to lift,
And th'adverse (by a turne) doth from his cunning shift,
Their short-fetcht troubled breath a hollow noise doth make,
Like bellowes of a Forge. Then Corin up doth take
The Giant twixt the grayns; and, voyding of his hould
(Before his combrous feet he well recover could)

Pitcht head-long from the hill; as when a man doth throw
An Axtree, that with sleight deliverd from the toe
Rootes up the yeelding earth: so that his violent fall,
Strooke Neptune with such strength, as shouldred him withall;
That where the monstrous waves like Mountaines late did stand,
They leap't out of the place, and left the bared sand
To gaze upon wide heaven: so great a blowe it gave.
For which, the conquering Brute, on Corineus brave
This horne of land bestow'd, and markt it with his name;
Of Corin, Cornwall call'd, to his immortall fame.

Cleere Dert delivering thus the famous Brutes arrive,
Inflam'd with her report, the stragling rivelets strive
So highlie her to raise, that Ting (whose banks were blest
By her beloved Nymph deere Leman) which addrest
And fullie with her selfe determined before
To sing the Danish spoyles committed on her shore,
When hither from the East they came in mightie swarmes,
Nor could their native earth containe their numerous Armes,
Their surcrease grew so great, as forced them at last
To seeke another soyle (as Bees doe when they cast)
And by their impious pride how hard she was bested,
When all the Country swam with blood of Saxons shed:
This River (as I said) which had determin'd long
The Deluge of the Danes exactlie to have song,
It utterlie neglects; and studying how to doe
The Dert those high respects belonging her unto,
Inviteth goodlie Ex, who from her ful-fed spring
Her little Barlee hath, and Dunsbrook her to bring
From Exmore: when she yet hath scarcely found her course,
Then Creddy commeth in, and Forto, which inforce
Her faster to her fall; as Ken her closelie clips,
And on her Easterne side sweet Leman gentlie slips
Into her widened banks, her Soveraigne to assist;
As Columb winnes for Ex, cleere Wever and the Clist,
Contributing their streames their Mistress fame to raise.
As all assist the Ex, so Ex consumeth these;
Like some unthriftie youth, depending on the Court,
To winne an idle name, that keepes a needless port;
And raising his old rent, exacts his Farmers store
The Land-lord to enrich, the Tenants wondrous poore:

Who having lent him theirs, he then consumes his owne,
That with most vaine expense upon the Prince is throwne:
So these, the lesser Brooks unto the greater pay;
The greater, they againe spend all upon the Sea:
As, Otrey (that her name doth of the Otters take,
Abounding in her banks) and Ax, their utmost make
To ayde stout Dert, that dar'd Brutes storie to revive.
For, when the Saxon first the Britans forth did drive,
Some up into the hills themselves o're Severne shut:
Upon this point of land, for refuge others put,
To that brave race of Brute still fortunate. For where
Great Brute first disembarqu't his wandring Trojans, there
His ofspring (after long expulst the Inner land,
When they the Saxon power no longer could withstand)
Found refuge in their flight; where Ax and Otrey first
Gave these poore soules to drinke, opprest with grievous thirst.

Heere I'le unyoke awhile, and turne my steeds to meat:
The land growes large and wide: my Teame begins to sweat.

The second Song.

The Argument.

The Muse from Marshwood way commands,
Along the shore through Chesills sands:
Where, overtoyld, her heate to coole,
Shee bathes her in the pleasant Poole:
Thence, over-land againe doth scowre,
To fetch in Froome, and bring downe Stowre;
Falls with New-forrest, as she sings
The wanton Wood-Nymphes revellings.
Whilst Itchin in her loftie layes,
Chaunts Bevis of South-hamptons praise,
Shee Southward with her active flight
Is wafted to the Ile of Wight,
To see the rutte the Sea-gods keepe:
There swaggering in the Solent deepe.
Thence Hampshire-ward her way shee bends;
And visiting her Forrest friends,
Neere Salsbury her rest doth take:
Which shee her second pause doth make.

March strongly forth my Muse, whilst yet the temperat aire
Invites us, easely on to hasten our repaire.
Thou powerfull God of flames (in verse divinely great)
Touch my invention so with thy true genuine heate,
That high and noble things I slightly may not tell,
Nor light and idle toyes my lines may vainly swell;
But as my subject serves, so hie or lowe to straine,
And to the varying earth so sute my varying vaine,
That Nature in my worke thou maist thy power avow:
That as thou first found'st Art, and didst her rules allow;
So I, to thine owne selfe that gladlie neere would bee,
May herein doe the best, in imitating thee:
As thou hast heere a hill, a vale there, there a flood,
A mead here, there a heath, and now and then a wood,
These things so in my Song I naturally may showe;

Now, as the Mountaine hie; then, as the Valley lowe:
Heere, fruitfull as the Mead, there as the Heath be bare;
Then, as the gloomie wood, I may be rough; though rare.

Through the Dorsetian fields that lie in open view,
My progresse I againe must seriouslie pursue,
From Marshwoods fruitfull Vale my journey on to make:
(As Phœbus getting up out of the Easterne lake,
Refresht with ease and sleepe, is to his labour prest;
Even so the labouring Muse, heere baited with this rest.)
Whereas the little Lim along doth easelie creepe,
And Car, that comming downe unto the troubled Deepe,
Brings on the neighbouring Bert, whose batning mellowed banke,
From all the British soyles, for Hempe most hugely ranke
Doth beare away the best; to Bert-port which hath gain'd
That praise from every place, and worthilie obtain'd

By Act of Parliament 21. Hen. 8.

Our cordage from her store, and cables should be made,
Of any in that kind most fit for Marine trade:
Not sever'd from the shore, aloft where Chesill lifts
Her ridged snake-like sands, in wrecks and smouldring drifts,
Which by the South-wind raysd, are heav'd on little hills:
Whose valleys with his flowes when foming Neptune fills,

The beautie of the many Swannes upon the Chesills, noted in this Poëticall delicacie.

Upon a thousand Swannes the naked Sea-Nymphes ride
Within the ouzie Pooles, replenisht every Tide:
Which running on, the Ile of Portland pointeth out;
Upon whose moisted skirt with sea-weed fring'd about,
The bastard Corall breeds, that drawne out of the brack,
A brittle stalke becomes, from greenish turn'd to black:
Which th'Ancients, for the love that they to Isis bare
(Their Goddesse most ador'd) have sacred for her haire.
Of which the Naïdes, and the blew

Sea-Nymphs.

Nereides make
Them

A kind of neck-laces worne by country wenches.

Taudries for their necks: when sporting in the Lake,
They to their secrete Bowres the Sea-gods entertaine.
Where Portland from her top doth over-peere the Maine;
Her rugged front empal'd (on every part) with rocks,
Though indigent of wood, yet fraught with woolly flocks:
Most famous for her folke, excelling with the sling,
Of any other heere this Land inhabiting;
That there-with they in warre offensivelie might wound,
If yet the use of shot Invention had not found.
Where, from the neighbouring hills her passage Wey doth path:

Whose haven, not our least that watch the mid-day, hath
The glories that belong unto a complete Port;
Though Wey the least of all the Naïdes that resort
To the Dorsetian sands, from off the higher shore.

Then Frome (a nobler flood) the Muses doth implore
Her mother Blackmores state they sadly would bewaile;
Whose bigge and lordlie Oakes once bore as brave a saile
As they themselves that thought the largest shades to spred:
But mans devouring hand, with all the earth not fed,
Hath hew'd her Timber downe. Which wounded, when it fell,
By the great noise it made, the workmen seem'd to tell
The losse that to the Land would shortlie come thereby,
Where no man ever plants to our posteritie:
That when sharp Winter shoots her sleet and hardned haile,
Or suddaine gusts from Sea, the harmlesse Deere assaile,
The shrubs are not of power to sheeld them from the wind.

Deere Mother, quoth the Froome, too late (alas) we find
The softness of thy sward continued through thy soile,
To be the onely cause of unrecover'd spoile:
When scarce the British ground a finer grasse doth beare;
And wish I could, quoth shee, (if wishes helpfull were)
Thou never by that name of White-hart hadst been known,
But stiled Blackmore still, which rightly was thine owne.
For why, that change foretold the ruine of thy state:
Lo, thus the world may see what tis to innovate.

By this, her owne nam'd

Frampton.

Towne the wandring Froome had past:
And quitting in her course old Dorcester at last,
Approaching neere the Poole, at Warham on her way,
As easelie shee doth fall into the peacefull Bay,
Upon her nobler side, and to the South-ward neere,
Faire Purbeck shee beholds, which no where hath her peere:
So pleasantlie in-Il'd on mightie Neptunes marge,
A Forest-Nymph, and one of chaste Dianas charge,
Imploy'd in Woods and Launds her Deere to feed and kill:
On whom the watrie God would oft have had his will,
And often her hath woo'd, which never would be wonne;
But, Purbeck (as profest a Huntresse and a Nunne)
The wide and wealthy Sea, nor all his power respects:
Her Marble-minded breast, impregnable, rejects
The

Monsters of the Sea, supposed Neptunes Gard.

uglie Orks, that for their Lord the Ocean wooe.

Whilst Froome was troubled thus where nought shee hath to doe
The Piddle, that this while be stird her nimble feet,
In falling to the Poole her sister Froome to meet,
And having in her traine two little slender rills
(Besides her proper Spring) where-with her banks shee fills,
To whom since first the world this later name her lent,
Who ancientlie was knowne to be instiled

The ancient name of Piddle.

Trent,
Her small assistant Brookes her second name have gain'd.
Whilst Piddle and the Froome each other entertain'd,
Oft praysing lovely Poole, their best-beloved Bay,
Thus Piddle her bespake, to passe the time away;
When Poole (quoth shee) was young, a lustie Sea-borne Lass,
Great Albyon to this Nymph an earnest suter was;
And bare himselfe so well, and so in favour came,
That he in little time, upon this lovelie Dame
Begot three mayden Iles, his darlings and delight:
The eldest, Brunksey call'd; the second, Fursey hight;

The storie of Poole.

The youngest and the last, and lesser then the other,
Saint Hellens name doth beare, the dilling of her Mother.
And, for the goodlie Poole was one of Thetis traine,
Who scorn'd a Nymph of hers, her Virgin-band should staine,
Great Albyon (that fore-thought, the angrie Goddesse would
Both on the Dam and brats take what revenge shee could)
I'th bosome of the Poole his little children plac't:
First, Brunksey; Fursey next; and little Hellen last;
Then, with his mightie armes doth clip the Poole about,
To keepe the angrie Queene, fierce Amphitrite out.
Against whose lordlie might shee musters up her waves;
And strongly thence repulst (with madness) scoulds and raves.

When now, from Poole, the Muse (up to her pitch to get)
Her selfe in such a place from sight doth almost set,
As by the active power of her commanding wings,
She (Falcon-like) from farre doth fetch those plentious Springs.
Where Stour receives her strength from

Stour riseth from six fountaines.

sixe cleere Fountaines fed;
Which gathering to one streame from every severall head,
Her new-beginning banke her water scarcely weelds;
And fairelie entreth first on the Dorsetian feelds:
Where Gillingham with gifts that for a God were meet
(Enameld paths, rich wreaths, and every soveraine sweet
The earth and ayre can yeeld, with many a pleasure mixt)

Receives her. Whilst there past great kindness them betwixt,
The Forrest her bespoke; How happie floods are yee,
From our predestin'd plagues that priviledged bee;
Which onelie with the fish which in your banks doe breed,
And dailie there increase, mans gurmandize can feed?
But had this wretched Age such uses to imploy
Your waters, as the woods we latelie did enjoy,
Your chanels they would leave as barren by their spoile,
As they of all our trees have lastlie left our soile.
Insatiable Time thus all things doth devour:
What ever saw the sunne, that is not in Times power?
Yee fleeting Streames last long, out-living manie a day:
But, on more stedfast things Time makes the strongest pray.

Now tow'rds the Solent sea as Stour her way doth ply,
On Shaftsbury (by chance) shee cast her crystall eye,
From whose foundation first, such strange reports arise
As brought into her mind the Eagles prophecies;
Of that so dreadfull plague, which all great Britaine swept,
From that which highest flew, to that which lowest crept,
Before the Saxon thence the Britaine should expell,
And all that there-upon successively befell.

How then the bloodie Dane subdu'd the Saxon race;
And, next, the Norman tooke possession of the place:
Those ages, once expir'd, the Fates to bring about,
The British Line restor'd; the Norman linage out.
Then, those prodigious signes to ponder shee began,
Which afterward againe the Britans wrack fore-ran;
How here the Owle at noone in publique streets was seene,
As though the peopled Townes had way-less Deserts been.
And whilst the loathly Toad out of his hole doth crall,
And makes his fulsome stoole amid the Princes hall,
The crystall fountaine turn'd into a gory wound,
And bloodie issues brake (like ulcers) from the ground;
The Seas against their course with double Tides returne,
And oft were seene by night like boyling pitch to burne.

Thus thinking, livelie Stour bestirres her tow'rds the Maine;
Which Lidden leadeth out: then Dulas beares her traine
From Blackmore, that at once their watry tribute bring:
When, like some childish wench, shee looselie wantoning,
With tricks and giddie turnes seemes to in-Ile the shore.

Betwixt her fishfull banks, then forward shee doth scowre,
Untill shee lastlie reach cleere Alen in her race:
Which calmlie commeth downe from her deere mother

Cranburn Chase.

Chase,
Of Cranburn that is call'd; who greatly joyes to see
A Riveret borne of her, for Stours should reckned bee,
Of that renowned flood, a favourite highlie grac't.

Whilst Cranburn, for her child so fortunatelie plac't,
With Ecchoes everie way applauds her Alens state,
A suddaine noise from

Holt Forest.

Holt seems to congratulate
With Cranburn for her Brooke so happily bestow'd:
Where, to her neighboring Chase, the curteous Forrest show'd
So just conceived joy, that from each rising

A wood in English.

hurst,
Where many a goodlie Oake had carefullie been nurst,
The Sylvans in their songs their mirthfull meeting tell;
And Satyres, that in slades and gloomy dimbles dwell,
Runne whooting to the hills to clappe their ruder hands.

As Holt had done before, so Canfords goodlie Launds
(Which leane upon the Poole) enricht with Coppras vaines,
Rejoyce to see them joyn'd. When downe from Sarum Plaines
Cleere Avon comming in her sister Stour doth call,
And at New-forrests foote into the Sea doe fall,
Which every day bewaile that deed so full of dred
Whereby shee (now so proud) became first Forrested:
Shee now who for her site even boundless seem'd to lie,
Her beeing that receiv'd by Williams tyrannie;
Providing Lawes to keepe those Beasts heere planted then,
Whose lawless will from hence before had driven men;
That where the harth was warm'd with Winters feasting fiers,
The melancholie Hare is form'd in brakes and briers:
The aged ranpick trunk where Plow-men cast their seed,
And Churches over-whelm'd with nettles, ferne and weed,
By Conquering William first cut off from every trade,
That heere the Norman still might enter to invade;
That on this vacant place, and unfrequented shore,
New forces still might land, to ayde those heere before.
But shee, as by a King and Conqueror made so great,
By whom shee was allow'd and limited her seat,

The Forests of Hampshire, with their situations.

Into her owne-selfe praise most insolently brake,
And her lesse fellow Nymphs, New-forrest thus bespake:

Thou Buckholt, bow to mee, so let thy sister Bere;

Chute, kneele thou at my name on this side of the Shiere:
Where, for their Goddesse, mee the

Nymphs that live & die with Oakes.

Driads shall adore,
With Waltham, and the Bere, that on the Sea-worne shore
See at the Southerne Iles the Tides at tilt to runne;
And Woolmer, placed hence upon the rising sunne,
With Ashholt thine Allie (my Wood-Nymphs) and with you,
Proud Pamber tow'rds the North, ascribe me worship due.
Before my Princelie State let your poore greatness fall:
And vaile your tops to mee, the Soveraigne of you all.

Amongst the Rivers, so, great discontent there fell.
Th'efficient cause thereof (as loud report doth tell)
Was, that the sprightly Test arising up in Chute,
To Itchin, her Allie, great weakeness should impute,
That shee, to her owne wrong, and every others griefe,
Would needs be telling things exceeding all beliefe:
For, she had given it out South-hampton should not loose
Her famous Bevis so, wer't in her power to choose;
And, for great Arthurs seat, her Winchester preferres,
Whose old Round-table, yet she vaunteth to be hers:
And swore, th'inglorious time should not bereave her right;
But what it could obscure, she would reduce to light.
For, from that wondrous

A Poole neer unto Alresford, yeelding an unusual abundance of water.

Pond, whence shee derives her head,
And places by the way, by which shee's honored
(Old Winchester, that stands neere in her middle way,
And Hampton, at her fall into the Solent Sea)
Shee thinks in all the Ile not any such as shee,
And for a Demy-god she would related bee.

Sweet sister mine (quoth Test) advise you what you doe;
Thinke this; For each of us, the Forests heere are two:
Who, if you speake a thing whereof they hold can take,
Bee't little, or bee't much, they double will it make:
Whom Hamble helpeth out; a handsome proper flood,
In curtesie well skild, and one that knew her good.
Consider, quoth this Nymph, the times be curious now,
And nothing of that kind will any way allow.
Besides, the Muse hath, next, the British cause in hand,
About things later done that now shee cannot stand.

The more they her perswade, the more shee doth persist;
Let them say what they will, shee will doe what shee list.
Shee stiles her selfe their Chiefe, and sweares shee will command;

And, what-so-ere shee saith, for Oracles must stand.
Which when the Rivers heard, they further speech forbare.
And shee (to please her selfe that onely seem'd to care)
To sing th'atchievement great of Bevis thus began;

Redoubted Knight (quoth shee) ô most renowned man!
Who, when thou wert but young, thy Mother durst reprove
(Most wickedly seduc't by the unlawfull love
Of Mordure, at that time the Almain Emperors sonne)
That shee thy Sire to death disloyally had done:
Each circumstance whereof shee largelie did relate;
Then, in her song pursu'd his Mothers deadlie hate;
And how (by Sabers hand) when shee suppos'd him dead,
Where long upon the Downes a Shepheards life hee led;
Till by the great recourse, he came at length to knowe
The Country there-about could hardly hold the showe
His Mothers mariage feast to faire South-hampton drue,
Be'ing wedded to that Lord who late her husband slue:
Into his noble breast which pierc't so wondrous deepe,
That (in the poore attire he us'd to tend the sheepe,
And in his hand his hooke) unto the Towne hee went;
As having in his heart a resolute intent
Or manfullie to die, or to revenge his wrong:
Where pressing at the gate the multitude among,
The Porter to that place his entrance that forbad
(Supposing him some swaine, some boystrous Country-lad)
Upon the head hee lent so violent a stroke,
That the poore emptie skull, like some thin potsheard broke,
The braines and mingled blood, were spertled on the wall.
Then hasting on he came into the upper Hall,
Where murderous Mordure sate imbraced by his Bride:
Who (guiltie in himselfe) had hee not Bevis spide,
His boanes had with a blowe been shattred: but, by chance
(He shifting from the place, whilst Bevis did advance
His hand, with greater strength his deadly foe to hit,
And missing him) his chaire hee all to shivers split:
Which strooke his Mothers breast with strange and sundry feares,
That Bevis beeing then but of so tender yeares
Durst yet attempt a thing so full of death and doubt.
And, once before deceiv'd, shee newlie cast about
To rid him out of sight; and, with a mighty wage,

Wonne such, themselves by oath as deeplie durst ingage,
To execute her will: who shipping him away
(And making forth their course into the Mid-land sea)
As they had got before, so now againe for gold
To an Armenian there that young Alcides sold:
Of all his gotten prize, who (as the worthiest thing,
And fittest where-withall to gratifie his King)
Presented that brave youth; the splendor of whose eye
A wondrous mixture shew'd of grace and majestie:
Whose more then man-like shape, and matchlesse stature, tooke
The King; that often us'd with great delight to looke
Upon that English Earle. But though the love he bore
To Bevis might be much, his daughter tenne times more
Admir'd the god-like man: who, from the howre that first
His beautie shee beheld, felt her soft bosome pierst
With Cupids deadliest shaft; that Josian, to her guest,
Alreadie had resign'd possession of her breast.

Then sang shee, in the fields how as hee went to sport,
And those damn'd Panims heard, who in despightfull sort
Derided Christ the Lord; for his Redeemers sake
He on those heathen hounds did there such slaughter make,
That whilst in their black mouthes their blasphemies they drue,
They headlong went to hell. As also how hee slue
That cruell Boare, whose tusks turn'd up whole fields of graine
(And, wrooting, raised hills upon the levell Plaine;
Digd Caverns in the earth, so darke and wondrous deepe
As that, into whose mouth the desperate

Curtius, that for his countries sake so lavished his life.

Roman leepe):
And cutting off his head, a Trophy thence to beare;
The Forresters that came to intercept it there,
How he their scalps and trunks in chips and peeces cleft,
And in the fields (like beasts) their mangled bodies left.

As to his further praise, how for that dangerous fight
The great Armenian King made noble Bevis Knight:
And having raised power, Damascus to invade,
The Generall of his force this English Heroë made.
Then, how faire Josian gave him Arundell his steed,
And Morglay his good sword, in many a valiant deed
Which manfully he tri'd. Next, in a

Loftie.

Buskind straine,
Sung how himselfe he bore upon Damascus Plaine
(That dreadful battell) where, with Bradamond he fought;

And with his sword and steed such earthlie wonders wrought,
As even amongst his foes him admiration won;
Incountring in the throng with mightie Radison;
And lopping off his armes, th'imperiall standard tooke.
At whose prodigious fall, the conquered Foe forsooke
The Field; where, in one day so many Peeres they lost,
So brave Commaunders, and so absolute an host,
As to the humbled earth tooke proud Damascus downe,
Then tributarie made to the Armenian Crowne.
And how at his returne, the King (for service done,
The honor to his raigne, and to Armenia won)
In mariage to this Earle the Princess Josian gave;

As into what distresse him Fortune after drave,
To great Damascus sent Ambassador againe;
When, in revenge of theirs, before by Bevis slaine
(And now, at his returne, for that he so despis'd
Those Idols unto whom they dailie sacrifiz'd:
Which he to peeces hew'd and scattred in the dust)
They, rising, him by strength into a Dungeon thrust;
In whose blacke bottom, long two Serpents had remain'd
(Bred in the common sewre that all the Cittie drain'd)
Empoysning with their smell; which seiz'd him for their pray:
With whom in strugling long (besmeard with blood and clay)
He rent their squallid chaps, and from the prison scap't.

As how adultrous Joure, the King of Mambrant, rap't
Faire Josian his deere Love, his noble sword and steed:
Which afterward by craft, he in a Palmers weed
Recoverd, and with him from Mambrant bare away.

And with two Lions how hee held a desperat fray,
Assayling him at once, that fiercelie on him flew:
Which first he tam'd with wounds, then by the necks them drew,
And gainst the hardned earth their jawes and shoulders burst;
And that (Golia-like) great Ascupart inforc't
To serve him for a slave, and by his horse to runne.

At Colein as againe the glorie that he wonne
On that huge Dragon, like the Country to destroy;
Whose sting strooke like a Lance: whose venom did destroy
As doth a generall plague: his scales like shields of brass;
His bodie, when hee moov'd, like some unweeldie mass,
Even brus'd the solid Earth. Which boldlie having song,

With all the sundry turnes that might thereto belong,
Whilst yet shee shapes her course how he came back to show
What powers he got abroad, how them he did bestow;
In England heere againe, how he by dint of sword
Unto his ancient lands and titles was restor'd,
New-forrest cry'd enough: and Waltham with the Bere,
Both bad her hold her peace; for they no more would heare.
And for shee was a flood, her fellowes nought would say;
But slipping to their banks, slid silentlie away.

When as the pliant Muse, with faire and even flight,
Betwixt her silver wings is wafted to the

Ile of Wight.

Wight:
That Ile, which jutting out into the Sea so farre,
Her ofspring traineth up in exercise of warre;
Those Pyrats to put backe that oft purloine her trade,
Or Spaniards, or the French attempting to invade.
Of all the Southerne Iles shee holds the highest place,
And evermore hath been the great'st in Britaines grace:
Not one of all her Nymphs her Soveraigne favoureth thus,
Imbraced in the armes of old Oceanus.
For none of her account, so neere her bosome stand,
Twixt

The Forelands of Cornwall and Kent.

Penwiths furthest point, and

The Forelands of Cornwall and Kent.

Goodwins queachy sand,
Both for her seat and soyle, that farre before the other,
Most justlie may account great Britaine for her Mother.
A finer fleece then hers not Lemsters selfe can boast,
Nor Newport for her Mart, o'r-matcht by any Coast.
To these, the gentle South, with kisses smooth and soft,
Doth in her bosome breathe, and seemes to court her oft.
Besides, her little Rills, her in-lands that doe feed,
Which with their lavish streames doe furnish everie need:
And Meads, that with their fine soft grassie towels stand
To wipe away the drops and moisture from her hand.
And to the North, betwixt the fore-land and the firme,
Shee hath that narrow Sea, which we the Solent tearme:

The Solent.

Where those rough irefull Tides, as in her Straits they meet,
With boystrous shocks and rores each other rudely greet:
Which fiercelie when they charge, and sadlie make retreat,
Upon the bulwarkt Forts of

Two Castles in the Sea.

Hurst and Calsheot beat,
Then to South-hampton runne: which by her shores supplide
(As Portsmouth by her strength) doth vilifie their pride;

Portsmouth.

Both, Roads that with our best may boldlie hold their plea,

Nor Plimmouths selfe hath borne more braver ships then they;
That from their anchoring Bayes have travailed to finde
Large Chinas wealthie Realms, and view'd the either Inde,
The pearlie rich Peru; and with as prosperous fate,
Have borne their ful-spred sailes upon the streames of Plate:
Whose pleasant harbors oft the Sea-mans hope renue,
To rigge his late-craz'd Barke, to spred a wanton clue;
Where they with lustie Sack, and mirthfull Sailers songs,
Defie their passed stormes, and laugh at Neptunes wrongs:
The danger quite forgot wherein they were of late;
Who halfe so merrie now as Maister and his Mate?
And victualling againe, with brave and man-like minds
To Sea-ward cast their eyes, and pray for happie winds.
But, partlie by the floods sent thither from the shore,
And Ilands that are set the bordring coast before:
As one amongst the rest, a brave and lustie Dame
Call'd Portsey, whence that Bay of Portsmouth hath her name:
By her, two little Iles, her handmaids (which compar'd
With those within the Poole, for deftness not out-dar'd)
The greater Haling hight: and fairest though by much,
Yet Thorney verie well, but some-what rough in tuch.
Whose beauties farre and neere divulged by report,
And by the

Neptunes Trumpeters.

Trytons told in mightie Neptunes Court,
Old

Proteus, a Sea-god, changing himselfe into any shape.

Proteus hath been knowne to leave his finny Heard,
And in their sight to spunge his foame-bespawled beard.
The Sea-gods, which about the watry kingdome keepe,
Have often for their sakes abandoned the Deepe;
That Thetis many a time to Neptune hath complaind,
How for those wanton Nymphes her Ladies were disdain'd:
And there arose such rut th'unrulie rout among,
That soone the noyse thereof through all the Ocean rong.

When Portsey, weighing well the ill to her might grow,
In that their mightie stirres might be her over-throw,
Shee stronglie straightneth-in the entrance to her Bay;

A poëticall description of the Solent Sea.

That, of their haunt debard, and shut out to the Sea
(Each small conceived wrong helps on distempred rage.)
No counsell could be heard their choler to aswage:
When every one suspects the next that is in place
To be the onely cause and meanes of his disgrace.
Some comming from the East, some from the setting Sunne,

The liquid Mountaines still together mainlie runne;
Wave woundeth wave againe; and billow, billow gores:
And topsie turvie so, flie tumbling to the shores.
From hence the Solent Sea, as some men thought, might stand
Amongst those things, which wee call Wonders of our Land.

When toghing up

Tichfield River.

that streame, so negligent of fame,
As till this verie day shee yet conceales her name;
By Bert and Waltham both, that's equally imbrac't,
And lastlie, at her fall, by Tichfield highlie grac't.
Whence, from old Windsor hill, and from the aged

Another little hill in Hampshire.

Stone,
The Muse those Countries sees, which call her to be gone.
The Forests tooke their leave: Bere, Chute, and Buckholt, bid
Adieu; so Wolmer, and so Ashholt, kindly did.
And Pamber shooke her head, as grieved at the hart;
When farre upon her way, and ready to depart,
As now the wandring Muse so sadlie went along,
To her last Farewell, thus, the goodlie Forests song.

Deere Muse, to plead our right, whom time at last hath brought,
Which else forlorne had lyen, and banisht everie thought,
When thou ascend'st the hills, and from their rising shrouds
Our sisters shalt commaund, whose tops once toucht the clouds;
Old

The great & ancient forest of Warwickshire.

Arden when thou meet'st, or doost faire

The goodly forest by Notingham.

Sherwood see,
Tell them, that as they waste, so everie day doe wee:
Wish them, we of our griefes may be each others heirs;
Let them lament our fall, and we will mourne for theirs.

Then turning from the South which lies in publique view,
The Muse an oblique course doth seriously pursue:
And pointing to the Plaines, she thither takes her way;
For which, to gaine her breath shee makes a little stay.

The third Song.

The Argument.

In this third Song, great threatnings are,
And tending all to Nymphish warre.
Old Wansdike uttereth words of hate,
Depraving Stonendges estate.
Cleere Avon and faire Willy strive,
Each pleading her prerogative.
The Plaine the Forrests doth disdaine:
The Forrests raile upon the Plaine.
The Muse then seekes the Shires extreames,
To find the Fountaine of great Tames;
Falls downe with Avon, and discries
Both Bathes and Bristowes braveries:
Then viewes the Sommersetian soyle;
Through Marshes, Mines, and Mores doth toyle,
To Avalon to Arthurs Grave,
Sadlie bemoan'd of Ochy Cave.
Then with delight shee bravelie brings
The Princely Parret from her Springs:
Preparing for the learned Plea
(The next Song) in the Severne Sea.

Up with the jocund Larke (Too long we take our rest.)
Whilst yet the blushing Dawne out of the cheerfull East
Is ushering forth the Day to light the Muse along:
Whose most delightfull touch, and sweetness of her Song,
Shall force the lustie Swaines out of the Country-townes,
To lead the loving Girles in daunces to the Downes.
The Nymphs, in Selwoods shades and Bradens woods that bee,
Their Oaken wreathes, ô Muse, shall offer up to thee.
And when thou shap'st thy course tow'rds where the soile is rank,
The Sommersetian mayds, by swelling Sabryns bank
Shall strewe the waies with flowers (where thou art comming on)
Brought from the Marshie-grounds by aged

Glastenburie.

Avalon.

From Sarum thus we set, remov'd from whence it stood
By Avon to reside, her deerest loved Flood:
Where her imperious

The goodly Church at Salisburie.

Fane her former seate disdaines,
And proudly over-tops the spacious neighboring Plaines.
What pleasures hath this Ile, of us esteem'd most deere,
In any place, but poore unto the plentie heere?
The chaulkie

Two places famous for Hares, the one in Buckinghamshire, the other in North-hamptonshire.

Chiltern fields, nor Kelmarsh selfe compares
With

Everley warren of Hares.

Everley for store and swiftnes of her Hares:
A horse of greater speed, nor yet a righter hound,
Not any where twixt Kent and

The furthest part of Scotland.

Calidon is found.
Nor yet the levell South can shewe a smoother Race,
Whereas the

Gant.

ballow Nag out-strips the winds in chase;
As famous in the West for matches yeerelie tride,
As

A famous Yorkeshire horsrace.

Garterley, possest of all the Northern pride:
And on his match, as much the Western horseman layes,
As the rank-riding Scots upon their

The best kind of Scotish nags.

Gallowayes.

And as the Westerne soyle as sound a Horse doth breed,
As doth the land that lies betwixt the Trent and Tweed:
No Hunter, so, but finds the breeding of the West,
The onely kind of Hounds, for mouth and nostrill best;

The Western hounds generally the best.

That cold doth sildome fret, nor heat doth over-haile;
As standing in the Flight, as pleasant on the Traile;
Free hunting, easely checkt, and loving every Chase;
Straight running, hard, and tough, of reasonable pase:
Not heavie, as that hound which Lancashire doth breed;
Nor as the Northerne kind, so light and hot of speed,
Upon the cleerer Chase, or on the foyled Traine,
Doth make the sweetest cry, in Wood-land, or on Plaine.

Where she, of all the Plaines of Britaine, that doth beare
The name to be the first (renowned everie where)
Hath worthily obtaind that Stonendge there should stand:
Shee, first of Plaines; and

Stonendge the greatest Wonder of England.

that, first Wonder of the Land.
Shee Wansdike also winnes, by whom shee is imbrac't,
That in his aged armes doth gird her ampler wast:
Who (for a mightie Mound sith long he did remaine
Betwixt the Mercians rule, and the West-Saxons raigne,
And therefore of his place him selfe hee proudly bare)
Had very oft beene heard with Stonendge to compare;
Whom for a paltry Ditch, when Stonendge pleasd t'upbraid,
The old man taking heart, thus to that Trophy said;

Dull heape, that thus thy head above the rest doost reare,
Precisely yet not know'st who first did place thee there;
But Traytor basely turn'd to Merlins skill doost flie,
And with his Magiques doost thy Makers truth belie:
Conspirator with Time, now growen so meane and poore,
Comparing these his spirits with those that went before;
Yet rather art content thy Builders praise to lose,
Then passed greatnes should thy present wants disclose.
Ill did those mightie men to trust thee with their storie,
That hast forgot their names, who rear'd thee for their glorie:
For all their wondrous cost, thou that hast serv'd them so,
What tis to trust to Tombes, by thee we easely know.

In these invectives thus whilst Wansdick doth complaine,
He interrupted is by that imperious

Salisbury-Plaine.

Plaine,
To heare two crystall Floods to court her, that apply
Themselves, which should be seene most gracious in her eye.

First, Willy boasts her selfe more worthy then the other,
And better farre deriv'd: as having to her mother
Faire

A Forest betwixt Wiltshire and Sommersetshire.

Selwood, and to bring up

Of diving under the earth.

Diver in her traine;
Which, when the envious soile would from her course restraine,
A mile creeps under earth, as flying all resort:
And how cleere Nader waits attendance in her Court;
And therefore claimes of right the Plaine should hold her deere,

Wilton of Willie, and Wiltshire of Wilton.

Which gives that Towne the name; which likewise names the Shire.

The Easterne Avon vaunts, and doth upon her take
To be the onelie child of shadefull

A Forest in Wiltshire, as the Map will tell you.

Savernake,
As Ambrayes ancient flood; her selfe and to enstile
The Stonendges best-lov'd, first wonder of the Ile;
And what (in her behoofe) might any want supply,
Shee vaunts the goodlie seat of famous Salsburie;
Where meeting prettie Bourne, with many a kind embrace,
Betwixt their crystall armes they clip that loved place.

Report, as lately rais'd, unto these Rivers came,
That Bathes cleere Avon (waxt imperious through her fame)
Their daliance should deride; and that by her disdaine,
Some other smaller Brooks, belonging to the Plaine,
A question seem'd to make, whereas the Shire sent forth
Two Avons, which should be the flood of greatest worth;
This streame, which to the South the

The French Sea, as you have in the note before.

Celtick Sea doth get,
Or that which from the North saluteth Somerset.

This when these Rivers heard, that even but lately strove
Which best did love the Plaine, or had the Plaines best love,
They straight themselves combine: for Willy wiselie waide,
That should her Avon lose the day for want of aide,
If one so great and neere were overprest with power,
The Foe (shee beeing lesse) would quicklie her devour.
As two contentious Kings, that on each little jarre,
Defiances send forth, proclaiming open warre,
Untill some other Realme, that on their frontires lies,
Be hazarded againe by other enemies,
Doe then betwixt themselves to composition fall,
To countercheck that sword, else like to conquer all:
So falls it with these Floods, that deadlie hate doe beare.
And whilst on either part strong preparations were,
It greatly was suppos'd strange strife would there have been,
Had not the goodly Plaine (plac't equally betweene)
Fore-warn'd them to desist, and off their purpose brake:
When in behalfe of Plaines thus (gloriously) she spake;

The Plaine of Salisburies speech in defence of all Plaines.

Away yee barb'rous Woods; How ever yee be plac't
On Mountaines, or in Dales, or happily be grac't
With floods, or marshie

Boggy places. A word frequent in Lancashire.

fels, with pasture, or with earth
By nature made to till, that by the yeerely birth
The large-bay'd Barne doth fill, yea though the fruitfulst ground.
For, in respect of Plaines, what pleasure can be found
In darke and sleepie shades? where mists and rotten fogs
Hang in the gloomie thicks, and make unstedfast bogs,
By dropping from the boughs, the o're-growen trees among,
With Caterpillers kells, and duskie cobwebs hong.

The deadlie Screech-owle sits, in gloomie covert hid:
Whereas the smooth-brow'd Plaine, as liberallie doth bid
The Larke to leave her Bowre, and on her trembling wing
In climing up tow'rds heaven, her high-pitcht Hymnes to sing
Unto the springing Day; when gainst the Sunnes arise
The earlie Dawning strewes the goodly Easterne skies
With Roses every where: who scarcelie lifts his head
To view this upper world, but hee his beames doth spred
Upon the goodlie Plaines; yet at his Noonesteds hight,
Doth scarcelie pierce the Brake with his farre-shooting sight.

The gentle Shepheards heer survay their gentler sheepe:
Amongst the bushie woods luxurious Satyrs keepe.

To these brave sports of field, who with desire is wonne,
To see his Grey-hound course, his Horse (in diet) runne,
His deepe mouth'd Hound to hunt, his long-wingd Haulk to flie,
To these most noble sports his mind who doth apply,
Resorts unto the Plaines. And not a foughten Field,
Where Kingdoms rights have laine upon the speare and shield,
But Plaines have beene the place; and all those Trophies hie
That ancient times have rear'd to noble memorie:
As, Stonendge, that to tell the British Princes slaine
By those false Saxons fraud, here ever shall remaine.
It was upon the Plaine of Mamre (to the fame
Of mee and all our kind) whereas the Angels came
To Abraham in his Tent, and there with him did feed;
To Sara his deere wife then promising the seed
By whom all Nations should so highly honor'd bee,
In which the Sonne of God they in the flesh should see.
But Forests, to your plague there soone will come an Age,
In which all damned sinnes most vehemently shall rage.
An Age! what have I said! nay, Ages there shall rise,
So senselesse of the good of their posterities,
That of your greatest Groves they scarce shall leave a tree
(By which the harmelesse Deere may after sheltred bee)
Their luxurie and pride but onely to maintaine,
And for your long excesse shall turne ye all to paine.

Thus ending; though some hils themselves that doe applie
To please the goodly Plaine, still standing in her eie,

Divers hills neere & about Salisbury Plaine.

Did much applaud her speech (as Haradon, whose head
Old Ambry still doth awe, and Bagden from his sted,
Survaying of the Vies, whose likings do allure
Both Ouldbry and Saint Anne; and they againe procure
Mount Marting-sall: and he those hils that stand aloofe,
Those brothers Barbury, and Badbury, whose proofe
Addes much unto her praise) yet in most high disdaine,
The Forrests take her words, and sweare the prating Plaine
Growne old began to doate: and Savernake so much
Is galled with her taunts (whom they so nearely touch)
That she in spitefull tearmes defies her to her face;
And Aldburne with the rest, though being but a Chase,
At worse then nought her sets: but Bradon all afloate
When it was tolde to her, set open such a throate,

That all the countrey rang. She cals her barren Jade,
Base Queane, and riv'ld Witch, and wisht she could be made
But worthy of her hate (which most of all her grieves)
The basest beggers Baude, a harborer of theeves.
Then Peusham, and with her old Blackmore (not behinde)
Do wish that from the Seas some soultrie Southerne winde,
The foule infectious damps, and poisned aires would sweepe,
And poure them on the Plaine, to rot her and her Sheepe.

But whilst the sportive Muse delights her with these things,
She strangely taken is with those delicious Springs
Of Kenet rising here, and of the nobler Streame
Of Isis setting forth upon her way to Tame,
By Greeklade; whose great name yet vaunts that learned tong,
Where to great Britaine first the sacred Muses song;
Which first were seated here, at Isis bountious head,
As telling that her fame should through the world be spread;
And tempted by this flood, to Oxford after came,
There likewise to delight her bridegroome, lovely Tame:
Whose beautie when they saw, so much they did adore,
That Greeklade they forsooke, and would goe backe no more.

Then Bradon gently brings forth Avon from her source:
Which Southward making soone in her most quiet course,
Receives the gentle Calne: when on her rising side,
First Blackmoore crownes her banke, as Peusham with her pride
Sets out her murmuring sholes, till (turning to the West)
Her, Somerset receives, with all the bounties blest
That Nature can produce in that Bathonian Spring,
Which from the Sulphury Mines her med'cinall force doth bring;
As Physick hath found out by colour, taste, and smell,
Which taught the world at first the vertue of that Well;
What quickliest it could cure: which men of knowledge drew
From that first minerall cause: but some that little knew
(Yet felt the great effects continually it wrought)
Ascrib'd it to that skill, which Bladud hither brought,
As by that learned King the Bathes should be begunne;
Not from the quickned Mine, by the begetting Sunne
Giving that naturall power, which by the vig'rous sweate,
Doth lend the lively Springs their perdurable heate
In passing through the veines, where matter doth not need;
Which in that minerous earth insep'rably doth breed:

So nature hath purvai'd, that during all her raigne
The Bathes their native power for ever shall retaine:
Where Time that Citie built, which to her greater fame,
Preserving of that Spring, participates her name;
The Tutilage whereof (as those past worlds did please)

Minerva and Hercules, the protectors of these fountains.

Some to Minerva gave, and some to Hercules:
Proud Phœbus loved Spring, in whose Diurnall course,
When on this point of earth he bends his greatest force,
By his so strong approach, provokes her to desire;
Stung with the kindly rage of loves impatient fire:
Which boiling in her wombe, projects (as to a birth)
Such matter as she takes from the grosse humorous earth;
Till purg'd of dregs and slime, and her complexion cleere,
She smileth on the light, and lookes with mirthfull cheere.

Then came the lustie Froome, the first of floods that met
Faire Avon entring in to fruitfull Somerset,
With her attending Brooks; and her to Bathe doth bring,
Much honoured by that place, Minerva's sacred Spring.
To noble Avon, next, cleere Chute as kindly came,

The delicacies of Bristow.

To Bristow her to beare, the fairest seat of Fame:
To entertaine this flood, as great a mind that hath,
And striving in that kind farre to excell the Bath.
As when some wealthy Lord, prepares to entertaine
A man of high account, and feast his gallant traine;
Of him that did the like, doth seriously enquire
His diet, his device, his service, his attire;
That varying every thing (exampled by his store)
He everie way may passe what th'other did before:
Even so this Citie doth; the prospect of which place
To her faire building addes an admirable grace;
Well fashioned as the best, and with a double wall,
As brave as any Towne; but yet excelling all
For easement, that to health is requisit and meete;
Her piled shores, to keepe her delicate and sweete:
Hereto, she hath her Tides; that when she is opprest
With heat or drought, still poure their floods upon her breast.

To Mendip then the Muse upon the South inclines,
Which is the onely store, and Coffer of her Mines:
Elsewhere the Fields and Meades their sundry traffiques suit:
The Forrests yeeld her wood, the Orchards give her fruit.

As in some rich mans house his severall charges lie,
There stands his Wardrobe, here remaines his Treasurie;
His large provision there, of Fish, of Fowl, and Neat;
His Cellars for his Wines, his Larders for his meate;
There Banquet houses, Walkes for pleasure; here againe
Cribs, Graners, Stables, Barnes, the other to maintaine:
So this rich countrey hath, it selfe what may suffice;
Or that which through exchange a smaller want supplies:

Yet Ochyes dreadfull Hole still held her selfe disgrac't,
With

A catalog of many wonders of this Land.

th'wonders of this Ile that she should not be plac't:
But that which vext her most, was, that the

The Divels arse.

Peakish Cave
Before her darkesome selfe such dignitie should have;
And

The Salt Wels in Chesshire.

th'Wyches for their Salts such state on them should take;
Or Cheshire should preferre her sad

Bruertons pond.

Death-boding-lake;
And Stonendge in the world should get so high respect,
Which imitating Arte but idly did erect:
And that amongst the rest, the vaine inconstant

A river by Westchester.

Dee,
By changing of his Foards, for one should reckond bee;
As of another sort, wood turn'd to

By sundry soiles of Britaine.

stone; among,
Th'anatomized

Our Pikes, ript and sow'd up, live.

Fish, and Fowles from

Barnacles a bird breeding upon old ships.

planchers sprong:
And on the Cambrian side those strange and wondrous

Wondrous Springs in Wales.

Springs,
Our

Sheepe.

beasts that seldome drinke; a thousand other things
Which Ochy inly vext, that they to fame should mount,
And greatly griev'd her friends for her so small account;
That there was scarcely Rock, or River, Marsh, or Meare
That held not Ochyes wrongs (for all held Ochy deare)
In great and high disdaine: and Froome for her disgrace
Since scarcely ever washt the Colesleck from her face;
But (melancholy growne) to Avon gets a path,
Through sickeness forc't to seeke for cure unto the Bath:
And Chedder for meere griefe his teene he could not wreake,
Gusht forth so forcefull streames, that he was like to breake
The greater bankes of Ax, as from his mothers Cave,
He wandred towards the Sea; for madnesse who doth rave
At his drad mothers wrong: but who so wo begon
For Ochy, as the Ile of ancient Avalon?
Who having in her selfe, as inward cause of griefe,
Neglecteth yet her owne, to give her friend reliefe.
The other so againe for her doth sorrow make,
And in the Iles behalfe the dreadfull Caverne spake;

O three times famous Ile, where is that place that might
Be with thy selfe compar'd for glorie and delight,
Whilst Glastenbury stood? exalted to that pride,
Whose Monasterie seem'd all other to deride?
O who thy ruine sees, whom wonder doth not fill
With our great fathers pompe, devotion, and their skill?
Thou more then mortall power (this judgement rightly wai'd)
Then present to assist, at that foundation lai'd;
On whom for this sad waste, should Justice lay the crime?
Is there a power in Fate, or doth it yeeld to Time?
Or was their error such, that thou could'st not protect
Those buildings which thy hand did with their zeale erect?
To whom didst thou commit that monument, to keepe,
That suffreth with the dead their memory to sleepe?
When not great Arthurs Tombe, nor holy

Joseph of Arimathea.

Josephs Grave,
From sacriledge had power their sacred bones to save;
He who that God in man to his sepulchre brought,
Or he which for the faith twelve famous battels fought.
What? Did so many Kings do honor to that place,
For Avarice at last so vilely to deface?
For rev'rence, to that seat which hath ascribed beene,

The wondrous tree at Glastenbury.

Trees yet in winter bloome, and beare their Summers greene.

This said, she many a sigh from her full stomacke cast,
Which issued through her breast in many a boystrous blast;
And with such floods of teares her sorrowes doth condole,
As into rivers turne within that darkesome hole:
Like sorrow for her selfe, this goodly Ile doth trie;
Imbrac't by Selwoods sonne, her flood the lovely Bry,
On whom the Fates bestow'd (when he conceived was)
He should be much belov'd of many a daintie Lasse;
Who gives all leave to like, yet of them liketh none:
But his affection sets on beautious Avalon;

Fruitful Moors on the bankes of Bry.

Though many a plump-thigh'd moore, & ful-flanck't marsh do prove
To force his chaste desires, so dainty of his love.
First Sedgemore shewes this floud, her bosome all unbrac't,
And casts her wanton armes about his slender wast:
Her lover to obtaine, so amorous Audry seekes:
And Gedney softly steales sweet kisses from his cheekes.
One takes him by the hand, intreating him to stay:
Another pluckes him backe, when he would faine away:

But, having caught at length, whom long he did pursue,
Is so intranc't with love, her goodly parts to view,
That altring quite his shape, to her he doth appeare,
And casts his crystall selfe into an ample Meare:
But for his greater growth when needs he must depart,
And forc't to leave his Love (though with a heavie hart)
As hee his back doth turne, and is departing out,
The batning marshie Brent environs him about:
But lothing her imbrace, away in haste he flings,
And in the Severne Sea surrounds his plentious Springs.

But, dallying in this place so long why doost thou dwell,
So many sundry things here having yet to tell?
Occasion calls the Muse her pynions to prepare.
Which (striking with the wind the vast and open aire)
Now, in the finnie Heaths, then in the Champains roves;
Now, measures out this Plaine; and then survayes those groves;
The batfull pastures fenc't, and most with quickset mound,
The sundry sorts of soyle, diversitie of ground;
Where Plow-men cleanse the Earth of rubbish, weed, and filth,
And give the fallow lands their seasons and their tylth:
Where, best for breeding horse; where cattell fitst to keepe;
Which good for bearing Corne; which pasturing for sheepe:
The leane and hungry earth, the fat and marly mold,
Where sands be alwaies hot, and where the clayes be cold;
With plentie where they waste, some others toucht with want:
Heere set, and there they sowe; here proine, and there they plant.

As Wiltshire is a place best pleas'd with that resort
Which spend away the time continuallie in sport;
So Somerset, her selfe to profit doth apply,
As given all to gaine, and thriving huswifrie.
For, whereas in a Land one doth consume and wast,
Tis fit another be to gather in as fast:
This liketh moorie plots, delights in sedgie Bowres,
The grassy garlands loves, and oft attyr'd with flowres
Of ranke and mellow gleabe; a sward as soft as wooll,
With her complexion strong, a belly plumpe and full.

Thus whilst the active Muse straines out these various things,
Cleere Parret makes approach, with all those plentious Springs
Her fruitful banks that blesse; by whose Monarchall sway,
Shee fortifies her selfe against that mightie day

Wherein her utmost power she should be forc't to try.
For, from the Druides time there was a prophecie,
That there should come a day (which now was neere at hand
By all forerunning signes) that on the Easterne Strand,
If

A supposed prophecie upon Parret.

Parret stood not fast upon the English side,
They all should be supprest: and by the British pride
In cunning over-come; for why, impartiall Fate
(Yet constant alwaies to the Britains crazed state)
Forbad they yet should fall; by whom she meant to showe
How much the present Age, and after-times should owe
Unto the line of Brute. Cleere Parret therefore prest
Her tributarie Streames, and whollie her addrest
Against the ancient Foe: First, calling to her ayde
Two Rivers of

Ivel: from which, the town Ivel is denominated.

one name; which seeme as though they stayd
Their Empresse as she went, her either hand that take.
The first upon the right, as from her source, doth make
Large Muchelney an Ile, and unto Ivell lends
Her hardlie-rendred name: That on her left, descends
From Neroch's neighboring woods; which, of that Forest borne,
Her rivalls proffered grace opprobriously doth scorne.
Shee by her wandring course doth Athelney in-Ile:
And for the greater state, her selfe she doth instile
The nearest neighbouring flood to Arthurs ancient seat,
Which made the Britaines name through all the world so great.
Like Camelot, what place, was ever yet renownd?
Where, as at Carlion, oft, hee kept the Table-round,
Most famous for the sports at Pentecost so long,
From whence all Knightlie deeds, and brave atchievements sprong.
As some soft-sliding Rill, which from a lesser head
(Yet in his going forth, by many a Fountaine fed)
Extends it selfe at length unto a goodly streame:
So, almost through the world his fame flew from this Realme;
That justlie I may charge those ancient Bards of wrong,
So idly to neglect his glorie in their Song.
For some aboundant braine, ô there had been a storie
Beyond the

Homer.

Blind-mans might to have inhanc't our glorie.

Tow'rds the Sabrinian Sea then Parret setting on,
To her attendance next comes in the beautious Tone,
Crown'd with embroidred banks, and gorgeously arraid
With all th'enamild flowers of manie a goodly Mead:

In Orchards richly clad; whose proud aspyring boughes
Even of the tallest woods doe scorne a jote to loose,
Though Selwoods mighty selfe and Neroch standing by:
The sweetnes of her soyle through every Coast doth fly.
What eare so empty is, that hath not heard the sound
Of Tauntons fruitfull

One of the fruitfull places of this Land.

Deane? not matcht by any ground;
By

Interpreted the noble Ile.

Athelney ador'd, a neighbourer to her Land:
Whereas those higher hills to view faire Tone that stand,
Her coadjuting Springs with much content behold:
Where Sea-ward Quantock stands as Neptune he controld,
And Blackdown In-land borne, a Mountain and a Mound,
As though he stood to look about the Country round:
But Parret as a Prince, attended heere the while,
Inricht with every Moore, and every In-land Ile,
Upon her taketh State, well forward tow'rds her fall:
Whom lastly yet to grace, and not the least of all,
Comes in the lively Carre, a Nymph, most lovely cleere,
From Somerton sent downe the Soveraigne of the Sheere;
Which makes our Parret proude. And wallowing in excesse,
Whilst like a Prince she vaunts amid the watry presse,
The breathlesse Muse awhile her wearied wings shall ease,
To get her strength to stem the rough Sabrinian Seas.

The fourth Song.

The Argument.

England and Wales strive, in this Song,
To wether, Lundy doth belong:
When eithers Nymphs, to cleere the doubt,
By Musick meane her to try it out.
Of mightie Neptune leave they aske:
Each one betakes her to her taske;
The Britaines, with the Harpe and Crowd:
The English, both with still and loud.
The Britaines thaunt King Arthurs glory:
The English sing their Saxons storie.
The Hills of Wales their weapons take,
And are an uprore like to make,
To keepe the English part in awe.
There's heave, and shove, and hold, and draw;
The Severne can them scarce divide,
Till Judgment may the Cause decide.

This while in Sabrin's Court strong factions strangley grew,
Since Cornwall for her owne, and as her proper due,
Claim'd Lundy, which was said to Cambria to belong,
Who oft had sought redresse for that her ancient wrong:
But her inveterate Foe, borne-out by Englands might,
O're-swaies her weaker power; that (now in eithers right)
As Severne finds no Flood so great, nor poorelie meane,
But that the naturall Spring (her force which doth maintaine)

From England or Wales.

From this or that shee takes; so from this Faction free
(Begun about this Ile) not one was like to bee.

This Lundy is a Nymph to idle toyes inclin'd;
And, all on pleasure set, doth whollie give her mind
To see upon her shores her Fowle and Conies fed,
And wantonlie to hatch the Birds of Ganimed.
Of trafique or returne shee never taketh care:
Not provident of pelfe, as many Ilands are:

A lustie black-brow'd Girle, with forehead broad and hie,
That often had bewitcht the Sea-gods with her eye.
Of all the In-laid Iles her Soveraigne Severne keepes,
That bathe their amorous breasts within her secret Deepes
(To love her

Certaine little Iles lying within Severne.

Barry much and Silly though shee seeme,
The Flat Holme and the Steepe as likewise to esteeme)
This noblest British

Severne.

Nymph yet likes her Lundy best,
And to great Neptunes grace preferres before the rest.

Thus,

Wales.

Cambria to her right that would her selfe restore,
And rather then to lose

England.

Loëgria, lookes for more;
The Nymphs of either part, whom passion doth invade,
To triall straight will goe, though Neptune should disswade:
But of the weaker sex, the most part full of spleene,
And onely wanting strength to wreake their angry teene,
For skill their challenge make, which everie one profest,
And in the learned Arts (of knowledges the best,
And to th'heroïck spirit most pleasing under skie)
Sweet Musick, rightlie matcht with heavenlie Poësie,
In which they all exceed: and in this kind alone
They Conquerers vow to be, or lastlie overthrowne.

Which when faire Sabrine saw (as shee is wondrous wise)
And that it were in vaine them better to advise,
Sith this contention sprang from Countries like alli'd,
That shee would not be found t'incline to either side,
To mightie Neptune sues to have his free consent
Due triall they might make: When he incontinent
His Trytons sendeth out the challenge to proclaime.

No sooner that divulg'd in his so dreadfull name,
But such a shout was sent from everie neighboring Spring,
That the report was heard through all his Court to ring:
And from the largest Streame unto the lesser Brooke,
Them to this wondrous taske they seriouslie betooke:
They curle their Ivory fronts; and not the smallest Beck
But with white Pebles makes her Tawdries for her neck;
Lay forth their amorous breasts unto the publique view,
Enamiling the white, with veines that were as blew;
Each Moore, each Marsh, each Mead, preparing rich array
To set their Rivers forth against this generall day.
Mongst Forrests, Hills, and Floods, was ne're such heave and shove
Since

Albion, Neptunes son, warred with Hercules.

Albion weelded Armes against the sonne of Jove.

When as the English part their courage to declare,
Them to th'appointed place immediatly prepare.
A troupe of stately Nymphs proud Avon with her brings
(As shee that hath the charge of wise

The Bathes. All these Rivers you may see in the third Song.

Minervas Springs)
From Mendip tripping downe, about the tinny Mine.
And Ax, no lesse imploy'd about this great designe,
Leads forth a lustie Rout; when Bry, with all her throng
(With very madnes swolne that she had stai'd so long)
Comes from the boggie Mears and queachy fens below:
That Parret (highly pleas'd to see the gallant show)
Set out with such a traine as bore so great a sway,
The soyle but scarcely serves to give her hugenesse way.

Then the Devonian Tawe, from Dertmore deckt with pearle,
Unto the conflict comes: with her that gallant Girle
Cleere Towridge, whom they fear'd would have estrang'd her fall:
Whose comming, lastlie, bred such courage in them all,
As drew downe many a Nymph from the Cornubian shore,
That paint their goodlie breasts with sundrie sorts of Ore.

The British, that this while had stood a view to take
What to her utmost power the publique Foe could make,
But slightlie weigh their strength: for, by her naturall kind,
As still the Britan beares a brave and noble mind;
So, trusting to their skill, and goodnes of their Cause,
For speedie Triall call, and for indifferent Lawes.

At length, by both allow'd, it to this issue grew;
To make a likely choise of some most expert crew,
Whose number comming neere unto the others dowre,
The English should not urge they were o're-borne by powre.
Yet hardlie upon Powse they dare their hopes to lay,
For that shee hath commerce with England every day:
Nor Rosse; for that too much shee Aliens doth respect;
And following them, forgoes her ancient Dialect.
The

Floods of North-wales.

Venedotian Floods, that ancient Britans were,
The Mountaines kept them backe, and shut them in the Reare:
But Brecknock, long time knowne a Country of much worth,
Unto this conflict brings her goodly Fountaines forth:
For almost not a Brooke of

Glamorgan & Monmouthshires.

Morgany, nor Gwent,
But from her fruitfull wombe doe fetch their hie descent.
For Brecan, was a Prince once fortunate and great
(Who dying, lent his name to that his nobler seat)

With

A supposed metamorphosis of Brecans daughters.

twice twelve daughters blest, by one and onely wife:
Who for their beauties rare, and sanctitie of life,
To Rivers were transform'd; whose pureness doth declare
How excellent they were, by beeing what they are:
Who dying virgins all, and Rivers now by Fate,
To tell their former love to the unmaried state,
To Severne shape their course, which now their forme doth beare;
Ere shee was made a flood, a virgine as they were.
And from the Irish seas with feare they still doe flie:
So much they yet delight in mayden companie.

Then most renowned Wales, thou famous ancient place,
Which still hast been the Nurse of all the British race,
Since Nature thee denies that purple-cluster'd Vine,
Which others Temples chafes with fragrant sparkling Wine;
And being now in hand, to write thy glorious praise;
Fill me a bowle of Meath, my working spirit to raise:
And ere seven Bookes have end, I'le strike so high a string,
Thy Bards shall stand amaz'd with wonder, whilst I sing;
That Taliessen, once which made the Rivers dance,
And in his rapture raiz'd the Mountaines from their trance,
Shall tremble at my Verse, rebounding from the skies;
Which like an earth-quake shakes the Tomb wherein he lies.

First our triumphing Muse of sprightly Uske shall tell,
And what to every Nymph attending her, befell:
Which Cray and Camlas first for Pages doth reteane;
With whom the next in place comes in the tripping Breane,
With Isker; and with her comes Hodny fine and cleere,
Of Brecknock best belov'd, the Soveraigne of the Sheere:
And Grony, at an inch, waits on her Mistress heeles.
But entring (at the last) the Monumethian fields,
Small Fidan, with Cledaugh, increase her goodly Menie,
Short Kebby, and the Brooke that christneth Abergeny.

With all her watry traine, when now at last she came
Unto that happie Towne which beares her

Monmouth.

onely name,
Bright Birthin, with her friend faire Olwy, kindly meet her;
Which for her present haste, have scarcely time to greet her:
But earnest on her way, she needsly will be gone;
So much she longs to see the ancient Carleon.
When Avon commeth in, then which amongst them all
A finer is not found betwixt her head and fall.

Then Ebwith, and with her slides Srowy; which forelay
Her progresse, and for Uske keepe entrance to the Sea.

When Munno, all this while, that (for her owne behoofe)
From this their great recourse had strangely stood aloofe,
Made proude by Monmouths name appointed her by Fate,
Of all the rest herein observed speciall state.
For once the Bards foretold she should produce a

Henry the fift, stiled of Monmouth.

King,
Which everlasting praise to her great name should bring,
Who by his conquering sword should all the land surprise,
Which twixt the

A maritime hill in Caernarvan Shire.

Penmenmaur and the

Hils dividing Spaine and France.

Pyreni lies:
She therefore is allow'd her leasure; and by her
They winne the goodly Wye, whome strongly she doth stirre
Her powerfull helpe to lend: which else she had denide,
Because her selfe so oft to England she allyed:
But b'ing by Munno made for Wales, away she goes.
Which when as Throggy sees, her selfe she headlong throwes
Into the watry throng, with many another Rill,
Repairing to the Welch, their number up to fill.
That Remny when shee saw, these gallant Nymphs of Gwent,
On this appointed match, were all so hotlie bent,
Where shee of ancient time had parted, as a Mound
The Monumethian fields, and Glamorganian ground,
Intreats the Taffe along, as gray as any glasse:
With whom cleere Cunno comes, a lustie Cambrian Lasse:
Then Elwy, and with her Ewenny holds her way,
And Ogmore, that would yet be there as soone as they,
By Avon called in: when nimbler Neath anon
(To all the neighbouring Nymphs for her rare beauties known;
Besides her double head, to helpe her streame that hath
Her handmaids, Melta sweet, cleere Hepsey, and Tragath)
From Brecknock forth doth breake; then Dulas and Cledaugh,
By

Glamorgan.

Morgany doe drive her through her watry

A kind of Trench.

saugh;
With Tawy, taking part t'assist the Cambrian power:
Then Lhu and Logor, given to strengthen them by Gower.

Mongst whom, some Bards there were, that in their sacred rage
Recorded the Descents, and acts of everie Age.
Some with their nimbler joynts that strooke the warbling string;
In fingering some unskild, but onelie us'd to sing
Unto the others Harpe: of which you both might find
Great plentie, and of both excelling in their kind,

That at the Stethva oft obtain'd a Victors praise,
Had wonne the Silver Harpe, and worne Apollos Bayes:
Whose Verses they deduc't from those first golden times,
Of sundry sorts of Feet, and sundry sutes of Rimes.
In

Englins, Cowiths, and Awdells, British formes of verses. See the Illustrations.

Englins some there were that on their subject straine;
Some Makers that againe affect the loftier vaine,
Rehearse their high conceits in Cowiths: other-some
In Owdells theirs expresse, as matter haps to come;
So varying still their Moods, observing yet in all
Their Quantities, their Rests, their Ceasures metricall:
For to that sacred skill they most themselves apply;
Addicted from their births so much to Poësie,
That in the Mountaines those who scarce have seene a Booke,
Most skilfully will

A word, used by the Ancients, signifying to versify.

make, as though from Art they tooke.

And as Loëgria spares not any thing of worth
That any way might set her goodly Rivers forth,
As stones by nature cut from the Cornubian Strond;
Her Dertmore sends them Pearle; Rock-vincent, Diamond:
So Cambria, of her Nymphs especiall care will have.
For Conwy sends them Pearle to make them wondrous brave;
The sacred

Saint Winifrids Well.

Virgins-well, her mosse most sweet and rare,
Against infectious damps for Pomander to weare:
And

A glistring Rock in Monmouthshire.

Goldcliff of his Ore in plentious sort allowes,
To spangle their attyers, and deck their amorous browes.

And lastlie, holie Dee (whose pray'rs were highly priz'd,
As one in heavenlie things devoutlie exercis'd:
Who,

See the eight Song.

changing of his Foards, by divination had
Fore-told the neighboring folke of fortune good or bad)
In their intended course sith needs they will proceed,
His Benediction sends in way of happy speed.
And though there were such haste unto this long-lookt howre,
Yet let they not to call upon th'Eternall Power.
For, who will have his worke his wished end to winne,
Let him with hartie prayer religiouslie beginne.
Wherefore the English part, with full devout intent,
In meet and godlie sort to Glastenbury sent,
Beseeching of the Saints in Avalon that were,
There offring at their Tombes for everie one a teare,
And humblie to Saint George their Countries Patron pray,
To prosper their designe now in this mightie day.

The Britans, like devout, their Messengers direct
To David, that he would their ancient right protect.
Mongst Hatterills loftie hills, that with the clowds are crown'd,
The Vally

In Monmothshire.

Ewias lies, immur'd so deep and round,
As they belowe that see the Mountaines rise so hie,
Might thinke the stragling Heards were grazing in the skie:
Which in it such a shape of solitude doth beare,
As Nature at the first appointed it for pray'r:
Where, in an aged Cell, with mosse and Ivie growne,
In which, not to this day the Sunne hath ever showne,
That reverent British Saint in zealous Ages past,
To contemplation liv'd; and did so trulie fast,
As he did onelie drinke what crystall Hodney yeelds,
And fed upon the Leeks he gather'd in the fields.
In memorie of whom, in the revolving yeere
The Welch-men on his day that sacred herbe doe weare:
Where, of that holie man, as humblie they doe crave,
That in their just defence they might his furtherance have.

Thus either, well prepard the others power before,
Convenientlie be'ing plac't upon their equall shore;
The Britans, to whose lot the Onset doth belong,
Give signall to the Foe for silence to their Song.

To tell each various Straine and turning of their Rimes,
How this in compasse falls, or that in sharpeness climes
(As where they rest and rise, how take it one from one,
As every severall Chord hath a peculiar Tone)
Even Memorie her selfe, though striving, would come short:
But the materiall things Muse helpe me to report.

As first, t'affront the Foe, in th'ancient Britans right,
With Arthur they begin, their most renowned Knight;
The richness of the Armes their well-made

Arthur, one of the nine Worthies.

Worthie wore,
The temper of his sword (the try'd Escalaboure)
The bignes and the length of Rone, his noble Speare;
With Pridwin his great Shield, and what the proofe could beare;
His Baudrick how adorn'd with stones of wondrous price,
The sacred Virgins shape he bore for his device;
These monuments of worth, the ancient Britans song.

Now, doubting least these things might hold them but too long,
His warres they tooke to taske; the Land then over-layd
With those proud German powers: when, calling to his ayde

His kinsman Howell, brought from Britany the lesse,
Their Armies they unite, both swearing to suppresse
The Saxon, heer that sought through conquest all to gaine.
On whom he chanc't to light at Lincolne: where the Plaine
Each where from side to side lay scatter'd with the dead.
And when the conquer'd Foe, that from the conflict fled,
Betooke them to the woods, hee never left them there
Untill the British earth he forc't them to forsweare.
And as his actions rose, so raise they still their veine,
In words, whose weight best sute a sublimated straine.

They sung how he, him selfe at Badon bore that day,
When at the glorious Gole his British Scepter lay:
Two daies together how the battell stronglie stood:
Pendragons worthie sonne who waded there in blood,
Three hundred Saxons slew with his owne valiant hand.

And after (cald, the Pict, and Irish to withstand)
How he, by force of Armes Albania over-ran,
Pursuing of the Pict beyond Mount Calidon:
There strongly shut them up whom stoutly he subdu'd.

How Gillamore againe to Ireland he pursu'd
So oft as he presum'd the envious Pict to ayde:
And having slaine the King, the Country waste hee laid.

To Goth-land how againe this Conqueror maketh-forth
With his so prosp'rous powers into the farthest North:
Where, Island first he wonne, and Orkney after got.

To Norway sayling next with his deere Nephew Lot,
By deadlie dint of sword did Ricoll there defeat:
And having plac't the Prince on that Norwegian seat,
How this courageous King did Denmarke then controle:
That scarcelie there was found a Countrie to the Pole
That dreaded not his deeds, too long that were to tell.

And after these, in France th'adventures him befell
At Paris, in the Lists, where he with Flollio fought;
The Emperor Leons power to raise his Siege that brought.

Then bravelie set they forth, in combat how these Knights
On horseback and on foote perform'd their severall fights:
As with what marvailous force each other they assaild,
How mighty Flollio first, how Arthur then prevail'd;
For best advantage how they traversed their grounds,
The horrid blowes they lent, the world-amazing wounds,

Untill the Tribune, tyr'd, sanke under Arthurs sword.

Then sing they how hee first ordain'd the Circled-board,
The Knights whose martiall deeds farre fam'd that Table-round;
Which, truest in their loves; which, most in Armes renown'd:
The Lawes, which long up-held that Order, they report;
The Pentecosts prepar'd at Carleon in his Court,
That Tables ancient seate; her Temples and her Groves,
Her Palaces, her Walks, Baths, Theaters, and Stoves:
Her Academie, then, as likewise they prefer:
Of Camilot they sing, and then of Winchester.
The feasts that under-ground the Faërie did him make,
And there how he enjoyd the Lady of the Lake.

Then told they, how him selfe great Arthur did advance,
To meet (with his Allies) that puissant force in France,
By Lucius thither led; those Armies that while-ere
Affrighted all the world, by him strooke dead with feare:
Th'report of his great Acts that over Europe ran,
In that most famous Field he with the Emperor wan:
As how great Rython's selfe hee slew in his repaire,
Who ravisht Howells Neece, young Hellena the faire;
And for a Trophy brought the Giants coat away
Made of the beards of Kings. Then bravelie chanted they
The severall twelve pitcht Fields he with the Saxons fought:
The certaine day and place to memorie they brought;
Then by false Mordreds hand how last hee chanc't to fall,
The howre of his decease, his place of buriall.

When out the English cry'd, to interrupt their Song:
But they, which knew to this more matter must belong,
Not out at all for that, nor any whit dismay'd,
But to their well-tun'd Harps their fingers closelie laid:
Twixt every one of which they plac't their Countries Crowd,
And with courageous spirits thus boldly sang aloud;
How Merlin by his skill, and Magiques wondrous might,
From Ireland hither brought the Stonendge in a night:
And for Carmardens sake, would faine have brought to passe,
About it to have built a wall of solid Brasse:
And set his Fiends to work upon the mightie frame;
Some to the Anvile: some, that still inforc't the flame:
But whilst it was in hand, by loving of an Elfe
(For all his wondrous skill) was coosned by him selfe.

For, walking with his Fay, her to the Rocke hee brought,
In which hee oft before his Nigromancies wrought:
And going in thereat his Magiques to have showne,
Shee stopt the Caverns mouth with an inchanted stone:
Whose cunning strongly crost, amaz'd whilst he did stand,
Shee captive him convay'd unto the Fairie Land.

Then, how the laboring spirits, to Rocks by fetters bound,
With bellowes rumbling groanes, and hammers thundring sound,
A fearefull horrid dinne still in the Earth doe keepe,
Their Master to awake, suppos'd by them to sleepe;
As at their work how still the grieved spirits repine,
Tormented in the Fire, and tyred at the Mine.

When now the British side scarce finished their Song,
But th'English that repyn'd to be delay'd so long,
All quicklie at the hint, as with one free consent,
Strooke up at once and sung each to the Instrument;
(Of sundry sorts that were, as the Musician likes)
On which the practic'd hand with perfect'st fingring strikes,
Whereby their height of skill might liveliest be exprest.
The trembling Lute some touch, some straine the Violl best
In sets which there were seene, the musick wondrous choice:
Some likewise there affect the Gamba with the voice,
To shew that England could varietie afford.

The sundry Musiques of England.

Some that delight to touch the sterner wyerie Chord,
The Cythron, the Pandore, and the Theorbo strike:
The Gittern and the Kit the wandring Fidlers like.
So were there some againe, in this their learned strife
Loud Instruments that lov'd; the Cornet and the Phife,
The Hoboy, Sagbut deepe, Recorder, and the Flute:
Even from the shrillest Shawme unto the Cornamute.
Some blowe the Bagpipe up, that plaies the Country-round:
The Taber and the Pipe, some take delight to sound.

Of Germanie they sung the long and ancient fame,
From whence their noble Sires the valiant Saxons came,
Who sought by Sea and Land Adventures farre and neere;
And seizing at the last upon the Britans heere,
Surpriz'd the spacious Ile, which still for theirs they hold:
As in that Countries praise how in those times of old,
Tuisco, Gomers sonne, from

Gen. 11. 8. 9.

unbuilt Babell brought
His people to that place, with most high knowledge fraught,

And under wholsome Lawes establisht their aboad;
Whom his Tudeski since have honor'd as a God:
Whose cleare creation made them absolute in all,
Retaining till this time their pure Originall.
And as they boast themselves the Nation most unmixt,
Their language as at first, their ancient customes fixt,
The people of the world most hardie, wise and strong;
So gloriously they show, that all the rest among
The Saxons of her sorts the very noblest were:
And of those crooked Skaines they us'd in warre to beare,
Which in their thundring tongue, the Germans, Handseax name,
They Saxons first were call'd: whose farre extended fame
For hardiness in warre, whom danger never fraid,
Allur'd the Britans here to call them to their ayde:
From whom they after reft Loëgria as their own,
Brutes ofspring then too weake to keepe it beeing grown.

This told: the Nymphs againe, in nimbler straines of wit,
Next neatly come about, the Englishmen to quit
Of that inglorious blot by Bastard William brought
Upon this conquered Ile: then which Fate never wrought
A fitter meane (say they) great Germany to grace;
To graft againe in one, two Remnants of her race:
Upon their severall waies, two severall times that went
To forrage for themselves. The first of which shee sent
To get their seat in Gaul: which on Nuestria light,

The Normans and the Saxons of one blood.

And (in a famous warre the Frenchmen put to flight)
Possest that fruitfull place, where onely from their name
Call'd North-men (from the North of Germanie that came,
Who thence expeld the Gaules, and did their roomes supply)
This, first Nuestria nam'd, was then call'd Normandy.
That by this meanes, the lesse (in conquering of the great)
Be'ing drawne from their late home unto this ampler seat,
Resyding heere, resign'd what they before had wonne;

The Normans lost that name and became English.

That as the Conquerors blood, did to the conquered runne:
So kindlie beeing mixt, and up together growne,
As severed, they were hers; united, stil her owne.

But these mysterious things desisting now to show
(The secret works of heaven) to long Descents they goe:
How Egelred (the Sire of Edward the last King
Of th'English Saxon Line) by nobly marying

With hardie Richards heire, the Norman Emma, bred
Alliance in their bloods. Like Brooks that from one head
Beare severall waies (as though to sundry Seas to hast)
But by the varying soyle, int' one againe are cast:
So chanced it in this the neernes of their blood.
For when as Englands right in question after stood,
Proud Harould, Goodwins heire, the Scepter having wonne
From Edgar Etheling young, the outlaw'd Edwards sonne;
The valiant Bastard this his onelie colour made,
With his brave Norman powers this kingdome to invade.
Which leaving, they proceed to Pedigrees againe,
Their after-Kings to fetch from that old Saxon straine;
From Margarit that was made the Scottish Malcoms Bride,
Who to her Grandsire had courageous Ironside:
Which out-law'd Edward left; whose wife to him did bring
This Margarit Queene of Scots, and Edgar Etheling:
That Margarit brought forth Maud; which gracious Macolme gave
To Henry Beuclarks bed (so Fate it pleas'd to have)
Who him a daughter brought; which heaven did strangely spare:
And for the speciall love he to the mother bare,
Her Maude againe he nam'd, to th'Almain Emperor wed:
Whose Dowager whilst shee liv'd (her puissant Cæsar dead)
She th'Earle of Anjou next to husband doth prefer.
The second Henry then by him begot of her,
Into the Saxon Line the Scepter thus doth bring.

Then presently againe prepare themselves to sing
The sundry foraine Fields the English-men had fought.
Which when the Mountaines sawe (and not in vaine) they thought
That if they still went on as thus they had begon,
Then from the Cambrian Nymphs (sure) Lundy would be won.
And therefore from their first they challeng'd them to flie;
And (idly running on with vaine prolixitie)
A larger subject tooke then it was fit they should.

But, whilst those would proceed, these threatning them to hold,

These & the rest following, the famousest Hills in Brecknocke, Glamorgan, and Monmouth.

Black-Mountaine for the love he to his Country bare,
As to the beautious Uske, his joy and onely care
(In whose defence t'appeare more sterne and full of dread)
Put on a Helme of clowds upon his rugged head.
Mounchdeny doth the like for his beloved Tawe:
Which quicklie all the rest by their example drawe:

As Hatterell in the right of ancient Wales will stand.
To these three Mountaines, first of the Brekinnian Band,
The Monumethian Hills, like insolent and stout,
On loftie tip-toes then began to looke about;
That Skeridvaur at last (a Mountaine much in might,
In hunting that had set his absolute delight)
Caught up his

Welch-hook.

Country Hooke; nor cares for future harmes,
But irefully enrag'd, would needs to open Armes:
Which quicklie put

So named of his bald head.

Penvayle in such outrageous heat,
That whilst for verie teene his hairelesse scalpe doth sweat,
The Blorench looketh bigge upon his bared crowne:
And tall Tomberlow seemes so terribly to frowne,
That where it was suppos'd with small adoe or none
Th'event of this debate would easely have been known,
Such strange tumultuous stirres upon this strife ensue,
As where all griefes should end, old sorrowes still renue:
That Severne thus forewarn'd to looke unto the worst
(And findes the latter ill more dangerous then the first)
The doome she should pronounce, yet for a while delay'd,
Till these rebellious routs by justice might be stay'd;
A period that doth put to my Discourse so long,
To finish this debate the next ensuing Song.

K. Arthur.

The fift Song.

The Argument.

In this Song, Severne gives the doome
What of her Lundy should become.
And whilst the nimble Cambrian Rills
Daunce Hy-day-gies amongst the Hills,
The Muse them to Carmarden brings;
Where Merlins wondrous birth shee sings.
From thence to Penbrooke shee doth make,
To see how Milford state doth take:
The scattered Ilands there doth tell:
And, visiting Saint Davids Cell,
Doth sport her all the shores along,
Preparing the ensuing Song.

Now Sabrine, as a Queene, miraculouslie faire,
Is absolutelie plac't in her Emperiall Chaire
Of Crystall richlie wrought, that gloriously did shine,
Her Grace becomming well, a creature so Divine:
And as her God-like selfe, so glorious was her Throne,
In which himselfe to sit great Neptune had been known;
Whereon there were ingrav'd those Nymphs the God had woo'd,
And every severall shape wherein for love he su'd;
Each daughter, her estate and beautie, every sonne;
What Nations he had rul'd, what Countries he had wonne.
No Fish in this wide waste but with exceeding cost
Was there in Antique worke most curiously imbost.
Shee, in a watchet weed, with manie a curious wave,
Which as a princelie gift great Amphitrite gave;
Whose skirts were to the knee, with Corall fring'd belowe
To grace her goodly steppes. And where she meant to goe,
The path was strew'd with Pearle: which though they Orient were,
Yet scarce knowne from her feet, they were so wondrous cleere:
To whom the Mermaids hold her Glasse, that she may see
Before all other Floods how farre her beauties bee:

Who was by Nereus taught, the most profoundly wise,
That learned her the skill of hidden Prophecies,
By Thetis speciall care; as

Chiron brought up Achilles, son to Thetis.

Chiron earst had done
To that proud bane of Troy, her god-resembling sonne.
For her wise censure now, whilst everie listning Flood
(When reason some-what coold their late distempred mood)
Inclosed Severne in; before this mightie rout,
Shee sitting well prepar'd, with countenance grave and stout,
Like some great learned Judge, to end a waightie Cause,
Well furnisht with the force of Arguments and Lawes,
And everie speciall proofe that justlie may be brought;
Now with a constant brow, a firme and setled thought,
And at the point to give the last and finall doome:
The people crowding neere within the pestred roome,
A slowe, soft murmuring moves amongst the wondring throng
As though with open eares they would devoure his tongue:
So Severne bare her selfe, and silence so she wanne,
When to th'assembly thus shee seriouslie began;

My neere and loved Nymphs, good hap yee both betide:
Well Britans have yee sung; you English, well repli'd:
Which to succeeding times shall memorize your stories
To either Countries praise, as both your endlesse glories.
And from your listning eares, sith vaine it were to hold
What all-appointing Heaven will plainlie shall be told,
Both gladlie be you pleas'd: for thus the Powers reveale,
That when the Norman Line in strength shall lastlie faile
(Fate limiting the time) th'ancient Britan race
Shall come againe to sit upon the soveraigne place.
A branch sprung out of Brute, th'imperiall top shall get,
Which grafted in the stock of great Plantaginet,
The Stem shall strongly wax, as still the Trunk doth wither:
That power which bare it thence, againe shall bring it thither
By Tudor, with faire winds from little Britaine driven,
To whom the goodlie Bay of Milford shall be given;
As thy wise Prophets, Wales, fore-told his wisht arrive,
And how Lewellins Line in him should doubly thrive.
For from his issue sent to Albany before,
Where his neglected blood, his vertue did restore,
Hee first unto himselfe in faire succession gain'd
The Stewards nobler name; and afterward attain'd

The royall Scottish wreath, upholding it in state.
This Stem, to

James the fourth, sirnamed Steward, maried Margaret, eldest daughter to Henry the 7. King of England.

Tudors joyn'd (which thing all-powerfull Fate
So happily produc't out of that prosperous Bed,
Whose mariages conjoynd the White-rose and the Red)
Suppressing every Plant, shall spred it selfe so wide,
As in his armes shall clip the Ile on every side.
By whom three sever'd Realmes in one shall firmlie stand,
As Britain-founding Brute first Monarchiz'd the Land:
And Cornwall, for that thou no longer shalt contend,
But to old Cambria cleave, as to thy ancient friend,
Acknowledge thou thy Brood, of Brutes high blood to bee;
And what hath hapt to her, the like t'have chanc't to thee;
The Britains to receive, when Heaven on them did lowre,
Loëgria forc't to leave; who from the Saxons powre
Themselves in Deserts, Creeks, and Mount'nous wasts bestow'd,
Or where the fruitlesse Rocks could promise them aboad:
Why strive yee then for that, in little time that shall
(As you are all made one) be one unto you all;
Then take my finall doome pronounced lastlie, this;
That Lundy like ally'd to Wales and England is.

Each part most highlie pleas'd, then up the Session brake:
When to the learned Maids againe Invention spake;
O yee Pegasian Nymphs, that hating viler things;
Delight in loftie Hills, and in delicious Springs,
That on Piërus borne, and named of the place,
The Thracian Pimpla love, and Pindus often grace;

The seats of the Muses.

In Aganippas Fount, and in Castalia's brims,
That often have been known to bathe your crystall lims,
Conduct me through these Brooks, and with a fastned clue,
Direct mee in my course, to take a perfect view
Of all the wandring Streames, in whose entransing gyres,
Wise Nature oft her selfe her workmanship admires
(So manifold they are, with such Meanders wound,
As may with wonder seeme invention to confound)
That to those British names, untaught the eare to please,
Such relish I may give in my delicious layes,
That all the armed Orks of Neptunes grislie Band,
With musick of my verse, amaz'd may listning stand;
As when his Trytons trumps doe them to battell call
Within his surging lists to combat with the Whale.

100

Thus, have we over-gone the Glamorganian Gowre,
Whose Promontorie (plac't to check the Oceans powre)

Severne, turn'd Sea.

Kept Severne yet her selfe, till beeing growne too great,
Shee with extended armes unbounds her ancient seat:
And turning lastlie Sea, resignes unto the Maine
What soveraigntie her selfe but latelie did retaine.
Next, Loghor leads the way, who with a lustie crue
(Her wild and wandring steps that ceaseleslie pursue)
Still forward is inforc't: as, Amond thrusts her on,
And Morlas (as a mayd shee much relies upon)
Intreats her present speed; assuring her withall,
Her best-beloved Ile, Bachannis, for her fall,
Stands specially prepar'd, of every thing suppli'd.

When Guendra with such grace deliberatly doth glide
As Tovy doth entice: who setteth out prepar'd
At all points like a Prince, attended with a Guard:
Of which, as by her name, the neer'st to her of kin
Is Toothy, tripping downe from Verwins rushie

A Poole or watry Moore.

Lin,
Through Rescob running out, with Pescover to meet
Those Rills that Forest loves; and doth so kindly greet,
As to intreat their stay shee gladlie would prevaile.
Then Tranant nicelie treads upon the watry traile:
The livelie skipping Brane, along with Gwethrick goes;
In Tovies wandring banks themselves that scarcely lose,
But Mudny, with Cledaugh, and Sawthy, soone resort,
Which at Langaddock grace their Soveraignes watry Court.

As when the servile world some gathering man espies,
Whose thriving fortune showes, he to much wealth may rise,
And through his Princes grace his followers may preferre,
Or by revenew left by some dead Ancester;
All lowting lowe to him, him humbly they observe,
And happy is that man his nod that may deserve:
To Tovy so they stoupe, to them upon the way
Which thus displaies the Spring within their view that lay.

Neere Denevoir, the seat of the

Of Southwales.

Demetian King
Whilst Cambria was herselfe, full, strong, and florishing,
There is a pleasant Spring,

Ebbing and flowing with the Sea.

that constant doth abide
Hard-by these winding shores wherein wee nimblie slide;
Long of the Ocean lov'd, since his victorious hand
First proudlie did insult upon the conquer'd Land.

101

And though a hundred Nymphs in faire Demetia bee,
Whose features might allure the Sea-gods more then shee,
His fancie takes her forme, and her he onelie likes
(Who ere knew halfe the shafts where-with blind Cupid strikes?)
Which great and constant faith, shew'd by the God of Sea,
This cleere and lovelie Nymph so kindlie doth repay,
As suffring for his sake what love to Lover owes,
With him she sadlie ebbs, with him she proudlie flowes,
To him her secret vowes perpetually doth keepe,
Observing everie Lawe and custome of the Deepe.

Now Tovy towa'rd her fall (Langaddock over-gon)
Her Dulas forward drives: and Cothy comming on
The traine to over-take, the neerest way doth cast
Ere shee Carmarden get: where Gwilly, making hast,
Bright Tovy entertaines at that most famous Towne
Which her great Prophet bred who Wales doth so renowne:
And taking her a Harpe, and tuning well the strings,
To Princely Tovy thus shee of the Prophet sings;

Of Merlin and his skill what Region doth not heare?
The world shall still be full of Merlin everie where.

Merlin, borne in Caer-merd-hin.

A thousand lingering yeeres his prophecies have runne,
And scarcely shall have end till Time it selfe be done:
Who of a British Nymph was gotten, whilst shee plaid
With a seducing Spirit, which wonne the goodlie maid;
(As all Demetia through, there was not found her peere)
Who, be'ing so much renown'd for beautie farre and neere,
Great Lords her liking sought, but still in vaine they prov'd:
That Spirit (to her unknowne) this Virgin onelie lov'd;
Which taking humane shape, of such perfection seemd,
As (all her Suters scorn'd) shee onelie him esteem'd.
Who, fayning for her sake that he was come from farre,
And richlie could endow (a lustie Batcheler)
On her that Prophet got, which from his Mothers wombe
Of things to come fore-told untill the generall Doome.

But, of his fayned birth in sporting idlie thus,
Suspect mee not, that I this dreamed Incubus
By strange opinions should licentiouslie subsist;
Or, selfe-conceited, play the humorous Platonist,
Which boldlie dares affirme, that Spirits, themselves supply
With bodies, to commix with fraile mortalitie,

102

And heere allow them place, beneath this lower Sphere
Of the unconstant Moone; to tempt us dailie here.
Some, earthly mixture take; as others, which aspire,
Them subt'ler shapes resume, of water, ayre, and fire,
Being those immortalls long before the heaven, that fell,
Whose deprivation thence, determined their hell:
And loosing through their pride that place to them assign'd,
Predestined that was to mans regenerate kind,
They, for th'inveterate hate to his Election, still
Desist not him to tempt to every damned ill:
And to seduce the spirit, oft prompt the frailer blood,
Invegling it with tastes of counterfetted good,
And teach it all the sleights the Soule that may excite
To yeeld up all her power unto the appetite.
And to those curious wits if we our selves apply,
Which search the gloomie shades of deepe Philosophy,
They Reason so will clothe, as well the mind can show,
That contrarie effects, from contraries may grow;
And that the soule a shape so stronglie may conceat,
As to her selfe the-while may seeme it to creat;
By which th'abused Sense more easelie oft is led
To thinke that it enjoyes the thing imagined.

But, toyld in these darke tracts with sundrie doubts repleat,
Calme shades, and cooler streames must quench this furious heat:
Which seeking, soone we finde where Cowen in her course,
Tow'rds the Sabrinian shores, as sweeping from her sourse,
Takes Towa, calling then Karkenny by the waie,
Her through the waylesse woods of Cardiffe to convaie;
A Forrest, with her floods inviron'd so about,
That hardly she restraines th'unruly watrie rout,
When swelling, they would seeme her Empire to invade:
And oft the lustfull Fawnes and Satyres from her shade
Were by the streames entic't, abode with them to make.
Then Morlas meeting Taw, her kindly in doth take:
Cair comming with the rest, their watrie tracts that tread,
Increase the Cowen all; that as their generall head
Their largesse doth receive, to beare out his expence:
Who to vast Neptune leads this Courtly confluence.

To the

Passage into Penbrokeshire.

Penbrokian parts the Muse her still doth keepe,
Upon that utmost point to the Iberian Deepe,

103

By Cowdra comming in: where cleere delightfull aire,
(That Forrests most affect) doth welcome her repaire;
The Heliconian Maids in pleasant groves delight:
(Floods cannot still content their wanton appetite)
And wandring in the woods, the neighbouring hils below,
With wise Apollo meet (who with his Ivory bowe
Once in the paler shades, the Serpent Python slew)
And hunting oft with him, the heartlesse Deere pursue;
Those beames then layde aside he us'd in heaven to weare.
Another Forrest Nymph is Narber, standing neare;
That with her curled top her neighbor would astound,
Whose Groves once bravely grac't the faire Penbrokian ground,
When Albion here beheld on this extended land,
Amongst his wel-growne Woods, the shag-haird Satyrs stand
(The Sylvans chiefe resort) the shores then sitting hie,
Which under water now so many fadoms lie:
And wallowing Porpice sport and lord it in the flood,
Where once the portly Oke, and large-limb'd Popler stood:
Of all the Forrests kind these two now onely left.
But Time, as guilty since to mans insatiate theft,
Transferd the English names of Townes and housholds hither,
With the industrious Dutch since sojourning together.

When wrathfull heaven the clouds so liberally bestow'd,
The Seas (then wanting roomth to lay their boystrous loade)
Upon the Belgian Marsh their pampred stomackes cast,
That peopled Cities sanke into the mightie wast.
The Flemings were inforc't to take them to their Ores,

The colony of Flemings here planted. See to the IV. Song.

To trie the Setting Maine to find out firmer shores;
When as this spacious Ile them entrance did allow,
To plant the Belgian stocke upon this goodly brow:
These Nations, that their tongues did naturally affect,
Both generallie forsooke the British Dialect:
As when it was decreed by all-fore-dooming Fate,
That ancient Rome should stoupe from her emperious state,
With Nations from the North then altogether fraught,
Which to her civill bounds their barbarous customes brought,
Of all her ancient spoyles and lastlie be forlorne,
From Tybers hallowed banks to old

Now Constantinople.

Bizantium borne:
Th'abundant Latine then old Latium lastly left,
Both of her proper forme and elegancie reft;

104

Before her smoothest tongue, their speech that did prefer,
And in her tables fixt their ill-shap't Character.

A divination strange the Dutch made-English have,
Appropriate to that place (as though some Power it gave)
By th'shoulder of a Ram from off the right side par'd,
Which usuallie they boile, the spade-boane beeing bar'd:
Which then the Wizard takes, and gazing there-upon,
Things long to come fore-showes, as things done long agon;
Scapes secretlie at home, as those abroad, and farre;
Murthers, adulterous stealths, as the events of warre,
The raignes and death of Kings they take on them to know:
Which onelie to their skill the shoulder-blade doth show.

You goodlie sister Floods, how happy is your state!
Or should I more commend your features, or your Fate;
That Milford, which this Ile her greatest Port doth call
Before your equall Floods is lotted to your Fall!
Where was saile ever seene, or wind hath ever blowne,
Whence Penbrooke yet hath heard of Haven like her owne?
She bids Dungleddy dare

Spaine.

Iberias proudest Road,
And chargeth her to send her challenges abroad
Along the coast of France, to prove if any bee
Her Milford that dare match: so absolute is shee.
And Clethy comming downe from Wrenyvaur her Sire
(A hill that thrusts his head into th'etheriall fire)
Her sisters part doth take, and dare avouch as much:
And Percily the proud, whom neerlie it doth touch,
Said, he would beare her out; and that they all should know.
And there-withall he struts, as though he scorn'd to show
His head belowe the Heaven, when he of Milford spake:
But there was not a Port the prize durst undertake.
So highlie Milford is in every mouth renownd,
Noe Haven hath ought good, in her that is not found:
Whereas the swelling surge, that with his fomie head,
The gentler looking Land with furie menaced,
With his encountring wave no longer there contends;
But sitting mildly downe like perfect ancient friends,
Unmov'd of any wind which way so ere it blow,
And rather seeme to smile, then knit an angry brow.
The ships with shattred ribs scarce creeping from the Seas,
On her sleeke bosome ride with such deliberate ease,

105

As all her passed stormes shee holds but meane and base,
So shee may reach at length this most delightfull place,
By nature with proud Cleeves invironed about,
To crowne the goodlie Road: where builds the Falcon stout,
Which we the Gentill call; whose fleet and active wings,
It seemes that Nature made when most shee thought on Kings:
Which manag'd to the lure, her high and gallant flight,
The vacant sportfull man so greatlie doth delight,
That with her nimble quills his soule doth seeme to hover,
And lie the verie pitch that lustie Bird doth cover;
That those proud Airies, bred whereas the scorching skie

The places from whence the highest flying Hawkes are brought.

Doth sindge the sandie Wyldes of spicefull Barbarie;
Or underneath our Pole, where Norwaies Forests wide
Their high clowd-touching heads in Winter snowes doe hide,
Out-brave not this our kind in mettle, nor exceed
The Falcon, which some-times the British Cleeves doe breed:
Which prey upon the Iles in the Vergivian waste,
That from the British shores by Neptune are imbrac't;
Which stem his furious Tides when wildliest they doe rave,
And breake the big-swolne bulke of manie a boystrous wave:
As, calme when hee becomes, then likewise in their glorie
Doe cast their amorous eyes at many a Promontorie
That thrust their foreheads forth into the smiling South;
As Rat and Sheepy, set to keepe calme Milfords mouth,

The Ilands upon the point of Penbrookeshire.

Expos'd to Neptunes power. So Gresholme farre doth stand:
Scalme, Stockholme, with Saint Bride, and Gatholme, neerer land
(Which with their veinie breasts intice the gods of Sea,
That with the lustie Iles doe revell every day)
As Crescent-like the Land her bredth here inward bends,
From Milford, which she forth to old Menevia sends;
Since, holy Davids seat; which of especiall grace
Doth lend that nobler name, to this unnobler place.
Of all the holy men whose fame so fresh remaines,
To whom the Britans built so many sumptuous Fanes,
This Saint before the rest their Patron still they hold:
Whose birth, their ancient Bards to Cambria long foretold;
And seated heere a See, his Bishoprick of yore,
Upon the farthest point of this unfruitfull shore;
Selected by himselfe, that farre from all resort
With contemplation seem'd most fitly to comport;

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That, voyd of all delight, cold, barren, bleake, and dry,
No pleasure might allure, nor steale the wandring eye:
Where Ramsey with those Rockes, in ranke that ordered stand
Upon the furthest point of Davids ancient Land,
Doe raise their rugged heads (the Sea-mans noted markes)
Call'd, of their Mytred tops, The Bishop and his Clarkes;
Into that Chanell cast, whose raging current rores
Betwixt the British Sands, and the Hibernian shores:
Whose grimme and horrid face doth pleased heaven neglect,
And beares bleake Winter still in his more sad aspect:
Yet Gwin and Nevern neere, two fine and fishfull brookes,
Do never stay their course, how sterne so ere he lookes;
Which with his shipping once should seeme to have commerst,
Where Fiscard as her flood, doth only grace the first.
To Newport fals the next: there we a while will rest;
Our next ensuing Song to wondrous things addrest.

111

The sixt Song.

The Argument.

With Cardigan the Muse proceeds,
And tells what rare things Tivy breeds:
Next, proud Plynillimon shee plyes;
Where Severne, Wy, and Rydoll rise.
With Severne shee along doth goe,
Her Metamorphosis to showe;
And makes the wandring Wy declame
In honour of the British name:
Then musters all the watry traine
That those two Rivers entertaine:
And viewing how those Rillets creepe
From shore to the Vergivian Deepe,
By Radnor and Mountgomery then
To Severne turnes her course agen:
And bringing all their Riverets in,
There ends; a new Song to begin.

Sith I must stem thy Streame, cleere Tivy, yet before
The Muse vouchsafe to seise the Cardiganian shore,
Shee of thy sourse will sing in all the Cambrian coast;
Which of thy Castors once, but now canst onelie boast
The Salmons, of all Floods most plentifull in thee.
Deere Brooke, within thy Banks if anie Powers there bee;
Then Neiads, or yee Nymphs of their like watrie kind
(Unto whose onelie care, great Neptune hath assign'd
The guidance of those Brooks wherein he takes delight)
Assist her: and whilst shee your dwelling shall recite,
Be present in her work: let her your graces view,
That to succeeding times them livelie shee may shew;
As when great Albions sonnes, which him a Sea-Nymph brought
Amongst the grisly Rocks, were with your beauties caught
(Whose onelie love surpriz'd those of the

Giants

Phlegrian size,
The Titanois, that once against high Heaven durst rise)

112

When as the hoarie woods, the climing hills did hide,
And cover'd everie Vale through which you gentlie glide;
Even for those inly heats which through your loves they felt,
That oft in kindlie teares did in your bosomes melt,
To view your secret Bowres, such favour let her win.

Then Tivy commeth downe from her capacious Lin,
Twixt Mirk and Brenny led, two handmaids, that doe stay
Their Mistres, as in State shee goes upon her way.

Which when Lanbeder sees, her wondrouslie shee likes:
Whose untam'd bosome so the beautious Tivy strikes,
As that the Forrest faine would have her there abide.
But shee (so pure a streame) transported with her pride
The offer idlie scorns; though with her flattering shade
The Sylvan her entice with all that may perswade
A water-Nymph; yea, though great Thetis selfe shee were:
But nothing might prevaile, nor all the pleasures there
Her mind could ever move one minutes staie to make.

Mild Mathern then, the next, doth Tivy over-take:
Which instantlie againe by Dittor is suppli'd.
Then, Keach and Kerry helpe: twixt which on either side,
To Cardigan shee comes, the Soveraigne of the Shere.
Now Tivy let us tell thy sundrie glories here.

When as the Salmon seekes a fresher streame to find
(Which hither from the Sea comes yeerely by his kind,
As he in season growes) and stems the watry tract
Where Tivy falling downe, doth make a

Falling of water.

Cataract,
Forc't by the rising Rocks that there her course oppose,
As though within their bounds they meant her to inclose;
Heere, when the labouring Fish doth at the foote arrive,
And finds that by his strength but vainlie he doth strive,
His taile takes in his teeth; and bending like a bowe,
That's to the compasse drawne, aloft himself doth throwe:
Then springing at his height, as doth a little wand,
That bended end to end, and flerted from the hand,
Farre off it selfe doth cast; so doth the Salmon vaut.
And if at first he faile, his second

The word in tumbling, when one casteth himselfe over and over.

Summersaut
Hee instantlie assaies; and from his nimble Ring,
Still yarking, never leaves, untill himselfe he fling
Above the streamefull top of the surrounded heape.

More famous long agone, then for the Salmons leape,

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For Bevers Tivy was, in her strong banks that bred,
Which else no other Brooke of Brittaine nourished:
Where Nature, in the shape of this now-perisht beast
His propertie did seeme t'have wondrouslie exprest;
Be'ing bodied like a Boat, with such a mightie taile
As serv'd him for a bridge, a helme, or for a saile,
When Kind did him commaund the Architect to play,
That his strong Castle built of branched twigs and clay:
Which, set upon the Deepe, but yet not fixed there,
Hee easelie could remove as it he pleas'd to stere
To this side or to that; the workmanship so rare,
His stuffe where-with to build, first beeing to prepare,
A forraging he goes, to Groves or bushes nie,
And with his teeth cuts downe his Timber: which laid-by,
He turnes him on his back, his belly laid abroad,
When with what he hath got, the other doe him load,
Till lastlie by the weight, his burthen hee have found.
Then, with his mightie taile his carriage having bound
As Carters doe with ropes, in his sharpe teeth hee grip't
Some stronger stick: from which the lesser branches stript,
He takes it in the midst; at both the ends, the rest
Hard holding with their fangs, unto the labour prest,
Going backward, tow'rds their home their loaded carriage led,
From whom, those first heere borne, were taught the usefull Sled.
Then builded he his Fort with strong and several fights;
His passages contriv'd with such unusuall sleights,
That from the Hunter oft he issu'd undiscern'd,
As if men from this Beast to fortifie had learn'd;
Whose Kind, in her decay'd, is to this Ile unknowne.
Thus Tivy boasts this Beast peculiarly her owne.

But here why spend I time these trifles to areed?
Now, with thy former taske my Muse againe proceed,
To shewe the other Floods from the

Of Cardigan.

Cerettick shore
To the Vergivian Sea contributing their store:
With Bidder first begin, that bendeth all her force
The Arron to assist, Arth holding on her course
The way the other went, with Werry which doth win
Faire Istwid to her ayde; who kindlie comming in,
Meets Rydoll at her mouth, that faire and princelie maid,
Plynillimons deere child, deliciouslie arraid,

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As fits a Nymph so neere to Severne and her Queene.
Then come the sister Salks, as they before had seene
Those delicater Dames so trippinglie to tread:
Then Kerry; Cletur next, and Kinver making head
With Enion, that her like cleere Levant brings by her.

Plynillimons high praise no longer Muse defer;
What once the Druids told, how great those Floods should bee
That here (most mightie Hill) derive themselves from thee.
The Bards with furie rapt, the British youth among,
Unto the charming Harpe thy future honor song
In brave and loftie straines; that in excesse of joy,
The Beldam and the Girle, the Grandsire and the Boy,
With shouts and yearning cries, the troubled ayre did load
(As when with crowned cuppes unto the

Bacchus.

Elian God
Those Priests his Orgyes held; or when the old world saw
Full Phœbes face eclipst, and thinking her to daw,
Whom they supposed falne in some inchanted swound,
Of beaten tinkling Brasse still ply'd her with the sound)
That all the Cambrian hills, which high'st their heads doe beare
With most obsequious showes of lowe subjected feare,
Should to thy greatnes stoupe: and all the Brooks that be,
Doe homage to those Floods that issued out of thee:
To princelie Severne first; next, to her sister Wye,
Which to her elders Court her course doth still apply.
But Rydoll, young'st, and least, and for the others pride
Not finding fitting roomth upon the rising side,
Alone unto the West directlie takes her way.
So all the neighboring Hills Plynillimon obey.
For, though Moylvadian beare his craggy top so hie,
As scorning all that come in compasse of his eye,
Yet greatlie is he pleas'd Plynillimon will grace
Him with a cheerfull looke: and, fawning in his face,
His love to Severne showes as though his owne she were,

The storie of Severne.

Thus comforting the Flood; O ever-during heire
Of Sabrine, Locryns child (who of her life bereft,
Her ever-living name to thee faire River left)
Brutes first begotten sonne, which Gwendolin did wed;
But soone th'unconstant Lord abandoned her bed
(Through his unchaste desire) for beautious Elstreds love.
Now, that which most of all her mightie hart did move,

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Her Father, Cornwalls Duke, great Corineus dead,
Was by the lustfull King unjustlie banished.
When shee, who to that time still with a smoothed brow
Had seem'd to beare the breach of Locrines former vow,
Perceiving stil her wrongs insufferable were;
Growne bigge with the revenge which her full breast did beare,
And ayded to the birth with every little breath
(Alone shee beeing left the spoyle of love and death,
In labour of her griefe outrageously distract,
The utmost of her spleene on her false Lord to act)
Shee first implores their aide to hate him whom shee found;
Whose harts unto the depth she had not left to sound.
To Cornwall then shee sends (her Country) for supplies:
Which all at once in Armes with Gwendolin arise.
Then with her warlike power, her husband shee pursu'd,
Whom his unlawfull love too vainlie did delude.

The fierce and jealous Queene, then voyde of all remorce,
As great in power as spirit, whilst hee neglects her force,
Him suddainlie surpriz'd, and from her irefull hart
All pittie cleane exil'd (whom nothing could convert)
The sonne of mightie Brute bereaved of his life;
Amongst the Britans here the first intestine strife,
Since they were put a-land upon this promis'd shore.
Then crowning Madan King, whom shee to Locrine bore,
And those which serv'd his Sire to his obedience brought;
Not so with blood suffic'd, immediatly she sought
The mother and the child: whose beautie when shee saw,
Had not her hart been flint, had had the power to draw
A spring of pittying teares; when, dropping liquid pearle,
Before the cruell Queene, the Ladie and the Girle
Upon their tender knees begg'd mercie. Woe for thee
Faire Elstred, that thou should'st thy fairer Sabrine see,
As shee should thee behold the prey to her sterne rage
Whom kinglie Locrins death suffic'd not to asswage:
Who from the bordring Cleeves thee with thy Mother cast
Into thy christned Flood, the whilst the Rocks aghast
Resounded with your shriekes; till in a deadlie dreame
Your corses were dissolv'd into that crystall streame,
Your curles to curled waves, which plainlie still appeare
The same in water now, that once in locks they were:

116

And, as you wont to clip each others neck before,
Yee now with liquid armes embrace the wandring shore.

But leave we Severne heere, a little to pursue
The often wandring Wye (her passages to view,
As wantonlie shee straines in her lascivious course)
And muster every flood that from her bountious sourse
Attends upon her Streame, whilst (as the famous bound
Twixt the Brecknokian earth, and the Radnorian ground)
Shee every Brooke receives. First, Clarwen commeth in,
With Clarwy: which to them their consort Eland win
To ayde their goodly Wye; which, Ithon gets againe:
She Dulas drawes along: and in her watry traine
Clowedock hath recourse, and Comran; which she brings
Unto their wandring flood from the Radnorian Springs:
As Edwy her attends, and Matchwy forward heaves
Her Mistresse. When, at last the goodly Wye perceaves
Shee now was in that part of Wales, of all the rest
Which (as her very waste) in breadth from East to West,
In length from North to South, her midst is every way,
From Severns bordring banks unto the either Sea,
And might be tearm'd her hart. The ancient Britans heere
The River calls to mind, and what those British were
Whilst Britain was her selfe, the Queene of all the West.

To whose old Nations praise whilst shee her selfe addrest,
From the Brecknokian bound when Irvon comming in,
Her Dulas, with Commarch, and Wevery that doth win,
Perswading her for them good matter to provide.
The Wood-Nymphs so againe, from the Radnorian side,
As Radnor, with Blethaugh, and Knuckles Forrests, call
To Wye, and bad her now bestirre her for them all:
For, if shee stuck not close in their distressed Case,
The Britans were in doubt to under-goe disgrace.
That stronglie thus provok't, shee for the Britans saies;
What spirit can lift you up, to that immortall praise
You worthilie deserve? by whom first Gaul was taught
Her knowledge: and for her, what Nation ever wrought
The conquest you atchiev'd? And, as you were most drad,
So yee (before the rest) in so great reverence had
Your Bards which sung your deeds, that when sterne hosts have stood
With lifted hands to strike (in their inflamed blood)

117

One Bard but comming in, their murd'rous swords hath staid;
In her most dreadful voice as thundring heaven had said,
Stay Britans: when he spake, his words so powrefull were.

So to her native Priests, the dreadlesse Druides here,
The neerest neighboring Gaul, that wiselie could discerne
Th'effect their doctrine wrought, it for their good to learne,
Her apt and pregnant Youth sent hither yeere by yeere,
Instructed in our Rites with most religious feare.
And afterward againe, when as our ancient seat
Her surcrease could not keepe, growne for her soile too great
(But like to casting Bees, so rising up in swarmes)
Our Cymbri with the Gaules, that their commixed Armes
Joyn'd with the German powers (those Nations of the North
Which over-spread the world) together issued forth:
Where, with our brazen swords, we stoutly fought, and long;
And after Conquests got, residing them among,
First planted in those parts our brave courageous brood:
Whose natures so adher'd unto their ancient blood,
As from them sprang those Priests, whose praise so farre did sound,
Through whom that spacious Gaul was after so renown'd.

Nor could the Saxons swords (which many a lingring yeere
Them sadlie did afflict, and shut us Britans heere
Twixt Severne and this Sea) our mightie minds deject;
But that even they which fain'st our weaknes would detect,
Were forced to confesse, our wildest beasts that breed
Upon our mightie wastes, or on our Mountaines feed,
Were farre more sooner tam'd, then heere our Welch-men were:
Besides, in all the world no Nation is so deere
As they unto their owne; that here within this Ile,
Or else in forraine parts, yea, forced to exile,
The noble Britan still his countryman releeves;
A Patriot, and so true, that it to death him greeves
To heare his Wales disgrac't: and on the Saxons swords
Oft hazardeth his life, ere with reprochefull words
His Language or his Leeke hee'le stand to heare abus'd.
Besides, the Britan is so naturallie infus'd
With true Poëtick rage, that in their

See to the fourth Song.

measures, Art
Doth rather seeme precise, then comlie; in each part
Their Metre most exact, in Verse of th'hardest kind.
And some to riming be so wondrouslie inclin'd,

118

Those Numbers they will hit, out of their genuine vaine,
Which many wise and learn'd can hardly ere attaine.

O memorable Bards, of unmixt blood, which still
Posteritie shall praise for your so wondrous skill,
That in your noble Songs, the long Descents have kept
Of your great Heroës, else in Lethe that had slept,
With theirs whose ignorant pride your labours have disdain'd;
How much from time, and them, how bravelie have you gain'd!
Musician, Herault, Bard, thrice maist thou be renown'd,
And with three severall wreathes immortallie be crown'd;
Who, when to Penbrooke call'd before the English King,
And to thy powerfull Harpe commaunded there to sing,
Of famous Arthur told'st, and where hee was interr'd;
In which, those retchlesse times had long and blindlie err'd,
And Ignorance had brought the world to such a pass
As now, which scarce beleeves that Arthur ever was.
But when King

Henry the second.

Henry sent th'reported place to view,
He found that man of men: and what thou said'st was true.

Heere then I cannot chuse but bitterlie exclame
Against those fooles that all Antiquitie defame,
Because they have found out, some credulous Ages layd
Slight fictions with the truth, whilst truth on rumor stayd;
And that one forward Time (perceiving the neglect
A former of her had) to purchase her respect,
With toyes then trimd her up, the drowsie world t'allure,
And lent her what it thought might appetite procure
To man, whose mind doth still varietie pursue;
And therefore to those things whose grounds were verie true,
Though naked yet and bare (not having to content
The weyward curious eare) gave fictive ornament;
And fitter thought, the truth they should in question call,
Then coldlie sparing that, the truth should goe and all.
And surelie I suppose, that which this froward time
Doth scandalize her with to be her heynous crime,
That hath her most preserv'd: for, still where wit hath found
A thing most cleerlie true, it made that, fictions ground:
Which shee suppos'd might give sure colour to them both:
From which, as from a roote, this wondred error grow'th
At which our Criticks gird, whose judgements are so strict,
And he the bravest man who most can contradict

119

That which decrepit Age (which forced is to leane
Upon Tradition) tells; esteeming it so meane,
As they it quite reject, and for some trifling thing
(Which Time hath pind to Truth) they all away will fling.
These men (for all the world) like our Precisions bee,
Who for some Crosse or Saint they in the window see
Will pluck downe all the Church: Soule-blinded sots that creepe
In durt, and never saw the wonders of the Deepe.
Therefore (in my conceit) most rightlie serv'd are they
That to the Roman trust (on his report that stay)
Our truth from him to learne, as ignorant of ours
As we were then of his; except t'were of his powers:
Who our wise Druides here unmercifullie slew;
Like whom, great Natures depths no men yet ever knew,
Nor with such dauntlesse spirits were ever yet inspir'd;
Who at their proud arrive th'ambitious Romans fir'd
When first they heard them preach the soules immortall state;
And even in Romes despight, and in contempt of Fate,
Graspt hands with horrid death: which out of hate and pride
They slew, who through the world were reverenced beside.

To understand our state, no marvaile then though wee
Should so to Cæsar seeke, in his reports to see
What ancientlie we were; when in our infant war,
Unskilfull of our tongue but by Interpreter,
Hee nothing had of ours which our great Bards did sing,
Except some few poore words; and those againe to bring
Unto the Latine sounds, and easiness they us'd,
By their most filed speech, our British most abus'd.
But of our former state, beginning, our descent,
The warres we had at home, the conquests where we went,
He never understood. And though the Romans here
So noble Trophies left, as verie worthie were
A people great as they, yet did they ours neglect,
Long rear'd ere they arriv'd. And where they doe object,
The Ruines and Records we show, be verie small
To prove our selves so great: even this the most of all
(Gainst their objection) seemes miraculous to mee,
That yet those should be found so generall as they bee;
The Roman, next the Pict, the Saxon, then the Dane,
All landing in this Ile, each like a horrid raine

120

Deforming her; besides the sacrilegious wrack
Of many a noble Booke, as impious hands should sack
The Center, to extirp all knowledge, and exile
All brave and ancient things, for ever from this Ile:
Expressing wondrous griefe, thus wandring Wye did sing.

But, backe, industrious Muse; obsequiously to bring
Cleere Severne from her sourse, and tell how she doth straine
Downe her delicious Dales; with all the goodly traine,
Brought forth the first of all by Brugan: which to make
Her party worthy note, next, Dulas in doth take.
Moylvadian his much love to Severne then to showe,
Upon her Southerne side, sends likewise (in a rowe)
Bright Biga, that brings on her friend and fellow Floyd;
Next, Dungum; Bacho then is busily imploy'd,
Tarranon, Carno, Hawes, with Becan, and the Rue,
In Severn's soveraine Bankes, that give attendance due.

Thus as she swoopes along, with all that goodly traine,
Upon her other Banke by Newtowne: so againe
Comes Dulas (of whose name so many Rivers bee,
As of none others is) with Mule, prepar'd to see
The confluence to their Queene, as on her course she makes:
Then at Mountgomery next cleere Kennet in she takes;
Where little Fledding fals into her broader Banke;
Forkt Vurnway, bringing Tur, and Tanot: growing ranke,
She plyes her towards the Poole, from the Gomerian feelds;
Then which in all our Wales, there is no country yeelds
An excellenter Horse, so full of naturall fire,
As one of Phœbus Steeds had beene that Stalyons sire
Which first their race begun; or of th'Asturian kind,
Which some have held to be begotten by the Wind,
Upon the Mountaine Mare; which strongly it receaves,
And in a little time her pregnant part upheaves.

But, leave we this to such as after wonders long:
The Muse prepares her selfe unto another Song.

127

The seaventh Song.

The Argument.

The Muse from Cambria comes againe,
To view the Forrest of faire Deane;
Sees Severne; when the Higre takes her,
How Fever-like the sicknes shakes her;
Makes mightie Malverne speake his mind
In honour of the Mountaine kind;
Thence wafted with a merry gale,
Sees Lemster, and the Golden Vale;
Sports with the Nymphs, themselves that ply
At th'wedding of the Lug and Wy;
Viewing the Herefordian pride
Along on Severns setting side,
That small Wigornian part survaies:
Where for a while herselfe shee staies.

High matters call our Muse, inviting her to see
As well the lower Lands, as those where latelie shee
The Cambrian Mountaines clome, & (looking from aloft)
Survaid coy Severns course: but now to shores more soft
Shee shapes her prosperous saile; and in this loftie Song,
The Herefordian floods invites with her along,
That fraught from plentious Powse, with their superfluous waste,
Manure the batfull March, untill they be imbrac't
In Sabrins Soveraigne armes: with whose tumultuous waves
Shut up in narrower bounds, the Higre wildly raves;
And frights the stragling flocks, the neighbouring shores to flie
A farre as from the Maine it comes with hideous cry,
And on the angry front the curled foame doth bring,
The billowes gainst the banks when fiercely it doth fling;
Hurles up the slimie ooze, and makes the scalie brood
Leape madding to the Land affrighted from the flood;
Oreturnes the toyling Barge, whose steresman doth not lanch,
And thrusts the furrowing beake into her irefull panch:

128

As when we haplie see a sicklie woman fall
Into a fit of that which wee the Mother call,

A Simile expressing the Boare or Higre.

When from the grieved wombe shee feeles the paine arise,
Breakes into grievous sighes, with intermixed cries,
Bereaved of her sense; and strugling still with those
That gainst her rising paine their utmost strength oppose,
Starts, tosses, tumbles, strikes, turnes, touses, spurnes and spraules,
Casting with furious lims her holders to the walles;
But that the horrid pangs torments the grieved so,
One well might muse from whence this suddaine strength should grow.

Here (Queene of Forrests all, that West of Severne lie)
Her broad and bushie top Deane holdeth up so hie,
The lesser are not seene, shee is so tall and large.
And standing in such state upon the winding marge,
Within her hollow woods the Satyres that did wonne
In gloomie secret shades, not pierc't with Sommers sunne,
Under a false pretence the Nymphs to entertaine,
Oft ravished the choice of Sabrins watry traine;
And from their Mistris banks them taking as a prey,
Unto their wooddie Caves have carried them away:
Then from her inner Groves for succour when they cri'd,
Shee retchlesse of their wrongs (her Satyres scapes to hide)
Unto their just complaint not once her eare enclines:
So fruitfull in her Woods, and wealthy in her Mines,
That Leden which her way doth through the Desert make,
Though neere to Deane ally'd, determin'd to forsake
Her course, and her cleere lims amongst the bushes hide,
Least by the Sylvans (should she chance to be espide)
Shee might unmaidned goe unto her Soveraigne Flood:
So manie were the rapes done on the watry brood,
That Sabrine to her Sire (great Neptune) forc't to sue,
The ryots to represse of this outrageous crue,
His armed Orks hee sent her milder streame to keepe,
To drive them back to Deane that troubled all the Deepe.

Whilst Malverne (king of Hills) faire Severne over-lookes
(Attended on in state with tributarie Brookes)
And how the fertill fields of Hereford doe lie.
And from his many heads, with many an amorous eye
Beholds his goodlie site, how towards the pleasant rise,
Abounding in excesse, the Vale of Evsham lies,

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The Mountaines every way about him that doe stand,
Of whom hee's daily seene, and seeing doth command;
On tiptoes set aloft, this proudlie uttereth hee:

Olympus, fayr'st of Hills, that Heaven art said to bee,
I not envie thy state, nor lesse my selfe doe make;
Nor to possesse thy name, mine owne would I forsake:
Nor would I, as thou doost, ambitiouslie aspire
To thrust my forked top into th'ethereall fire.
For, didst thou taste the sweets that on my face doe breathe,
Above thou wouldst not seeke what I enjoy beneath:
Besides, the sundry soyles I every where survay,
Make me, if better not, thy equall everie way.
And more, in our defence, to answere those, with spight
That tearme us barren, rude, and voide of all delight;
Wee Mountaines, to the Land, like Warts or Wens to bee,
By which, fair'st living things disfigur'd oft they see;
This stronglie to performe, a well stuft braine would need.
And manie Hills there be, if they this Cause would heed,
Having their rising tops familiar with the skie
(From whence all wit proceeds) that fitter were then I
The taske to under-take. As not a man that sees
Mounchdenny, Blorench hill, with Breedon, and the Clees,
And many more as great, and neerer me then they,
But thinks, in our defence they far much more could say.
Yet, falling to my lot, This stoutlie I maintaine
Gainst Forrests, Valleys, Fields, Groves, Rivers, Pasture, Plaine,
And all their flatter kind (so much that doe relie
Upon their feedings, flocks, and their fertilitie)
The Mountaine is the King: and he it is alone
Above the other soyles that Nature doth in-throne.
For Mountaines be like Men of brave heroïque mind,
With eyes erect to heaven, of whence themselves they find;
Whereas the lowlie Vale, as earthlie, like it selfe,
Doth never further looke then how to purchase pelfe.
And of their batfull sites, the Vales that boast them thus,
Nere had been what they are, had it not been for us:
For, from the rising banks that stronglie mound them in,
The Valley (as betwixt) her name did first begin:
And almost not a Brooke, if shee her banks doe fill,
But hath her plentious Spring from Mountaine or from Hill.

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If Mead, or lower Slade, grieve at the roome we take,
Knowe that the snowe or raine, descending oft, doth make
The fruitfull Valley fat, with what from us doth glide,
Who with our Winters waste maintaine their Sommers pride.
And to you lower Lands if terrible wee seeme,
And cover'd oft with clowds; it is your foggy steame
The powerfull Sunne exhales, that in the cooler day
Unto this Region comne, about our tops doth stay.
And, what's the Grove, so much that thinks her to be grac't,
If not above the rest upon the Mountaine plac't,
Where shee her curled head unto the eye may showe?
For, in the easie Vale if shee be set belowe,
What is shee but obscure? and her more dampie shade
And covert, but a Den for beasts of ravin made?
Besides, wee are the Marks, which looking from an hie,
The travailer beholds; and with a cheerfull eye
Doth thereby shape his course, and freshlie doth pursue
The way which long before lay tedious in his view.

What Forrest, Flood, or Field, that standeth not in awe
Of Sina, or shall see the sight that Mountaine saw?
To none but to a Hill such grace was ever given:
As on his back tis said, great Atlas beares up heaven.

Endymion found out the course of the Moone.

So Latmus by the wise Endymion is renown'd;
That Hill, on whose high top he was the first that found
Pale Phœbes wandring course; so skilfull in her Sphere,
As some stick not to say that he enjoy'd her there.

And those chaste maids, begot on Memorie by Jove,
Not Tempe onelie love delighting in their Grove;
Nor Helicon their Brooke, in whose delicious brims,
They oft are us'd to bathe their cleere and crystall lims;
But high Parnassus have, their Mountaine, whereon they
Upon their golden Lutes continuallie doe play.
Of these I more could tell, to prove the place our owne,
Then by his spatious Maps are by Ortellius showne.

For Mountaines this suffice. Which scarcelie had he told;
Along the fertill fields, when Malverne might behold
The Herefordian Floods, farre distant though they bee:
For great men, as we find, a great way off can see.
First, Frome with forhead cleare, by Bromyard that doth glide;
And taking Loden in, their mixed streames doe guide,

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To meet their Soveraigne Lug, from the Radnorian Plaine
At Prestayn comming in; where hee doth entertaine
The Wadell, as along he under Derfold goes:
Her full and lustie side to whom the Forrest showes,
As to allure faire Lug, aboad with her to make.

Lug little Oney first, then Arro in doth take,
At Lemster, for her Wooll whose Staple doth excell,
And seemes to over-match the golden Phrygian Fell.
Had this our Colchos been unto the Ancients knowne,
When Honor was her selfe, and in her glorie showne,
He then that did commaund the Infantry of Greece,
Had onely to our Ile adventur'd for this Fleece.

Where lives the man so dull, on Britains furthest shore,

The excellencie of Lemster wooll.

To whom did never sound the name of Lemster Ore?
That with the Silke-wormes web for smalness doth compare:
Wherein, the Winder showes his workmanship so rare
As doth the Fleece excell, and mocks her looser clew;
As neatlie bottom'd up as Nature forth it drew;
Of each in high'st accompt, and reckoned here as fine,
As there th'Appulian fleece, or dainty Tarentyne.
From thence his lovely selfe for Wye he doth dispose,
To view the goodly flockes on each hand as he goes;
And makes his journey short, with strange and sundry tales,
Of all their wondrous things; and, not the least, of Wales;
Of that prodigious Spring (him neighbouring as he past)
That little Fishes bones continually doth cast.
Whose reason whil'st he seekes industriously to knowe,
A great way he hath gon, and Hereford doth showe
Her rising Spires aloft; when as the Princely Wye,
Him from his Muse to wake, arrests him by and by.
Whose meeting to behold, with how well ordered grace
Each other entertaines, how kindly they embrace;
For joy, so great a shout the bordering Citie sent,
That with the sound thereof, which thorough Haywood went,
The Wood-Nymphs did awake that in the Forest won;
To know the sudden cause, and presently they ron
With lockes uncomb'd, for haste the lovely Wye to see
(The floud that grac't her most) this day should married be
To that more lovely Lug; a River of much fame,
That in her wandering bankes should lose his glorious name.

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For Hereford, although her Wye she hold so deere,
Yet Lug (whose longer course doth grace the goodly Sheere,
And with his plentious Streame so many Brookes doth bring)
Of all hers that be North is absolutely King.

But Marcely, griev'd that he (the neerest of the rest,
And of the Mountaine kind) not bidden was a guest
Unto this nuptiall Feast, so hardly it doth take,
As (meaning for the same his station to forsake)
Inrag'd and mad with griefe, himselfe in two did rive;
The Trees and Hedges neere, before him up doth drive,
And dropping headlong downe, three dayes together fall:
Which, bellowing as he went, the Rockes did so appall,
That they him passage made, who Coats and Chappels crusht:
So violently he into his Valley rusht.
But Wye (from her deare Lug whom nothing can restraine,
In many a pleasant shade, her joy to entertaine)
To Rosse her course directs; and right her

Wye or Gwy, so called (in the British) of her sinuosity, or turning.

name to showe,
Oft windeth in her way, as backe she meant to goe.
Meander, who is said so intricate to bee,
Hath not so many turnes, nor crankling nookes as shee.

The Herefordian fields when welneare having past,
As she is going forth, two sister Brookes at last
That Soile her kindly sends, to guide her on her way;
Neat Gamar, that gets in swift Garran: which do lay
Their waters in one Banke, augmenting of her traine,
To grace the goodlie Wye, as she doth passe by Deane.

Beyond whose equall Spring unto the West doth lie
The goodly Golden Vale, whose lushious sents do flie
More free then Hyblas sweets; and twixt her bordering hils,
The aire with such delights and delicacie fils,
As makes it loth to stirre, or thence those smels to beare.
Th'Hesperides scarce had such pleasures as be there:
Which sometime to attaine, that mighty sonne of Jove
One of his Labors made, and with the Dragon strove,
That never clos'd his eies, the golden fruit to guard;
As if t'enrich this place, from others, Nature spar'd:
Banks crown'd with curled Groves, from cold to keepe the Plaine,
Fields batfull, flowrie Meades, in state them to maintaine;
Floods, to make fat those Meades, from Marble veines that spout,
To shew, the wealth within doth answer that without.

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So brave a Nymph she is, in every thing so rare,
As to sit down by her, she thinkes there's none should dare.
And forth she sends the Doire, upon the Wye to wait.
Whom Munno by the way more kindly doth intreat
(For Eskle, her most lov'd, and Olcons onely sake)
With her to go along, till Wye she overtake.
To whom she condiscends, from danger her to shield,
That th'Monumethian parts from th'Herefordian field.

Which manly Malvern sees from furthest of the Sheere,
On the Wigornian waste when Northward looking neere,
On Corswood casts his eie, and on his

Malvern Chase.

home-born Chase,
Then constantly beholds, with an unusuall pase
Team with her tribute come unto the

Severne.

Cambrian Queene,
Neere whom in all this place a River's scarcely seene,
That dare avouch her name; Teame scorning any Spring
But what with her along from Shropshire she doth bring,
Except one namelesse Streame that Malvern sends her in,
And Laughern though but small: when they such grace that win,
There thrust in with the Brookes inclosed in her Banke.
Teame lastly thither com'n with water is so ranke,
As though she would contend with Sabryne, and doth crave
Of place (by her desert) precedencie to have:
Till chancing to behold the others godlike grace,
So strongly is surpris'd with beauties in her face
By no meanes she could hold, but needsly she must showe
Her liking; and her selfe doth into Sabrine throwe.

Not farre from him againe when Malvern doth perceave
Two hils, which though their heads so high they doe not heave,
Yet duly do observe great Malvern, and affoord
Him reverence: who againe, as fits a gratious Lord,
Upon his Subjects looks, and equall praise doth give
That Woodberry so nigh and neighbourlie doth live
With Abberley his friend, deserving well such fame
That Saxton in his Maps forgot them not to name:
Which, though in their meane types small matter doth appeare,
Yet both of good account are reckned in the Shiere,
And highly grac't of Teame in his proud passing by.

When soone the goodlie Wyre, that wonted was so hie
Her statelie top to reare, ashamed to behold
Her straight and goodlie Woods unto the Fornace sold

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(And looking on her selfe, by her decay doth see
The miserie wherein her sister Forrests bee)

A Fable in Ovids Metamor.

Of Erisicthons end begins her to bethinke,
And of his cruell plagues doth wish they all might drinke
That thus have them dispoil'd: then of her owne despight;
That shee, in whom her Towne faire Beudley tooke delight,
And from her goodlie seat conceiv'd so great a pride,
In Severne on her East, Wyre on the setting side,
So naked left of woods, of pleasure, and forlorne,
As she that lov'd her most, her now the most doth scorne;
With endlesse griefe perplext, her stubborne breast shee strake,
And to the deafened ayre thus passionately spake;

You Driades, that are said with Oakes to live and die,
Wherefore in our distresse doe you our dwellings flie;
Upon this monstrous Age and not revenge our wrong?
For cutting downe an Oake that justlie did belong
To one of Ceres Nymphes, in Thessaly that grew
In the Dodonean Grove (O Nymphes!) you could pursue
The sonne of Perops then, and did the Goddesse stirre
That villanie to wreake the Tyrant did to her:
Who, with a dreadfull frowne did blast the growing Graine:
And having from him reft what should his life maintaine,
Shee unto Scythia sent, for Hunger, him to gnawe,
And thrust her downe his throat, into his stanchlesse mawe:
Who, when nor Sea nor Land for him sufficient were,
With his devouring teeth his wretched flesh did teare.

This did you for one Tree: but of whole Forrests they
That in these impious times have been the vile decay
(Whom I may justlie call their Countries deadly foes)
Gainst them you move no Power, their spoyle unpunisht goes.
How manie grieved soules in future time shall starve,
For that which they have rapt their beastlie lust to serve!

Wee, sometime that the state of famous Britaine were,
For whom she was renown'd in Kingdoms farre and neere,
Are ransackt; and our Trees so hackt above the ground,
That where their loftie tops their neighboring Countries crown'd,
Their Trunkes (like aged folkes) now bare and naked stand,
As for revenge to heaven each held a withered hand:
And where the goodly Heards of high-palm'd Harts did gaze
Upon the passer by, there now doth onely graze

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The gall'd-backe carrion Jade, and hurtfull Swine do spoile
Once to the Sylvan Powers our consecrated soile.

This uttered she with griefe: and more she would have spoke:
When the Salopian floods her of her purpose broke,
And silence did enjoyne; a listning eare to lend
To Severne, which was thought did mighty things intend.

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The eight Song.

The Argument.

The goodly Severne bravely sings
The noblest of her British Kings;
At Cæsars landing what we were,
And of the Roman Conquests here:
Then shewes, to her deare Britans fame,
How quicklie christned they became;
And of their constancie doth boast,
In sundry fortunes strangely tost:
Then doth the Saxons landing tell,
And how by them the Britans fell;
Cheeres the Salopian Mountaines hie,
That on the west of Severne lie;
Calls downe each Riveret from her Spring,
Their Queene upon her way to bring;
Whom downe to Bruge the Muse attends:
Where, leaving her, this Song shee ends.

To Salop when her selfe cleere Sabrine comes to showe,
And wisely her bethinks the way shee had to goe,
South-west-ward casts her course; & with an amorous eye
Those Countries whence shee came, survayeth (passing by)
Those Lands in Ancient times old Cambria claym'd her due,
For refuge when to her th'oppressed Britans flew;
By England now usurp't, who (past the wonted Meeres,
Her sure and soveraigne banks) had taken sundry Sheeres,
Which shee her Marches made: whereby those Hills of fame
And Rivers stood disgrac't; accounting it their shame,
That all without that Mound which Mercian Offa cast
To runne from North to South, athwart the Cambrian wast,
Could England not suffice, but that the stragling Wye,
Which in the hart of Wales was some-time said to lye,
Now onely for her bound proud England did prefer.
That Severne, when shee sees the wrong thus offred her,
Though by injurious Time deprived of that place
Which anciently shee held: yet loth that her disgrace

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Should on the Britans light, the Hills and Rivers neere
Austerely to her calls, commaunding them to heare
In her deere childrens right (their Ancesters of yore,
Now thrust betwixt her selfe, and the Virgivian shore,
Who drave the Giants hence that of the Earth were bred,
And of the spacious Ile became the soveraigne head)
What from autentique bookes shee liberally could say.
Of which whilst shee bethought her; West-ward every way,
The Mountaines, Floods, and Meeres, to silence them betake:
When Severne lowting lowe, thus gravely them bespake;

How mightie was that man, and honoured still to bee,
That gave this Ile his name, and to his children three,
Three Kingdoms in the same? which, time doth now denie,
With his arrivall heere, and primer Monarchy.

England.

Loëgria, though thou canst thy Locrine easely lose,
Yet

Wales.

Cambria, him, whom Fate her ancient Founder chose,
In no wise will forgoe; nay, should

Scotland.

Albania leave
Her Albanact for ayde, and to the Scythian cleave.
And though remorselesse Rome, which first did us enthrall,
As barbarous but esteem'd, and stickt not so to call;
The ancient Britans yet a sceptred King obey'd
Three hundred yeeres before Romes great foundation laid;
And had a thousand yeeres an Empire strongly stood,
Ere Cæsar to her shores here stemd the circling Flood;
And long before, borne Armes against the barbarous Hun,
Heere landing with intent the Ile to over-run:
And following them in flight, their Generall Humber drownd
In that great arme of Sea, by his great name renown'd;
And her great Builders had, her Citties who did reare
With Fanes unto her Gods, and

Priests among idolatrous Gentiles.

Flamins every where.
Nor Troynovant alone a Citty long did stand;
But after, soone againe by Ebranks powerfull hand
Yorke lifts her Towers aloft: which scarcely finisht was,
But as they, by those Kings; so by Rudhudibras,
Kents first and famous

Canterbury.

Towne, with Winchester, arose:
And other, others built, as they fit places chose.

So Britaine to her praise, of all conditions brings;
The warlike, as the wise. Of her courageous Kings,
Brute Green-shield: to whose name we providence impute,
Divinely to revive the Land's first Conqueror, Brute.

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So had she those were learn'd, endu'd with nobler parts:
As, he from learned Greece, that (by the liberall Arts)
To Stamford, in this Ile, seem'd Athens to transfer;
Wise Bladud, of her Kings that great Philosopher;
Who found our boyling Bathes; and in his knowledge hie,
Disdaining humane paths, heere practised to flie.

Of justly vexed Leire, and those who last did tug
In worse then Civill warre, the

Ferrex and Porrex.

sonnes of Gorbodug
(By whose unnaturall strife the Land so long was tost)
I cannot stay to tell, nor shall my Britaine boast;
But, of that man which did her Monarchy restore,
Her first imperiall Crowne of gold that ever wore,
And that most glorious type of soveraignty regain'd;
Mulmutius: who this Land in such estate maintain'd
As his great Bel-sire Brute from Albions heires it wonne.

This Grand-child, great as he, those foure proud Streets begun
That each way crosse this Ile, and bounds did them allow.
Like priviledge he lent the Temple and the Plow:
So studious was this Prince in his most forward zeale
To the Celestiall power, and to the Publique weale.

Bellinus he begot, who Dacia proud subdu'd;

Belinus and Brennus.

And Brennus, who abroad a worthier warre pursu'd,
Asham'd of civill strife; at home heere leaving all:
And with such goodly Youth, in Germany and Gaul
As he had gather'd up, the Alpin Mountaines past,
And bravely on the banks of fatall Allia chas't
The Romans (that her streame distained with their gore)
And through proud Rome, display'd his British Ensigne bore:
There, ballancing his sword against her baser gold,
The Senators for slaves hee in her Forum sold.
At last, by power expell'd, yet proud of late successe,
His forces then for Greece did instantly addresse;
And marching with his men upon her fruitfull face,
Made Macedon first stoope; then Thessaly, and Thrace;
His souldiers there enricht with all Peonia's spoyle;
And where to Greece he gave the last and deadliest foyle,
In that most dreadfull fight, on that more dismall day,
O'rthrew their utmost prowesse at sad Thermopylæ;
And daring of her Gods, adventur'd to have tane
Those sacred things enshrin'd in wise Apollo's Fane:

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To whom when thundring Heaven pronounc't her fearefulst word,
Against the Delphian Power he shak't his irefull sword.

As of the British blood, the native Cambri here
(So of my Cambria call'd) those valiant Cymbri were
(When Britaine with her brood so peopled had her seat,
The soyle could not suffice, it daily grew so great)
Of Denmarke who themselves did anciently possesse,
And to that straitned poynt, that utmost Chersonesse,
My Countries name bequeath'd; whence Cymbrica it tooke:
Yet long were not compriz'd within that little nooke,
But with those Almaine powers this people issued forth:
And like some boystrous wind arising from the North,
Came that unwieldie host; that, which way it did move,
The very burthenous earth before it seem'd to shove,
And onely meant to claime the Universe its owne.
In this terrestriall Globe, as though some world unknowne,
By pampred Natures store too prodigally fed
(And surfetting there-with) her surcrease vomited,
These roaming up and downe to seeke some setling roome,
First like a Deluge fell upon Illyricum,
And with his Roman powers Papyrius over-threw;
Then, by great

A great generall of those Northren Nations.

Belus brought against those Legions, slew
Their forces which in France Aurelius Scaurus led;
And afterward againe, as bravely vanquished
The Consulls Cæpio, and stout Manlius on the Plaine,
Where Rhodanus was red with blood of Latines slaine.

In greatnes next succeeds Belinus worthy sonne,
Gurgustus: who soone left what his great Father wonne,
To Guynteline his heire: whose

Martia.

Queene, beyond her kind,
In her great husbands peace, to shew her upright mind,
To wise Mulmutius lawes, her Martian first did frame:
From which we ours derive, to her eternall fame.

A certain Monster often issuing from the Sea, devoured diverse of the British people.

So Britaine forth with these, that valiant Bastard brought,
Morindus, Danius sonne, which with that Monster fought
His subjects that devour'd; to shew himselfe againe
Their Martyr, who by them selected was to raigne.

So Britaine likewise boasts her Elidure the just,
Who with his people was of such especiall trust,
That (Archigallo falne into their generall hate,
And by their powerfull hand depriv'd of kingly state)

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Unto the Regall Chayre they Elidure advanc't:
But long he had not raign'd, ere happily it chanc't,
In hunting of a Hart, that in the Forrest wild,
The late deposed King, himselfe who had exil'd
From all resort of men, just Elidure did meet;
Who much unlike himselfe, at Elidurus feet,
Him prostrating with teares, his tender breast so strooke,
That he (the British rule who lately on him tooke
At th'earnest peoples pray'rs) him calling to the Court,
There Archigallo's wrongs so lively did report,
Relating (in his right) his lamentable case,
With so effectuall speech imploring their high grace,
That him they reinthron'd; in peace who spent his dayes.

Then Elidure againe, crown'd with applausive praise,
As he a brother rais'd, by brothers was depos'd,
And put into the Towre: where miserably inclos'd,
Out-living yet their hate, and the Usurpers dead,
Thrice had the British Crowne set on his reverend head.

When more then thirty Kings in faire succession came
Unto that mighty Lud, in whose eternall name
Great London still shall live (by him rebuilded) while
To Citties she remaines the Soveraigne of this Ile.

And when commaunding Rome to Cæsar gave the charge,
Her Empire (but too great) still further to enlarge
With all beyond the Alpes; the aydes he found to passe
From these parts into Gaul, shew'd heere some Nation was
Undaunted that remain'd with Romes so dreadfull name,
That durst presume to ayde those shee decreed to tame.
Wherefore that matchlesse man, whose high ambition wrought
Beyond her Empires bounds, by shipping wisely sought
(Heere proling on the shores) this Iland to discry,
What people her possest, how fashion'd shee did lie:
Where scarce a Strangers foote defil'd her virgin breast,
Since her first Conqueror Brute heere put his powers to rest;
Onely some little Boats, from Gaul that did her feed
With tryfles, which shee tooke for nicenesse more then need:
But as another world, with all abundance blest,
And satisfi'd with what shee in her selfe possest;
Through her excessive wealth (at length) till wanton growne,
Some Kings (with others Lands that would enlarge their owne)

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By innovating Armes an open passage made
For him that gap't for all (the Roman) to invade.
Yet with grim-visag'd Warre when he her shores did greet,
And terriblest did threat with his amazing Fleet,
Those British bloods he found, his force that durst assaile,
And poured from the Cleeves their shafts like showers of haile
Upon his helmed head; to tell him as he came,
That they (from all the world) yet feared not his name:
Which, their undaunted spirits soone made that Conqueror feele,
Oft ventring their bare breasts gainst his oft-bloodied steele;
And in their Chariots charg'd: which they with wondrous skill
Could turne in their swift'st course upon the steepest hill,
And wheele about his troopes for vantage of the ground,
Or else disranke his force where entrance might be found:
And from their Armed seats their thrilling Darts could throwe;
Or nimblie leaping downe, their valiant swords bestowe,
And with an active skip remount themselves againe,
Leaving the Roman horse behind them on the Plaine,
And beat him back to Gaul his forces to supply;
As they the Gods of Rome and Cæsar did defie.

Cassibalan renown'd, the Britans faithfull guide,
Who when th'Italian powers could no way be deny'd,
But would this Ile subdue; their forces to fore-lay,
Thy Forrests thou didst fell, their speedy course to stay:
Those armed stakes in Tames that stuckst, their horse to gore
Which boldly durst attempt to forrage on thy shore:
Thou such hard entrance heere to Cæsar didst allow,
To whom (thy selfe except) the Westerne world did bow.
And more then Cæsar got, three Emperours could not win,
Till the courageous sonnes of our Cunobelin
Sunke under Plautius sword, sent hither to discusse
The former Roman right, by Armes againe, with us.
Nor with that Consull joyn'd, Vespasian could prevaile
In thirty severall fights, nor make them stoope their saile.
Yea, had not his brave sonne, young Titus, past their hopes,
His forward Father fetcht out of the British troopes,
And quit him wondrous well when he was strongly charg'd,
His Father (by his hands so valiantly enlarg'd)
Had never more seene Rome; nor had he ever spilt
The Temple that wise sonne of faithfull David built,

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Subverted those high walls, and lay'd that Cittie wast
Which God, in humane flesh, above all other grac't.

No marvaile then though Rome so great her conquest thought,
In that the Ile of Wight shee to subjection brought,
Our

A people then inhabiting Hamp. Dorset. Wilt. and Somerset shires.

Belgæ and subdu'd (a people of the West)
That latest came to us, our least of all the rest;
When Claudius, who that time her wreath imperiall wore,
Though scarce he shew'd himselfe upon our Southerne shore,
It scornd not in his stile; but, due to that his praise,
Triumphall Arches claim'd, and to have yeerely Playes;
The noblest Navall Crowne, upon his Palace pitcht;
As with the Oceans spoyle his Rome who had enricht.

Her Caradock (with cause) so Britaine may prefer;
Then whom, a braver spirit was nere brought forth by her:
For whilst here in the West the Britans gather'd head,
This Generall of the rest, his stout

Those of Monmouth, and the adjacent Shires.

Silures led
Against Ostorius, sent by Cæsar to this place
With Romes high fortune (then the high'st in Fortunes grace)
A long and doubtfull warre with whom he did maintaine,
Untill that houre wherein his valiant Britans slaine
Hee grievously beheld (o'represt with Roman power)
Himselfe wel-nere the last their wrath did not devour.
When (for revenge, not feare) he fled (as trusting most,
Another day might win, what this had lately lost)
To Cartismandua, Queene of

Those of Yorkshire, and there by.

Brigants for her ayde,
He to his foes, by her, most falsely was betray'd.
Who, as a spoyle of warre, t'adorne the Triumph sent
To great Ostorius due, when through proud Rome hee went,
That had her selfe prepar'd (as shee had all been eyes)
Our Caradock to view; who in his Countries guise,
Came with his bodie nak't, his haire downe to his waste,
Girt with a chaine of steele; his manly breast in chaste
With sundry shapes of Beasts. And when this Britaine saw
His wife and children bound as slaves, it could not awe
His manlinesse at all: but with a setled grace,
Undaunted with her pride, hee lookt her in the face:
And with a speech so grave as well a Prince became,
Himselfe and his redeem'd, to our eternall fame.

Then Romes great

Nero.

Tyrant next, the lasts adopted heire,
That brave Suetonius sent, the British Coasts to cleere;

146

The utter spoyle of

Anglesey, the chiefe place of residence of the Druides.

Mon who strongly did pursue
(Unto whose gloomy strengths, th'revolted Britans flew)
There entring, hee beheld what strooke him pale with dread:
The frantick British Froes, their haire dishevelled,
With fire-brands ran about, like to their furious eyes;
And from the hollow woods the fearlesse Druides;
Who with their direfull threats, and execrable vowes,
Inforc't the troubled heaven to knit her angry browes.

And as heere in the West the Romans bravely wan,
So all upon the East the Britans over-ran:
The Colony long kept at Mauldon, overthrowne,
Which by prodigious signes was many times fore-showne,
And often had dismai'd the Roman souldiers: when
Brave Voadicia made with her resolved'st men
To

By Saint Albans.

Virolam; whose siege with fire and sword she pli'd,
Till leveld with the earth. To London as shee hy'd,
The Consull comming in with his auspicious ayde,
The Queene (to quit her yoke no longer that delay'd)
Him dar'd by dint of sword, it hers or his to try,
With words that courage show'd, and with a voice as hie
(In her right hand her Launce, and in her left her Shield,
As both the Battells stood prepared in the Field)
Incouraging her men: which resolute, as strong,
Upon the Roman rusht; and shee, the rest among,
Wades in that doubtfull warre: till lastly, when she saw
The fortune of the day unto the Roman draw,
The Queene (t'out-live her friends who highly did disdaine,
And lastly, for proud Rome a Triumph to remaine)
By poyson ends her dayes, unto that end prepar'd,
As lavishly to spend what Suetonius spar'd.

Him scarcely Rome recall'd, such glory having wonne,
But bravely to proceed, as erst she had begunne,
Agricola heere made her great Lieutenant then:
Who having setled Mon, that man of all her men,
Appointed by the Powers apparantly to see
The wearied Britans sinke, and easely in degree
Beneath his fatall sword the

North-wales men.

Ordovies to fall
Inhabiting the West, those people last of all
Which stoutl'est him with-stood, renown'd for Martiall worth.

Thence leading on his powers unto the utmost North,

147

When all the Townes that lay betwixt our Trent and Tweed,
Suffic'd not (by the way) his wasteful fires to feed,
He there some Britans found, who (to rebate their spleene,
As yet with grieved eyes our spoyles not having seene)
Him at

In the midst of Scotland.

Mount Grampus met: which from his height beheld
Them lavish of their lives; who could not be compeld
The Roman yoke to beare: and Galgacus their guide
Amongst his murthered troupes there resolutely di'd.

Eight Roman Emperours raign'd since first that warre began;
Great Julius Cæsar first, the last Domitian.
A hundred thirtie yeeres the Northerne Britans still,
That would in no wise stoupe to Romes imperious will,
Into the straitned Land with theirs retired farre,
In lawes and manners since from us that different are;
And with the Irish Pict, which to their ayde they drew
(On them oft breaking in, who long did them pursue)
A greater foe to us in our owne bowels bred,
Then Rome, with much expense that us had conquered.

And when that we great Romes so much in time were growne,
That shee her charge durst leave to Princes of our owne,
(Such as, within our selves, our suffrage should elect)
Aviragus, borne ours, heere first she did protect;
Who faithfully and long, of labour did her ease.

Then he, our Flamins seats who turn'd to Bishops seas;
Great Lucius, that good King: to whom we chiefly owe
This happinesse we have, Christ crucifi'd to knowe.

As Britaine to her praise receiv'd the Christian faith,
After (that Word-made Man) our deere Redeemers death
Within two hundred yeeres; and his Disciples heere,
By their great Maister sent to preach him every where,
Most reverently receiv'd, their doctrine and preferd;
Interring him,

Joseph of Arimathea.

who earst the Sonne of God interd.

So Britans was she borne, though Italy her crown'd,
Of all the Christian world that Empresse most renown'd,
Constantius worthy wife; who scorning worldly losse,
Her selfe in person went to seeke that sacred Crosse,
Whereon our Saviour di'd: which found, as it was sought,
From

Jerusalem.

Salem unto Rome triumphantly she brought.

As when the Primer Church her Councells pleas'd to call,
Great Britains Bishops there were not the least of all;

148

Against the Arian Sect at Arles having roome,
At Sardica againe, and at Ariminum.

Now, when with various Fate five hundred yeeres had past,
And Rome of her great charge grew weary heere at last;
The Vandalls, Goths, and Huns, that with a powerfull head
All Italy and France had wel-neare over-spred,
To much-endanger'd Rome sufficient warning gave,
Those forces that shee held, within her selfe to have.
The Roman rule from us then utterly remov'd.

Whilst, we, in sundry Fields, our sundry fortunes prov'd
With the remorselesse Pict, still wasting us with warre.
And twixt the froward Sire, licentious Vortiger,
And his too forward sonne, young Vortimer, arose
Much strife within our selves, whilst heere they interpose
By turns each others raignes; whereby, we weakned grew.
The warlike Saxon then into the Land we drew;
A Nation nurst in spoyle, and fitt'st to undergoe
Our cause against the Pict, our most inveterate foe.

When they, which we had hyr'd for souldiers to the shore,
Perceiv'd the wealthy Ile to wallow in her store,
And suttly had found out how we infeebled were;
They, under false pretence of amitie and cheere,
The British Peeres invite, the German Healths to view
At Stonehenge; where they them unmercifully slew.

Then, those of Brutes great blood, of Armorick possest,
Extreamly griev'd to see their kinsmen so distrest,
Us offred to relieve, or else with us to die:
Wee, after, to requite their noble curtesie,
Eleven thousand mayds sent those our friends againe,
In wedlock to be linkt with them of Brute's high Straine;
That none with Brutes great blood, but Britans might be mixt:
Such friendship ever was the stock of Troy betwixt.
Out of whose ancient race, that warlike Arthur sprong:
Whose most renowned Acts shall sounded be as long
As Britains name is known: which spred themselves so wide,
As scarcely hath for fame left any roomth beside.

My Wales, then hold thine owne, and let thy Britains stand
Upon their right, to be the noblest of the Land.
Thinke how much better tis, for thee, and those of thine,
From Gods, and Heroës old to drawe your famous line,

149

Then from the Scythian poore; whence they themselves derive
Whose multitudes did first you to the Mountaines drive.
Nor let the spacious Mound of that great Mercian King
(Into a lesser roomth thy burlinesse to bring)
Include thee; when my Selfe, and my deere brother Dee,

The ancient bounds of Wales.

By nature were the bounds first limited to thee.

Scarce ended shee her speech, but those great Mountaines neere,
Upon the Cambrian part that all for Brutus were,
With her high truths inflam'd, look't every one about
To find their severall Springs; and bad them get them out,
And in their fulness waite upon their soveraigne Flood,
In Britains ancient right so bravely that had stood.

When first the furious Teame, that on the Cambrian side
Doth Shropshire as a Meere from Hereford divide,
As worthiest of the rest; so worthily doth crave
That of those lesser Brooks the leading she might have;
The first of which is Clun, that to her Mistris came:
Which of a

Clun Forrest.

Forrest borne that beares her proper name,
Unto the Golden Vale and anciently ally'd,
Of every thing of both, sufficiently supply'd,
The longer that she growes, the more renowne doth win:
And for her greater State, next Bradfield bringeth in,
Which to her wider banks resignes a weaker streame.

When fiercely making forth, the strong and lustie Teame
A friendly Forest Nymph (nam'd Mocktry) doth imbrace,
Her selfe that bravely beares; twixt whom and Bringwood-Chase,
Her banks with many a wreath are curiously bedeckt,
And in their safer shades they long time her protect.

Then takes shee Oney in, and forth from them doth fling:
When to her further ayde, next Bowe, and Warren, bring
Cleere Quenny; by the way, which Stradbrooke up doth take:
By whose united powers, their Teame they mightier make;
Which in her lively course to Ludlowe comes at last,
Where Corve into her streame her selfe doth head-long cast.
With due attendance next, comes Ledwich and the Rhea.

Then speeding her, as though sent post unto the Sea,
Her native Shropshire leaves, and bids those Townes adiew,
Her onely soveraigne Queene, proud Severne to pursue.

When at her going out, those Mountaines of command
(The Clees, like loving Twinnes, and Stitterston that stand)
Trans-Severned, behold faire England tow'rds the rise,

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And on their setting side, how ancient Cambria lies.
Then Stipperston a hill, though not of such renowne
As many that are set heere tow'rds the going downe,
To those his owne Allyes, that stood not farre away,
Thus in behalfe of Wales directly seem'd to say;

Deare Corndon, my delight, as thou art lov'd of mee,
And Breeden, as thou hop'st a Britaine thought to bee,
To Cortock strongly cleave, as to our ancient friend,
And all our utmost strength to Cambria let us lend.
For though that envious Time injuriously have wroong
From us those proper names did first to us belong,
Yet for our Country still, stout Mountaines let us stand.

Here, every neighbouring Hill held up a willing hand,
As freely to applaud what Stipperston decreed:
And Hockstow when she heard the Mountaines thus proceed,
With ecchoes from her Woods, her inward joyes exprest,
To heare that Hill she lov'd, which likewise lov'd her best,
Should in the right of Wales, his neighbouring Mountaines stirre,
So to advance that place which might them both preferre;
That she from open shouts could scarce her selfe refraine.

When soone those other Rils to Severne which retaine,
And 't ended not on Teame, thus of themselves do showe
The service that to her they absolutely owe.
First Camlet commeth in, a Mountgomerian mayde,
Her source in Severns bankes that safely having layd,
Mele, her great Mistris next at Shrewsbury doth meet,
To see with what a grace she that faire towne doth greet;
Into what sundry gyres her wondered selfe she throwes,
And oft in-Iles the shore, as wantonly she flowes;
Of it, oft taking leave, oft turnes, it to imbrace;
As though she onely were enamored of that place,
Her fore-intended course determined to leave,
And to that most lov'd Towne eternally to cleave:
With much ado at length, yet bidding it adue,
Her journey towards the Sea doth seriously pursue.
Where, as along the shores she prosperously doth sweepe,
Small Marbrooke maketh-in, to her inticing Deepe.
And as she lends her eye to

Bruge-North.

Bruge's loftie sight,
That Forest-Nymph milde Morffe doth kindly her invite
To see within her shade what pastime she could make:
Where she, of Shropshire; I my leave of Severne take.

169

The ninth Song.

The Argument.

The Muse heere Merioneth vaunts,
And her proud Mountaines highly chaunts.
The Hills and Brooks, to bravery bent,
Stand for precedence from Descent:
The Rivers for them shewing there
The wonders of their Pimblemere.
Proud Snowdon gloriously proceeds
With Cambria's native Princes deeds.
The Muse then through Carnarvan makes,
And Mon (now Anglesey) awakes
To tell her ancient Druides guise,
And manner of their Sacrifice.
Her Rillets shee together calls;
Then back for Flint and Denbigh falls.

Of all the Cambrian Shires their heads that beare so hie,
And farth'st survay their soyles with an ambitious eye,
Mervinia

Merionethshire.

for her Hills, as for their matchlesse crowds,
The neerest that are said to kisse the wandring clowds,
Especiall Audience craves, offended with the throng,
That shee of all the rest neglected was so long:
Alleaging for her selfe; When through the Saxons pride,
The God-like race of Brute to Severns setting side
Were cruelly inforc't, her Mountaines did relieve
Those, whom devouring warre else every-where did grieve.
And when all Wales beside (by Fortune or by might)
Unto her ancient foe resign'd her ancient right,
A constant Mayden still shee onely did remaine,
The last her genuine lawes which stoutly did retaine.
And as each one is prays'd for her peculiar things;
So onely shee is rich, in Mountaines, Meres, and Springs,
And holds her selfe as great in her superfluous wast,
As others by their Townes, and fruitfull tillage grac't.
And therefore, to recount her Rivers, from their

Meeres or Pooles, from whence Rivers spring.

Lins,
Abbridging all delayes, Mervinia thus begins;

170

Though Dovy, which doth far her neighboring Floods surmount
(Whose course, for hers alone Mountgomery doth account)

The Rivers as in order they fall into the Irish Sea.

Hath Angell for her owne, and Keriog she doth cleere,
With Towin, Gwedall then, and Dulas, all as deere,
Those tributary streames she is maintain'd withall:
Yet, boldly may I say, her rising and her fall
My Country calleth hers, with many another Brooke,
That with their crystall eyes on the Vergivian looke.
To Dovy next, of which Desunny sea-ward drives,
Lingorrill goes alone: but plentious Avon strives
The first to be at Sea; and faster her to hie,
Cleere Kessilgum comes in, with Hergum by and by.
So Derry, Moothy drawes, and Moothy calleth Caine,
Which in one channell meet, in going to the Maine,
As to their utmost power to lend her all their aydes:
So Atro by the arme Lanbeder kindly leads.
And Velenrid the like, observing th'others lawe,
Calls Cunnell; shee againe, faire Drurid forth doth draw,
That from their mother Earth, the rough Mervinia, pay
Their mixed plentious Springs, unto the lesser Bay
Of those two noble armes into the Land that beare,
Which through

North-wales.

Gwinethia be so famous every where,
On my Carnarvan side by nature made my Mound,
As Dovy doth divide the Cardiganian ground.
The pearly Conwayes head, as that of holy Dee,
Renowned Rivers both, their rising have in mee:
So, Lavern and the Lue, themselves that head-long throwe
Into the spacious Lake, where Dee unmixt doth flowe.
Trowerrin takes his streame, here from a native Lin;
Which, out of Pimblemere when Dee him selfe doth win,
Along with him his Lord full curteously doth glide:
So Rudock riseth heere, and Cletor that doe guide
Him in his rugged path, and make his greatnes way,
Their Dee into the bounds of Denbigh to convay.

The loftie Hills, this while attentively that stood,
As to survey the course of every severall Flood,
Sent forth such ecchoing shoutes (which every way so shrill,
With the reverberate sound the spacious ayre did fill)
That they were easely heard through the Vergivian Maine
To Neptunes inward Court; and beating there, constraine

171

That mightie God of Sea t'awake: who full of dread,
Thrice threw his three-forkt Mace about his griesly head,
And thrice above the Rocks his fore-head rays'd to see
Amongst the high-topt Hills what tumult it should bee.
So that with very sweat Cadoridric did drop,
And mighty Raran shooke his proud sky-kissing top,
Amongst the furious rout whom madnes did enrage;
Untill the Mountaine Nymphs, the tumult to asswage,
Upon a modest signe of silence to the throng,
Consorting thus, in prayse of their Mervinia, song;

Thrice famous Saxon King, on whom Time nere shall pray,
O Edgar! who compeldst our Ludwall hence to pay
Three hundred Wolves a yeere for trybute unto thee:
And for that tribute payd, as famous may'st thou bee,
O conquer'd British King, by whom was first destroy'd
The multitude of Wolves, that long this Land annoy'd;
Regardlesse of their rape, that now our harmlesse Flocks,
Securely heere may sit upon the aged Rocks;
Or wandring from their walks, and straggling here and there
Amongst the scattred Cleeves, the Lambe needs never feare;
But from the threatning storme to save it selfe may creepe
Into that darksome Cave where once his foe did keepe:
That now the clambring Goat all day which having fed,
And clyming up to see the sunne goe downe to bed,
Is not at all in doubt her little Kid to lose,
Which grazing in the Vale, secure and safe she knowes.

Where, from these lofty hills which spacious heaven doe threat,

The wondrous Mountaines in Merionethshire.

Yet of as equall height, as thick by nature set,
We talke how wee are stor'd, or what wee greatly need,
Or how our flocks doe fare, and how our heards doe feed,
When else the hanging Rocks, and Vallyes dark and deepe,
The Sommers longest day would us from meeting keepe.

Yee Cambrian Shepheards then, whom these our Mountaines please,
And yee our fellow Nymphs, yee light

Nymphs of the Mountains.

Oreades,
Saint Hellens wondrous way, and Herberts let us goe,
And our divided Rocks with admiration showe.

Not meaning there to end, but speaking as they were,
A suddaine fearefull noyse surprised every eare.
The water-Nymphs (not farre) Lin-Teged that frequent,
With browes besmear'd with ooze, their locks with dewe besprent,

172

Inhabiting the Lake, in sedgy bowres belowe,
Their inward grounded griefe that onely sought to showe
Against the Mountaine kind, which much on them did take
Above their watry brood, thus proudly them bespake;

Tell us, ye haughtie Hills, why vainly thus you threat,
Esteeming us so meane, compar'd to you so great.
To make you know your selves, you this must understand,
That our great Maker layd the surface of the Land,
As levell as the Lake untill the generall Flood,
When over all so long the troubled waters stood:
Which, hurried with the blasts from angry heaven that blew,
Upon huge massy heapes the loosened gravell threw:
From hence we would yee knew, your first beginning came.
Which, since, in tract of time, your selves did Mountaines name.
So that the earth, by you (to check her mirthfull cheere)
May alwaies see (from heaven) those plagues that poured were
Upon the former world; as t'were by scarres to showe
That still shee must remaine disfigur'd with the blowe:
And by th'infectious slime that doomefull Deluge left,
Nature herselfe hath since of puritie beene reft;
And by the seeds corrupt, the life of mortall man
Was shortned. With these plagues yee Mountaines first began.

But, ceasing you to shame; What Mountaine is there found
In all your monstrous kind (seeke yee the Iland round)
That truly of him selfe such wonders can report

The wonders of Lin-teged, or Pemblemere.

As can this spacious Lin, the place of our resort?
That when Dee in his course faine in her lap would lie,
Commixtion with her store, his streame shee doth deny,
By his complexion prov'd, as he through her doth glide.
Her wealth againe from his, she likewise doth divide:
Those White-fish that in her doe wondrously abound,
Are never seene in him; nor are his Salmons found
At any time in her: but as shee him disdaines;
So hee againe, from her, as wilfully abstaines.
Downe from the neighboring Hills, those plentious Springs that fall,
Nor Land-floods after raine, her never move at all.
And as in Sommers heat, so alwaies is she one,
Resembling that great Lake which seemes to care for none:
And with sterne Eolus blasts, like Thetis waxing ranke,
Shee onely over-swells the surface of her bank.

173

But, whilst the Nymphs report these wonders of their Lake,
Their further cause of speech the mightie

The most famous Mountaine of all Wales, in Carnarvanshire.

Snowdon brake;
Least, if their watry kind should suffred be too long,
The licence that they tooke, might doe the Mountaines wrong.
For quickly he had found that straitned poynt of Land,
Into the Irish Sea which puts his powrefull hand,
Puft with their watry praise, grew insolently proud,
And needs would have his Rills for Rivers be allow'd:
Short Darent, neer'st unto the utmost poynt of all
That th'Ile of Gelin greets, and Bardsey in her fall;
And next to her, the Sawe, the Gir, the Er, the May,
Must Rivers be at least, should all the world gaine-say:
And those, whereas the Land lyes East-ward, amply wide,
That goodly Conway grace upon the other side,
Borne neere upon her banks, each from her proper Lin,
Soone from their Mothers out, soone with their Mistris in.
As Ledder, her Allie, and neighbour Legwy; then
Goes Purloyd, Castell next, with Giffin, that agen
Observe faire Conway's course: and though their race be short,
Yet they their Soveraigne Flood inrich with their resort.
And Snowdon, more then this, his proper Mere did note

The wonders upon the Snowdon.

(Still Delos like, wherein a wandring Ile doth floate)
Was peremptory growne upon his higher ground;
That Poole, in which (besides) the one-eyed fish are found,
As of her wonder proud, did with the Floods partake.

So, when great Snowdon saw, a Faction they would make
Against his generall kind; both parties to appease,
Hee purposeth to sing their native Princes praise.
For Snowdony, a Hill, imperiall in his seat,

The glory of Snowdon-hill.

Is from his mighty foote, unto his head so great,
That were his Wales distrest, or of his helpe had need,
Hee all her Flocks and Heards for many months could feed.
Therefore to doe some-thing were worthy of his name,
Both tending to his strength, and to the Britans fame,
His Country to content, a signall having made,
By this Oration thinks both Parties to perswade:

Whilst heere this generall Ile, the ancient Britans ow'd,
Their valiant deeds before by Severn have been show'd:
But, since our furious Foe, these powrefull Saxon swarmes
(As mercilesse in spoyle, as well approv'd in Armes)

174

Heere called to our ayde, Loëgria us bereft,
Those poore and scatter'd few of Brutes high linage left,
For succour hither came; where that unmixed race
Remaines unto this day, yet owners of this place:
Of whom no Flood nor Hill peculiarly hath song.
These, then, shall be my Theame: least Time too much should wrong
Such Princes as were ours, since sever'd we have been;
And as themselves, their fame be limited between
The Severne and our Sea, long pent within this place,
Till with the tearme of Welsh, the English now embase
The nobler Britains name, that welneere was destroy'd
With Pestilence and Warre, which this great Ile annoy'd;
Cadwallader that drave to the Armorick shore:
To which, drad Conan, Lord of Denbigh, long before,
His Countrymen from hence auspiciously convay'd:
Whose noble feates in warre, and never-fayling ay'd,
Got Maximus (at length) the victorie in Gaul,
Upon the Roman powers. Where, after Gratians fall,
Armorica to them the valiant Victor gave:
Where Conan, their great Lord, as full of courage, drave
The Celts out of their seats, and did their roome supply
With people still from hence; which of our Colony
Was little Britaine call'd. Where that distressed King,
Cadwallader, himselfe awhile recomforting
With hope of Alans ayde (which there did him detaine)
Forewarned was in Dreames, that of the Britans raigne
A sempiternall end the angry Powers decreed,
A Recluse life in Rome injoyning him to lead.
The King resigning all, his sonne young Edwall left
With Alan: who, much griev'd the Prince should be bereft
Of Britains ancient right, rigg'd his unconquer'd Fleet;
And as the Generalls then, for such an Army meet,
His Nephew Ivor chose, and Hiner for his pheere;
Two most undaunted spirits. These valiant Britans were
The first who

The West-Saxons country, comprehending Devonshire, Somerset, Wiltshire, and their adjacents.

West-sex wonne. But by the ling'ring warre,
When they those Saxons found t'have succour still from farre,
They tooke them to their friends on Severns setting shore:
Where finding Edwall dead, they purpos'd to restore
His sonne young Rodorick, whom the Saxon powers pursu'd:
But hee, who at his home heere scorn'd to be subdu'd,

175

With Aldred (that on Wales his strong invasion brought)
Garthmalack, and Pencoyd (those famous battailes) fought,
That North and South-wales sing, on the West-Sexians wonne.

Scarce this victorious taske his bloodied sword had done,
But at Mount

A hill neere Aber-gevenny in Monmouth.

Carno met the Mercians, and with wounds
Made Ethelbald to feele his trespasse on our bounds;
Prevail'd against the Pict, before our force that flew;
And in a valiant fight their King Dalargan slew.

Nor Conan's courage lesse, nor lesse prevail'd in ought
Renowned Rodoricks heire, who with the English fought
The Herefordian Field; as Ruthlands red with gore:
Who, to transfer the warre from this his native shore,
Marcht through the Mercian Townes with his revengefull blade;
And on the English there such mighty havock made,
That Offa (when he saw his Countries goe to wrack)
From bick'ring with his folke, to keepe us Britains back,
Cast up that mighty Mound of eighty miles in length,

Offa's Ditch.

Athwart from Sea to Sea. Which of the Mercians strength
A witnesse though it stand, and Offa's name doe beare,
Our courage was the cause why first he cut it there:
As that most dreadful day at Gavelford can tell,
Where under eithers sword so many thousands fell
With intermixed blood, that neither knew their owne;
Nor which went Victor thence, unto this day is knowne.

Nor Kettles conflict then, lesse martiall courage show'd,
Where valiant Mervin met the Mercians, and bestow'd
His nobler British blood on Burthreds recreant flight.

As Rodorick his great sonne, his father following right,
Bare not the Saxons scornes, his Britans to out-brave;
At Gwythen, but againe to Burthred battell gave;
Twice driving out the Dane when he invasion brought.
Whose no lesse valiant sonne, againe at Conway fought
With Danes and Mercians mixt, and on their hatefull head
Down-showr'd their dire revenge whom they had murthered.

And, wer't not that of us the English would report
(Abusing of our Tongue in most malicious sort
As often-times they doe) that more then any, wee
(The Welsh, as they us tearme) love glorifi'd to bee,
Heere could I else recount the slaught'red Saxons gore
Our swords at Crosford spilt on Severns wandring shore;

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And Griffith here produce, Lewellins valiant sonne
(May wee believe our Bards) who five pitcht Battels wonne;
And to revenge the wrongs the envious English wrought,
His well-train'd martiall troupes into the Marches brought
As farre as Wor'ster walls: nor thence did he retire,
Till Powse lay wel-neere spent in our revengefull fire;
As Hereford layd waste: and from their plentious soyles,
Brought back with him to Wales his prisoners and his spoyles.

Thus as we valiant were, when valour might us steed:
With those so much that dar'd, wee had them that decreed.
For, what Mulmutian lawes, or Martian, ever were
More excellent then those which our good Howell heere
Ordayn'd to governe Wales? which still with us remaine.

And when all-powerfull Fate had brought to passe againe,
That as the Saxons earst did from the Britains win;
Upon them so (at last) the Normans comming in,
Tooke from those Tyrants heere, what treacherously they got
(To the perfidious French, which th'angry heavens allot)
Nere could that Conquerors sword (which roughly did decide
His right in England heere, and prostrated her pride)
Us to subjection stoope, or make us Britains beare
Th'unwieldy Norman yoke: nor basely could we feare
His Conquest, entring Wales; but (with stout courage) ours
Defi'd him to his face, with all his English powers.

And when in his revenge, proud Rufus hither came
(With vowes) us to subvert; with slaughter and with shame,
O're Severn him we sent, to gather stronger ayde.

So, when to Englands power, Albania hers had lay'd,
By Henry Beauclarke brought (for all his divelish wit,
By which he raught the Wreath) hee not prevail'd awhit:
And through our rugged straits when he so rudely prest,
Had not his proved Maile sate surely to his breast,
A skilfull British hand his life had him bereft,
As his sterne brothers hart, by Tirrills hand was cleft.

And let the English thus which vilifie our name,
If it their greatnes please, report unto our shame
The foyle our Gwyneth gave at Flints so deadly fight,
To Maud the Empresse sonne, that there he put to flight;
And from the English power th'imperiall Ensigne tooke:
About his plumed head which valiant Owen shooke.

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As when that King againe, his fortune to advance
Above his former foyle, procur'd fresh powers from France,
A surely-leveld shaft if Sent-cleare had not seene,
And in the very loose, not thrust himselfe betweene
His Soveraigne and the shaft, he our revenge had tri'd:
Thus, to preserve the King, the noble subject dy'd.

As Madock his brave sonne, may come the rest among;
Who, like the God-like race from which his Grandsires sprong,
Whilst heere his Brothers tyr'd in sad domestick strife,
On their unnaturall breasts bent eithers murtherous knife;
This brave adventurous Youth, in hote pursute of fame,
With such as his great spirit did with high deeds inflame,
Put forth his well-rigg'd Fleet to seeke him forraine ground,
And sayled West so long, untill that world he found
To Christians then unknowne (save this adventrous crue)
Long ere Columbus liv'd, or it Vesputius knew;
And put the now-nam'd Welsh on India's parched face,
Unto the endlesse praise of Brutes renowned race,
Ere the Iberian Powers had toucht her long-sought Bay,
Or any eare had heard the sound of Florida.

And with that Croggens name let th'English us disgrace;
When there are to be seene, yet, in that ancient place
From whence that name they fetch, their conquer'd Grandsires Graves:
For which each ignorant sot, unjustly us depraves.

And when that Tyrant John had our subversion vow'd,
To his unbridled will our necks we never bow'd:
Nor to his mightie sonne; whose host wee did inforce
(His succours cutting off) to eate their war-like horse.

Untill all-ruling Heaven would have us to resigne:
When that brave Prince, the last of all the British Line,
Lewellin, Griffiths sonne, unluckily was slaine,
As Fate had spar'd our fall till Edward Longshanks raigne.
Yet to the stock of Brute so true wee ever were,
We would permit no Prince, unlesse a native here.
Which, that most prudent King perceiving, wisely thought
To satisfie our wills, and to Carnarvan brought
His Queene be'ing great with child, even ready downe to lie;
Then to his purpos'd end doth all his powers apply.

Through every part of Wales hee to the Nobles sent,
That they unto his Court should come incontinent,

178

Of things that much concern'd the Country to debate:
But now behold the power of unavoyded Fate.

When thus unto his will he fitly them had wonne,
At her expected houre the Queene brought forth a sonne.
And to this great designe, all hapning as he would,
He (his intended course that clearkly manage could)
Thus queintly traines us on: Since he perceiv'd us prone
Here onely to be rul'd by Princes of our owne,

A King both valiant and politique.

Our naturalnes therein he greatly did approve;
And publiquely protests, that for the ancient love
He ever bare to Wales, they all should plainly see,
That he had found out one, their soveraigne Lord to bee;
Com'n of the race of Kings, and (in their Country borne)
Could not one English word: of which he durst be sworne.
Besides, his upright heart, and innocence was such,
As that (he was assur'd) blacke Envie could not tuch
His spotlesse life in ought. Poore we (that not espie
His subtilty herein) in plaine simplicity,
Soone bound our selves by oath, his choice not to refuse:
When as that craftie King, his little childe doth chuse,
Yong Edward, borne in Wales, and of Carnarvan call'd.
Thus by the English craft, we Britans were enthrall'd:

Yet in thine owne behalfe, deare Country dare to say,
Thou long as powerfull wert as England every way.
And if she overmuch should seeke thee to imbase,
Tell her thou art the Nurse of all the British race;
And he that was by heaven appointed to unite
(After that tedious warre) the red Rose and the white,
A Tudor was of thine, and native of thy Mon,
From whom descends that King now sitting on her Throane.

This speech, by Snowdon made, so luckie was to please
Both parties, and them both with such content t'appease;
That as before they strove for soveraignty and place,
They onely now contend, which most should other grace.

Into the Irish Sea, then all those Rilles that ronne,
In Snowdons praise to speake, immediatly begon;
Lewenny, Lynan next, then Gwelly gave it out,
And Kerriog her compeere, soone told it all about:
So did their sister Nymphs, that into Mena straine;
The flood that doth divide Mon from the Cambrian Maine.

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It Gorway greatly prais'd, and Seint it lowdly song.
So, mighty Snowdons speech was through Carnarvan rong;
That scarcely such a noise to Mon from Mena came,
When with his puissant troupes for conquest of the same,
On Bridges made of Boates, the Roman powers her sought,
Or Edward to her sacke his English Armies brought:
That Mona strangely stird great Snowdons praise to heare,
Although the stock of Troy to her was ever deare;
Yet (from her proper worth) as shee before all other
Was call'd (in former times) her Country Cambria's mother,
Perswaded was thereby her praises to pursue,
Or by neglect, to lose what to her selfe was due,
A signe to Neptune sent, his boystrous rage to slake;
Which suddainly becalm'd, thus of her selfe she spake;

What one of all the Iles to Cambria doth belong
(To Britaine, I might say, and yet not doe her wrong)
Doth equall me in soyle, so good for grasse and graine?
As should my Wales (where still Brutes ofspring doth remaine)
That mighty store of men, yet more of beasts doth breed,
By famine or by warre constrained be to need,
And Englands neighboring Shires their succour would denie;
My onely selfe her wants could plentiously supply.

What Iland is there found upon the Irish coast,
In which that Kingdome seemes to be delighted most
(And seeke you all along the rough Vergivian shore,
Where the incountring tydes outrageously doe rore)
That bowes not at my beck, as they to me did owe
The dutie subjects should unto their Soveraigne showe;
So that th'Eubonian Man, a kingdome long time knowne,
Which wisely hath been rul'd by Princes of her owne,
In my alliance joyes, as in th'Albanian Seas
The

Iles upon the West of Scotland.

Arrans, and by them the scatt'red

Iles upon the West of Scotland.

Eubides
Rejoyce even at my name; and put on mirthfull cheere,
When of my good estate, they by the Sea-Nymphs heare.

Sometimes within my shades, in many an ancient wood,
Whose often-twined tops, great Phœbus fires withstood,
The fearelesse British Priests, under an aged Oake,
Taking a milk-white Bull, unstrained with the yoke,
And with an Axe of gold, from that Jove-sacred tree
The Missleto cut downe; then with a bended knee

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On th'unhew'd Altar layd, put to the hallowed fires:
And whilst in the sharpe flame the trembling flesh expires,
As their strong furie mov'd (when all the rest adore)
Pronouncing their desires the sacrifice before,
Up to th'eternall heaven their bloodied hands did reare:
And, whilst the murmuring woods even shuddred as with feare,
Preacht to the beardlesse youth, the soules immortall state;
To other bodies still how it should transmigrate,
That to contempt of death them strongly might excite.

To dwell in my blacke shades the Wood-gods did delight,
Untroden with resort that long so gloomy were,
As when the Roman came, it strooke him sad with feare
To looke upon my face, which then was call'd the Darke;
Untill in after time, the English for a marke
Gave me this hatefull name, which I must ever beare,
And Anglesey from them am called every where.

My Brooks (to whose sweet brimmes the Sylvans did resort,
In glyding through my shades, to mightie Neptunes Court,
Of their huge Oakes bereft) to heaven so open lie,
That now ther's not a roote discern'd by any eye:
My Brent, a pretty Beck, attending Menas mouth,
With those her sister Rills, that beare upon the South,
Guint, forth along with her Lewenny that doth draw;
And next to them againe, the fat and moory Frawe,
Which with my Princes Court I some-time pleas'd to grace,
As those that to the West directly runne their race.
Smooth Allo in her fall, that Lynon in doth take;
Mathanon, that amaine doth tow'rds Moylroniad make,
The Sea-calfes to behold that bleach them on her shore,
Which Gweger to her gets, as to increase her store.
Then Dulas to the North that straineth, as to see
The Ile that breedeth Mice: whose store so lothsome bee,
That shee in Neptunes brack her blewish head doth hide.

When now the wearied Muse her burthen having ply'd,
Her selfe awhile betakes to bathe her in the Sound;
And quitting in her course the goodly Monian ground,
Assayes the Penmenmaur, and her cleere eyes doth throwe
On Conway, tow'rds the East, to England back to goe:
Where finding Denbigh fayre, and Flint not out of sight,
Cryes yet afresh for Wales, and for Brutes ancient right.

201

The tenth Song

The Argument.

The serious Muse her selfe applyes
To Merlins ancient prophecies,
At Dinas Emris; where hee show'd
How Fate the Britaines rule bestow'd.
To Conway next she turnes her tale,
And sings her Cluyds renowned Vale;
Then of Saint Winifrid doth tell,
And all the wonders of her Well;
Makes Dee, Bruit's historie pursue:
At which, shee bids her Wales Adieu.

Awhile thus taking breath, our way yet faire in view,
The Muse her former course doth seriously pursue.
From Penmens craggy height to try her saily wings,

Penmenmaure.

Her selfe long having bath'd in the delicious Springs
(That trembling from his top through long-worne crannies creepe,
To spend their liquid store on the insatiate Deepe)
Shee meets with Conway first, which lyeth next at hand:

Pearle in the River Conway.

Whose precious orient Pearle that breedeth in her sand,
Above the other floods of Britaine doth her grace:
Into the Irish Sea which making out her race,
Supply'd by many a Mere (through many severall Rills
Into her bosome pour'd) her plentiously shee fills.
O goodly River! neere unto thy sacred Spring
Prophetique Merlin sate, when to the British King
The changes long to come, auspiciously he told.
Most happy were thy Nymphs, that wondring did behold,
His graver wrinkled brow, amazed and did heare
The dreadfull words he spake, that so ambiguous were.
Thrice happy Brooks, I say, that (every way about)
Thy tributaries be: as is that Towne, where-out
Into the Sea thou fall'st, which Conway of thy name
Perpetually is call'd, to register thy fame.
For thou, cleere Conway, heard'st wise Merlin first relate
The Destinies Decree, of Britains future fate;

202

Which truly he fore-told proud Vortiger should lose:
As, when him from his seat the Saxons should depose:
The forces that should heere from

Little Britaine in France.

Armorick arrive,
Yet farre too weake from hence the enemie to drive:
And to that mightie King, which rashly under-tooke
A strong-wall'd Tower to reare, those earthly spirits that shooke
The great foundation still, in Dragons horrid shape,
That dreaming Wisard told; making the Mountaine gape
With his most powerfull charmes, to view those Caverns deepe;
And from the top of

Part of the Snowdon.

Brith, so high and wondrous steepe,
Where Dinas Emris stood, shew'd where the Serpents fought,
The White that tore the Red; from whence the Prophet wrought
The Britains sad decay then shortly to ensue.

O! happy yee that heard the man who all things knew
Untill the generall Doome, through all the world admyr'd:
By whose Prophetick Sawes yee all became inspyr'd;
As well the forked Neage, that neer'st her Fountaine springs,
With her beloved maid, Melandidar, that brings
Her flowe, where Conway forth into the Sea doth slide
(That to their Mistris make from the Denbighian side)
As those that from the hills of proud Carnarvan fall.

This scarce the Muse had said, but Cluyd doth quickly call
Her great recourse, to come and gard her while shee glide
Along the goodly Vale (which with her wealthy pride
Much beautifies her banks; so naturally her owne,

The situation of Dyfferen Cluyd.

That Dyffren Cluyd by her both farre and neere is knowne)
With high embatteld hills that each way is enclos'd
But onely on the North: and to the North dispos'd,
Fierce Boreas finds accesse to court the dainty Vale:
Who, whisp'ring in her eare with many a wanton tale,
Allures her to his love (his Leman her to make)
As one that in himselfe much suffreth for her sake.

The

Iles upon the North-east & West of Scotland.

Orcades, and all those

Iles upon the North-east & West of Scotland.

Eubides imbrac't
In Neptunes aged armes, to Neptune seeming chast,
Yet prostitute themselves to Boreas; who neglects
The Calidonian Downes, nor ought at all respects
The other in-land Dales, abroad that scattred lie,
Some on the English earth, and some in Albany;
But, courting Dyffren Cluyd, her beautie doth prefer.
Such dalliance as alone the North-wind hath with her,

203

Orithya not enjoy'd, from Thrace when hee her tooke,
And in his saylie plumes the trembling Virgin shooke:
But through the extreame love hee to this Vale doth beare,

In the vi. book of Ovids Metamorph.

Growes jealous at the length, and mightily doth feare
Great Neptune, whom he sees to smug his horrid face:
And, fearing least the God should so obtaine her grace,
From the Septentrion cold, in the breem freezing ayre,
Where the bleake North-wind keepes, still dominering there,
From Shetland stradling wide, his foote on Thuly sets:

The Tydes out of the North and South Seas, meeting in S. Georges chanel.

Whence storming, all the vast Deucalidon hee threts,
And beares his boystrous waves into the narrower mouth
Of the Vergivian Sea: where meeting, from the South,
Great Neptunes surlier tides, with their robustious shocks,
Each other shoulder up against the griesly Rocks;
As strong men when they meet, contending for the path:
But, comming neere the Coast where Cluyd her dwelling hath,
The North-wind (calme become) forgets his Ire to wreake,
And the delicious Vale thus mildly doth bespeake;

Deere Cluyd, th'aboundant sweets, that from thy bosome flowe,
When with my active wings into the ayre I throwe,
Those Hills whose hoarie heads seeme in the clouds to dwell,
Of aged become young, enamor'd with the smell
Of th'odoriferous flowers in thy most precious lap:
Within whose velvit leaves, when I my selfe enwrap,
They suffocate with sents; that (from my native kind)
I seeme some slowe perfume, and not the swiftest wind.
With joy, my Dyffren Cluyd, I see thee bravely spred,
Survaying every part, from foote up to thy head;
Thy full and youthfull breasts, which in their meadowy pride,
Are brancht with rivery veines, Meander-like that glide.
I further note in thee, more excellent then these
(Were there a thing that more the amorous eye might please)
Thy plumpe and swelling wombe, whose mellowy gleabe doth beare
The yellow ripened sheafe, that bendeth with the eare.

Whilst in this sort his sute he amorously preferd,
Moylvennill neere at hand, the North-wind over-heard:
And, vexed at the hart, that he a Mountaine great,
Which long time in his breast had felt loves kindly heat,
As one whom crystall Cluyd had with her beauty caught,
Is for that Rivers sake neere of his wits distraught,

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With inly rage to heare that Valley so extold;
And yet that Brooke whose course so batfull makes her mould,
And one that lends that Vale her most renowned name,
Should of her meaner farre, be over-gone in fame.

Riverets running into Cluyd out of Denbigh and Flintshire.

Wherefore, Moylevennill will'd his Cluyd her selfe to showe:
Who, from her native Fount, as proudly shee doth flowe,
Her hand-maids Manian hath, and Hespin, her to bring
To Ruthin. Whose faire seate first kindly visiting,
To lead her thence in state, Lewenny lends her sourse:
That when Moylvennill sees his Rivers great recourse,
From his intrenched top is pleas'd with her supplies.
Claweddock commeth in, and Istrad likewise hies
Unto the Queene-like Cluyd, as shee to Denbigh drawes:
And on the other side, from whence the Morning dawes,
Downe from the Flintian hills, comes Wheler, her to beare
To sacred Asaph's See, his hallowed Temple; where
Faire Elwy having wonne her sister Aleds power,
They entertaine their Cluyd neere mighty Neptunes bower:
Who likewise is sustain'd by Senion, last that falls,
And from the Virgins Well doth wash old Ruthlands walls.

Moylvennill with her sight that never is suffic'd,
Now with excessive joy so strongly is surpriz'd,
That thus he proudly spake; On the Gwynethian ground
(And looke from East to West) what Country is there crown'd
As thou

Part of the Vale call'd Teg-Engle. i. Faire England.

Tegenia art? that, with a Vale so rich
(Cut thorough with the Cluyd, whose graces me bewitch)
The fruitfulst of all Wales, so long hast honor'd bin:
As also by thy Spring, such wonder who dost win,
That naturally remote, sixe British miles from Sea,

A Fountaine ebbing and flowing, contrary to the course of the Sea.

And rising on the Firme, yet in the naturall day
Twice falling, twice doth fill, in most admired wise.
When Cynthia from the East unto the South doth rise,
That mighty Neptune flowes, then strangly ebs thy Well:
And when againe he sinks, as strangely shee doth swell;
Yet to the sacred fount of Winifrid gives place;
Of all the Cambrian Springs of such especiall grace,
That oft the

Of Dee.

Devian Nymphs, as also those that keepe
Amongst the Corall-Groves in the Vergivian Deepe,
Have left their watry bowers, their secret safe Retire,
To see her whom report so greatly should admire

205

(Whose waters to this day as perfect are and cleere,
As her delightfull eyes in their full beauties were,
A virgin while she liv'd) chaste Winifrid: who chose
Before her mayden-gem she forcibly would lose,
To have her harmlesse life by the leud Rapter spilt:
For which, still more and more to aggravate his guilt,
The livelesse teares shee shed, into a Fountaine turne.
And, that for her alone the water should not mourne,
The pure vermillion bloud, that issu'd from her vaines,
Unto this very day the pearly Gravell staines;
As erst the white and red were mixed in her cheeke.
And, that one part of her might be the other like,
Her haire was turn'd to mosse; whose sweetnesse doth declare,
In livelinesse of youth the naturall sweets she bare:
And of her holy life the innocence to show,
What-ever living thing into this Well you throwe,
Shee strongly beares it up, not suffring it to sinke.
Besides, the wholesome use in bathing, or in drinke
Doth the diseased cure, as thereto shee did leave
Her vertue with her name, that time should not bereave.

Scarce of this tedious tale Moylevennill made an end,
But that the higher

A place mountainous, and somewhat inaccessible.

Yale, whose beeing doth ascend
Into the pleasant East, his loftier head advanc't.
This Region, as a man that long had been intranc't
(Whilst thus himselfe to please, the mightie Mountaine tells
Such

Strange things.

farlies of his Cluyd, and of his wondrous Wells)
Stood thinking what to doe: least faire Tegenia, plac't
So admirably well, might hold her selfe disgrac't
By his so barren site, be'ing Mountainous and cold,
To nothing more unlike then Dyffren's batfull mould;
And in respect of her, to be accounted rude.

Yale, for he would not be confounded quite by Cluyd
(And for his common want, to coyne some poore excuse)
Unto his proper praise, discreetly doth produce
A Valley, for a Vale, of her peculiar kind;
In goodnesse, breadth, and length, though Dyffren farre behind:
On this yet dare he stand, that for the naturall frame,
That figure of the Crosse, of which it takes the name,
Is equall with the best, which else excell it farre:
And by the power of that most sacred Character,

206

Respect beyond the rest unto herselfe doth win.

When now the sterner Dee doth instantly begin
His ampler selfe to showe, that (downe the verdant Dale)
Straines, in his nobler course along the rougher Yale,
T'invite his favouring Brookes: where from that spacious Lin

The Rivers in the East of Denbigh, falling into Dee.

Through which he comes unmixt, first Alwin falleth in:
And going on along, still gathering up his force,
Gets Gerrow to his ayde, to hasten on his course.
With Christioneth next, comes Keriog in apace.
Out of the leaden Mines, then with her sullied face
Claweddock casts about where Gwenrow shee may greet,
Till like two loving friends they under Wrexam meet.
Then Alen makes approach (to Dee most inly deere)
Taking Tegiddog in; who, earnest to be there,
For haste, twice under earth her crystall head doth runne:
When instantly againe, Dee's holinesse begun,
By his contracted front and sterner waves, to show
That he had things to speake, might profit them to know;
A Brooke, that was suppos'd much business to have seene,
Which had an

See to the VIII. Song.

ancient bound twixt Wales and England been,
And noted was by both to be an ominous Flood,
That changing of his Foards, the future ill, or good,
Of either Country told; of eithers warre, or peace,
The sicknes, or the health, the dearth, or the increase:
And that of all the Floods of Britaine, he might boast
His streame in former times to have been honor'd most,
When as at Chester once king Edgar held his Court,
To whom eight lesser Kings with homage did resort:
That mightie Mercian Lord, him in his Barge bestow'd,
And was by all those Kings about the River row'd.
For which, the hallowed Dee so much upon him tooke.
And now the time was come, that this imperious Brooke,
The long traduced Brute determin'd to awake,
And in the Britains right thus boldly to them spake;

O yee the ancient race of famous Brute that bee,
And thou the Queene of Iles, great Britaine; why doe yee
Your Grand-sires God-like name (with a neglectfull eare)
In so reproachfull tearmes and ignominy heare,
By every one of late contemptuouslie disgra'ct;
That he whom Time so long, and strongly hath imbrac't,

207

Should be rejected quite? The reason urged why,
Is by the generall foe thus answer'd by and by:
That Brutus, as you say, by Sea who hither came,
From whom you would suppose this Ile first tooke the name,
Meerelie fictitious is; nor could the Romans heare
(Most studious of the truth, and neer'st those times that were)
Of any such as hee: nay, they who most doe strive,
From that great stock of Troy their linage to derive,
In all the large descent of Iülus, never found
That Brute, on whom wee might our first beginning ground.

To this Assertion, thus I faithfully reply;
And as a friend to Truth, doe constantlie denie
Antiquitie to them, as neerer to those times;
Their writings to precede our ancient British Rimes:
But that our noble Bards which so divinely sung
That remnant of old Troy, of which the Britaines sprung,
Before those Romans were, as proofe we can produce;
And learning, long with us, ere t'was with them in use.
And they but idly talke, upbrayding us with lies.
That Geffray Monmouth, first, our Brutus did devise,
Not heard of till his time our Adversary saies:
When pregnantlie wee prove, ere that Historians dayes,
A thousand ling'ring yeeres, our Prophets cleerely song
The Britaine-founding Brute, most frequent them among.
From Taliessen wise (approved so with us,
That what he spake, was held to be oraculous,
So true his writings were) and such immortall men
As this now-waning world shall hardly heare agen
In our owne genuine tongue, that natives were of Wales
Our Geffray had his Brute. Nor were these idle tales
(As he may find, the truth of our descents that seekes)
Nor fabulous, like those devised by the Greeks:
But from the first of Time, by Judges still were heard,
Discreetlie every

At the Stethva: see to the fourth Song.

yeere correcting where they err'd.

And that whereon our Foe his greatest hold doth take,
Against the handled Cause and most doth seeme to make,
Is, that we shewe no Booke our Brutus to approve;
But that our idle Bards, as their fond rage did move,

The Druides would not commit their mysteries to wryting.

Sang what their fancies pleas'd. Thus doe I answere these;
That th'ancient British Priests, the fearlesse Druides,

208

That ministred the lawes, and were so trulie wise,
That they determin'd states, attending sacrifice,
To letters never would their mysteries commit,
For which the breasts of men they deem'd to be more fit.
Which questionlesse should seeme from judgement to proceed.
For, when of Ages past wee looke in bookes to read,
Wee retchlesly discharge our memory of those.
So when injurious Time, such Monuments doth lose
(As what so great a Work, by Time that is not wrackt?)
Wee utterly forgoe that memorable act:
But when we lay it up within the minds of men,
They leave it their next Age; that, leaves it hers agen:
So strongly which (me thinks) doth for Tradition make,
As if you from the world it altogether take,
You utterly subvert Antiquitie thereby.
For though Time well may prove that often shee doth lie,
Posteritie by her yet many things hath known,
That ere men learn'd to write, could no way have been shown:
For, if the spirit of God, did not our faith assure
The Scriptures be from heaven, like heaven, divinely pure,
Of Moses mightie works, I reverently may say
(I speake with godlie feare) Tradition put away,
In power of humane wit it easely doth not lie
To prove before the Flood the Genealogie.
Nor any thing there is that kindlier doth agree
With our descent from Troy (if things compar'd may be)
Then peopling of this place, neere to those Ages, when
Exiled by the Greeks, those poore world-wandring men
(Of all hope to returne into their Country reft)
Sought shores whereon to set that little them was left:
From some such God-like race we questionlesse did spring,
Who soone became so great heere once inhabiting.
So barbarous nor were wee as manie have us made,
And Cæsars envious pen would all the world perswade,
His owne ambitious ends in seeking to advance,
When with his Roman power arriving heere from France,
If hee the Britains found experienc't so in warre,
That they with such great skill could weeld their armed Carre;
And, as he still came on, his skilfull march to let,
Cut downe their aged Oakes, and in the Rivers set

209

The sharpe steele-poynted stakes, as hee the Foards should pass;
I faine would understand how this that Nation was
So ignorant hee would make, and yet so knowing warre.

But, in things past so long (for all the world) we are
Like to a man embarqu't, and travelling the Deepe:
Who sayling by some hill, or promontory steepe
Which juts into the Sea, with an amazed eye
Beholds the Cleeves thrust up into the lofty skie.
And th'more that hee doth looke, the more it drawes his sight;
Now at the craggy front, then at the wondrous weight:
But, from the passed shore still as the swelling saile
(Thrust forward by the wind) the floating Barque doth haile,
The mightie Giant-heape, so lesse and lesser still
Appeareth to the eye, untill the monstrous hill
At length shewes like a cloud; and further beeing cast,
Is out of kenning quite: So, of the Ages past;
Those things that in their Age much to be wondred were,
Still as wing-footed Time them farther off doth beare,
Doe lessen every howre. When now the mighty prease,
Impatient of his speech, intreat the Flood to cease,
And cry with one consent, the Saxon state to showe,
As angry with the Muse such labour to bestowe
On Wales, but England still neglected thus to be.

And having past the time, the honorable Dee
At Chester was arriv'd, and bad them all adieu:
When our intended course, with England we pursue.

219

The eleventh Song.

The Argument.

The Muse, her native earth to see,
Returnes to England over Dee;
Visits stout Cheshire, and there showes
To her and hers, what England owes;
And of the Nymphets sporting there
In Wyrrall, and in Delamere.
Weever, the great devotion sings
Of the religious Saxon Kings;
Those Riverets doth together call,
That into him, and Mersey fall;
Thence bearing to the side of Peake,
This zealous Canto off doth breake.

With as unwearied wings, and in as high a gate
As when we first set forth, observing every state,
The Muse from Cambria comes, with pinions summ'd and sound:
And having put her selfe upon the English ground,
First seiseth in her course the noblest Cestrian shore;
Of our great English bloods as carefull heere of yore,
As Cambria of her Brutes, now is, or could be then;
For which, our proverbe calls her, Cheshire, chiefe of men.
And of our Countries, place of Palatine doth hold,
And thereto hath her high Regalities enrold:
Besides, in many Fields since Conquering William came,
Her people shee hath prov'd, to her eternall fame.
All, children of her owne, the Leader and the Led,
The mightiest men of boane, in her full bosome bred:
And neither of them such as cold penurious need
Spurs to each rash attempt; but such as soundly feed,
Clad in warme English cloth; and maym'd should they returne
(Whom this false ruthless world else from their doores would spurne)
Have livelihood of their owne, their ages to sustaine.
Nor did the Tenants pay, the Land-lords charge maintaine:
But as abroad in warre, he spent of his estate;
Returning to his home, his hospitable gate

220

The richer and the poore stood open to receave.
They, of all England, most to ancient customes cleave,
Their Yeomanry and still endevoured to uphold.
For rightly whilst her selfe brave England was of old,
And our courageous Kings us forth to conquests led,
Our Armies in those times (neere through the world so dred)
Of our tall Yeomen were, and foot-men for the most;
Who (with their Bills, and Bowes) may confidently boast,
Our Leopards they so long and bravely did advance
Above the Flower-delice, even in the hart of France.

The generall bounds of Cheshire.

O! thou thrice happy Shire, confined so to bee
Twixt two so famous Floods, as Mersey is, and Dee.
Thy Dee upon the West from Wales doth thee divide:
Thy Mersey on the North, from the Lancastrian side,
Thy naturall sister Shire; and linkt unto thee so,
That Lancashire along with Cheshire still doth goe.
As tow'rds the Derbian Peake, and Moreland (which doe draw
More mountainous and wild) the high-crown'd Shutlingslawe
And Molcop be thy Mounds, with those proud hills whence rove
The lovely sister Brooks, the silvery Dane and Dove;
Cleere Dove, that makes to Trent; the other to the West.
But, in that famous Towne, most happy of the rest
(From which thou tak'st thy name) faire Chester, call'd of old
Carelegion; whilst proud Rome her conquests heere did hold
Of those her legions known the faithfull station then,
So stoutly held to tack by those neere North-wales men;
Yet by her owne right name had rather called bee,
As her the Britaine tearm'd, The Fortresse upon Dee,
Then vainly shee would seeme a Miracle to stand,
Th'imaginary worke of some huge Giants hand:
Which if such ever were, Tradition tells not who.

But, backe awhile my Muse: to Weever let us goe,
Which (with himselfe compar'd) each British flood doth scorne;
His fountaine and his fall, both Chesters rightly borne;
The Country in his course, that cleane through doth divide,
Cut in two equall shares upon his either side:
And, what the famous Flood farre more then that enriches,
The bracky Fountaines are, those two renowned Wyches,
The Nant-wyche, and the North; whose either brynie Well,
For store and sorts of Salts, make Weever to excell.

221

Besides their generall use, not had by him in vaine,
But in him selfe thereby doth holinesse retaine
Above his fellow Floods: whose healthfull vertues taught,
Hath of the Sea-gods oft, caus'd Weever to be sought,
For physick in their need: and Thetis oft hath seene,
When by their wanton sports her Ner'ides have beene
So sick, that Glaucus selfe hath failed in their cure:
Yet Weever, by his Salts, recovery durst assure.
And Amphitrite oft this Wisard River led
Into her secret walks (the Depths profound and dread)
Of him (suppos'd so wise) the hid events to knowe
Of things that were to come, as things done long agoe.
In which he had beene prov'd most exquisite to bee;
And bare his fame so farre, that oft twixt him and Dee,
Much strife there hath arose in their prophetick skill.

But to conclude his praise, our Weever heere doth will
The Muse, his sourse to sing; as how his course he steres:
Who from his naturall Spring, as from his neighboring Meres
Sufficiently supply'd, shootes forth his silver breast,
As though he meant to take directly toward the East;
Untill at length it proves he loytreth, but to play
Till Ashbrooke and the Lee o're-take him on the way,
Which to his journeys end him earnestly doe haste:
Till having got to Wyche, hee taking there a taste
Of her most savory Salt, is by the sacred tuch,
Forc't faster in his course, his motion quickned much
To North-wyche: and at last, as hee approacheth neere,
Dane, Whelock drawes, then Crock, from that black ominous Mere,
Accounted one of those that Englands wonders make;
Of neighbours, Black-mere nam'd, of strangers, Breretons-Lake;
Whose property seemes farre from Reasons way to stand:
For, neere before his death that's owner of the Land,
Shee sends up stocks of trees, that on the top doe float;
By which the world her first did for a wonder note.

His handmayd Howty next, to Weever holds her race:
When Peever with the helpe of Pickmere, make apace
To put-in with those streames his sacred steps that tread,
Into the mighty waste of Mersey him to lead.
Where, when the Rivers meet, with all their stately traine,
Proud Mersey is so great in entring of the Maine,

222

As hee would make a shewe for Empery to stand,
And wrest the three-forkt Mace from out grym Neptunes hand;
To Cheshire highly bound for that his watry store,
As to the grosser

Meres, or standing Lakes.

Loughs on the Lancastrian shore.
From hence he getteth Goyt downe from her Peakish spring,
And Bollen, that along doth nimbler Birkin bring
From Maxfields mightie wildes, of whose shagg'd Sylvans shee
Hath in the Rocks been woo'd, their Paramour to bee:
Who in the darksome holes, and Caverns kept her long,
And that proud Forrest made a party to her wrong.
Yet could not all intreat the pretty Brooke to stay;
Which to her sister streame, sweet Bollen, creeps away.
To whom, upon their road shee pleasantly reports
The many mirthfull jests, and wanton woodish sports
In Maxfield they have had; as of that Forrests fate:
Untill they come at length, where Mersey for more state
Assuming broder banks, himselfe so proudly beares,
That at his sterne approach, extended Wyrrall feares,
That (what betwixt his floods of Mersey, and the Dee)
In very little time devoured he might bee:
Out of the foaming surge till Hilbre lifts his head,
To let the fore-land see how richly he had sped.
Which Mersey cheeres so much, that with a smyling brow

A poëticall description of Wyrrall.

He fawnes on both those Floods; their amorous armes that throw
About his goodly neck, and bar'd their swelling breasts:
On which whilst lull'd with ease, his pleased cheeke he rests,
The Naiades, sitting neere upon the aged Rocks,
Are busied with their combes, to brayd his verdant locks,
Whilst in their crystall eyes he doth for Cupids looke:
But Delamere from them his fancie quickly tooke,
Who shewes her selfe all drest in most delicious flowers;
And sitting like a Queene, sees from her shady Bowers
The wanton Wood-Nymphs mixt with her light-footed Fawnes,
To lead the rurall routs about the goodly Lawnds,
As over

A wood growing on a hill or knole.

Holt and Heath, as thorough

High wood.

Frith and

Lowe coppis.

Fell;
And oft at Barly-breake, and Prison-base, to tell
(In carrolds as they course) each other all the joyes,
The passages, deceits, the sleights, the amorous toyes
The subtile Sea-Nymphs had, their Wyrralls love to win.

But Weever now againe to warne them doth begin

223

To leave these triviall toyes, which inly hee did hate,
That neither them beseem'd, nor stood with his estate
(Beeing one that gave him selfe industriously to know
What Monuments our Kings erected long agoe:
To which, the Flood himselfe so wholly did apply,
As though upon his skill, the rest should all rely)
And bent himselfe to shewe, that yet the Britains bold,
Whom the laborious Muse so highly had extold,
Those later Saxon Kings exceld not in their deeds,
And therefore with their praise thus zealously proceeds;

Whilst, the celestiall Powers th'arrived time attend
When o're this generall Ile the Britaines raigne should end,
And for the spoyling Pict heere prosp'rously had wrought,
Into th'afflicted Land which strong invasion brought,
And to that proud attempt, what yet his power might want,
The ill-disposed heavens, Brutes ofspring to supplant,
Their angry plagues downe-pour'd, insatiate in their waste
(Needs must they fall, whom heaven doth to destruction haste.
And that which lastly came to consummate the rest,
Those prouder Saxon powers (which liberally they prest
Against th'invading Pict, of purpose hired in)
From those which payd them wage, the Iland soone did win;
And sooner overspred, beeing Masters of the Field;
Those, first for whom they fought, too impotent to wield,
A Land within it selfe that had so great a Foe;
And therefore thought it fit them wisely to bestow:
Which over Severne heere they in the Mountaines shut,
And some upon that poynt of Cornwall forth they put.
Yet forced were they there their stations to defend.

Nor could our men permit the Britains to descend
From Jove or Mars alone; but brought their blood as hie,
From Woden, by which name they stiled Mercurie.
Nor were the race of Brute, which ruled heere before,
More zealous to the Gods they brought unto this shore
Then Hengists noble heyres; their Idols that to raise
Heere put their German names upon our weekly daies.

These noble Saxons were a Nation hard and strong,
On sundry Lands and Seas, in warfare nuzzled long;
Affliction throughly knew; and in proud Fortunes spight,
Even in the jawes of Death had dar'd her utmost might:

224

Who under Hengist first, and Horsa, their brave Chiefes,
From Germany arriv'd, and with the strong reliefes

See, concerning their comming, to the I. IV. and VIII. Songs.

Of th'Angles and the Jutes, them ready to supply,
Which anciently had beene of their affinitie,
By Scythia first sent out, which could not give them meat,
Were forc't to seeke a soyle wherein themselves to seat.
Them at the last on Dansk their lingring fortune drave,
Where Holst unto their troups sufficient harbor gave.
These with the Saxons went, and fortunatly wan:
Whose Captaine, Hengist, first a kingdome heere began
In Kent; where his great heires, ere other Princes rose
Of Saxonies descent, their fulness to oppose,
With swelling Humbers side their Empire did confine.
And of the rest, not least renowned of their Line,
Good Ethelbert of Kent, th'first christned English King,
To preach the faith of Christ, was first did hither bring
Wise Augustine the Monke, from holy Gregory sent.
This most religious King, with most devout intent
That mightie Fane to Paule, in London did erect,
And priviledges gave, this Temple to protect.

His equall then in zeale, came Ercombert againe,
From that first christned King, the second in that raigne.
The gluttony then us'd severely to suppresse,
And make men fit to prayer (much hindred by excesse)
That abstinence from flesh for forty dayes began,
Which by the name of Lent is knowne to every man.

As mighty Hengist heere, by force of Armes had done,
So Ella comming in, soone from the Britaines wonne
The Countries neighboring Kent: which lying from the Maine,
Directly to the South did properly obtaine
The Southerne Saxons name; and not the last thereby
Amongst the other raignes which made the Heptarchy:
So in the high descent of that South-Saxon King,
We in the bead-roule heere of our religious bring
Wise Ethelwald: alone who Christian not became,
But willing that his folke should all receive the name,
Saint Wilfrid (sent from Yorke) into his Realme receiv'd
(Whom the Northumbrian folke had of his See bereav'd)
And on the South of Thames, a seat did him afford,
By whom that people first receiv'd the saving Word.

225

As likewise from the loynes of Erchinwin (who rais'd
Th'East-Saxons kingdome first) brave Sebert may be prais'd:
Which, as that King of Kent, had with such cost and state
Built Paules; his Greatness so (this King to imitate)
Began the goodly Church of Westminster to reare:
The Primer English Kings so truly zealous were.

Then

Sebba, a Monk in Pauls.

Sebba of his seed, that did them all surpasse,
Who fitter for a shryne then for a scepter was,
(Above the power of flesh, his appetite to sterve
That his desired Christ he strictly might observe)
Even in his height of life, in health, in body strong,
Perswaded with his Queene, a Lady faire and young,
To separate themselves, and in a sole estate,
After religious sort themselves to dedicate.

Whose Nephew Uffa next, inflam'd with his high praise
(Enriching that proud Fane his Grandsire first did raise)
Abandoned the world he found so full of strife,
And after liv'd in Rome a strict religious life.

Nor these our Princes heere, of that pure Saxon straine,
Which tooke unto themselves each one their severall raigne,
For their so godly deeds, deserved greater fame
Then th'Angles their Allies, that hither with them came;
Who sharing-out themselves a kingdome in the East,
With th'Easterne Angles name their circuit did invest,
By Uffa in that part so happily begun:
Whose successors the Crowne for martyrdome have won
From all before or since that ever suffred heere;
Redwalds religious sonnes: who for their Saviour deere,
By cruell heathenish hands unmercifully slaine,
Amongst us ever-more remembred shall remaine,
And in the roule of Saints must have a speciall roome,
Where Derwald to all times with Erpenwald shall come.

When in that way they went, next Sebert them succeeds,
Scarce seconded againe for sanctimonious deeds:
Who for a private life when he his rule resign'd,
And to his Cloyster long had strictly him confin'd,
A Corslet for his Cowle was glad againe to take
His Country to defend (for his religions sake)
Against proud Penda, com'n with all his Pagan power,
Those christned Angles then of purpose to devour:

226

And suffring with his folke, by Penda's heathenish pride,
As hee a Saint had liv'd, a constant Martyr dy'd.

When, after it fell out, that Offa had not long
Held that by cruell force, which Penda got by wrong,
Adopting for his heire young Edmond, brought him in,
Even at what time the Danes this Iland sought to win:
Who christned soone became, and as religious growne
As those most heathenish were who set him on his throne,
Did expiate in that place his predecessors guilt,
Which so much Christian blood so cruelly had spilt.
For, taken by the Danes, who did all tortures try,
His Saviour Jesus Christ to force him to deny;
First beating him with bats, but no advantage got,
His body full of shafts then cruelly they shot;
The constant martyr'd King, a Saint thus justly crown'd.
To whom even in that place, that Monument renown'd
Those after-Ages built to his eternall fame.
What English hath not heard

In Suffolke.

Saint Edmonds Buries name?

As of those Angles heere, so from their loynes againe,
Whose hands hew'd out their way to the West-Sexian raigne
(From Kenrick, or that claime from Cerdick to descend)
A partnership in fame great Ina might pretend
With any King since first the Saxons came to shore.
Of all those christned heere, who highlier did adore
The God-head, then that man? or more that did apply
His power t'advance the Church in true sincerity?
Great Glastenbury then so wondrously decay'd,
Whose old foundation first the ancient Britains lay'd,
He gloriously rebuilt, enriching it with plate,
And many a sumptuous Cope, to uses consecrate:
Ordayning godly lawes for governing this Land,
Of all the Saxon Kings the Solon hee shall stand.

Otta, brother to Hengist.

From Otta (borne with him who did this Ile invade)
And had a conquest first of the Northumbrians made,
And tributarie long of mightier Hengist held,
Till Ida (after borne) the Kentish power expeld,
And absolutely sate on the Dierian seat,
But afterward resign'd to Ethelfrid the Great:
An Army into Wales who for invasion led,
At Chester and in fight their forces vanquished;

227

Into their utter spoyle, then publique way to make,
The long Religious house of goodly Bangor brake,
And slew a thousand Monks, as they devoutly pray'd.
For which his cruell spoyle upon the Christians made
(Though with the just consent of Christian Saxons slaine)
His blood, the hethenish hands of Redwald did distaine.
That murtherers issue next, this kingdome were exil'd:
And Edwyn tooke the rule; a Prince as just and mild
As th'other faithlesse were: nor could time ever bring
In all the seaven-fold rule an absoluter King;
And more t'advance the fayth, his utmost power that lent:
Who reordained Yorke a Bishops government;
And so much lov'd the poore, that in the waies of trade,
Where Fountaines fitly were, hee Iron dishes made,
And fastned them with chaynes the wayfarer to ease,
And the poore Pilgrims thirst, there resting, to appease.

As Mercia, mongst the rest, sought not the least to raise
The saving Christian fayth, nor merits humbler praise.
Nor those that from the stem of Saxon Creda came
(The Britains who expulst) were any whit in fame,
For pietie and zeale, behind the others best;
Though heathenish Penda long and proudly did infest
The christned neighboring Kings, and forc't them all to bow;
Till Oswy made, to God, a most religious vow,
Of his aboundant grace would hee be pleas'd to grant,
That he this Panim Prince in battell might supplant,
A Recluse he would give his daughter and delight,
Sweet Alfled then in youth, and as the Morning, bright:
And having his request, hee gave as hee obtayn'd;
Though his unnaturall hands succeeding Wulpher stayn'd
In his owne childrens blood, whom their deare mother had
Confirm'd in Christs beliefe, by that most reverent Chad:
Yet to embrace the fayth when after he began
(For the unnaturalst deed that e're was done by man)
If possible it were to expiate his guilt,
Heere many a goodly house to holy uses built:
And shee (to purge his crime on her deere children done)
A crowned Queene, for him, became a valed Nun.

What Age a godlier Prince then Etheldred could bring?
Or then our Kinred heere, a more religious King?

228

Both taking them the Cowle, th'one heere his flesh did tame,
The other went to Rome, and there a Monke became.

So, Ethelbald may well be set the rest among:
Who, though most vainly given when he was hot and young;
Yet, by the wise reproofe of godly Bishops brought
From those unstay'd delights by which his youth was caught,
Hee all the former Kings of Mercia did exceed,
And (through his Rule) the Church from taxes strongly freed.
Then to the Easterne sea, in that deepe watry Fen
(Which seem'd a thing so much impossible to men)
Hee that great Abby built of Crowland; as though hee
Would have no others worke like his foundation bee.

As, Offa greater farre then any him before:
Whose conquests scarcely were suffic'd with all the shore;
But over into Wales adventurously hee shot
His Mercia's spacious

Offa's Ditch.

Meere, and Powsland to it got.
This King, even in that place, where with rude heapes of stones
The Britains had interr'd their Proto-martyrs bones,
That goodly Abby built to Alban; as to showe
How much the sonnes of Brute should to the Saxons owe.

But when by powerfull heaven, it was decreed at last,
That all those seaven-fold Rules should into one be cast
(Which quickly to a head by

Egberts predecessor.

Britriks death was brought)
Then Egbert, who in France had carefully been taught,
Returning home, was King of the West-Sexians made.
Whose people, then most rich and potent, him perswade
(As once it was of old) to Monarchize the Land.
Who following their advise, first with a warlike hand
The Cornish over-came; and thence, with prosperous sailes,
O're Severne set his powers into the hart of Wales;
And with the Mercians there, a bloody battell wag'd:
Wherein he wan their Rule; and with his wounds enrag'd,
Went on against the rest. Which, sadly when they sawe
How those had sped before, with most subjective awe
Submit them to his sword: who prosperously alone
Reduc't the seaven-fold Rule, to his peculiar throne
(Extirping other stiles) and gave it Englands name
Of th'Angles, from whose race his nobler fathers came.

When scarcely Egbert heere an entire Rule began,
But instantly the

See to the first Song.

Dane the Iland over-ran;

229

A people, that their owne those Saxons payd againe.
For, as the Britaines first they treacherously had slaine,
This third upon their necks a heavier burthen lay'd
Then they had upon those whom falsly they betray'd.
And for each others states, though oft they here did toyle,
A people from their first bent naturally to spoyle,
That crueltie with them from their beginning brought.
Yet when the Christian fayth in them had throughly wrought,
Of any in the world no story shall us tell,
Which did the Saxon race in pious deeds excell:
That in these drowsie times should I in publique bring
Each great peculiar Act of every godly King,
The world might stand amaz'd in this our Age to see
Those goodly Fanes of theirs, which irreligious wee
Let every day decay; and yet we onely live
By the great Freedoms then those Kings to these did give.

Wise Segbert (worthy praise) preparing us the seat
Of famous Cambridge first, then with endowments great
The Muses to maintaine, those Sisters thither brought.

By whose example, next, religious Alfred taught,
Renowned Oxford built t'Apollo's learned brood;
And on the hallowed banke of Isis goodly Flood,
Worthy the glorious Arts, did gorgeous Bowres provide.
He into severall Shires the kingdome did divide.

So, valiant Edgar, first, most happily destroy'd
The multitudes of Wolves, that long the Land annoy'd.
And our good Edward heere, the Confessor and King
(Unto whose sumptuous Shrine our Monarchs offrings bring)
That cankred Evill cur'd, bred twixt the throat and jawes.
When Physick could not find the remedy nor cause,
And much it did afflict his sickly people heere,
Hee of Almightie God obtain'd by earnest pray'r,
This Tumour by a King might cured be alone:
Which he an heyre-loome left unto the English Throne.
So, our Saint Edward heere, for Englands generall use,
Our Countries Common lawes did faithfully produce,
Both from th'old British writ, and from the Saxon tongue.

Of Forrests, Hills, and Floods, when now a mighty throng
For Audience cry'd aloud; because they late had heard,
That some high Cambrian hills the Wrekin proudly dar'd

230

With words that very much had stirr'd his rancorous spleene.
Where, though cleere Severne set her Princely selfe betweene
The English and the Welsh, yet could not make them cease.
Heere, Weever, as a Flood affecting godly peace,
His place of speech resignes; and to the Muse refers
The hearing of the Cause, to stickle all these stirs.

253

The twelfth Song.

The Argument.

The Muse, that part of Shropshire plyes
Which on the East of Severne lies:
Where mighty Wrekin from his hight,
In the proud Cambrian Mountaines spight,
Sings those great Saxons ruling here,
Which the most famous warriors were.
And as shee in her course proceeds,
Relating many glorious deeds,
Of Guy of Warwicks fight doth straine
With Colebrond, that renowned Dane,
And of the famous Battels tryde
Twixt Knute and Edmond-Ironside;
To the Staffordian fields doth rove;
Visits the Springs of Trent and Dove;
Of Moreland, Cank, and Needwood sings;
An end which to this Canto brings.

The haughty Cambrian Hills enamor'd of their praise
(As they who onely sought ambitiously to raise
The blood of god-like Brute) their heads do proudly beare:
And having crown'd themselves sole Regents of the Ayre
(An other warre with Heaven as though they meant to make)
Did seeme in great disdaine the bold affront to take,
That any petty hill upon the English side,
Should dare, not (with a crouch) to vale unto their pride.

When Wrekin, as a hill his proper worth that knew,
And understood from whence their insolencie grew,
For all that they appear'd so terrible in sight,
Yet would not once forgoe a jote that was his right.
And when they star'd on him, to them the like he gave,
And answer'd glance for glance, and brave againe for brave:
That, when some other hills which English dwellers were,
The lustie Wrekin saw himselfe so well to beare
Against the Cambrian part, respectlesse of their power;
His eminent disgrace expecting every howre,

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Those Flatterers that before (with many cheerfull looke)
Had grac't his goodly site, him utterly forsooke,
And muffled them in clowds, like Mourners vayl'd in black,
Which of their utmost hope attend the ruinous wrack:
That those delicious Nymphs, fayre Tearne and Rodon cleere
(Two Brooks of him belov'd, and two that held him deare;
Hee, having none but them, they having none but hee,
Which to their mutuall joy, might eithers object be)
Within their secret breasts conceived sundry feares,
And as they mixt their streames, for him so mixt their teares.
Whom, in their comming downe, when plainly he discernes,
For them his nobler hart in his strong bosome earnes:
But, constantly resolv'd, that (dearer if they were)
The Britains should not yet all from the English beare;
Therfore, quoth he, brave Flood, though forth by

Out of Plinilimon, in the confines of Cardigan and Montgomery.

Cambria brought,
Yet as faire Englands friend, or mine thou would'st be thought
(O Severne!) let thine eare my just defence partake:
Which sayd, in the behalfe of th'English, thus he spake;

Wise Weever (I suppose) sufficiently hath said
Of those our Princes heere, which fasted, watcht, and pray'd,
Whose deepe devotion went for others ventrous deeds:
But in this Song of mine, hee seriously that reads,
Shall find, ere I have done, the Britaine (so extold,
Whose height each Mountaine strives so mainly to up-hold)
Matcht with as valiant men, and of as cleane a might,
As skilfull to commaund, and as inur'd to fight.
Who, when their fortune will'd that after they should scorse
Blowes with the big-boan'd Dane, eschanging force for force
(When first he put from Sea to forrage on this shore,
Two hundred

See to the 1. Song.

yeeres distain'd with eithers equall gore;
Now this aloft, now that: oft did the English raigne,
And oftentimes againe depressed by the Dane)
The Saxons, then I say, themselves as bravely show'd,
As these on whom the Welsh such glorious praise bestow'd.

Nor could his angry sword, who Egbert over-threw
(Through which he thought at once the Saxons to subdue)
His kingly courage quell: but from his short retyre,
His reinforced troupes (newe forg'd with sprightly fire)
Before them drave the Dane, and made the Britaine runne
(Whom he by liberall wage here to his ayde had wonne)

255

Upon their recreant backs, which both in flight were slaine,
Till their huge murthered heapes manur'd each neighboring Plaine.

As, Ethelwolfe againe, his utmost powers that bent
Against those fresh supplies each yeere from Denmarke sent
(Which, proling up and downe in their rude Danish ores,
Heere put themselves by stealth upon the pestred shores)
In many a doubtfull fight much fame in England wan.
So did the King of Kent, courageous Athelstan,
Which heere against the Dane got such victorious daies.

So, we the Wiltshire men as worthily may praise,
That buckled with those Danes, by Ceorle and Osrick brought.

And Etheldred, with them nine sundry Fields that fought,
Recorded in his praise, the conquests of one yeere.
You right-nam'd English then, courageous men you were
When Redding ye regain'd, led by that valiant Lord:
Where Basrig ye out-brav'd, and Halden, sword to sword;
The most redoubted spirits that Denmarke heere addrest.

And Alured, not much inferior to the rest:
Who having in his dayes so many dangers past,
In seaven brave foughten Fields their Champion Hubba chac't,
And slew him in the end, at Abington, that day
Whose like the Sunne nere sawe in his diurnall way:
Where those, that from the Field sore wounded sadly fled,
Were wel-neere over-whelm'd with mountaines of the dead.
His force and fortune made the Foes so much to feare,
As they the Land at last did utterly forsweare.

And, when proud Rollo, next, their former powers repair'd

See to the next Song, of Rollo.

(Yea, when the worst of all it with the English far'd)
Whose Countries neere at hand, his force did still supply,
And Denmarke to her drew the strengths of Normandie,
This Prince in many a fight their forces still defy'd.
The goodly River Lee he wisely did divide,
By which the Danes had then their full-fraught Navies tew'd:
The greatnes of whose streame besieged Harford rew'd.
This Alfred whose fore-sight had politiquely found
Betwixt them and the Thames advantage of the ground,
A puissant hand thereto laboriously did put,
And into lesser Streames that spacious Current cut.
Their ships thus set on shore (to frustrate their desire)
Those Danish Hulkes became the food of English fire.

256

Great Alfred left his life: when Elflida up-grew,
That farre beyond the pitch of other women flew:
Who having in her youth of childing felt the woe,
Her Lords imbraces vow'd shee never more would know:
But differing from her sexe (as, full of manly fire)
This most courageous Queene, by conquest to aspire,
The puissant Danish powers victoriously pursu'd,
And resolutely heere through their thicke Squadrons hew'd
Her way into the North. Where, Darby having wonne,
And things beyond beliefe upon the Enemy done,
Shee sav'd besieged Yorke; and in the Danes despight,
When most they were up-held with all the Easterne might,
More Townes and Citties built out of her wealth and power,
Then all their hostile flames could any way devour.
And, when the Danish heere the Country most destroy'd,
Yet all our powers on them not wholly were imploy'd;
But some we still reserv'd abroad for us to roame,
To fetch-in forraine spoyls, to helpe our losse at home.
And all the Land, from us, they neever cleerely wan:
But to his endlesse praise, our English Athelstan,
In the Northumbrian fields, with most victorious might
Put Alaffe and his powers to more inglorious flight;
And more then any King of th'English him before,
Each way from North to South, from West to th'Easterne shore,
Made all the Ile his owne; his seat who firmly fixt,
The Calidonian hills, and Cathnes poynt betwixt,
And Constantine their King (a prisoner) hither brought;
Then over Severns banks the warlike Britains sought:
Where he their Princes forc't from that their strong retreat,
In England to appeare at his Imperiall seat.

But after, when the Danes, who never wearied were,
Came with intent to make a generall conquest here,
They brought with them a man deem'd of so wondrous might,
As was not to be matcht by any mortall wight:
For, one could scarcely beare his Ax into the field;
Which as a little wand the Dane would lightly wield:
And (to enforce that strength) of such a dauntlesse spirit,
A man (in their conceit) of so exceeding merit,
That to the English oft they offred him (in pride)
The ending of the warre by combate to decide:

257

Much scandall which procur'd unto the English name.
When, some out of their love, and some spurr'd on with shame,
By envy some provokt, some out of courage, faine
Would under-take the Cause to combate with the Dane.
But Athelstan the while, in settled judgement found,
Should the Defendant fayle, how wide and deepe a wound
It likely was to leave to his defensive warre.

Thus, whilst with sundry doubts his thoughts perplexed are,
It pleas'd all-powerfull heaven, that Warwicks famous Guy
(The Knight through all the world renown'd for Chivalrie)
Arriv'd from forraine parts, where he had held him long.
His honorable Armes devoutly having hong
In a Religious house, the offrings of his praise,
To his Redeemer Christ, his helpe at all assayes
(Those Armes, by whose strong proofe he many a Christian freed,
And bore the perfect marks of many a worthy deed)
Himselfe, a Palmer poore, in homely Russet clad
(And onely in his hand his Hermits staffe he had)
Tow'rds Winchester alone (so) sadly tooke his way,
Where Athelstan, that time the King of England lay;
And where the Danish Campe then strongly did abide,
Neere to a goodly Meade, which men there call the Hide.

The day that Guy arriv'd (when silent night did bring
Sleepe both on friend and foe) that most religious King
(Whose strong and constant hart, all grievous cares supprest)
His due devotion done, betooke himselfe to rest.
To whom it seem'd by night an Angell did appeare,
Sent to him from that God whom hee invoak't by pray'r;
Commaunding him the time not idly to for-slowe,
But rathe as hee could rise, to such a gate to goe,
Whereas he should not faile to find a goodly Knight
In Palmers poore attyre: though very meanly dight,
Yet by his comely shape, and limmes exceeding strong,
He easely might him know the other folke among;
And bad him not to feare, but chuse him for the man.

No sooner brake the day, but up rose Athelstan;
And as the Vision show'd, he such a Palmer found,
With others of his sort, there sitting on the ground:
Where, for some poore repast they onely seem'd to stay,
Else ready to depart each one upon his way:

258

When secretly the King revealed to the Knight
His comfortable dreames that lately passed night:
With mild and princely words bespeaking him; quoth hee,
Farre better you are knowne to heaven (it seemes) then mee
For this great Action fit: by whose most drad command
(Before a world of men) it's lay'd upon your hand.
Then stout and valiant Knight, heere to my Court repaire,
Refresh you in my bathes, and mollifie your care
With comfortable wines and meats what you will aske:
And chuse my richest Armes to fit you for this taske.

The Palmer (gray with age) with countenance lowting lowe,
His head even to the earth before the King doth bow,
Him softly answering thus; Drad Lord, it fits mee ill
(A wretched man) t'oppose high heavens eternall will:
Yet my most soveraigne Liege, no more of me esteeme
Then this poore habit showes, a Pilgrim as I seeme;
But yet I must confesse, have seene in former dayes
The best Knights of the world, and scuffled in some frayes.
Those times are gone with me; and, beeing aged now,
Have offred up my Armes, to Heav'n and made my vow
Nere more to beare a Shield, nor my declining age
(Except some Palmers Tent, or homely Hermitage)
Shall ever enter roofe: but if, by Heaven and thee,
This Action be impos'd great English King on mee,
Send to the Danish Campe, their challenge to accept,
In some convenient place proclaiming it be kept:
Where, by th'Almighties power, for England Ile appeare.

The King, much pleas'd in mind, assumes his wonted cheere,
And to the Danish power his choicest Herault sent,
When, both through Campe and Court, this Combat quickly went.
Which suddainly divulg'd, whilst every listning eare,
As thirsting after newes, desirous was to heare,
Who for the English side durst under-take the day;
The puissant Kings accord, that in the middle way
Betwixt the Tent and Towne, to eithers equall sight,
Within a goodly Mead, most fit for such a fight,
The Lists should be prepar'd for this materiall prize.

The day prefixt once com'n, both Dane and English rise,
And to th'appointed place th'unnumbred people throng:
The weaker female sex, old men, and children young

259

Into the windowes get, and up on stalls, to see
The man on whose brave hand their hope that day must bee,
In noting of it well, there might a man behold
More sundry formes of feare then thought imagine could.
One looks upon his friend with sad and heavy cheere,
Who seemes in this distresse a part with him to beare:
Their passions doe expresse much pittie mixt with rage.
Whilst one his wives laments is labouring to asswage,
His little infant neere, in childish gibbridge showes
What addeth to his griefe who sought to calme her woes.
One having climb'd some roofe, the concourse to discry,
From thence upon the earth dejects his humble eye,
As since he thither came hee suddainly had found
Some danger them amongst which lurkt upon the ground.
One stands with fixed eyes, as though he were agast:
Another sadly comes, as though his hopes were past.
This harkneth with his friend, as though with him to breake
Of some intended act. Whilst they together speake,
Another standeth neere to listen what they say,
Or what should be the end of this so doubtfull day.
One great and generall face the gathered people seeme:
So that the perfect'st sight beholding could not deeme
What lookes most sorrow show'd; their griefes so equall were.
Upon the heads of two, whose cheekes were joynd so neere
As if together growne, a third his chin doth rest:
Another lookes or'e his: and others, hardly prest,
Lookt under-neath their armes. Thus, whilst in crowds they throng
(Led by the King himselfe) the Champion comes along;
A man well strooke in yeeres, in homely Palmers gray,
And in his hand his staffe, his reverent steps to stay,
Holding a comly pase: which at his passing by,
In every censuring tongue, as every serious eye,
Compassion mixt with feare, distrust and courage, bred.

Then Colebrond for the Danes came forth in irefull red;
Before him (from the Campe) an Ensigne first display'd
Amidst a guard of gleaves: then sumptuously array'd
Were twenty gallant youths, that to the warlike sound
Of Danish brazen Drums, with many a loftie bound,
Come with their Countries march, as they to Mars should dance.
Thus, forward to the fight, both Champions them advance:

260

And each without respect doth resolutely chuse
The weapon that he brought, nor doth his foes refuse.
The Dane prepares his Axe, that pond'rous was to feele,
Whose squares were layd with plates, and rivited with steele,
And armed downe along with pykes; whose hardned poynts
(Forc't with the weapons weight) had power to teare the joynts
Of Curas or of Mayle, or what-so-ere they tooke:
Which caus'd him at the Knight disdainfully to looke.

When our stout Palmer soone (unknowne for valiant Guy)
The cord from his straight loynes doth presently untie,
Puts off his Palmers weede unto his trusse, which bore
The staines of ancient Armes, but show'd it had before
Beene costly cloth of Gold; and off his hood he threw:
Out of his Hermits staffe his two-hand sword hee drew
(The unsuspected sheath which long to it had beene)
Which till that instant time the people had not seene;
A sword so often try'd. Then to himselfe, quoth hee,
Armes let me crave your ayde, to set my Country free:
And never shall my hart your help againe require,
But onely to my God to lift you up in pray'r.

Here, Colebrond forward made, and soone the Christian Knight
Encounters him againe with equall power and spight:
Whereas, betwixt them two, might easely have been seene
Such blowes, in publique throngs as used had they been,
Of many there the least might many men have slaine:
Which none but they could strike, nor none but they sustaine;
The most relentlesse eye that had the power to awe,
And so great wonder bred in those the Fight that saw,
As verily they thought, that Nature untill then
Had purposely reserv'd the utmost power of men,
Where strength still answerd strength, on courage courage grew.

Looke how two Lyons fierce, both hungry, both pursue
One sweet and selfe-same prey, at one another flie,
And with their armed pawes ingrappled dreadfully,
The thunder of their rage, and boystrous struggling, make
The neighboring Forrests round affrightedly to quake:
Their sad encounter, such. The mightie Colebrond stroke
A cruell blowe at Guy: which though hee finely broke,
Yet (with the weapons weight) his ancient hilt it split,
And (thereby lessened much) the Champion lightly hit

261

Upon the reverent brow: immediatly from whence
The blood dropt softly downe, as if the wound had sense
Of their much inward woe that it with griefe should see.

The Danes, a deadly blowe supposing it to bee,
Sent such an ecchoing shoute that rent the troubled ayre.
The English at the noise, wext all so wan with feare,
As though They lost the blood their aged Champion shed:
Yet were not these so pale, but th'other were as red;
As though the blood that fell, upon their cheekes had staid.

Here Guy, his better spirits recalling to his ayde,
Came fresh upon his foe; when mightie Colebrond makes
An other desperate stroke: which Guy of Warwick takes
Undauntedly aloft; and followed with a blowe
Upon his shorter ribs, that the excessive flowe
Stream'd up unto his hilts: the wound so gap't withall,
As though it meant to say, Behold your Champions fall
By this proud Palmers hand. Such claps againe and cryes
The joyfull English gave as cleft the very skies.
Which comming on along from these that were without,
When those within the Towne receiv'd this cheerfull shout,
They answer'd them with like; as those their joy that knew.

Then with such eager blowes each other they pursue,
As every offer made, should threaten imminent death;
Untill, through heat and toyle both hardly drawing breath,
They desperatly doe close. Looke how two Boares, being set
Together side to side, their threatning tusks doe whet,
And with their gnashing teeth their angry foame doe bite,
Whilst still they shouldring seeke, each other where to smite:
Thus stood those irefull Knights; till flying back, at length
The Palmer, of the two the first recovering strength,
Upon the left arme lent great Colebrond such a wound,
That whilst his weapons poynt fell wel-neere to the ground,
And slowly he it rais'd, the valiant Guy againe
Sent through his cloven scalpe his blade into his braine.
When downeward went his head, and up his heeles he threw;
As wanting hands to bid his Countrimen Adieu.

The English part, which thought an end he would have made,
And seeming as they much would in his praise have said,
He bad them yet forbeare, whilst he pursu'd his fame
That to this passed King next in succession came;

262

That great and puissant Knight (in whose victorious dayes
Those knight-like deeds were done, no lesse deserving praise)
Brave Edmond, Edwards sonne, that Stafford having tane,
With as succesfull speed won Darby from the Dane.
From Lester then againe, and Lincolne at the length,
Drave out the Dacian Powers by his resistlesse strength:
And this his England cleer'd beyond that raging

Humber.

Flood,
Which that proud King of Hunnes once christned with his blood.
By which, great Edmonds power apparantly was showne,
The Land from Humber South recovering for his owne;
That Edgar after him so much disdain'd the Dane
Unworthy of a warre that should disturbe his raigne,
As generally he seem'd regardlesse of their hate.
And studying every way magnificence in State,
At Chester whilst he liv'd at more then kingly charge,
Eight tributary

See to the X. Song.

Kings there row'd him in his Barge:
His shores from Pirats sack the King that strongly kept:
A Neptune, whose proud sayles the British Ocean swept.

But after his decease, when his more hopefull sonne,
By cruell Stepdam's hate, to death was lastly done,
To set his rightfull Crowne upon a wrongfull head
(When by thy fatall curse, licentious Etheldred,
Through dissolutenes, sloth, and thy abhorred life,
As greevous were thy sinnes, so were thy sorrowes rife)
The Dane, possessing all, the English forc't to beare
A heavier yoke then first those Heathen slaveries were;
Subjected, bought, and sold, in that most wretched plight,
As even their thraldome seem'd their neighbors to affright.
Yet could not all their plagues the English height abate:
But even in their low'st Eb, and miserablest state,
Courageously themselves they into action put,
And in one night, the throats of all the Danish cut.

And when in their revenge, the most insatiate Dane
Unshipt them on our shores, under their puissant Swane:
And swolne with hate and ire, their huge unweeldy force,
Came clustring like the Greeks out of the Woodden-horse:
And the Norfolcian Townes, the neer'st unto the East,
With sacriledge and rape did terriblest infest;
Those Danes yet from the shores we with such violence drave,
That from our swords, their ships could them but hardly save.

263

And to renew the warre, that yeere ensuing, when
With fit supplies for spoyle, they landed heere agen,
And all the Southerne shores from Kent to Cornwall spred,
With those disordred troupes by Alaffe hither led,
In seconding their Swane, which cry'd to them for ayde;
Their multitudes so much sad Ethelred dismay'd,
As from his Country forc't the wretched King to flie.
An English yet there was, when England seem'd to lie
Under the heaviest yoke that ever kingdome bore,
Who washt his secret knife in Swane's relentlesse gore,
Whilst (swelling in excesse) his lavish Cups he ply'd.
Such meanes t'redeeme themselves th'afflicted Nation try'd.
And when courageous Knute, th'late murther'd Swanus sonne,
Came in t'revenge that act on his great father done,
He found so rare a spirit that heere against him rose,
As though ordain'd by Heaven his greatness to oppose:
Who with him foot to foot, and face to face durst stand.
When Knute, which heere alone affected the Command,
The Crowne upon his head at faire South-hampton set:
And Edmond, loth to lose what Knute desir'd to get,
At London caus'd himselfe inaugurate to bee.
King Knute would conquer all, King Edmond would be free.

The kingdome is the Prize for which they both are prest:
And with their equall powers both meeting in the West,
The greene Dorsetian fields a deepe vermillion dy'd:
Where Gillingham gave way to their great hostes (in pride)
Abundantly their blood that each on other spent.
But Edmond, on whose side that day the better went
(And with like fortune thought the remnant to suppresse
That Sarum then besieg'd, which was in great distresse)
With his victorious troupes to Salsbury retires:
When with fresh bleeding wounds, Knute, as with fresh desires,
Whose might though some-what maym'd, his mind yet unsubdu'd,
His lately conquering Foe, courageously pursu'd:
And finding out a way, sent to his friends with speed,
Who him supply'd with ayde: and being helpt at need,
Tempts Edmond still to fight, still hoping for a day.

Towards Worstershire their Powers both well upon their way,
There, falling to the Field, in a continuall fight
Two dayes the angry hosts still parted were by Night:

264

Where twice the rising Sunne, and twice the setting, saw
Them with their equall wounds their wearied breath to draw.

Great London to surprize, then (next) Canutus makes:
And thitherward as fast King Edmond Ironside takes.
Whilst Knute set downe his siege before the Easterne gate,
King Edmond through the West, past in tryumphall state.
But this courageous King, that scorned, in his pride,
A Towne should be besieg'd wherein he did abide,
Into the fields againe the valiant Edmond goes.
Kanutus, yet that hopes to winne what he did lose,
Provokes him still to fight: and falling backe where they
Might field-roomth find at large, their Ensignes to display,
Together flewe againe; that Brentford, with the blood
Of Danes and English mixt, discoloured long time stood.
Yet Edmond, as before, went Victor still away.

When soone that valiant Knute, whom nothing could dismay,
Recall'd his scattered troupes, and into Essex hies,
Where (as ill fortune would) the Dane with fresh supplies
Was lately come a-land, to whom brave Ironside makes;
But Knute to him againe as soone fresh courage takes:
And Fortune (as her selfe) determining to showe
That shee could bring an Eb, on valiant Edmonds Flowe,
And easely cast him downe from off the top of Chance,
By turning of her wheele, Canutus doth advance.
Where shee beheld that Prince which she had favor'd long
(Even in her proud despight) his murther'd troupes among
With sweat and blood besmear'd (Dukes, Earles, and Bishops slaine,
In that most dreadfull day, when all went to the Dane)
Through worlds of dangers wade; and with his Sword and Shield,
Such wonders there to act as made her in the Field
Ashamed of her selfe, so brave a spirit as he
By her unconstant hand should so much wronged be.

But, having lost the day, to Glocester hee drawes,
To raise a second power in his slaine souldiers cause.
When late-encourag'd Knute, whilst fortune yet doth last,
Who oft from Ironside fled, now followed him as fast.

Whilst thus in Civill Armes continually they toyle,
And what th'one strives to make, the other seeks to spoyle,
With threatning swords still drawne; and with obnoxious hands
Attending their revenge, whilst either enemie stands,

265

One man amongst the rest from this confusion breaks,
And to the irefull Kings with courage boldly speakes;

Yet cannot all this blood your ravenous out-rage fill?
Is there no law, no bound, to your ambitious will,
But what your swords admit? as Nature did ordaine
Our lives for nothing else, but onely to maintaine
Your murthers, sack, and spoyle? If by this wastfull warre
The Land unpeopled lye, some Nation shall from farre,
By ruine of you both, into the Ile be brought,
Obtayning that for which you twaine so long have fought.
Unlesse then through your thirst of Emperie you meane
Both Nations in these broyles shall be extinguisht cleane,
Select you Champions fit, by them to prove your right,
Or try it man to man your selves in single fight.

When as those warlike Kings, provokt with courage hie,
It willingly accept in person by and by.
And whilst they them prepare, the shapelesse concourse growes
In little time so great, that their unusuall flowes
Surrounded Severns banks, whose streame amazed stood,
Her Birlich to behold, in-Iled with her flood,
That with refulgent Armes then flamed; whilst the Kings,
Whose rage out of the hate of eithers Empire springs,
Both armed, Cap à Pe, upon their barred horse
Together fiercely flew; that in their violent course
(Like thunder when it speaks most horribly and lowd,
Tearing the ful-stuft panch of some congealed clowd)
Their strong hoofes strooke the earth: and with the fearfull shock,
Their speares in splinters flew, their Bevers both unlock.

Canutus, of the two that furthest was from hope,
Who found with what a Foe his fortune was to cope,
Cryes, noble Edmond, hold; Let us the Land divide.
Heere th'English and the Danes, from either equall side
Were Ecchoes to his words, and all aloud doe cry,
Courageous Kings divide; twere pitty such should die.

When now the neighboring Floods, will'd Wrekin to suppresse
His style, or they were like to surfet with excesse.
And time had brought about, that now they all began
To listen to a long told Prophecie, which ran
Of Moreland, that shee might live prosperously to see
A River borne of her, who well might reccon'd be

266

The third of this large Ile: which Saw did first arise
From Arden, in those dayes delivering prophecies.

The Druids (as some say) by her instructed were.
In many secret skills shee had been cond her lere.
The ledden of the Birds most perfectly shee knew:
And also from their flight strange Auguries shee drew;
Supreamest in her place: whose circuit was extent
From Avon to the Banks of Severne and to Trent:
Where Empresse like shee sate with Natures bounties blest,
And serv'd by many a Nymph; but two, of all the rest,
That Staffordshire calls hers, there both of high account.
The eld'st of which is Canke: though Needwood her surmount,
In excellence of soyle, by beeing richly plac't,
Twixt Trent and batning Dove; and, equally imbrac't
By their abounding banks, participates their store;
Of Britaines Forrests all (from th'lesse unto the more)
For finenesse of her turfe surpassing; and doth beare
Her curled head so high, that Forrests farre and neere
Oft grutch at her estate; her florishing to see,
Of all their stately tyers disrobed when they bee.
But (as the world goes now) ô wofull Canke the while,
As brave a Wood-Nymph once as any of this Ile;
Great Ardens eldest child: which, in her mothers ground
Before fayre Feck'nhams selfe, her old age might have crownd;
When as those fallow Deere, and huge-hancht Stags that graz'd
Upon her shaggy Heaths, the passenger amaz'd
To see their mighty Heards, with high-palmd heads to threat
The woods of o'regrowne Oakes; as though they meant to set
Their hornes to th'others heights. But now, both those and these
Are by vile gaine devour'd: So abject are our daies.
Shee now, unlike her selfe, a Neatheards life doth live,
And her dejected mind to Country cares doth give.

But Muse, thou seem'st to leave the Morelands too too long:
Of whom report may speake (our mightie wastes among)
Shee from her chilly site, as from her barren feed,
For body, horne, and haire, as faire a Beast doth breed
As scarcely this great Ile can equall: then of her,
Why should'st thou all this while the prophecie defer?
Who bearing many Springs, which pretty Rivers grew,
Shee could not be content, untill shee fully knew

267

Which child it was of hers (borne under such a fate)
As should in time be rays'd unto that high estate.
(I faine would have you thinke, that this was long agoe,
When many a River, now that furiously doth flowe,
Had scarcely learn'd to creepe) and therefore shee doth will
Wise Arden, from the depth of her abundant skill,
To tell her which of these her Rills it was shee ment.
To satisfie her will, the Wisard answers; Trent.
For, as a skilfull Seer, the aged Forrest wist,
A more then usuall power did in that name consist,

Trent signifieth thirtie.

Which thirty doth import; by which she thus divin'd,
There should be found in her, of Fishes thirty kind;
And thirty Abbeys great, in places fat and ranke,
Should in succeeding time be builded on her banke;
And thirtie severall Streames from many a sundry way,
Unto her greatnesse should their watry tribute pay.

This, Moreland greatly lik't: yet in that tender love,
Which shee had ever borne unto her darling Dove,
Shee could have wisht it his: because the daintie grasse
That growes upon his banke, all other doth surpasse.
But, subject he must be: as Sow, which from her Spring,
At Stafford meeteth Penk, which shee along doth bring
To Trent by Tixall grac't, the Astons ancient seat;
Which oft the Muse hath found her safe and sweet retreat.
The noble Owners now of which beloved place,
Good fortunes them and theirs with honor'd titles grace:
May heaven still blesse that House, till happy Floods you see
Your selves more grac't by it, then it by you can bee.
Whose bounty, still my Muse so freely shall confesse,
As when she shall want words, her signes shall it expresse.

So Blyth beares easely downe tow'rds her deere Soveraigne Trent:
But nothing in the world gives Moreland such content
As her owne darling Dove his confluence to behold
Of Floods in sundry straines: as, crankling Many-fold
The first that lends him force: of whose meandred waies,
And labyrinth-like turnes (as in the Mores shee straies)
Shee first receiv'd her name, by growing strangely mad,
Or'e-gone with love of Hanse, a dapper More-land Lad.
Who neere their crystall springs as in those wasts they playd,
Bewitcht the wanton hart of that delicious mayd:

268

Which instantly was turn'd so much from beeing coy,
That shee might seeme to doat upon the Morish boy.
Who closely stole away (perceiving her intent)
With his deare Lord the Dove, in quest of Princely Trent,
With many other Floods (as, Churnet, in his traine
That draweth Dunsmore on, with Yendon, then cleere Taine,
That comes alone to Dove) of which, Hanse one would bee.
And for himselfe he faine of Many-fold would free
(Thinking this amorous Nymph by some meanes to beguile)
He closely under earth convayes his head awhile.
But, when the River feares some policie of his,
And her beloved Hanse immediatly doth miss,
Distracted in her course, improvidently rash,
Shee oft against the Cleeves her crystall front doth dash:
Now forward, then againe shee backward seemes to beare;
As, like to lose her selfe by straggling heere and there.

Hanse, that this while suppos'd him quite out of her sight,
No sooner thrusts his head into the cheerfull light,
But Many-fold that still the Run-away doth watch,
Him (ere he was aware) about the neck doth catch:
And, as the angry Hanse would faine her hold remove,
They struggling tumble downe into their Lord, the Dove.

Thus though th'industrious Muse hath been imploy'd so long,
Yet is shee loth to doe poore little Smestall wrong,
That from her Wilfrunes Spring neere Hampton plyes, to pour
The wealth shee there receives, into her friendly Stowr.
Nor shall the little Bourne have cause the Muse to blame,
From these Staffordian Heathes that strives to catch the Tame:
Whom shee in her next Song shall greet with mirthfull cheere,
So happily arriv'd now in her native Shire.

275

The thirteenth Song.

The Argument.

This Song our Shire of Warwick sounds;
Revives old Ardens ancient bounds.
Through many shapes the Muse heere roves;
Now sporting in those shady Groves,
The tunes of Birds oft staies to heare:
Then, finding Herds of lustie Deare,
She Huntresse-like the Hart pursues;
And like a Hermit walks, to chuse
The Simples every where that growe;
Comes Ancors glory next to showe;
Tells Guy of Warwicks famous deeds;
To th'Vale of Red-horse then proceeds,
To play her part the rest among;
There shutteth up her thirteenth Song.

Upon the Mid-lands now th'industrious Muse doth fall;
That Shire which wee the hart of England well may call,

Warwickshire the middle Shire of England.

As shee her selfe extends (the midst which is decreed)
Betwixt S. Michaels Mount, and Barwick-bord'ring Tweed,
Brave Warwick; that abroad so long advanc't her

The ancient Coat of that Earldome.

Beare,
By her illustrious Earles renowned every where;
Above her neighboring Shires which alwaies bore her head.

My native Country then, which so brave spirits hast bred,
If there be vertue yet remaining in thy earth,
Or any good of thine thou breathd'st into my birth,
Accept it as thine owne whilst now I sing of thee;
Of all thy later Brood th'unworthiest though I bee.

Muse, first of Arden tell, whose foot-steps yet are found

Divers Towns expressing her name: as Henly in Arden, Hampton in Arden. &c.

In her rough wood-lands more then any other ground
That mighty Arden held even in her height of pride;
Her one hand touching Trent, the other, Severns side.

The very sound of these, the Wood-Nymphs doth awake:
When thus of her owne selfe the ancient Forrest spake;

My many goodly sites when first I came to showe,
Here opened I the way to myne owne over-throwe:

276

For, when the world found out the fitnesse of my soyle,
The gripple wretch began immediatly to spoyle
My tall and goodly woods, and did my grounds inclose:
By which, in little time my bounds I came to lose.

When Britaine first her fields with Villages had fild,
Her people wexing still, and wanting where to build,
They oft dislodg'd the Hart, and set their houses, where
He in the Broome and Brakes had long time made his leyre.
Of all the Forrests heere within this mightie Ile,
If those old Britains then me Soveraigne did instile,
I needs must be the great'st; for greatnesse tis alone
That gives our kind the place: else were there many a one
For pleasantnes of shade that farre doth mee excell.
But, of our Forrests kind the quality to tell,
We equally partake with Wood-land as with Plaine,
Alike with Hill and Dale; and every day maintaine
The sundry kinds of beasts upon our copious wast's,
That men for profit breed, as well as those of chase.

Here Arden of her selfe ceast any more to showe;
And with her Sylvan joyes the Muse along doth goe.

When Phœbus lifts his head out of the Winters wave,
No sooner doth the Earth her flowerie bosome brave,
At such time as the Yeere brings on the pleasant Spring,
But Hunts-up to the Morne the feath'red Sylvans sing:
And in the lower Grove, as on the rising Knole,
Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole,
Those Quirristers are pearcht with many a speckled breast.
Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glittring East
Guilds every lofty top, which late the humorous Night
Bespangled had with pearle, to please the Mornings sight:
On which the mirthfull Quires, with their cleere open throats,
Unto the joyfull Morne so straine their warbling notes,
That Hills and Valleys ring, and even the ecchoing Ayre
Seemes all compos'd of sounds, about them every where.
The Throstell, with shrill Sharps; as purposely he song
T'awake the lustlesse Sunne; or chyding, that so long
He was in comming forth, that should the thickets thrill:
The Woosell neere at hand, that hath a golden bill;
As Nature him had markt of purpose, t'let us see
That from all other Birds his tunes should different bee:

277

For, with their vocall sounds, they sing to pleasant May;
Upon his

Of all Birds, only the Blackbird whistleth.

dulcet pype the Merle doth onely play.
When in the lower Brake, the Nightingale hard-by,
In such lamenting straines the joyfull howres doth ply,
As though the other Birds shee to her tunes would draw.
And, but that Nature (by her all-constraining law)
Each Bird to her owne kind this season doth invite,
They else, alone to heare that Charmer of the Night
(The more to use their eares) their voyces sure would spare,
That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare,
As man to set in Parts, at first had learn'd of her.

To Philomell the next, the Linet we prefer;
And by that warbling bird, the Wood-Larke place we then,
The Red-sparrow, the Nope, the Red-breast, and the Wren,
The Yellow-pate: which though shee hurt the blooming tree,
Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pype then shee.
And of these chaunting Fowles, the Goldfinch not behind,
That hath so many sorts descending from her kind.
The Tydie for her notes as delicate as they,
The laughing Hecco, then the counterfetting Jay,
The Softer, with the Shrill (some hid among the leaves,
Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves)
Thus sing away the Morne, untill the mounting Sunne,
Through thick exhaled fogs, his golden head hath runne,
And through the twisted tops of our close Covert creeps
To kisse the gentle Shade, this while that sweetly sleeps.

And neere to these our Thicks, the wild and frightfull Heards,
Not hearing other noyse but this of chattering Birds,
Feed fairely on the Launds; both sorts of seasoned Deere:
Here walke, the stately Red, the freckled Fallowe there:
The Bucks and lusty Stags amongst the Rascalls strew'd,
As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude.

Of all the Beasts which we for our

Of hunting, or Chase.

veneriall name,
The Hart amongst the rest, the Hunters noblest game:
Of which most Princely Chase sith none did ere report,
Or by description touch, t'expresse that wondrous sport
(Yet might have well beseem'd th'ancients nobler Songs)
To our old Arden heere, most fitly it belongs:
Yet shall shee not invoke the Muses to her ayde;
But thee Diana bright, a Goddesse and a mayd:

278

In many a huge-growne Wood, and many a shady Grove,
Which oft hast borne thy Bowe (great Huntresse) us'd to rove
At many a cruell beast, and with thy darts to pierce
The Lyon, Panther, Ounce, the Beare, and Tiger fierce;
And following thy fleet Game, chaste mightie Forrests Queene,
With thy disheveld Nymphs attyr'd in youthfull greene,
About the Launds hast scowr'd, and Wastes both farre and neere,
Brave Huntresse: but no beast shall prove thy Quarries heere;
Save those the best of Chase, the tall and lusty Red,
The Stag for goodly shape, and statelinesse of head,
Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds

A description of hunting the Hart.

The laboring Hunter tufts the thicke unbarbed grounds
Where harbor'd is the Hart; there often from his feed
The dogs of him doe find; or thorough skilfull heed,
The Huntsman by his

The tract of the foote.

slot, or breaking earth, perceaves,
Or entring of the thicke by pressing of the greaves
Where he hath gone to lodge. Now when the Hart doth heare
The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leyre,
He rouzing rusheth out, and through the Brakes doth drive,
As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive.
And through the combrous thicks, as fearefully he makes,
Hee with his branched head, the tender Saplings shakes,
That sprinkling their moyst pearle doe seeme for him to weepe;
When after goes the Cry, with yellings lowd and deepe,
That all the Forrest rings, and every neighbouring place:
And there is not a hound but falleth to the Chase.

One of the Measures in winding the horne.

Rechating with his horne, which then the Hunter cheeres,
Whilst still the lustie Stag his high-palm'd head up-beares,
His body showing state, with unbent knees upright,
Expressing (from all beasts) his courage in his flight.
But when th'approaching foes still following he perceives,
That hee his speed must trust, his usuall walke he leaves;
And or'e the Champaine flies: which when th'assembly find,
Each followes, as his horse were footed with the wind.
But beeing then imbost, the noble stately Deere
When he hath gotten ground (the kennell cast arere)
Doth beat the Brooks and Ponds for sweet refreshing soyle:
That serving not, then proves if he his sent can foyle,
And makes amongst the Heards, and flocks of shag-wooll'd Sheepe,
Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keepe.

279

But when as all his shifts his safety still denies,
Put quite out of his walke, the wayes and fallowes tryes.
Whom when the Plow-man meets, his teame he letteth stand
T'assaile him with his goad: so with his hooke in hand,
The Shepheard him pursues, and to his dog doth halow:
When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and Huntsmen follow;
Untill the noble Deere through toyle bereav'd of strength,
His long and sinewy legs then fayling him at length,
The Villages attempts, enrag'd, not giving way
To any thing hee meets now at his sad decay.
The cruell ravenous hounds and bloody Hunters neer,
This noblest beast of Chase, that vainly doth but feare,
Some banke or quick-set finds: to which his hanch oppos'd,
He turnes upon his foes, that soone have him inclos'd.
The churlish throated hounds then holding him at bay,
And as their cruell fangs on his harsh skin they lay,
With his sharp-poynted head he dealeth deadly wounds.

The Hunter, comming in to helpe his wearied hounds,
He desperatly assailes; untill opprest by force,

The Hart weepeth at his dying: his teares are held to be precious in medicine.

He who the Mourner is to his owne dying Corse,
Upon the ruthlesse earth his precious teares lets fall.

To Forrests that belongs; but yet this is not all:
With solitude what sorts, that here's not wondrous rife?
Whereas the Hermit leades a sweet retyred life,
From Villages repleate with ragg'd and sweating Clownes,
And from the lothsome ayres of smoky cittied Townes.
Suppose twixt noone and night, the Sunne his halfe-way wrought
(The shadowes to be large, by his descending brought)

A description of the afternoone.

Who with a fervent eye lookes through the twyring glades,
And his dispersed rayes commixeth with the shades,
Exhaling the milch dewe, which there had tarried long,
And on the ranker grasse till past the noone-sted hong;
When as the Hermet comes out of his homely Cell,
Where from all rude resort he happily doth dwell:

Hermits have oft had their aboads by waies that lie throgh Forests.

Who in the strength of youth, a man at Armes hath been;
Or one who of this world the vilenesse having seene,
Retyres him from it quite; and with a constant mind
Mans beastliness so loathes, that flying humane kind,
The black and darksome nights, the bright and gladsome dayes
Indifferent are to him, his hope on God that staies.

280

Each little Village yeelds his short and homely fare:
To gather wind-falne sticks, his great'st and onely care;
Which every aged tree still yeeldeth to his fire.

This man, that is alone a King in his desire,
By no proud ignorant Lord is basely over-aw'd,
Nor his false prayse affects, who grosly beeing claw'd,
Stands like an itchy Moyle; nor of a pin he wayes
What fooles, abused Kings, and humorous Ladies raise.
His free and noble thought, nere envies at the grace
That often times is given unto a Baud most base,
Nor stirres it him to thinke on the Impostour vile,
Who seeming what hee's not, doth sensually beguile
The sottish purblind world: but absolutely free,
His happy time he spends the works of God to see,
In those so sundry hearbs which there in plenty growe:
Whose sundry strange effects he onely seeks to knowe.
And in a little Maund, beeing made of Oziars small,
Which serveth him to doe full many a thing withall,
He very choicely sorts his Simples got abroad.

Heere finds he on an Oake Rheume-purging Polipode;
And in some open place that to the Sunne doth lye,
He Fumitorie gets, and Eye-bright for the eye:
The Yarrow, where-with-all he stops the wound-made gore:
The healing Tutsan then, and Plantan for a sore.
And hard by them againe he holy Vervaine finds,
Which he about his head that hath the Megrim binds.
The wonder-working Dill hee gets not farre from these,
Which curious women use in many a nice disease.
For them that are with Newts, or Snakes, or Adders stong,
He seeketh out an hearbe that's called Adders-tong;
As Nature it ordain'd, its owne like hurt to cure,
And sportive did her selfe to niceties inure.
Valerian then he crops, and purposely doth stampe,
T'apply unto the place that's haled with the Crampe.
As Century, to close the wideness of a wound:
The belly hurt by birth, by Mugwort to make sound.
His Chickweed cures the heat that in the face doth rise.

For Physick, some againe he inwardly applyes.
For comforting the Spleene and Liver, gets for juce,
Pale Hore-hound, which he holds of most especiall use.

281

So Saxifrage is good, and Harts-tongue for the Stone,
With Agrimony, and that hearbe we call S. John.
To him that hath a flux, of Sheepheards purse he gives,
And Mous-eare unto him whom some sharpe rupture grieves.
And for the laboring wretch that's troubled with a cough,
Or stopping of the breath, by fleagme that's hard and tough,
Campana heere he crops, approoved wondrous good:
As Comfrey unto him that's brused, spetting blood;
And from the Falling-ill, by Five-leafe doth restore,
And Melancholy cures by soveraigne Hellebore.

Of these most helpfull hearbs yet tell we but a few,
To those unnumbred sorts of Simples here that grew.
Which justly to set downe, even Dodon short doth fall;

The Authors of two famous Herbals.

Nor skilfull Gerard, yet, shall ever find them all.

But from our Hermit heere the Muse we must inforce,
And zealously proceed in our intended course:
How Arden of her Rills and Riverets doth dispose;
By Alcester how Alne to Arro easely flowes;
And mildly beeing mixt, to Avon hold their way:
And likewise tow'rd the North, how lively-tripping Rhea,
T'attend the lustier Tame, is from her Fountaine sent:
So little Cole and Blyth goe on with him to Trent.
His Tamworth at the last, he in his way doth win:
There playing him awhile, till Ancor should come in,
Which trifleth twixt her banks, observing state, so slowe,
As though into his armes she scorn'd her selfe to throwe:
Yet Arden will'd her Tame to serve

Ancor.

her on his knee;
For by that Nymph alone, they both should honor'd be.
The Forrest so much falne from what she was before,
That to her former height Fate could her not restore;
Though oft in her behalfe, the Genius of the Land
Importuned the Heavens with an auspicious hand.
Yet granted at the last (the aged Nymph to grace)
They by a Ladies birth would more renowne that place
Then if her Woods their heads above the Hills should seat;
And for that purpose, first made Coventry so great
(A poore thatcht Village then, or scarcely none at all,
That could not once have dream'd of her now stately wall)
And thither wisely brought that goodly Virgin-band,
Th'eleven thousand maids, chaste Ursula's Commaund,

282

Whom then the Britaine Kings gave her full power to presse,
For matches to their friends in Britanny the lesse.
At whose departure thence, each by her just bequest
Some speciall vertue gave, ordayning it to rest
With one of their owne sex, that there her birth should have,
Till fulnesse of the time which Fate did choicely save;
Untill the Saxons raigne, when Coventry at length,
From her small, meane regard, recovered state and strength,
By Leofrick her Lord yet in base bondage held,
The people from her Marts by tollage who expeld:
Whose Dutchesse, which desir'd this tribute to release,
Their freedome often begg'd. The Duke, to make her cease,
Told her that if shee would his losse so farre inforce,
His will was, shee should ride starke nak't upon a horse
By day light through the street: which certainly he thought,
In her heroïck breast so deeply would have wrought,
That in her former sute she would have left to deale.
But that most princely Dame, as one devour'd with zeale,
Went on, and by that meane the Cittie cleerly freed.

The first part of whose name, Godiva, doth forereed
Th'first syllable of hers, and Goodere halfe doth sound;
For by agreeing words, great matters have been found.
But further then this place the mysterie extends.
What Arden had begun, in Ancor lastly ends:
For in the British tongue, the Britaines could not find,
Wherefore to her that name of Ancor was assign'd:
Nor yet the Saxons since, nor times to come had known,
But that her beeing heere, was by this name fore-shown,
As prophecying her. For, as the first did tell
Her Sir-name, so againe doth Ancor lively spell
Her Christned title Anne. And as those Virgins there
Did sanctifie that Place: so holy Edith heere
A Recluse long time liv'd, in that faire Abbey plac't
Which Alured enricht, and Powlesworth highly grac't.
A Princesse being borne, and Abbesse, with those Maids,
All Noble like her selfe, in bidding of their Beads
Their holinesse bequeath'd, upon her to descend
Which there should after live: in whose deere selfe should end
Th'intent of Ancors name, her comming that decreed,
As hers (her place of birth) faire Coventry that freed.

283

But whilst about this tale smooth Ancor tryfling stayes,
Unto the lustier Tame as loth to come her waies,
The Flood intreats her thus; Deere Brooke, why doost thou wrong
Our mutuall love so much, and tediously prolong
Our mirthfull mariage-howre, for which I still prepare?
Haste to my broader banks, my joy and onely care.
For as of all my Floods thou art the first in fame;
When frankly thou shalt yeeld thine honor to my name,
I will protect thy state: then doe not wrong thy kind.
What pleasure hath the world that heere thou maist not find?

Hence, Muse, divert thy course to Dunsmore, by that

The High-crosse, supposed to be the midst of England.

Crosse
Where those two mightie

See to the xvi. Song.

waies, the Watling and the Fosse,
Our Center seeme to cut. (The first doth hold her way,
From Dover, to the farth'st of fruitfull Anglesey:
The second South and North, from Michaels utmost Mount,
To Cathnesse, which the furth'st of Scotland wee account.)
And then proceed to showe, how Avon from her Spring,
By Newnhams Fount is blest; and how she, blandishing,

Newnham Wells.

By Dunsmore drives along. Whom Sow doth first assist,
Which taketh Shirburn in, with Cune, a great while mist;
Though

Otherwise, Cune-tre: that is, the Towne upon Cune.

Coventry from thence her name at first did raise,
Now florishing with Fanes, and proud Piramides;
Her walls in good repaire, her Ports so bravely built,
Her halls in good estate, her Crosse so richly gilt,
As scorning all the Townes that stand within her view:
Yet must shee not be griev'd, that Cune should claime her due.

Tow'rds Warwick with this traine as Avon trips along,
To Guy-cliffe beeing come, her Nymphs thus bravely song;
To thee renowned Knight, continuall prayse wee owe,
And at thy hallowed Tombe thy yeerely Obiits showe;
Who, thy deere Phillis name and Country to advance,
Left'st Warwicks wealthy seate: and sayling into France,
At Tilt, from his proud Steed, Duke Otton threw'st to ground:
And with th'invalewed Prize of Blanch the beautious crown'd
(The Almaine Emperors heire) high acts didst there atchieve:
As Lovaine thou againe didst valiantly relieve.
Thou in the Soldans blood thy worthy sword imbru'dst;
And then in single fight, great Amerant subdu'dst.
T'was thy Herculian hand, which happily destroy'd
That Dragon, which so long Northumberland annoy'd;

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And slew that cruell Bore, which waste our wood-lands layd,
Whose tusks turn'd up our Tilths, and Dens in Medowes made:
Whose shoulder-blade remaines at Coventry till now;
And, at our humble sute, did quell that monstrous Cow
The passengers that us'd from Dunsmore to affright.
Of all our English (yet) ô most renowned Knight,
That Colebrond overcam'st: at whose amazing fall
The Danes remov'd their Campe from Winchesters sieg'd wall.
Thy statue Guy-cliffe keepes, the gazers eye to please;
Warwick, thy mighty Armes (thou English Hercules)
Thy strong and massy sword, that never was controld:
Which, as her ancient right, her Castle still shall hold.

Scarce ended they their Song, but Avons winding streame,
By Warwick, entertaines the high-complection'd Leame:
And as she thence along to Stratford on doth straine,
Receiveth little Heile the next into her traine:
Then taketh in the Stour, the Brooke, of all the rest
Which that most goodly Vale of Red-horse loveth best;
A Vally that enjoyes a verie great estate,
Yet not so famous held as smaller, by her fate:
Now, for Report had been too partiall in her praise,
Her just conceived greefe, faire Red-horse thus bewraies;

Shall every Vale be heard to boast her wealth? and I,
The needie Countries neere that with my Corne supply
As bravely as the best, shall onely I endure
The dull and beastly world my glories to obscure;
Neere way-lesse Ardens side, sith my rety'rd aboad
Stood quite out of the way from every common road?
Great Evshams fertill Gleabe, what tongue hath not extold?
As though to her alone belongd the

The Sheafe.

Garbe of Gold.
Of Bevers batfull earth, men seeme as though to faine,
Reporting in what store shee multiplies her graine:
And folke such wondrous things of Alsburie will tell,
As though Aboundance strove her burthened wombe to swell.
Her roome amongst the rest, so White-horse is decreed:
Shee wants no setting forth: her brave Pegasian Steed
(The wonder of the West) exalted to the skies:
My Red-horse of you all contemned onely lies.
The fault is not in me, but in the wretched time:
On whom, upon good cause, I well may lay the crime:

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Which as all noble things, so mee it doth neglect.
But when th'industrious Muse shall purchase me respect
Of Countries neere my site, and win me forraine fame
(The Eden of you all deservedly that am)
I shall as much be praysd for delicacie then,
As now in small account with vile and barbarous men.
For, from the loftie

The Edge-hil

Edge that on my side doth lye,
Upon my spacious earth who casts a curious eye,
As many goodly seates shall in my compasse see,
As many sweet delights and rarities in mee
As in the greatest Vale: from where my head I couch
At Cotswolds Countries foot, till with my heeles I touch

The bounds of the Vale of Red-horse.

The North-hamptonian fields, and fatning Pastures; where
I ravish every eye with my inticing cheere.
As still the Yeere growes on, that Ceres once doth load
The full Earth with her store; my plentious bosome strow'd
With all aboundant sweets: my frim and lustie flanke
Her bravery then displayes, with Meadowes hugely ranke.
The thick and well-growne fogge doth matt my smoother slades,
And on the lower Leas, as on the higher Hades
The daintie Clover growes (of grasse the onely silke)
That makes each Udder strout abundantly with milke.

As an unlettred man, at the desired sight

A Similie of the place and people.

Of some rare beautie moov'd with infinite delight,
Not out of his owne spirit, but by that power divine,
Which through a sparkling eye perspicuously doth shine,
Feeles his hard temper yeeld, that hee in passion breakes,
And things beyond his height, transported strangely speaks:
So those that dwell in mee, and live by frugall toyle,
When they in my defence are reasoning of my soyle,
As rapted with my wealth and beauties, learned growe,
And in wel-fitting tearmes, and noble language, showe
The Lordships in my Lands, from Rolright (which remaines
A witnesse of that day we wonne upon the Danes)
To Tawcester wel-neere: twixt which, they use to tell
Of places which they say doe Rumneys selfe excell.
Of Dasset they dare boast, and give Wormlighton prize,

Wondrous fruitful places in the Vale.

As of that fertill Flat by Bishopton that lies.

For showing of my bounds, if men may rightly ghesse
By my continued forme which best doth me expresse,

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On either of my sides and by the rising grounds,
Which in one fashion hold, as my most certaine Mounds,
In length neere thirtie miles I am discern'd to bee.

Thus Red-horse ends her tale; and I therewith agree
To finish heere my Song: the Muse some ease doth aske,
As wearied with the toyle in this her serious taske.

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The fourteenth song.

The Argument.

Her sundry straines the Muse to prove,
Now sings of homely Country love;
What moane th'old Heardsman Clent doth make,
For his coy Wood-Nymph Feckn'hams sake;
And, how the Nymphs each other greet,
When Avon and brave Severne meet.
The Vale of Evsham then doth tell,
How farre the Vales doe Hills excell.
Ascending, next, faire Cotswolds Plaines,
Shee revels with the Shepheards swaines;
And sends the daintie Nymphes away,
Gainst Tame and Isis Wedding day.

At length, attain'd those Lands that South of Severne lye,
As to the varying Earth the Muse doth her apply,
Poore Sheep-hook and plaine Goad, she many times doth sound:
Then in a Buskind strain she instantly doth bound.
Smooth as the lowly streame, shee softly now doth glide:
And with the Mountaines straight contendeth in her pride.

Now back againe I turne, the Land with mee to take,
From the Staffordian heaths as

Running by Sturbridge in Worstershire, towards Severne.

Stour her course doth make.
Which Clent, from his proud top, contentedly doth view:
But yet the aged Hill, immoderatly doth rew
His loved Feckn'hams fall, and doth her state bemoane;
To please his amorous eye, whose like the world had none.
For, from her very youth, he (then an aged Hill)
Had to that Forrest-Nymph a speciall lyking still:
The least regard of him who never seemes to take,
But suffreth in her selfe for Salwarp's onely sake;
And on that River doats, as much as Clent on her.

Now, when the Hill perceiv'd, the Flood she would prefer,
All pleasure he forsakes; that at the full-bagd Cow,
Or at the curle-fac't Bull, when venting he doth low,
Or at th'unhappy wags, which let their Cattell stray,
At Nine-holes on the heath whilst they together play,

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He never seemes to smile; nor ever taketh keepe
To heare the harmlesse Swaine pype to his grazing sheepe:
Nor to the Carters tune, in whistling to his Teame;
Nor lends his listning eare (once) to the ambling Streame,
That in the evening calme against the stones doth rush
With such a murmuring noyse, as it would seeme to hush
The silent Meads asleepe; but, voyd of all delight,
Remedilesly drown'd in sorrow day and night,
Nor Licky his Allie and neighbour doth respect:
And there-with beeing charg'd, thus answereth in effect;
That

The Lickey, supposed to be the highest ground of this Ile not being a Mountaine.

Lickey to his height seem'd slowly but to rise,
And that in length and bredth he all extended lyes,
Nor doth like other hills to suddaine sharpnesse mount,
That of their kingly kind they scarce can him account;
Though by his swelling soyle set in so high a place,
That Malverns mightie selfe he seemeth to out-face.

Whilst Clent and Licky thus, doe both expresse their pride,

The Salt Fountaine of Worcestershire.

As Salwarpe slips along by Feck'nhams shady side,
That Forrest him affects in wandring to the Wych:
But he, himselfe by Salts there seeking to enrich,
His Feck'nham quite forgets; from all affection free.

But she, that to the Flood most constant meanes to be,
More prodigally gives her woods to those strong fires
Which boyle the source to Salts. Which Clent so much admires,
That love, and her disdaine, to madness him provoke:
When to the Wood-Nymph thus the jealous Mountaine spoke;

Fond Nymph, thy twisted curles, on which were all my care,
Thou lett'st the Furnace waste; that miserably bare
I hope to see thee left, which so doost mee despise;
Whose beauties many a morne have blest my longing eyes:
And, till the wearie Sunne sunk downe unto the West,
Thou still my object wast, thou once my onely best.
The time shall quickly come, thy Groves and pleasant Springs,
Where to the mirthfull Merle the warbling Mavis sings,
The painfull laborers hand shall stock the roots, to burne;
The branch and body spent, yet could not serve his turne.
Which when, most wilfull Nymph, thy chaunce shal be to see,
Too late thou shalt repent thy small regard of mee.

But Saltwarpe downe from Wyche his nimbler feet doth ply,
Great Severne to attend, along to Teuksbury,

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With others to partake the joy that there is seene,
When beautious Avon comes unto her soveraigne

Severne.

Queene.
Heere downe from Evshams Vale, their greatnesse to attend,
Comes Swilliat sweeping in, which Cotswold downe doth send:
And Garran there arrives, the great recourse to see.
Where thus together met, with most delightfull glee,
The cheerfull Nymphs that haunt the Valley rank and lowe
(Where full Pomona seemes most plentiously to flowe,
And with her fruitery swells by Pershore, in her pride)
Amongst the batfull Meads on Severns either side,
To these their confluent Floods, full Boaules of Pery brought:
Where, to each others health past many a deep-fetcht draught,
And many a sound Carouse from friend to friend doth goe.
Thus whilst the mellowed Earth with her owne juice doth flowe,
Inflamed with excesse the lustie pampred Vale,
In praise of her great selfe, thus frames her glorious tale;

I doubt not but some Vale enough for us hath said,
To answer them that most with basenesse us upbray'd;
Those high presumptuous Hills, which bend their utmost might,
Us onely to deject, in their inveterate spight:
But I would have them thinke, that I (which am the Queene
Of all the British Vales, and so have ever beene
Since Gomers Giant-brood inhabited this Ile,
And that of all the rest, my selfe may so enstile)
Against the highest Hill dare put my selfe for place,
That ever threatned Heaven with the austerest face.
And for our praise, then thus; What Fountaine send they forth
(That finds a Rivers name, though of the smallest worth)
But it invales it selfe, and on it either side
Doth make those fruitfull Meads, which with their painted pride
Imbroader his proud Banke? whilst in lascivious Gyres
He swiftly sallieth out, and suddainly retyres
In sundry works and trailes, now shallowe, and then deepe,
Searching the spacious shores, as though it meant to sweepe
Their sweets with it away, with which they are repleat.
And men, first building Townes, themselves did wisely seat
Still in the bountious Vale: whose burthened Pasture beares
The most aboundant swathe, whose Gleabe such goodly eares,
As to the weightie sheafe with sythe or sickle cut,
When as his hardned hand the Labourer comes to put,

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Sinks him in his owne sweat, which it but hardly wields:
And on the Corne-strew'd Lands, then in the stubble fields,
There feed the Heards of Neat, by them the Flocks of Sheep,
Seeking the scatt'red Corne upon the ridges steepe:
And in the furrowe by (where Ceres lyes much spild)
Th'unweldy larding Swine his mawe then having fild,
Lies wallowing in the myre, thence able scarce to rise.
When as those monstrous Hills so much that us despise
(The Mountaine, which forsooth the lowly Valley mocks)
Have nothing in the world upon their barren Rocks,
But greedy clambring Goats, and Conies, banisht quite
From every fertill place; as Rascals, that delight
In base and barren plots, and at good earth repine.
And though in Winter we to moysture much incline,
Yet those that be our owne, and dwell upon our Land,
When twixt their burly Stacks, and full-stuft Barnes they stand,
Into the softer Clay as easely they doe sinke,
Pluck up their heavie feet, with lighter spirits, to thinke
That Autumne shall produce, to recompence their toyle,
A rich and goodly croppe from that unpleasant soyle.
And from that envious Foe which seekes us to deprave,
Though much against his will this good we cleerly have,
We still are highly prais'd, and honor'd by his hight.
For, who will us survey, their cleere and judging sight
May see us thence at full: which else the searchingst eye,
By reason that so flat and levelled we lie,
Could never throughly view, our selves nor could we showe.

Yet more; what lofty Hills to humble Valleys owe,
And what high grace they have which neere to us are plac't,
In

A Hill invironed on every side with the Vale of Evsham.

Breedon may be seene, beeing amorously imbrac't
In cincture of mine armes. Who though he doe not vaunt
His head like those that looke as they would Heaven supplant:
Yet let them wisely note, in what excessive pride
He in my bosome sits; while him on every side
With my delicious sweets and delicates I trym.
And when great Malvern looks most terrible and grym,
Hee with a pleased brow continually doth smile.

Heere Breedon, having heard his praises all the while,
Grew insolently proud; and doth upon him take
Such state, as he would seeme but small account to make

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Of Malvern, or of Mein. So that the wiser Vale,
To his instruction turnes the processe of her tale.
T'avoyd the greaters wrath, and shunne the meaners hate,
Quoth shee, take my advice, abandon idle state;
And by that way I goe, doe thou thy course contrive:
Give others leave to vaunt, and let us closely thrive.
Whilst idly but for place the loftie Mountaines toyle,
Let us have store of graine, and quantity of soyle.
To what end serve their tops (that seeme to threat the skie)
But to be rent with stormes? whilst we in safety lie.
Their Rocks but barren be, and they which rashly clime,
Stand most in Envies sight, the fairest prey for Time.
And when the lowely Vales are clad in Sommers greene,
The grisled Winters snowe upon their heads is seene.
Of all the Hills I knowe, let Mein thy patterne bee:
Who though his site be such as seemes to equall thee,
And destitute of nought that Arden him can yeeld;
Nor of th'especiall grace of many a goodly field;
Nor of deere Cliffords seat (the place of health and sport)
Which many a time hath been the Muses quiet Port.
Yet brags not he of that, nor of himselfe esteemes
The more for his faire site; but richer then he seemes,
Clad in a gowne of Grasse, so soft and wondrous warme,
As him the Sommers heat, nor Winters cold can harme.
Of whom I well may say, as I may speake of thee;
From either of your tops, that who beholdeth mee,
To Paradise may thinke a second hee had found,
If any like the first were ever on the ground.

Her long and zealous speech thus Evsham doth conclude:
When straight the active Muse industriously pursu'd
This noble Countries praise, as matter still did rise.
For Gloster in times past her selfe did highly prize,
When in her pride of strength she nourisht goodly Vines,
And oft her cares represt with her delicious Wines.
But, now th'All-cheering Sun the colder soyle deceaves,
And us (heere tow'rds the Pole) still falling South-ward leaves:
So that the sullen earth th'effect thereof doth prove;
According to their Books, who hold that he doth move
From his first Zeniths poynt; the cause we feele his want.
But of her Vines depriv'd, now Gloster learnes to plant

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The Peare-tree every where: whose fruit shee straines for juce,
That her pur'st Pery is, which first shee did produce
From Worstershire, and there is common as the fields;
Which naturally that soyle in most aboundance yeelds.

But the laborious Muse, which still new worke assaies,
Here sallyeth through the slades, where beautious Severne playes,
Untill that River gets her Glosters wished sight:
Where, she her streame divides, that with the more delight
Shee might behold the Towne, of which shee's wondrous proud:
Then takes shee in the Frome, then Cam, and next the Strowd,
As thence upon her course she wantonly doth straine.
Supposing then her selfe a Sea-god by her traine,
Shee Neptune-like doth float upon the bracky Marsh.
Where, least shee should become too combersome and harsh,
Faire Micklewood (a Nymph, long honor'd for a Chase,
Contending to have stood the high'st in Severns grace,
Of any of the Dryad's there bordring on her shore)
With her coole amorous shades, and all her Sylvan store,
To please the goodly Flood imployes her utmost powers,
Supposing the proud Nymph might like her woody Bowers.

But Severne (on her way) so large and head-strong grew,
That shee the Wood-Nymph scornes, and Avon doth pursue;
A River with no lesse then goodly Kings-wood crown'd,
A Forrest and a Flood by eithers fame renown'd;
And each with others pride and beautie much bewitcht;
Besides, with Bristowes state both wondrously enricht.

Kings Road.

Which soone to Severne sent th'report of that faire Road
(So burthened still with Barks, as it would over-load
Great Neptune with the weight) whose fame so farre doth ring.
When as that mightie Flood, most bravely florishing,
Like Thetis goodlie selfe, majestically glides;
Upon her spacious breast tossing the surgefull Tydes,
To have the River see the state to which shee growes,
And how much to her Queene the beautious Avon owes.

But, noble Muse, proceed immediatly to tell
How Evshams fertile Vale at first in liking fell
With Cotswold, that great King of Shepheards: whose proud site
When that faire Vale first saw, so nourisht her delight,
That him she onely lov'd: for wisely shee beheld
The beauties cleane throughout that on his sur-face dweld:

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Of just and equall height two banks arising, which
Grew poore (as it should seeme) to make some Valley rich:
Betwixt them thrusting out an Elbowe of such height,

A nice description of Cotswold.

As shrowds the lower soyle; which, shadowed from the light,
Shootes forth a little Grove, that in the Sommers day
Invites the Flocks, for shade that to the Covert stray.
A Hill there holds his head, as though it told a tale,
Or stooped to looke downe, or whisper with a Vale;
Where little purling winds like wantons seeme to dally,
And skip from Bank to Banke, from Valley trip to Valley.
Such sundry shapes of soyle where Nature doth devise,
That she may rather seeme fantasticall, then wise.

T'whom Sarum's Plaine gives place: though famous for her Flocks,
Yet hardly doth she tythe our Cotswolds wealthy locks.
Though Lemster him exceed for finenesse of her ore,
Yet quite he puts her downe for his aboundant store.
A match so fit as hee, contenting to her mind,
Few Vales (as I suppose) like Evsham hapt to find:
Nor any other Wold, like Cotswold ever sped,
So faire and rich a Vale by fortuning to wed.
Hee hath the goodly Wooll, and shee the wealthy Graine:
Through which they wisely seeme their houshold to maintaine.
He hath pure wholesome Ayre, and daintie crystall Springs.
To those delights of his, shee daily profit brings:
As to his large expense, she multiplies her heapes:
Nor can his Flocks devour th'aboundance that shee reaps;
As th'one with what it hath, the other strove to grace.

And, now that every thing may in the proper place
Most aptly be contriv'd, the Sheepe our Wold doth breed
(The simplest though it seeme) shall our description need,
And Shepheard-like, the Muse thus of that kind doth speak;
No browne, nor sullyed black the face or legs doth streak,
Like those of Moreland, Cank, or of the Cambrian hills
That lightly laden are: but Cotswold wisely fills
Her with the whitest kind: whose browes so woolly be,
As men in her faire Sheepe no emptiness should see.
The Staple deepe and thick, through, to the very graine,
Most strongly keepeth out the violentest raine:
A body long and large, the buttocks equall broad;
As fit to under-goe the full and weightie load.

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And of the fleecie face, the flanke doth nothing lack,
But every-where is stor'd; the belly, as the back.
The faire and goodly Flock, the Shepheards onely pride,
As white as Winters snowe, when from the Rivers side
He drives his new-washt Sheepe; or on the Sheering day,
When as the lusty Ram, with those rich spoyles of May
His crooked hornes hath crown'd; the Bell-weather, so brave
As none in all the Flock they like themselves would have.

But Muse, returne to tell, how there the Sheepheards King,
Whose Flock hath chanc't that yeere the earliest Lambe to bring,
In his gay Bauldrick sits at his lowe grassie Bord,
With Flawns, Curds, Clowted-creame, and Country dainties stor'd:
And, whilst the Bag-pipe playes, each lustie jocund Swaine
Quaffes Sillibubs in Kans, to all upon the Plaine,
And to their Country-Girles, whose Nosegayes they doe weare,
Some Roundelayes doe sing: the rest, the burthen beare.

The fountaine of Thames, rising in the South of Cotswold.

But Cotswold, be this spoke th'onely praise of thee,
That thou of all the rest, the chosen soyle should'st bee,
Faire Isis to bring-forth (the Mother of great Tames)
With those delicious Brooks, by whose immortall streames
Her greatnesse is begunne: so that our Rivers King,
When he his long Descent shall from his Bel-sires bring,
Must needs (Great Pastures Prince) derive his stem by thee,
From kingly Cotswolds selfe, sprung of the third degree:
As th'old worlds Heroës wont, that in the times of yore,
On Neptune, Jove, and Mars, themselves so highly bore.

But easely from her source as Isis gently dades;
Unto her present ayde, downe through the deeper slades,
The nimbler footed Churne, by Cisseter doth slide;
And first at Greeklade gets preheminence, to guide
Queene Isis on her way, ere shee receive her traine.
Cleere Colne, and lively Leech, so downe from Cotswolds Plaine,
At Leechlade linking hands, come likewise to support
The Mother of great Tames. When, seeing the resort,
From Cotswold Windrush scowres; and with her selfe doth cast
The Traine to over-take, and therefore hies her fast
Through the Oxfordian fields; when (as the last of all
Those Floods, that into Tames out of our Cotswold fall,
And farth'st unto the North) bright Enload forth doth beare.
For, though it had been long, at length she came to heare

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That Isis was to Tame in wedlock to be ti'd:
And therefore shee prepar'd t'attend upon the Bride;
Expecting, at the Feast, past ordinarie grace.

And beeing neere of kinne to that most Spring-full place,
Where out of Blockleys banks so many Fountaines flowe,
That cleane throughout his soyle proud Cotswold cannot showe
The like: as though from farre, his long and many Hills,
There emptied all their vaines, where-with those Founts hee fills,
Which in the greatest drought so brimfull still doe float,
Sent through the rifted Rocks with such an open throat,
As though the Cleeves consum'd in humor; they alone,
So crystalline and cold, as hardneth stick to stone.

But whilst this while we talke, the farre divulged fame
Of this great Bridale tow'rd, in Phœbus mightie name
Doth bid the Muse make haste, and to the Bride-house speed;
Of her attendance there least they should stand in need.

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The fifteenth Song.

The Argument.

The guests heere to the Bride-house hie.
The goodly Vale of Al'sbury
Sets her sonne (Tame) forth, brave as May,
Upon the joyfull Wedding day:
Who, deckt up, tow'rds his Bride is gone.
So lovely Isis comming on,
At Oxford all the Muses meet her,
And with a Prothalamion greet her.
The Nymphs are in the Bridall Bowres,
Some strowing sweets, some sorting flowres:
Where lustie Charwell himselfe raises,
And sings of Rivers, and their praises.
Then Tames his way tow'rd Windsore tends.
Thus, with the Song, the Mariage ends.

Now Fame had through this Ile divulg'd, in every eare,
The long-expected day of Mariage to be neere,
That Isis, Cotswolds heire, long woo'd was lastly wonne,
And instantly should wed with Tame, old Chiltern's sonne.

Tame, arising in the Vale of Alsbury, at the foot of the Chilterne.

And now that Wood-mans wife, the mother of the Flood,
The rich and goodly Vale of Alsbury, that stood
So much upon her Tame, was busied in her Bowres,
Preparing for her sonne, as many sutes of Flowres,
As Cotswold for the Bride, his Isis, lately made;
Who for the lovely Tame, her Bridegroome, onely staid.

Whilst every crystall Flood is to this business prest,
The cause of their great speed and many thus request;
O! whither goe yee Floods? what suddaine wind doth blowe,
Then other of your kind, that you so fast should flowe?
What busines is in hand, that spurres you thus away?
Faire Windrush let me heare, I pray thee Charwell say:
They suddainly reply, What lets you should not see
That for this Nuptiall feast wee all prepared bee?
Therefore this idle chat our eares doth but offend:
Our leysure serves not now these trifles to attend.

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But whilst things are in hand, old Chiltern (for his life)
From prodigall expense can no way keepe his wife;
Who feedes her Tame with Marle, in Cordiall-wise prepar'd,
And thinks all idly spent, that now she onely spar'd
In setting forth her sonne: nor can shee thinke it well,

The richnesse of the Vale of Alsbury.

Unlesse her lavish charge doe Cotswold's farre excell.
For, Alsbury's a Vale that walloweth in her wealth,
And (by her wholesome ayre continually in health)
Is lustie, frim, and fat, and holds her youthfull strength.
Besides her fruitfull earth, her mightie breadth and length,
Doth Chiltern fitly match: which mountainously hie,
And beeing very long, so likewise shee doth lie;
From the Bedfordian fields, where first she doth begin,
To fashion like a Vale, to th'place where Tame doth win
His Isis wished Bed; her soyle throughout so sure,
For goodnesse of her Gleabe, and for her Pasture pure,
That as her Graine and Grasse, so shee her Sheepe doth breed,
For burthen and for boane all other that exceed:
And shee, which thus in wealth aboundantly doth flowe,
Now cares not on her Child what cost shee doe bestowe.

The Chiltern-Country beginning also to want wood.

Which when wise Chiltern saw (the world who long had try'd,
And now at last had layd all garish pompe aside;
Whose hoare and chalkie head discry'd him to be old,
His Beechen woods bereft that kept him from the cold)
Would faine perswade the Vale to hold a steddy rate;
And with his curious Wife, thus wisely doth debate:

Quoth hee, you might allow what needeth, to the most:
But where as lesse will serve, what meanes this idle cost?
Too much, a surfet breeds, and may our Child annoy:
These fat and lushious meats doe but our stomacks cloy.
The modest comly meane, in all things likes the wise,
Apparrell often shewes us womanish precise.
And what will Cotswold thinke when he shall heare of this?
Hee'll rather blame your waste, then praise your cost iwiss.

But, women wilfull be, and shee her will must have,
Nor cares how Chiltern chides, so that her Tame be brave.

That Ouze arising neer Brackley, running into the German Sea.

Alone which tow'rds his Love shee easely doth convay:
For the Oxonian Ouze was lately sent away
From Buckingham, where first he finds his nimbler feet;
Tow'rds Whittlewood then takes: where, past the noblest

Watling.

Street,

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Hee to the Forrest gives his farewell, and doth keepe
His course directly downe into the German Deepe,
To publish that great day in mightie Neptunes Hall,
That all the Sea-gods there might keep it festivall.

As wee have told how Tame holds on his even course,
Returne we to report, how Isis from her sourse
Comes tripping with delight, downe from her daintier Springs;
And in her princely traine, t'attend her Marriage, brings

Rivers arising in Cotswold, spoke of in the former Song.

Cleere Churnet, Colne, and Leech, which first she did retaine,
With Windrush: and with her (all out-rage to restraine
Which well might offred be to Isis as shee went)
Came Yenload with a guard of Satyres, which were sent
From Whichwood, to await the bright and God-like Dame.
So, Bernwood did bequeath his Satyres to the Tame,
For Sticklers in those stirres that at the Feast should bee.

These preparations great when Charwell comes to see,
To Oxford got before, to entertaine the Flood,
Apollo's ayde he begs, with all his sacred brood,
To that most learned place to welcome her repaire.
Who in her comming on, was wext so wondrous faire,
That meeting, strife arose betwixt them, whether they
Her beauty should extoll, or shee admire their

Laurell for Learning.

Bay.
On whom their severall gifts (to amplifie her dowre)
The Muses there bestowe; which ever have the power
Immortall her to make. And as shee past along,
Those modest

The Muses.

Thespian Maids thus to their Isis song;

Yee Daughters of the Hills, come downe from every side,
And due attendance give upon the lovely Bride:
Goe strewe the paths with flowers by which shee is to passe.
For be yee thus assur'd, in Albion never was
A beautie (yet) like hers: where have yee ever seene
So absolute a Nymph in all things, for a Queene?
Give instantly in charge the day be wondrous faire,
That no disorderd blast attempt her braided haire.
Goe, see her State prepar'd, and every thing be fit,
The Bride-chamber adorn'd with all beseeming it.
And for the princely Groome, who ever yet could name
A Flood that is so fit for Isis as the Tame?
Yee both so lovely are, that knowledge scarce can tell,
For feature whether hee, or beautie shee excell:

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That ravished with joy each other to behold,
When as your crystall wasts you closely doe enfold,
Betwixt your beautious selves you shall beget a Sonne,
That when your lives shall end, in him shall be begunne.
The pleasant Surryan shores shall in that Flood delight,
And Kent esteeme her selfe most happy in his sight.
The Shire that London loves, shall onely him prefer,
And give full many a gift to hold him neer to her.
The

They al three, Rivers, of greatest note in the Lower Germany, cast themselves into the Ocean, in the Coast opposite to the mouth of Thames.

Skeld, the goodly Mose, the rich and Viny Rheine,
Shall come to meet the Thames in Neptunes watry Plaine.
And all the Belgian Streames and neighboring Floods of Gaul,
Of him shall stand in awe, his tributaries all.

As of fayre Isis thus, the learned Virgins spake,
A shrill and suddaine brute this

Mariage Song.

Prothalamion brake;
That White-horse, for the love she bare to her Ally,
And honored sister Vale, the bountious Alsbury,
Sent Presents to the Tame by Ock her onely Flood,
Which for his Mother Vale, so much on greatnesse stood.

From Oxford, Isis hasts more speedily, to see
That River like his birth might entertained bee:
For, that ambitious Vale, still striving to commaund,
And using for her place continually to stand,
Proud White-horse to perswade, much busines there hath been
T'acknowledge that great Vale of Evsham for her Queen.
And but that Evsham is so opulent and great,
That thereby shee her selfe holds in the soveraigne seat,
This

White-horse striveth for soveraignty with all the Vales of Britaine.

White-horse all the Vales of Britaine would or'ebeare,
And absolutely sit in the imperiall Chaire;
And boasts as goodly Heards, and numerous Flocks to feed;
To have as soft a Gleabe, as good increase of seed;
As pure and fresh an ayre upon her face to flowe,
As Evsham for her life: and from her Steed doth showe,
Her lustie rising Downes, as faire a prospect take
As that imperious

Cotswold.

Wold: which her great Queene doth make
So wondrously admyr'd, and her so farre extend.
But, to the Mariage, hence, industrious Muse descend.

The Naïads, and the Nymphs extreamly over-joy'd,
And on the winding banks all busily imploy'd,
Upon this joyfull day, some dainty Chaplets twine:
Some others chosen out, with fingers neat and fine,

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Brave

Crownes of Flowers.

Anadems doe make: some Bauldricks up do bind:
Some, Garlands: and to some, the Nosegaies were assign'd;
As best their skill did serve. But, for that Tame should be
Still man-like as him selfe, therefore they will that he
Should not be drest with Flowers, to Gardens that belong
(His Bride that better fitte) but onely such as sprong

Flowers of the Medowes and Pastures.

From the replenisht Meads, and fruitfull Pastures neere.
To sort which Flowers, some sit; some making Garlands were;
The Primrose placing first, because that in the Spring
It is the first appeares, then onely florishing;
The azur'd Hare-bell next, with them, they neatly mixt:
T'allay whose lushious smell, they Woodbind plac't betwixt.
Amongst those things of sent, there prick they in the Lilly:
And neere to that againe, her sister Daffadilly.
To sort these Flowers of showe, with th'other that were sweet,
The Cowslip then they couch, and th'Oxslip, for her meet:
The Columbine amongst they sparingly doe set,
The yellow King-cup, wrought in many a curious fret,
And now and then among, of Eglantine a spray,
By which againe a course of Lady-smocks they lay:
The Crow-flower, and there-by the Clover-flower they stick,
The Daysie, over all those sundry sweets so thick,
As Nature doth her selfe; to imitate her right:
Who seems in that her

Margarita, is both a Pearle and a Daisy.

pearle so greatly to delight,
That every Plaine therewith she powdreth to beholde:
The crimsin Darnell Flower, the Blew-bottle, and Gold:
Which though esteem'd but weeds; yet for their dainty hewes,
And for their sent not ill, they for this purpose chuse.

Thus having told you how the Bridegroome Tame was drest,
Ile shew you, how the Bride, faire Isis, they invest;
Sitting to be attyr'd under her Bower of State,
Which scornes a meaner sort, then fits a Princely rate.
In

Flowers of Gardens.

Anadems for whom they curiously dispose
The Red, the dainty White, the goodly Damask Rose,
For the rich Ruby, Pearle, and Amatist, men place
In Kings Emperiall Crownes, the circle that enchase.
The brave Carnation then, with sweet and soveraigne power
(So of his colour call'd, although a July-flower)
With th'other of his kinde, the speckled and the pale:
Then th'odoriferous Pink, that sends forth such a gale

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Of sweetnes; yet in sents, as various as in sorts.
The purple Violet then, the Pansie there supports:
The Mary-gold above t'adorne the arched Bar:
The dubble Daysie, Thrift, the Button-batcheler,
Sweet William, Sops in wine, the Campion: and to these,
Some Lavander they put, with Rosemary and Bayes:
Sweet Marjoram, with her like, sweet Basill rare for smell,
With many a flower, whose name were now too long to tell:
And rarely with the rest, the goodly Flower-delice.

Thus for the nuptiall houre, all fitted point-device,
Whilst some still busied are in decking of the Bride,
Some others were again as seriously imploy'd

Strewing hearbs.

In strewing of those hearbs, at Bridalls us'd that be;
Which every where they throwe with bountious hands and free.
The healthfull Balme and Mint, from their full laps doe fly,
The sent-full Camomill, the verdurous Costmary.
They hot Muscado oft with milder Maudlin cast:
Strong Tansey, Fennell coole, they prodigally waste:
Cleere Isop, and therewith the comfortable Thyme,
Germander with the rest, each thing then in her prime;
As well of wholesome hearbs, as every pleasant flower,
Which Nature here produc't, to fit this happy houre.
Amongst these strewing kinds, some other wilde that growe,
As Burnet, all abroad, and Meadow-wort they throwe.

Thus all things falling out to every ones desire,
The ceremonies done that Mariage doth require,
The Bride and Bridegroome set, and serv'd with sundry cates,
And every other plac't, as fitted their estates;
Amongst this confluence great, wise Charwell here was thought
The fitst to cheare the guests: who throughly had been taught
In all that could pertaine to Court-ship, long agon,
As comming from his Sire, the fruitfull

A Hill betwixt Norhamptonshire and Warwick.

Helidon,
He travelleth to Tames; where passing by those Townes
Of that rich Country neere, whereas the mirthfull clownes,
With Taber and the pipe, on holydayes doe use,
Upon the May-pole Greene, to trample out their shooes:
And having in his eares the deepe and

Famous rings of Bells in Oxford-shire, called the Crosse-ring.

solemne rings,
Which sound him all the way, unto the

Oxford.

learned Springs,
Where he, his Soveraigne Ouze most happily doth meet,
And him, the thrice-three maids, Apollos ofspring, greet

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With all their sacred gifts: thus, expert being growne
In musicke; and besides, a

A fine Poet.

curious Maker knowne:
This Charwell (as I said) the fitst these Floods among,
For silence having call'd, thus to th'assembly song;

Stand fast ye higher Hills: low vallies easily lie:
And Forrests that to both you equally apply
(But for the greater part, both wilde and barren be)
Retire ye to your wastes; and Rivers only we,
Oft meeting let us mixe: and with delightfull grace,
Let every beautious Nymph, her best lov'd Flood imbrace,
An Alien be he borne, or neer to her owne Spring,
So from his native Fount he bravely flourishing,
Along the flowry Fields, licentiously do straine,
Greeting each curled grove, and circling every Plaine;
Or hasting to his fall, his sholy gravell scowr's,
And with his Crystall front, then courts the climing Towres.

Let all the world be Judge, what Mountaine hath a name,
Like that from whose proud foot, their springs some Flood of Fame:
And in the Earth's survay, what seat like that is set,
Whose Streets some ample Streame, aboundantly doth wet?
Where is there Haven found, or Harbour, like that Road,
Int'which some goodly Flood, his burthen doth unload?
By whose rank swelling Streame, the far-fetcht forraine fraught,
May up to In-land Townes conveniently be brought.
Of any part of Earth, we be the most renown'd;
That countries very oft, nay, Empires oft we bound.
As Rubicon, much fam'd, both for his Fount and Fall,
The ancient limit held, twixt Italy and

That which was call'd Gallia Cisalpina, and is Lombardy, Romagnia and the Westerne part of Italy.

Gaule.
Europe and Asia keep on Tanais either side.
Such honor have we Floods, the World (even) to divide.
Nay: Kingdoms thus we prove are christened oft by us;
Iberia takes her name of Crystall Iberus.
Such reverence to our kinde the wiser Ancients gave,
As they suppos'd each Flood a Deity to have:

But with our fame at home returne we to proceed.
In Britanne here we find, our Severne, and our Tweed,
The tripartited Ile doe generally divide,
To England, Scotland, Wales, as each doth keep her side.
Trent cuts the Land in two, so equally, as tho
Nature it pointed-out, to our great Brute to show

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How to his mightie Sonnes the Iland he might share.
A thousand of this kinde, and neerer, I will spare;
Where if the state of Floods, at large I list to show,
I proudly could report how Pactolus doth throwe
Up graines of perfect gold; and of great Ganges tell,
Which when full India's showers inforceth him to swell,
Gilds with his glistering sands the over-pampered shore:
How wealthy Tagus first by tumbling down his ore,
The rude and slothfull Moores of old Iberia taught,
To search into those hills, from which such wealth he brought.
Beyond these if I pleas'd, I to your praise could bring,
In sacred Tempe, how (about the hoofe-plow'd Spring)
The Heliconian Maides, upon that hallowed ground,
Recounting heavenly Hymnes eternally are crown'd.
And as the earth doth us in her owne bowels nourish;
So every thing, that growes by us, doth thrive and flourish.
To godly vertuous men, we wisely likened are:
To be so in themselves, that do not only care;
But by a sacred power, which goodnesse doth awaite,
Doe make those vertuous too, that them associate.

By this, the wedding ends, and brake up all the Showe:
And Tames, got, borne, and bred, immediately doth flowe,
To Windsor-ward amaine (that with a wondring eye,
The Forrest might behold his awfull Emperie)
And soon becometh great, with waters wext so rank,
That with his wealth he seemes to retch his widned Bank:
Till happily attayn'd his Grandsire Chilterns grounds,
Who with his Beechen wreaths this king of Rivers crownes.
Amongst his holts and hils, as on his way he makes,
At Reading once arriv'd, cleere Kennet overtakes:
Her Lord the stately Tames, which that great flood againe,
With many signes of joy doth kindly entertaine.
Then Loddon next comes in, contributing her store;
As still we see, The much runnes ever to the more.

Set out with all this pompe, when this Emperiall Streame,
Himselfe establisht sees, amidst his watry Realme,
His much-lov'd Henly leaves, and proudly doth pursue
His Wood nymph Windsors seate, her lovely site to view.
Whose most delightful face when once the River sees,
Which shewes her selfe attir'd in tall and stately trees,

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He in such earnest love with amorous gestures wooes,
That looking still at her, his way was like to loose;
And wandring in and out so wildly seems to goe,
As headlong he himselfe into her lap would throw.

Him with the like desire the Forrest doth imbrace,
And with her presence strives her Tames asmuch to grace.
No Forrest, of them all, so fit as she doth stand.
When Princes, for their sports, her pleasures will command,
No Wood-nymph as her selfe such troupes hath ever seene,
Nor can such Quarries boast as have in Windsor beene.
Nor any ever had so many solemne dayes;
So brave assemblies viewd, nor took so rich

Breaking up of Deare brought into the Quarry.

assaies.

Then, hand in hand, her Tames the Forrest softly brings,
To that supreamest place of the great English Kings,
The Garters Royall seate, from him who did advance
That Princely Order first, our first that conquered France;
The Temple of Saint George, wheras his honored Knights,
Upon his hallowed day, observe their ancient rites:
Where Eaton is at hand to nurse that learned brood,
To keepe the Muses still neere to this Princely Flood;
That nothing there may want, to beawtifie that seate,
With every pleasure stor'd: And here my Song compleate.

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The sixteenth Song.

The Argument.

Olde Ver, neere to Saint Albans, brings
Watling to talk of auncient things;
What Verlam was before she fell,
And many more sad ruines tell.
Of the foure old Emperiall Waies,
The course they held, and too what Seas;
Of those seaven Saxon Kingdomes here,
Their sites, and how they bounded were.
Then Pure-vale vants her rich estate:
And Lea bewraies her wretched Fate.
The Muse, led on with much delight,
Delivers Londons happy site;
Showes this loose Ages leud abuse:
And for this time there staies the Muse.

The Brydall of our Tame and Princely Isis past:
And Tamesis their sonne, begot, and wexing fast,
Inviteth Crystall

The river running by Uxbridge and Colbrooke.

Colne his wealth on him to lay,
Whose beauties had intic't his Soveraine Tames to stay,
Had he not been inforc't, by his unruly traine.
For Brent, a pretty Brook, allures him on againe,
Great London to salute, whose hie-rear'd Turrets throng
To gaze upon the Flood, as he doth passe along.
Now, as the Tames is great, so most transparent Colne
Feeles, with excessive joy, her amorous bosome swolne,
That Ver of long esteem'd, a famous auncient Flood
(Upon whose aged Bank olde Verlamchester stood,
Before the Roman rule) here glorify'd of yore,
Unto her cleerer banks contributed his store;
Enlarging both her streame, and strengthening his renowne,
Where the delicious Meads her through her course doe crown.
This

The little cleer river by Saint Albans.

Ver (as I have said) Colnes tributary brook,
On Verlams ruin'd walles as sadly he doth look,
Neere Holy Albans Towne, where his rich shrine was set,
Old Watling in his way the Flood doth over-get.

314

Where after reverence done, Ver quoth the Ancient Street
Tis long since thou and I first in this place did meet.
And so it is quoth Ver, and we have liv'd to see
Things in farre better state then at this time they be:
But he that made, amend: for much their goes amisse.
Quoth Watling, gentle flood, yea so in truth it is:
And sith of this thou speakst; the very sooth to say,
Since Great Mulmutius, first, made me the noblest Way,
The soyle is altered much: the cause I pray thee showe.
The time that thou hast liv'd, hath taught thee much to knowe.
I faine would understand, why this delightfull place,
In former time that stood so hie in Natures grace
(Which bare such store of graine, and that so wondrous great,
That all the neighboring Coast was cald the

Whethamsted.

soyle of wheate)
Of later time is turn'd a hotte and hungry sand,
Which scarce repayes the seed first cast into the Land.
At which the silent brooke shrunk-in his silver head,
And fain'd as he away would instantly have fled;
Suspecting, present speech might passed griefe renew.
Whom Watling thus againe doth seriously pursue;
I pray thee be not coy, but answere my demand:
The cause of this (deer Flood) I faine would understand.

Thou saw'st when Verlam once her head aloft did beare
(Which in her cinders now lies sadly buried heere)
With Alablaster, Tuch, and Porphery adorn'd,
When (welneare) in her pride great Troynovant she scorn'd.
Thou sawest great-burthen'd Ships through these thy valleyes pass,
Where now the sharp-edg'd Sithe sheeres up the spyring grasse:
That where the ugly Seale and Porpose u'sd to play,
The Grashopper and Ant now lord it all the day:
Where now Saint Albans stands was called Holme-hurst then;
Whose sumptuous Fane we see neglected now agen.

This rich and goodly Fane which ruind thou doest see,
Quoth Ver, the motive is that thou importun'st me:
But to another thing thou cunningly doest flie,
And reason seem'st to urge of her sterilitie.
With that he fetcht a sigh, and ground his teeth in rage;
Quoth Ver even for the sin of this accursed Age.
Behold that goodly Fane, which ruind now doth stand,
To holy

Look before to the XI. Song.

Albon built, first Martyr of the Land;

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Who in the faith of Christ from Rome to Britanne came,
And dying in this place, resign'd his glorious Name.
In memory of whom, (as more then halfe Divine)
Our English Offa rear'd a rich and sumptuous shrine
And Monastary heere: which our succeding kings,
From time to time endow'd with many goodly things.
And many a Christian Knight was buried heere, before
The Norman set his foote upon this conquered shore;
And after those brave spirits in all those balefull stowres,
That with Duke

With the eldest sonne of the Conquerour, into the Holy-land.

Robert went against the Pagan powers,
And in their Countries right at Cressy those that stood,
And that at Poyters bath'd their bilbowes in French blood;
Their valiant Nephewes next at Agin-court that fought,
Whereas rebellious France upon her knees was brought:
In this religious house at some of their returns,
When nature claym'd her due, here plac't their hallowed urnes:
Which now devowring Time, in his so mighty waste,
Demolishing those walls, hath utterly defac't.
So that the earth to feele the ruinous heaps of stones,
That with the burth'nous weight now presse their sacred boanes,
Forbids this wicked brood, should by her fruits be fed;
As loathing her owne womb, that such loose children bred.
Herewith transported quite, to these exclaimes he fell:
Lives no man, that this world her grievous crimes dare tell?
Where be those noble spirits for ancient things that stood?
When in my prime of youth I was a gallant flood;
In those free golden dayes, it was the Satyres use
To taxe the guilty times, and raile upon abuse:
But soothers find the way preferment most to win;
Who serving Great mens turnes, become the bauds to sin.

When Watling in his words that tooke but small delight,
Hearing the angry Brook so cruelly to bite;
As one that faine would drive these fancies from his mind,
Quoth he, Ile tell thee things that sute thy gentler kind.
My Song is of my selfe, and my three sister Streets,
Which way each of us runne, where each his fellow meets,
Since us, his Kingly Waies, Mulmutius first began,
From Sea, againe to Sea, that through the Iland ran.
Which that in mind to keep posterity might have,
Appointing first our course, this priviledge he gave,

316

That no man might arrest, or debtors goods might seize
In any of us fowre his militarie Waies.
And though the Fosse in length exceed me many a mile,
That holds from shore to shore the length of all the Ile,
From where Rich Cornwall points, to the Iberian Seas,
Till colder Cathnes tells the scattered Orcades,
I measuring but the bredth, that is not halfe his gate;

Watling, the chiefest of the foure great Waies.

Yet, for that I am grac't with goodly Londons state,
And Tames and Severne both since in my course I crosse,
And in much greater trade; am worthier farre then Fosse.
But ô unhappie chance! through times disastrous lot,
Our other fellow Streets lie utterly forgot:
As Icning, that set out from Yarmouth in the East,
By the Iceni then being generally possest,
Was of that people first tearm'd Icning in her race,
Upon the

Not farre from Dunstable.

Chiltern here that did my course imbrace:
Into the dropping South and bearing then outright,
Upon the Solent Sea stopt on the Ile-of-Wight.

And Rickneld, forth that raught from Cambria's farther shore,
Where South-Wales now shoots forth Saint David's Promontore.
And, on his mid-way neere, did me in England meet;
Then in his oblique course the lusty stragling Street
Soone overtook the Fosse; and toward the fall of Tine,
Into the Germane Sea dissolv'd at his decline.

Here Watling would have ceast, his tale as having tolde:
But now this Flood that faine the Street in talke would hold,
Those ancient things to heare, which well old Watling knew,
With these entising words, her fairely forward drew.

Right Noble Street, quoth he, thou hast liv'd long, gone farre,
Much trafique had in peace, much travailed in warre;
And in thy larger course survay'st as sundry grounds
(Where I poore Flood am lockt within these narrower bounds,
And like my ruin'd selfe these ruins only see,
And there remains not one to pittie them or me)
On with thy former speech: I pray thee somwhat say.
For, Watling, as thou art a military Way,
Thy story of old Streets likes me so wondrous well,
That of the ancient folk I faine would heare thee tell.

With these perswasive words, smooth Ver the Watling wan:
Stroking her dusty face, when thus the Street began;

317

When once their seaven-fold Rule the Saxons came to reare,
And yet with halfe this Ile sufficed scarcely were,
Though from the Inland part the Britans they had chas't,
Then understand how heere themselves the Saxons plac't.

Where in Great Britans state foure people of her owne
Were by the severall names of their abodes well knowne
(As, in that horne which juttes into the Sea so farre,
Wherein our Devonshire now, and furthest Cornewall are,
The old Danmonii dwelt: so hard againe at hand,
The Durotriges sat on the Dorsetian Sand:
And where from Sea to Sea the Belgæ forth were let,
Even from Southhamptons shore, through Wilt and Sommerset,

For a more plaine division of the English kingdomes see to the XI. Song.

The Attrebates in Bark unto the Bank of Tames,
Betwixt the Celtick sleeve and the Sabrinian streames)
The Saxons there set down one Kingdome: which install'd,
And being West, they it their Westerne kingdom call'd.
So Eastward where by Tames the Trinobants were set,
To Trinovant their Towne, for that their name in debt,
That London now we tearme, the Saxons did possesse,
And their East kingdome call'd, as

So call'd, of the East-Saxons.

Essex doth expresse;
The greatest part thereof, and still their name doth beare;
Though Middlesex therein, and part of Hartford were;
From Colne upon the West, upon the East to

A River up on the Confines of Suff. and Essex.

Stour,
Where mighty Tames himselfe doth into Neptune pour.

As to our farthest Rise, where forth those Fore-lands leane,
Which beare their chaulky browes into the German Maine,
The Angles which arose out of the Saxon race,
Allur'd with the delights and fitnes of that place,
Where the Iceni liv'd did set their kingdome downe,
From where the wallowing Seas those queachy Washes drowne
That Ely doe in-Ile, to martyred Edmonds Ditch,
Till those Norfolcian shores vast Neptune doth inrich:
Which (farthest to the East of this divided Ile)
Th'East Angles kingdome, then, those English did instile.

And Sussex seemeth still, as with an open mouth,
Those Saxons Rule to shew that of the utmost South
The Name to them assum'd, who rigorously expeld
The Kentish Britans thence, and those rough wood-lands held
From where the goodly Tames the Surrian grounds doth sweep,
Untill the smiling Downes salute the Celtick Deep.

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Where the Dobuni dwelt, their neighbouring Cateuclani,
Cornavii more remote, and where the Coritani,
Where Dee and Mersey shoot into the Irish Sea;
(Which welneere o're this part, now called England, lay,
From Severne to the Ditch that cuts New-Market Plaine,
And from the Banks of Tames to Humber, which containe
So many goodly shires of Mersey, Mercia hight)
Their mightier Empire, there, the middle English pight.
Which farthest though it raught, yet there it did not end:
But Offa, king thereof, it after did extend
Beyond the Bank of Dee; and by a Ditch he cut
Through Wales from North to South, into wide Mercia put
Welneere the halfe thereof: and from three peoples there,
To whom three speciall parts divided justly were
(The Ordovices, now which North-Wales people be,
From Cheshire which of old divided was by Dee:
And from our Marchers now, that were Demetæ then;
And those Silures call'd, by us the South-Wales men)
Beyond the Severne, much the English Offa took,
To shut the Britans up, within a little nooke.

From whence, by Merseyes Banks, the rest a kingdome made:
Where, in the Britanes Rule (before) the Brigants sway'd;
The powerfull English there establisht were to stand:
Which, North from Humber set, they tearm'd North-humberland;
Two Kingdomes which had been, with severall thrones install'd.
Bernitia hight the one; Diera th'other call'd.
The first from Humber stretcht unto the Bank of Tine:
Which River and the Frith the other did confine.
Diera beareth through the spacious Yorkish bounds,
From Durham down along to the Lancastrian

Sea-depths neer the shores.

Sounds,
With Mersey and cleere Tine continuing to their fall,
To England-ward within the Pict's renowned Wall,
And did the greater part of

The Cymbries Land.

Cumberland containe:
With whom the Britans name for ever shall remaine;
Who there amongst the rocks and mountaines lived long,
When they Loëgria left, inforc't through powerfull wrong.
Bernitia over Tine, into Albania lay,
To where the

A river running by Edenbrough into the Sea.

Frith falls out into the German Sea.

This said, the aged Street sagd sadly on alone:
And Ver upon his course, now hasted to be gone

319

T'accompany his Colne: which as she gently glides,
Doth kindly him imbrace: whom soon this hap betides;
As Colne come on along, and chanc't to cast her eye
Upon that neighbouring Hill where Harrow stands so hie,
She Peryvale perceiv'd prankt up with wreaths of wheat,

Peryvale, or Pure-vale, yeeldeth the finest meal, of England.

And with exulting tearmes thus glorying in her seat;
Why should not I be coy, and of my Beauties nice,
Since this my goodly graine is held of greatest price?
No manchet can so well the courtly palat please,
As that made of the meale fetcht from my fertill Leaze.
Their finest of that kind, compared with my wheate,
For whitenesse of the Bread, doth look like common Cheate.
What Barly is there found, whose faire and bearded eare
Makes stouter English Ale, or stronger English Beere.
The Oate, the Beane, and Pease, with me but Pulses are;
The course and browner Rye, no more then Fitch and Tare.
What seed doth any soyle, in England bring, that I
Beyond her most increase yet cannot multiply.
Besides; my sure abode next goodly London is,
To vent my fruitfull store, that me doth never misse.
And those poore baser things, they cannot put away,
How ere I set my price, nere on my chap-men stay.

When presently the Hill, that maketh her a Vale,
With things he had in hand, did interrupt her tale,
With Hampsted being falne and Hie-gate at debate;
As one before them both, that would advance his State,
From either for his height to beare away the praise,
Besides that he alone rich Peryvale survaies.
But Hampsted pleads, himselfe in Simples to have skill,

Hampsted excellent for Simples.

And therefore by desert to be the noblest Hill;
As one, that on his worth, and knowledge doth rely
In learned Physicks use, and skilfull Surgerie;

Hampsted-hill, famous for Simples.

And challengeth, from them, the worthiest place her owne,
Since that old Watling once, o're him, to passe was knowne.

Then Hie-gate boasts his Way; which men do most frequent;
His long-continued fame; his hie and great descent;
Appointed for a gate of London to have been,
When first the mighty Brute, that City did begin.
And that he is the Hill, next Enfield which hath place,
A Forrest for her pride, though titled but a Chase.

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Her Purlewes, and her Parks, her circuit full as large,
As some (perhaps) whose state requires a greater charge.
Whose

High woody Banks.

Holts that view the East, do wistly stand to look
Upon the winding course of Lee's delightfull Brook.
Where Mimer comming in, invites her Sister Beane,
Amongst the chalky Banks t'increase their Mistresse traine;
Whom by the dainty hand, obsequiously they lead
(By Hartford gliding on, through many a pleasant Mead.
And comming in hir course, to crosse the common Fare,
For kindnes she doth kisse that hospitable Ware.)
Yet scarsely comfort Lee (alasse!) so woe begonne,
Complaining in her course, thus to her selfe alone;
How should my beauty now give Waltham such delight,
Or I poore silly Brook take pleasure in her sight?
Antiquity (for that it stands so far from view,
And would her doating dreames should be believ'd for true)
Dare lowdly lie for Colne, that somtimes Ships did passe,
To Verlam by her Streame, when Verlam famous was;
But, by these later times, suspected but to faine,
She Planks and Anchors shews, her errour to maintaine;
Which were, indeede, of Boats, for pleasure there to rowe
Upon her (then a Lake) the Roman Pompe to showe,
When Rome, her forces here did every yeere supply,
And at old Verlam kept a warlike Colony.
But I distressed Lee, whose course doth plainely tell,
That what of Colne is said, of me none could refell,
Whom

See to the XII. Song.

Alfred but too wise (poore River) I may say
(When he the cruell Danes, did cunningly betray,
Which Hartford then besieg'd, whose Navy there abode,
And on my spacious brest, before the Castle road)
By vantage of my soyle, he did divide my Streame;
That they might ne're returne to Neptunes watry Realme.
And, since, distressed Lee I have been left forlorne,
A by-word to each Brook, and to the World a scorne.

When Sturt, a Nymph of hers (whose faith she oft had prov'd,
And whom, of all her traine, Lee most intirely lov'd)
Least so excessive greefe, her Mistresse might invade,
Thus (by faire gentle speech) to patience doth perswade:

Though you be not so great to others as before,
Yet not a jot for that dislike your selfe the more.

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Your case is not alone, nor is (at all) so strange;
Sith every thing on earth subjects it selfe to change.
Where rivers sometime ran, is firme and certaine ground:
And where before were Hills, now standing Lakes are found.
And that which most you urge, your beauty to dispoile,
Doth recompence your Bank, with quantitie of soyle,
Beset with ranks of Swans; that, in their wonted pride,
Do prune their snowy plumes upon your pleasant side.
And Waltham wooes you still, and smiles with wonted cheere:
And Tames as at the first, so still doth hold you deer.

To much beloved Lee, this scarcely Sturt had spoke,
But goodly Londons sight their further purpose broke:
When Tames his either Banks, adorn'd with buildings faire,
The City to salute doth bid the Muse prepare.
Whose Turrets, Fanes, and Spyres, when wistly she beholds,
Her wonder at the site, thus strangely she unfolds:
At thy great Builders wit, who's he but wonder may?
Nay: of his wisedom, thus, ensuing times shall say;
O more then mortall man, that did this Towne begin!
Whose knowledge found the plot, so fit to set it in.
What God, or heavenly power was harbourd in thy breast,
From whom with such successe thy labours should be blest?
Built on a rising Bank, within a Vale to stand,

The goodly situation of London.

And for thy healthfull soyle, chose gravell mixt with sand.
And where faire Tames his course into a Crescent casts
(That, forced by his Tydes, as still by her he hasts,
He might his surging waves into her bosome send)
Because too farre in length, his Towne should not extend.

And to the North and South, upon an equall reach,
Two Hils their even Banks do somewhat seeme to stretch,
Those

The North & South winds.

two extreamer Winds from hurting it to let;
And only levell lies, upon the Rise and Set.
Of all this goodly Ile, where breathes most cheerefull aire
And every way there-to the wayes most smooth and faire;
As in the fittest place, by man that could be thought,
To which by Land, or Sea, provision might be brought.
And such a Road for Ships scarce all the world commands,
As is the goodly Tames, neer where Brute's City stands.
Nor any Haven lies to which is more resort,
Commodities to bring, as also to transport:

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Our Kingdome that enricht (through which we flourisht long)
E're idle Gentry up in such aboundance sprong.
Now pestring all this Ile: whose disproportion drawes
The publique wealth so drie, and only is the cause
Our gold goes out so fast, for foolish foraine things,
Which upstart Gentry still into our Country brings;
Who their insatiate pride seek chiefly to maintaine
By that, which only serves to uses vile and vaine:
Which our plaine Fathers earst would have accounted sinne,
Before the costly Coach, and silken stock came in;

Tobacco.

Before that Indian weed so strongly was imbrac't;
Wherin, such mighty summes we prodigally waste;
That Merchants long train'd up in Gayn's deceitfull schoole,
And subtly having learn'd to sooth the humorous foole,
Present their painted toyes unto this frantique gull,
Disparaging our Tinne, our Leather, Corne, and Wooll;
When Forrainers, with ours them warmly cloath and feed,
Transporting trash to us, of which we nere had need.

But whilst the angry Muse, thus on the Time exclames,
Sith every thing therin consisteth in extreames;
Lest she inforc't with wrongs, her limits should transcend,
Here of this present Song she briefly makes an end.

329

The seventeenth Song.

The Argument.

To Medway, Tames a suter goes;
But fancies Mole, as forth he flowes.
Her Mother, Homesdale, holds her in:
She digs through Earth, the Tames to win.
Great Tames, as King of Rivers, sings
The Catalogue of th'English Kings.
Thence the light Muse, to th'Southward soares,
The Surrian and Sussexian shores;
The Forrests and the Downes survaies,
With Rillets running to those Seas;
This Song of hers then cutteth short,
For things to come, of much import.

At length it came to passe, that Isis and her Tame
Of Medway understood, a Nymph of wondrous fame;
And much desirous were, their princely Tames shuld prove
If (as a wooer) he could win her Maiden-love;
That of so great descent, and of so large a Dower,
Might well-allie their House, and much increase his power:
And striving to preferre their Sonne, the best they may,
Set forth the lusty Flood, in rich and brave array,
Bankt with imbrodered Meads, of sundry sutes of flowres,
His brest adorn'd with Swans, oft washt with silver showres:
A traine of gallant Floods, at such a costly rate
As might beseeme their care, and fitting his estate.

Attended and attyr'd magnificently thus,
They send him to the Court of great Oceanus,
The Worlds huge wealth to see; yet with a full intent,
To wooe the lovely Nymph, faire Medway, as he went.
Who to his Dame and Sire, his duty scarce had done,
And whil'st they sadly wept at parting of their Sonne,
See what the Tames befell, when t'was suspected least.

As still his goodly traine yet every houre increast,
And from the Surrian shores cleere Wey came down to meet
His Greatnes, whom the Tames so gratiously doth greet,

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That with the

Comming by Fernham, so called of Ferne there growing.

Fearne-crown'd Flood he Minion-like doth play:
Yet is not this the Brook, entiseth him to stay.
But as they thus, in pompe, came sporting on the shole,
Gainst Hampton-Court he meets the soft and gentle Mole.
Whose eyes so pierc't his breast, that seeming to foreslowe
The way which he so long, intended was to go,
With trifling up and down, he wandreth here and there;
And that he in her sight, transparent might appeare,
Applyes himselfe to Fords, and setteth his delight
On that which most might make him gratious in her sight.

Then Isis and the Tame from their conjoyned bed,
Desirous still to learne how Tames their son had sped
(For greatly they had hop't, his time had so been spent,
That he ere this had won the goodly heyre of Kent)
And sending to enquire, had newes return'd againe
(By such as they imploy'd, on purpose in his traine)
How this their only heyre, the Iles emperiall Flood,
Had loytered thus in love, neglectfull of his good.

No marvaile (at the newes) though

Isis.

Ouse and Tame were sad,
More comfort of their sonne expecting to have had.
Nor blame them, in their looks much sorrow though they show'd:
Who fearing least he might thus meanely be bestow'd,
And knowing danger still increased by delay,
Employ their utmost power, to hasten him away.
But Tames would hardly on: oft turning back to show,
From his much loved Mole how loth he was to go.

The mother of the Mole, old

A very woody Vale in Surry.

Homesdale, likewise beares
Th'affection of her childe, as ill as they do theirs:
Who nobly though deriv'd, yet could have been content,
T'have matcht her with a Flood, of farre more mean descent.
But Mole respects her words, as vaine and idle dreames,
Compar'd with that high joy, to be belov'd of Tames:
And head-long holds her course, his company to win.
But, Homesdale raised Hills, to keep the straggler in;
That of her daughters stay she need no more to doubt:
(Yet never was there help, but love could finde it out.)
Mole digs her selfe a Path, by working day and night
(According to her name, to shew her nature right)
And underneath the Earth, for three miles space doth creep:
Till gotten out of sight, quite from her mothers keep,

331

Her foreintended course the wanton Nymph doth run;
As longing to imbrace old Tame and Isis son.

When Tames now understood, what paines the Mole did take,
How farre the loving Nymph adventur'd for his sake;
Although with Medway matcht, yet never could remove
The often quickning sparks of his more ancient love.
So that it comes to passe, when by great Natures guide
The Ocean doth returne, and thrusteth-in the Tide;

Tames ebbes & flowes beyond Richmond.

Up tow'rds the place, where first his much-lov'd Mole was seen,
He ever since doth flow, beyond delightfull Sheene.

Then Wandal commeth in, the Moles beloved mate,
So amiable, faire, so pure, so delicate,
So plump, so full, so fresh, her eyes so wondrous cleer:
And first unto her Lord, at Wandsworth doth appeare,
That in the goodly Court, of their great soveraigne Tames,
There might no other speech be had amongst the Streames,
But only of this Nymph, sweet Wandal, what she wore;
Of her complection, grace, and how her selfe she bore.

But now this mighty Flood, upon his voiage prest
(That found how with his strength, his beauties still increast,
From where, brave Windsor stood on tip-toe to behold
The faire and goodly Tames, so farre as ere he could,
With Kingly houses Crown'd, of more then earthly pride,
Upon his either Banks, as he along doth glide)
With wonderfull delight, doth his long course pursue,
Where Otlands, Hampton Court, and Richmond he doth view,
Then Westminster the next great Tames doth entertaine;
That vaunts her Palace large, and her most sumptuous Fane:
The Lands tribunall seate that challengeth for hers,
The crowning of our Kings, their famous sepulchers.
Then goes he on along by that more beautious Strand,
Expressing both the wealth and bravery of the Land.
(So many sumptuous Bowres, within so little space,
The All-beholding Sun scarse sees in all his race.)
And on by London leads, which like a Crescent lies,

London lying like a halfe Moon.

Whose windowes seem to mock the Star-befreckled skies;
Besides her rising Spyres, so thick themselves that show,
As doe the bristling reeds, within his Banks that growe.
There sees his crouded Wharfes, and people-pestred shores,
His Bosome over-spread, with shoales of labouring ores:

332

London-bridge the Crowne of Tames.

With that most costly Bridge, that doth him most renowne,
By which he cleerely puts all other Rivers downe.

Thus furnished with all that appertain'd to State,
Desired by the Floods (his Greatnes which awayt)
That as the rest before, so somewhat he would sing,
Both worthy of their praise, and of himselfe their King;
A Catalogue of those, the Scepter heer that swayd,
The Princely Tames recites, and thus his Song he laid;

As Bastard William first, by Conquest hither came,
And brought the Norman Rule, upon the English name:
So with a tedious warre, and almost endlesse toyles,
Throughout his troubled raigne, here held his hard-got spoyles.
Deceasing at the last, through his unsetled State,
Left (with his ill-got Crown) unnaturall debate.
For, dying at his home, his eldest sonne abroad
(Who, in the Holy-warre, his person then bestow'd)
His second Rufus next usurpt the wronged raigne:
And by a fatall dart, in his New Forrest slaine,
Whilst in his proper right religious Robert slept,
Through craft into the Throne, the younger Beau-cleark crept.
From whom his Scepter, then, whil'st Robert strove to wrest,
The other (of his power that amply was possest)
With him in battell joyn'd: and, in that dreadfull day
(Where Fortune shew'd her selfe all humane power to sway)
Duke Robert went to wrack; and taken in the flight,
Was by that cruell King deprived of his sight,
And in close prison put; where miserably he dy'd:

But Henries whole intent was by just heaven deny'd.
For, as of light, and life, he that sad Lord bereft;
So his, to whom the Land, he purpos'd to have left,
The

See the last note to the IV. Song.

raging Seas devowr'd, as hitherward they saild.

When, in this Line direct, the Conquerors issue faild,
Twixt Henries Daughter Mauld, the Almayne Emperours Bride
(Which after to the Earle of Anjou was affi'd)
And Stephen Earle of Bloys, the Conquerors Sisters son,
A fierce and cruell war immediately begun;
Who with their severall powers, arrived here from France,
By force of hostile Armes, their Titles to advance.
But, Stephen, what by coyne, and what by forraine strength,
Through Worlds of danger gain'd the glorious goale at length.

333

But, left without an heyre, the Empresse issue next,
No Title else on foote; upon so faire pretext,
The second Henry soon upon the Throne was set,
(Which Mauld to Jeffrey bare) the first Plantaginet.
Who held strong wars with Wales, that his subjection spurn'd:
Which oftentimes he beat; and, beaten oft, return'd:
With his sterne Children vext: who (whil'st he strove t'advance
His right within this Ile) rays'd war on him in France.
With his hie fame in fight, what colde brest was not fir'd?
Through all the Westerne world, for wisedome most admyr'd.

Then Richard got the Rule, his most renowned sonne,
Whose courage, him the name of Cure De Lion won.
With those first earthly Gods, had this brave Prince been borne,
His daring hand had from Alcides shoulders torne
The Nemean Lyon's hyde: who in the Holy-land
So dreadfull was, as though from Jove and Neptunes hand,
The thundring three-forkt Fire, and Trident he had reft,
And him to rule their charge they only then had left.
Him John againe succeeds; who, having put-away
Yong Arthur (Richards sonne) the Scepter took to sway.
Who, of the common-wealth first havock having made,
His sacrilegious hands upon the Churches laid,
In cruelty and rape continuing out his raigne;
That his outrageous lust and courses to restraine,
The Baronage were forc't defensive Armes to raise,
Their daughters to redeeme, that he by force would seise.
Which the first Civill warre in England here begun.
And for his sake such hate his sonne young Henry won,
That to depose their Prince, th'revengefull people thought;
And from the Line of France yong Lewes to have brought,
To take on him our Rule: but, Henry got the Throne,
By his more forcefull friends: who, wise and puissant growne,
The generall Charter seiz'd: that into slavery drew
The freest borne English blood. Of which such discord grew,
And in the Barons breasts so rough combustions rais'd,
With much expence of blood as long was not appeaz'd,
By strong and tedious gusts held up on either side,
Betwixt the Prince and Peeres, with equall power and pride.
He knew the worst of warre, matcht with the Barons strong;
Yet victor liv'd, and raign'd both happily and long.

334

This long-liv'd Prince expyr'd: the next succeeded; he,
Of us, that for a God might well related be.
Our Long-shanks, Scotlands scourge: who to the Orcads raught
His Scepter, and with him from wilde Albania brought
The reliques of her Crowne (by him first placed here)
The seat on which her Kings inaugurated were.
He tam'd the desperate Welsh, that out so long had stood,
And made them take

See before to the IX. Song.

a Prince, sprong of the English blood.
This Ile, from Sea to Sea, he generally controld,
And made the other parts of England both to holde.

This Edward, first of ours, a second then ensues;
Who both his Name and Birth, by loosenes, did abuse:
Faire Ganimeds and Fools who rais'd to Princely places;
And chose not men for wit, but only for their faces.
In parasites and knaves, as he repos'd his trust,
Who sooth'd him in his wayes apparantly unjust;
For that preposterous sinne wherein he did offend,
In his posteriour parts had his preposterous end.

A third then, of that name, amends for this did make:
Who from his idle sire seem'd nought at all to take.
But as his Grand-sire did his Empires verge advance:
So led he forth his powers, into the heart of France.
And fastning on that Right, he by his mother had,
Against the Salique law, which utterly forbad
Their women to enherite; to propagate his Cause,
At Cressey with his sword first cancelled those Lawes:
Then like a furious storme, through troubled France he ran;
And by the hopefull hand of brave Black-Edward wan
Proud Poytiers, where King John he valiantly subdew'd,
The miserable French and there in mammocks hew'd;
Then with his battering Rams made Earth-quakes in their Towres,
Till trampled in the dust her selfe she yeelded ours.

As mighty Edwards heyre, to a second Richard then
(Son to that famous Prince Black Edward, Man of Men,
Untimely that before his conquering father dy'd)
Too soon the Kingdom fell: who his vaine youth apply'd
To wantonnesse and spoyle, and did to favour drawe
Unworthy ignorant sots, with whose dull eyes he sawe:
Who plac't their like in Court, and made them great in State
(Which wise and vertuous men, beyond all plagues, might hate.)

335

To whom he blindly gave: who blindly spent againe,
And oft opprest his Land, their riot to maintaine.
He hated his Allyes, and the deserving sterv'd;
His Minions and his will, the Gods he only serv'd:
And finally, depos'd, as he was ever friend
To Rybaulds, so againe by Villaines had his end.

Henry the Sonne of Gaunt, supplanting Richard, then
Ascended to the Throne: when discontented men,
Desirous first of change, which to that height him brought,
Deceived of their ends, into his actions sought;
And, as they set him up, assay'd to pluck him down:
From whom he hardly held his ill-atchieved Crown;
That, Treasons to suppresse which oft he did disclose,
And raysing publike Armes, against his powerfull foes,
His usurpation still being troubled to maintaine,
His short disquiet dayes scarse raught a peacefull raigne.

A fift succeeds the fourth: but how his father got
The Crown, by right or wrong, the Sonne respecteth not.
Nor further hopes for that ere leaveth to pursue;
But doth his claime to France, courageously renew;
Upon her wealthy shores un-lades his warlike fraught;
And, shewing us the fields where our brave fathers fought,
First drew his sun-bright Sword, reflecting such a light,
As put sad guilty France, into so great a fright,
That her pale Genius sank; which trembling seem'd to stand,
When first he set his foot on her rebellious Land.
That all his Grand-sires deeds did over, and thereto
Those hie atcheevements adde the former could not doe:
At Agincourts proud fight, that quite put Poytiers down;
Of all, that time who liv'd, the King of most renowne.
Whose too untimely end, the Fates too soon did hast:
Whose nine yeares noble acts, nine Worlds deserve to last.

A sixt in name succeeds, borne great, the mighty sonne
Of him, in Englands right that spacious France had wonne.
Who coming young to raigne, protected by the Peeres
Untill his Non-age out: and growne to riper yeeres,
Prov'd upright, soft, and meeke, in no wise loving warre;
But fitter for a Cowle, then for a Crowne by farre.
Whose mildnes over-much, did his destruction bring:
A wondrous godly man, but not so good a King.

336

Like whom yet never man tri'd fortunes change so oft;
So many times throwne-down, so many times aloft
(When with the utmost power, their friends could them afford,
The Yorkists, put their right upon the dint of sword)
As still he lost and wonne, in that long bloody warre,
From those two Factions stil'd, of York and Lancaster.
But by his foes inforc't to yeeld him to their power,
His wretched raigne and life, both ended in the Tower.

Of th'Edwards name the fourth put on the Regall Wreath:
Whom furious bloody warre (that seem'd a while to breath)
Not utterly forsooke. For, Henries Queene and heyre
(Their once possessed raigne still seeking to repaire)
Put forward with their friends, their title to maintaine.
Whose blood did Barnets Streets and Teuksburyes distaine,
Till no man left to stirre. The Title then at rest,
The old Lancastrian Line, being utterly supprest,
Himselfe the wanton King to amourous pleasures gave;
Yet jealous of his right descended to his Grave.

His Sonne an infant left: who had he liv'd to raigne,
Edward the fift had been. But justly see againe,
As he a King and Prince before had caus'd to die
(The father in the Tower, the sonne at Teuksbury)
So were his children yong, being left to be protected
By Richard; who nor God, nor humane lawes respected.
This Viper, this most vile devowrer of his kinde
(Whom his ambitious ends had strooke so grosly blind)
From their deare mothers lap, them seising for a pray
(Himselfe in right the next, could they be made away)
Most wrongfully usurpt, and them in prison kept;
Whom cruelly at last he smothered as they slept.
As his unnaturall hands, were in their blood imbru'd:
So (guilty in himselfe) with murther he pursu'd
Such, on his haynous acts as lookt not faire and right;
Yea, such as were not his expresly, and had might
T'oppose him in his course; till (as a monster loth'd,
The man, to hell and death himselfe that had betroth'd)
They brought another in, to thrust that Tyrant down;
In battell who at last resign'd both life and Crown.

A seaventh Henry, then, th'emperiall seate attain'd,
In banishment who long in Britanne had remain'd,

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What time the Yorkists sought his life to have bereft,
Of the Lancastrian House then only being left
(Deriv'd from John of Gaunt) whom Richmond did beget,
Upon a daughter borne to John of Sommerset.
Elizabeth of York this Noble Prince affi'd,
To make his Title strong, thereby on either side.
And grafting of the White and Red Rose firme together,
Was first, that to the Throne advanc't the name of Tether.
In Bosworths fatall Field, who having Richard slaine,
Then in that prosperous peace of his successfull raigne,
Of all that ever rul'd, was most precise in State,
And in his life and death a King most fortunate.

This Seaventh, that was of ours, the Eighth succeeds in name:
Who by Prince Arthurs death (his elder Brother) came
Unto a Land with wealth aboundantly that flow'd:
Aboundantly againe, so he the same bestow'd,
In Banquets, Mask's, and Tilts, all pleasures prone to try,
Besides his secret scapes who lov'd Polygamy.
The Abbayes he supprest; a thousand lingring yeere,
Which with revenewes large the World had sought to reare.
And through his awfull might, for temporall ends did save,
To other uses earst what frank devotion gave;
And here the papall power, first utterly deny'd,
Defender of the Faith, that was instil'd and dy'd.

His sonne the Empire had, our Edward sixt that made;
Untimely as he sprang, untimely who did fade.
A Protestant being bred; and in his infant raigne,
Th'religion then receiv'd, here stoutly did maintaine:
But e're he raught to man, from his sad people reft,
His Scepter he againe unto his Sisters left.

Of which the eldest of two, Queen Mary, mounts the Chaire:
The ruin'd Roman State who striving to repaire,
With persecuting hands the Protestants pursew'd;
Whose Martyred ashes oft the wondring Streets bestrew'd.
She matcht her selfe with Spaine, and brought King Philip hither,
Which with an equall hand, the Scepter sway'd togither.
But issuless she dy'd; and under six yeeres raigne,
To her wise Sister gave the Kingdome up againe.

Elizabeth, the next, this falling Scepter hent;
Digressing from her Sex, with Man-like government

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This Iland kept in awe, and did her power extend
Afflicted France to ayde, her owne as to defend;
Against th'Iberian rule, the Flemmings sure defence:
Rude Ireland's deadly scourge; who sent her Navies hence
Unto the either Inde, and to that shore so greene,
Virginia which we call, of her a Virgin Queen:
In Portugall gainst Spaine, her English ensignes spred;
Took Cales, when from her ayde the brav'd Iberia fled.
Most flourishing in State: that, all our Kings among,
Scarse any rul'd so well: but

Henry III. and Edward III. the one raigned 56. the other. 50.

two, that raign'd so long.

Here suddainly he staid: and with his kingly Song,
Whil'st yet on every side the City loudly rong,
He with the Eddy turn'd, a space to look about:
The Tide, retiring soon, did strongly thrust him out.
And soon the pliant Muse, doth her brave wing advance,
Tow'rds those Sea-bordring shores of ours, that point at France;
The harder Surrian Heath, and the Sussexian Downe.
Which with so great increase though Nature do not crowne,
As many other Shires, of this inviron'd Ile:
Yet on the

The Sun in Aries.

Weathers head, when as the sunne doth smile,
Nurst by the Southern Winds, that soft and gently blowe,
Here doth the lusty sap as soon begin to flowe;
The Earth as soon puts on her gaudy Summers sute;
The Woods as soon in green, and orchards great with fruit.

To Sea-ward, from the seat where first our Song begun,
Exhaled to the South by the ascending sunne,
Fower stately Wood Nymphs stand on the Sussexian ground,
Great

A Forrest, containing most part of Kent, Sussex, and Surrey.

Andredsweld's sometime: who, when she did abound,
In circuit and in growth, all other quite supprest:
But in her wane of pride, as she in strength decreast,
Her Nymphs assum'd them names, each one to her delight.
As, Water-downe, so call'd of her depressed site:
And Ash-Downe, of those Trees that most in her do growe,
Set higher to the Downes, as th'other standeth lowe.
Saint Leonards, of the seat by which she next is plac't,
And Whord that with the like delighteth to be grac't.
These Forrests as I say, the daughters of the Weald
(That in their heavie breasts, had long their greefs conceal'd)
Foreseeing, their decay each howre so fast came on,
Under the axes stroak, fetcht many a grievous grone,

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When as the anviles weight, and hammers dreadfull sound,
Even rent the hollow Woods, and shook the queachy ground.
So that the trembling Nymphs, opprest through gastly feare,
Ran madding to the Downes, with loose dishev'ld hayre.
The Sylvans that about the neighbouring woods did dwell,
Both in the tufty Frith and in the mossy Fell,
Forsook their gloomy Bowres, and wandred farre abroad,
Expeld their quiet seats, and place of their abode,
When labouring carts they saw to hold their dayly trade,
Where they in summer wont to sport them in the shade.
Could we, say they, suppose, that any would us cherish,
Which suffer (every day) the holiest things to perish?
Or to our daily want to minister supply?
These yron times breed none, that minde posteritie.
Tis but in vaine to tell, what we before have been,
Or changes of the world, that we in time have seen;
When, not devising how to spend our wealth with waste,
We to the savage swine, let fall our larding mast.
But now, alas, our selves we have not to sustaine,
Nor can our tops suffice to shield our Roots from raine.
Joves Oke, the warlike Ash, veyn'd Elme, the softer Beech,
Short Hazell, Maple plaine, light Aspe, the bending Wych,
Tough Holly, and smooth Birch, must altogether burne:
What should the Builder serve, supplies the Forgers turne;
When under publike good, base private gaine takes holde,
And we poore woefull Woods, to ruine lastly solde.

This uttered they with griefe: and more they would have spoke,
But that the envious Downes, int'open laughter broke;
As joying in those wants, which Nature them had given,
Sith to as great distresse the Forrests should be driven.
Like him that long time hath anothers state envy'd,
And sees a following Ebbe, unto his former Tide;
The more he is deprest, and bruiz'd with fortunes might,
The larger Reane his foe doth give to his despight:
So did the envious Downes; but that againe the Floods
(Their fountaines that derive, from those unpittied Woods,
And so much grace thy Downes, as through their Dales they creep,
Their glories to convay unto the Celtick deep)
It very hardly tooke, much murmuring at their pride.
Cleere Lavant, that doth keep the Southamptonian side

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(Dividing it well-neere from the Sussexian lands
That Selsey doth survay, and Solents troubled sands)
To Chichester their wrongs impatiently doth tell:
And Arun (which doth name the beautious Arundell)
As on her course she came, it to her Forrest tolde.
Which, nettled with the newes, had not the power to hold:
But breaking into rage, wisht Tempests them might rive;
And on their barren scalps, still flint and chauke might thrive,
The brave and nobler Woods which basely thus upbraid.
And Adur comming on, to Shoreham softly said,
The Downes did very ill, poore Woods so to debase.
But now, the Ouse, a Nymph of very scornefull grace,
So touchy waxt therewith, and was so squeamish growne,
That her old name she scorn'd should publiquely be knowne.
Whose haven out of mind when as it almost grew,

New-Haven.

The lately passed times denominate, the New.
So Cucmer with the rest put to her utmost might:
As Ashburne undertakes to doe the Forrests right
(At Pemsey, where she powres her soft and gentler Flood)
And Asten once distain'd with native English blood:
(Whose Soyle, when yet but wet with any little raine,
Doth blush; as put in mind of those there sadly slaine,
When Hastings harbour gave unto the Norman powers,
Whose name and honors now are denizend for ours)
That boding ominous Brook, it through the Forrests rung:
Which ecchoing it againe the mighty Weald along,
Great stirre was like to grow; but that the Muse did charme
Their furies, and her selfe for nobler things did arme.

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The eighteenth Song.

The Argument.

The Rother through the Weald doth rove,
Till he with Oxney fall in love:
Rumney, would with her wealth beguile,
And winne the River from the Ile.
Medway, with her attending Streames,
Goes forth to meet her Lord great Tames:
And where in bredth she her disperses,
Our Famous Captaines she rehearses,
With many of their valiant deeds.
Then with Kents praise the Muse proceeds.
And telles when Albion o're Sea road,
How he his daughter-Iles bestow'd;
And how grim Goodwin fomes and frets:
Where to this Song, an end she sets.

Our Argas scarcely yet delivered of her sonne,
When as the River downe, through Andredsweald dooth run:
Nor can the aged Hill have comfort of her childe.
For, living in the Woods, her Rother waxed wilde;
His Banks with aged Okes, and Bushes over-growne,
That from the Sylvans kinde, he hardly could be knowne:
Yea, many a time the Nymphes, which hapt this Flood to see,
Fled from him, whom they sure a Satyre thought to be;
As Satyre-like he held all pleasures in disdaine,
And would not once vouchsafe, to look upon a Plaine;
Till chancing in his course to view a goodly plot,
Which Albion in his youth, upon a Sea Nymph got,
For Oxney's love he pines: who being wildly chaste,
And never woo'd before, was coy to be imbrac't.
But, what obdurate heart, was ever so perverse,
Whom yet a lovers plaints, with patience, could not pearce?
For, in this conflict she being lastly overthrowne,
In-Iled in his Armes, he clips her for his owne.
Who being grosse and black, she lik't the River well.

Of Rothers happy match, when Rumney Marsh heard tell,

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Whyl'st in his youthfull course himselfe he doth apply,
And falleth in her sight into the Sea at Rye,
She thinketh with her selfe, how she a way might finde

A description of Rumney Marsh.

To put the homely Ile quite out of Rothers minde;
Appearing to the Flood, most bravely like a Queene,
Clad (all) from head to foot, in gaudy Summers green;
Her mantle richly wrought, with sundry flowers and weeds;
Her moystfull temples bound, with wreaths of quivering reeds:
Which loosely flowing downe, upon her lusty thighes,
Most strongly seeme to tempt the Rivers amorous eyes.
And on her loynes a frock, with many a swelling pleate,
Embost with well-spread Horse, large Sheepe, and full-fed Neate.
Some wallowing in the grasse, there lie a while to batten;
Some sent away to kill; some thither brought to fatten;
With Villages amongst, oft powthred heere and there;
And (that the same more like to

The naturall expressing of the surface of a Country in Painting.

Landskip should appeare)
With Lakes and lesser Foards, to mitigate the heate
(In Summer when the Fly doth prick the gadding Neate,
Forc't from the Brakes, where late they brouz'd the velvet buds)
In which, they lick their Hides, and chew their savoury Cuds.

Of these her amourous toyes, when Oxney came to knowe,
Suspecting least in time her rivall she might growe,
Th'allu'rments of the Marsh, the jealous Ile do move,
That to a constant course, she thus perswades her Love:
With Rumney, though for dower I stand in no degree;
In this, to be belov'd yet liker farre then she:
Though I be browne, in me there doth no favour lack.
The foule is said deform'd: and she, extreamely black.
And though her rich attire, so curious be and rare,
From her there yet proceeds unwholsome putrid aire:
Where my complexion more sutes with the higher ground,
Upon the lusty Weald, where strength doth still abound.
The Wood-gods I refus'd, that su'd to me for grace,
Me in thy watry Armes, thee suffring to imbrace;
Where, to great Neptune she may one day be a pray:
The Sea-gods in her lap lie wallowing every day.
And what, though of her strength she seem to make no doubt?
Yet put unto the proofe shee'll hardly hold him out.

With this perswasive speech which Oxney lately us'd,
With strange and sundry doubts, whilst Rother stood confus'd,

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Old

See to the XVII. Song.

Andredsweald at length doth take her time to tell
The changes of the world, that since her youth befell,
When yet upon her soyle, scarce humane foote had trode;
A place where only then, the Sylvans made abode.
Where, feareless of the Hunt, the Hart securely stood,
And every where walkt free, a Burgesse of the Wood;
Untill those Danish routs, whom hunger-starv'd at home,
(Like Woolves pursuing prey) about the world did roame.
And stemming the rude streame dividing us from France,
Into the spacious mouth of Rother fell (by chance)
That Lymen then was nam'd, when (with most irksome care)
The heavy Danish yoke, the servile English bare.
And when at last she found, there was no way to leave
Those, whom she had at first been forced to receive;
And by her great resort, she was through very need,
Constrained to provide her peopled Townes to feed.
She learn'd the churlish axe and twybill to prepare,
To steele the coulters edge, and sharpe the furrowing share:
And more industrious still, and only hating sloth,
A huswife she became, most skild in making cloth.

Kentish Cloth.

That now the Draper comes from London every yeare,
And of the Kentish sorts, make his provision there.
Whose skirts (tis said) at first that fiftie furlongs went,
Have lost their ancient bounds, now

The Weald of Kent.

limited in Kent.
Which strongly to approve, she Medway forth did bring,
From Sussex who (tis knowne) receives her silver Spring.
Who towar'ds the lordly Tames, as she along doth straine,
Where Teise, cleere Beule, and Len, beare up her limber traine
As she removes in state: so for her more renowne,
Her only name she leaves, t'her only

Maidstone .i. Medway's towne.

christned Towne;
And Rochester doth reach, in entring to the Bowre
Of that most matchless Tames, her princely Paramoure.
Whose bosome doth so please her Soveraigne (with her pride)
Whereas the royall Fleet continually doth ride,
That where she told her Tames, she did intend to sing
What to the English Name immortall praise should bring;
To grace his goodly Queen, Tames presently proclaimes,
That all the Kentish Floods, resigning him their names,
Should presently repaire unto his mighty Hall,
And by the posting Tides, towards London sends to call

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Cleere Ravensburne (though small, remembred them among)
At Detford entring. Whence as down she comes along,
She Darent thither warnes: who calles her sister Cray,
Which hasten to the Court with all the speed they may.
And but that Medway then of Tames obtain'd such grace,
Except her country Nymphs, that none should be in place,
More Rivers from each part, had instantly been there,
Then at their marriage, first, by

In the Faiery Queene.

Spenser numbred were.

This Medway still had nurst those navies in her Road,
Our Armies that had oft to conquest borne abroad;
And not a man of ours, for Armes hath famous been,
Whom she not going out, or comming in hath seen:
Or by some passing Ship, hath newes to her been brought,
What brave exploits they did; as where, and how, they fought.
Wherefore, for audience now, she to th'assembly calls,
The Captains to recite when seriously she fals.

Of noble warriors now, saith she, shall be my Song;
Of those renowned spirits, that from the Conquest sprong,
Of th'English Norman blood: which, matchless for their might,
Have with their flaming swords, in many a dreadfull fight,
Illustrated this Ile, and bore her fame so farre;
Our Heroes, which the first wanne, in that Holy warre,
Such feare from every foe, and made the East more red,
With splendor of their Armes, then when from Tithons bed
The blushing Dawne doth break; towards which our fame begon,
By Robert (Curt-hose call'd) the Conquerours eldest sonne,

Peter, the Hermit.

Who with great Godfrey and that holy Hermit went
The Sepulcher to free, with most devout intent.

And to that title which the Norman William got,
When in our Conquest heere, he strove t'include the Scot,
The Generall of our power, that stout and warlike Earle,
Who English being borne, was stil'd of Aubemerle;
Those Lacyes then no lesse courageous, which had there
The leading of the day, all, brave Commanders were.

Sir Walter Especk, matcht with Peverell, which as farre
Adventur'd for our fame: who in that Bishops warre,
Immortall honour got to Stephens troubled raigne:
That day ten thousand Scots upon the field were slaine.

The Earle of Strigule then our Strong-bowe, first that wonne
Wilde Ireland with the sword (which, to the glorious sunne,

367

Lifts up his nobler name) amongst the rest may stand.

In Cure de Lyon's charge unto the Holy-land,
Our Earle of Lester, next, to rank with them we bring:
And Turnham, he that took th'impost'rous Ciprian King.
Strong Tuchet chose to weeld the English standard there;
Poole, Gourney, Nevill, Gray, Lyle, Ferres, Mortimer:
And more, for want of pens whose deeds not brought to light,
It grieves my zealous soule, I can not do them right.

The noble Penbrooke then, who Strong-bowe did succeed,
Like his brave Grand-sire, made th'revolting Irish bleed,
When yeelding oft, they oft their due subjection broke;
And when the Britans scorn'd, to beare the English yoke,
Lewellin Prince of Wales in Battell overthrewe,
Nine thousand valiant Welsh and either took or slew.
Earle Richard, his brave sonne, of Strong-bowes matchless straine,
As he a Marshall was, did in himselfe retaine
The nature of that word, being Martiall, like his name:
Who, as his valiant Sire, the Irish oft did tame.

With him we may compare Marisco (King of Men)
That Lord chiefe Justice was of Ireland, whereas then
Those two brave Burrowes, John, and Richard, had their place,
Which through the bloodied Bogs, those Irish oft did chase;
Whose deeds may with the best deservedly be read.

As those two Lacyes then, our English Powers that led:
Which twenty thousand, there, did in one Battell quell,
Amongst whome (troden down) the King of Conaugh fell.

Then Richard, that lov'd Earle of Cornwall, here we set:
Who, rightly of the race of great Plantaginet,
Our English Armies shipt, to gaine that hallowed ground,
With Long-sword the brave sonne of beautious Rosamond:
The Pagans through the breasts, like thunderbolts that shot;
And in the utmost East such admiration got,
That the shril-sounding blast, and terrour of our fame
Hath often conquered, where, our swords yet never came:
As Gifford, not forgot, their stout associate there.

So in the warres with Wales, of ours as famous here,
Guy Beuchamp, that great Earle of Warwick, place shall have:
From whom, the Cambrian Hils the Welsh-men could not save;
Whom he, their generall plague, impetuously pursu'd,
And in the British gore his slaughtering sword imbru'd.

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In order as they rise (next Beuchamp) we preferre
The Lord John Gifford, matcht with Edmond Mortimer;
Men rightly moulded up, for high adventrous deeds.

In this renowned rank of warriors then succeeds
Walwin, who with such skill our Armies oft did guide;
In many a dangerous straight, that had his knowledge tride.
And in that fierce assault, which caus'd the fatall flight,
Where the distressed Welsh resign'd their Ancient right,
Stout Frampton: by whose hand, their Prince Lewellin fell.

Then followeth (as the first who have deserved as well)
Great Saint-John; from the French, which twice recovered Guyne:
And he, all him before that cleerely did out-shine,
Warren, the puissant Earle of Surrey, which led forth
Our English Armyes oft into our utmost North;
And oft of his approach made Scotland quake to heare,
When Tweed hath sunk downe flat, within her Banks for feare.
On him there shall attend, that most adventurous Twhing,
That at Scambekin fight, the English off did bring
Before the furious Scot, that else were like to fall.

As Basset, last of these, yet not the least of all
Those most renowned spirits that Fowkerk bravely fought;
Where Long-shanks, to our lore, Albania lastly brought.

As, when our Edward first his title did advance,
And led his English hence, to winne his right in France,
That most deserving Earle of Darby we preferre,
Henries third valiant sonne, the Earle of Lancaster,
That only Mars of Men; who (as a generall scurge,
Sent by just-judging Heaven, outrageous France to purge)
At Cagant plagu'd the Power of Flemmings that she rais'd,
Against the English force: which as a hand-sell seas'd,
Into her very heart he marcht in warlike wise;
Took Bergera, Langobeck, Mountdurant, and Mountguyse;
Leau, Poudra, and Punach, Mount-Segre, Forsa, wonne;
Mountpesans, and Beumount, the Ryall, Aiguillon,
Rochmillon, Mauleon, Franch, and Angolisme surpriz'd;
With Castles, Cities, Forts, nor Provinces suffic'd.
Then took the Earle of Leyle: to conduct whom there came
Nine Vicounts, Lords, and Earls, astonisht at his name.
To Gascoyne then he goes (to plague her, being prest)
And manfully himselfe of Mirabell possest;

369

Surgeres, and Alnoy, Benoon, and Mortaine strooke:
And with a fearefull siege, he Taleburg lastly took;
With prosperous successe, in lesser time did winne
Maximien, Lusingham, Mount-Sorrell, and Bovin;
Sackt Poytiers: which did, then, that Countries treasure hold;
That not a man of ours would touch what was not gold.

With whom our

Sr Walter Maney.

Maney here deservedly doth stand,
Which first Inventor was of that courageous band,
Who clos'd their left eyes up; as, never to be freed,
Till there they had atchiev'd some high adventurous deed.
He first into the preasse at Cagant conflict flue;
And from amidst a grove of gleaves, and halberds drew
Great Darby beaten downe; t'amaze the men of warre,
When he for England cri'd, S. George, and Lancaster:
And as mine author tells (in his high courage, proud)
Before his going forth, unto his Mistresse vow'd,
He would begin the war: and, to make good the same,
Then setting foot in France, there first with hostile flame
Forc't Mortain, from her Towers, the neighbouring Townes to light;
That suddainly they caught a Fever with the fright.
Thin Castle (neere the Towne of Cambray) ours he made;
And when the Spanish powers came Britanne to invade,

Little Brittanne in France.

Both of their aydes and spoyles, them utterly bereft.
This English Lyon, there, the Spaniards never left,
Till from all aire of France, he made their Lewes fly.
And Fame her selfe, to him, so amply did apply,
That when the most unjust Calicians had forethought,
Into that Towne (then ours) the French-men to have brought,
The King of England's selfe, and his renowned sonne

Edward III. and the Black-Prince.

(By those perfidious French to see what would be done)
Under his Guydon marcht, as private souldiers there.

So had we still of ours, in France that famous were;
Warwick, of England then High-constable that was,
As other of that race, heere well I cannot passe;
That brave and god-like brood of Beuchamps, which so long
Them Earles of Warwick held; so hardy, great, and strong,
That after of that name it to an Adage grew,
If any man himselfe adventrous hapt to shew,
Bold Beuchampe men him tearm'd, if none so bold as hee.

Bold Beuchamp; a Proverbe.

With those our Beuchamps, may our Bourchers reckned bee.

370

Of which, that valiant Lord, most famous in those dayes,
That hazarded in France so many dangerous frayes:
Whose blade in all the fights betwixt the French and us,
Like to a Blazing-starre was ever ominous;
A man, as if by Mars upon Bellona got.

Next him, stout Cobham comes, that with as prosprous lot
Th'English men hath led; by whose auspicious hand,
We often have been known the Frenchmen to command.
And Harcourt, though by birth an Alien; yet, ours wonne,
By England after held her deere adopted sonne:
Which oft upon our part was bravely prov'd to doe,
Who with the hard'st attempts Fame earnestly did wooe:
To Paris-ward, that when the Amyens fled by stealth
(Within her mightie walls to have inclos'd their wealth)
Before her bulwarkt gates the Burgesses hee tooke;
Whilst the Parisians, thence that sadly stood to looke,
And saw their faithfull friends so wofully bestead,
Not once durst issue out to helpe them, for their head.

And our John Copland; heere courageously at home
(Whilst every where in France, those farre abroad doe roame)
That at New-castle fight (the Battell of the Queene,
Where most the English harts were to their Soveraigne seene)
Tooke David King of Scots, his prisoner in the fight.
Nor could these warres imploy our onely men of might:
But as the Queene by these did mightie things atchieve;
So those, to Britaine sent the Countesse to relieve,
As any yet of ours, two knights as much that dar'd,
Stout Dangorn, and with him strong Hartwell honor shar'd;
The dreaded Charles de Bloyes, that at Rochdarren bet,
And on the Royall seat, the Countesse Mountfort set.
In each place where they came so fortunate were ours.

Then, Audley, most renown'd amongst those valiant powers,
That with the Prince of Wales at conquer'd Poyters fought;
Such wonders that in Armes before both Armies wrought;
The first that charg'd the French; and, all that dreadfull day,
Through still renewing worlds of danger made his way;
The man that scorn'd to take a prisoner (through his pride)
But by plaine downe-right death the title to decide.
And after the retreat, that famous Battell done,
Wherein, rich spacious France was by the English wonne,

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Five hundred marks in Fee, that noblest Prince bestow'd
For his so brave attempts, through his high courage show'd.
Which to his foure Esquires

The honorable bountie of the Lord Audley.

hee freely gave, who there
Vy'd valour with their Lord; and in despight of feare,
Oft fetcht that day from death, where wounds gap't wide as hell;
And cryes, and parting groanes, whereas the Frenchmen fell,
Even made the Victors greeve, so horrible they were.

Our Dabridgcourt the next shall be remembred heere,
At Poyters who brake in upon the Alman Horse
Through his too forward speed: but, taken by their force,
And after, by the turne of that so doubtfull fight,
Beeing reskew'd by his friends in Poyters fearfull sight,
Then like a Lyon rang'd about th'Enemies host:
And where he might suppose the danger to be most,
Like Lightning entred there, to his French-foes dismay,
To gratifie his friends which reskew'd him that day.

Then Chandos: whose great deeds found Fame so much to doo,
That she was lastly forc'd, him for her ease to wooe;
That Minion of drad Mars, which almost over-shone
All those before him were, and for him none scarce known,
At Cambray's scaled wall his credit first that wonne;
And by the high exployts in France by him were done,
Had all so over-aw'd, that by his very name
He could remove a siege: and Citties where he came
Would at his Summons yeeld. That man, the most belov'd,
In all the wayes of warre so skilfull and approv'd,
The

The Black-Prince.

Prince at Poyters chose his person to assist.
This stout Herculean stem, this noble Martialist,
In battell twixt brave Bloys and noble Mountfort, try'd
At Array, then the right of Britaine to decyde,
Rag'd like a furious storme beyond the power of man,
Where valiant Charles was slaine, and the sterne English wan
The royall British rule to Mountforts nobler name.
Hee tooke strong Tarryers in, and Anjou oft did tame.
Gavaches he regayn'd, and us Rochmador got.
Where ever lay'd hee siege that he invested not?

As this brave Warrior was, so no lesse deere to us,
The rivall in his fame, his onely æmulus,
Renown'd Sir Robert Knowles, that in his glories shar'd,
His chivalry and oft in present perills dar'd;

372

As Nature should with Time, at once by these consent
To showe, that all their store they idly had not spent.
Hee Vermandoise or'e-ranne with skill and courage hie:
Notoriously hee plagu'd revolting Picardy:
That up to Paris walls did all before him win,
And dar'd her at her gates (the King that time within)
A man that all his deeds did dedicate to fame.

Then those stout Percyes, John, and Thomas, men of name.
The valiant Gourney, next, deservedly we grace,
And Howet, that with him assumes as high a place.
Strong Trivet, all whose ends at great adventures shot:
That conquer'd us Mount Pin, and Castle Carcilot,
As famous in the French, as in the Belgique warre;
Who tooke the Lord Brimewe; and with the great Navarre,
In Papaloon, attain'd an everlasting praise.

Courageous Carill next, then whom those glorious daies
Produc't not any spirit that through more dangers swam.

That princely Thomas, next, the Earle of Buckingham,
To Britany through France that our stout English brought,
Which under his Commaund with such high fortune fought
As put the world in feare Rome from her cynders rose,
And of this Earth againe meant onely to dispose.

Thrice valiant Hackwood then, out-shining all the rest,
From London at the first a poore meane souldier prest
(That time but very young) to those great warres in France,
By his brave service there himselfe did so advance,
That afterward, the heat of those great Battels done
(In which he to his name immortall glory wonne)
Leading sixe thousand Horse, let his brave Guydon flie.
So, passing through East France, and entring Lombardie,
By th'greatnes of his fame, attayn'd so high Commaund,
That to his charge he got the white Italian Band.
With

The Marquesse of Mountferato.

Mountferato then in all his warres he went:
Whose cleere report abroad by Fames shrill trumpet sent,
Wrought, that with rich rewards him Milan after won,
To ayde her, in her warres with Mantua then begon;
By

Brother to Galeazo, Vicount of Millan.

Barnaby, there made the Milanezes guide:
His daughter, who, to him, faire Domina, affy'd.
For Gregory then the twelfth, he dangerous Battels strooke,
And with a noble siege revolted Pavia tooke.

373

And there, as Fortune rose, or as she did decline,
Now with the Pisan serv'd, then with the Florentine:
The use of th'English Bowes to Italy that brought;
By which he, in those warres, seem'd wonders to have wrought.

Our Henry Hotspur next, for hie atchievements meet,
Who with the thundring noyse of his swift Coursers feet,
Astund the earth, that day, that he in Holmdon's strife
Tooke Douglas, with the Earles of Anguish, and of Fyfe.
And whilst those hardy Scots, upon the firme earth bled,
With his revengefull sword swicht after them that fled.

Then Calverley, which kept us Calice with such skill,
His honor'd roome shall have our Catalogue to fill:
Who, when th'rebellious French, their liberty to gaine,
From us our ancient right unjustly did detaine
(T'let Bullen understand our just conceived ire)
Her Suburbs, and her Ships, sent up to heaven in fire;
Estaples then tooke in that day shee held her Faire,
Whose Marchandise he let his souldiers freely share;
And got us back Saint Marks, which loosely wee had lost.

Amongst these famous men, of us deserving most,
In these of great'st report, we gloriously prefer,
For that his navall fight, John Duke of Excester;
The puissant Fleet of Jeane (which France to her did call)
Who mercilesly sunk, and slew her Admirall.

And one, for single fight, amongst our Martiall men,
Deserves remembrance heere as worthily agen;
Our Clifford, that brave, young, and most courageous Squire:
Who thoroughly provokt, and in a great desire
Unto the English name a high report to win,
Slew Bockmell hand to hand at Castle Jocelin,
Suppos'd the noblest spirit that France could then produce.

Now, forward to thy taske proceed industrious Muse,
To him, above them all, our Power that did advance;
John Duke of Bedford, stil'd the fire-brand to sad France:
Who to remove the Foe from sieged Harflew, sent,
Affrighted them like death; and as at Sea he went,
The huge French Navie fier'd, when horrid Neptune ror'd,
The whilst those mightie Ships out of their scuppers pour'd
Their trayterous cluttred gore upon his wrinkled face.
Hee tooke strong Ivery in: and like his kingly race,

374

There downe before Vernoyle the English Standard stuck:
And having on his Helme his conquering Brothers luck,
Alanzon on the field and doughty Douglasse layd,
Which brought the Scottish power unto the Dauphins ayde;
And with his fatall sword, gave France her fill of death,
Till wearied with her wounds, shee gasping lay for breath.

Then, as if powerfull Heaven our part did there abet,
Still did one noble spirit, a nobler spirit beget.
So, Salsbury arose; from whom, as from a sourse
All valour seem'd to flowe, and to maintaine her force.
From whom not all their Forts could hold our trecherous Foes.
Pontmelance hee regayn'd, which ours before did lose.
Against the envious French, at Cravant, then came on;
As sometime at the siege of high-rear'd Ilion,
The Gods descending, mixt with mortalls in the fight:
And in his leading, show'd such valour and such might,
As though his hand had held a more then earthly power;
Tooke Stuart in the field, and Generall Vantadour,
The French and Scottish force, that day which bravely led;
Where few at all escap't, and yet the wounded fled.
Mount Aguilon, and Mouns, great Salsbury surpriz'd:

Great Ordinance.

What time (I thinke in hell) that instrument devis'd,
The first appear'd in France, as a prodigious birth
To plague the wretched world, sent from the envious Earth;
Whose very roring seem'd the mighty Round to shake,
As though of all againe it would a Chaos make.
This famous Generall then got Gwerland to our use,
And Malicorne made ours, with Loupland, and La Suise,
Saint Bernards Fort, S. Kales, S. Susan, Mayon, Lyle,
The Hermitage, Mountseure, Baugency, and Yanvile.

Then he (in all her shapes that dreadfull Warre had seene,
And that with Danger oft so conversant had beene,
As for her threats at last he seem'd not once to care,
And Fortune to her face adventurously durst dare)
The Earle of Suffolke, Poole, the Marshall that great day
At Agincourt, where France before us prostrate lay
(Our Battells every where that Hector-like supply'd,
And marcht o're murthered pyles of Frenchmen as they dy'd)
Invested Aubemerle, rich Cowcy making ours,
And at the Bishops Parke or'ethrew the Dolphins powers.

375

Through whose long time in warre, his credit so increast,
That hee supply'd the roume of Salsbury deceast.

In this our warlike rank, the two stout Astons then,
Sir Richard, and Sir John, so truly valiant men,
That Ages yet to come shall hardly over-top am,
Umfrevill, Peachy, Branch, Mountgomery, Felton, Popham.
All men of great Commaund, and highly that deserv'd:

Courageous Ramston next, so faithfully that serv'd
At Paris, and S. James de Beneon, where we gave
The French those deadly foyles, that Ages since deprave
The credit of those times, with these so wondrous things,

The memory of which, great Warwick forward brings.
Who (as though in his blood he conquest did inherit,
Or in the very name there were some secret spirit)
Being chosen for these warres in our great Regents place
(A deadly Foe to France, like his brave Roman race)
The Castilets of Loyre, of Maiet, and of Lund,
Mountdublian, and the strong Pountorson beat to ground.

Then hee, above them all, himselfe that sought to raise,
Upon some Mountaine top, like a Piramides;
Our Talbot, to the French so terrible in warre,
That with his very name their Babes they us'd to scarre,
Took-in the strong Lavall, all Main and over-ran,
As the betray'd Mons he from the Marshall wan,
And from the treacherous Foe our valiant Suffolke free'd.
His sharpe and dreadfull sword made France so oft to bleed,
Till fainting with her wounds, she on her wrack did fall;
Tooke Joïng, where he hung her Traytors on the wall;
And with as faire successe wan Beumont upon Oyse,
The newe Towne in Esmoy, and Crispin in Valoyes:
Creile, with Saint Maxines bridge; and at Avranches ayde,
Before whose batter'd walls the Foe was strongly lay'd,
Marcht in, as of the siege at all he had not knowne;
And happily reliev'd the hardly-gotten Roan:
Who at the very hint came with auspicious feet,
Whereas the trayt'rous French he miserably beet.
And having over-spred all Picardy with warre,
Proud Burgaine to the Field hee lastly sent to darre,
Which with his English friends so oft his fayth had broake:
Whose Countries he made mourne in clowds of smouldring smoak;

376

Then Gysors he againe, then did Saint Denise, raze.

His Parallel, with him, the valiant Scales we praise;
Which oft put sword to sword, and foot to foot did set:
And that the first alone the Garland might not get,
With him hath hand in hand leapt into Dangers jawes;
And oft would forward put, where Talbot stood to pause:
Equalitie in fame, which with an equall lot,
Both at Saint Denise siege, and batt'red Guysors got.
Before Pont-Orsons walls, who, when great Warwick lay
(And he with souldiers sent a forraging for pray)
Six thousand French or'e-threw with halfe their numbred powers,
And absolutely made both Main and Anjou ours.

To Willoughby the next, the place by turne doth fall;
Whose courage likely was to beare it from them all:
With admiration oft on whom they stood to looke,
Saint Valeries proud gates that off the hindges shooke:
In Burgondy that forc't the recreant French to flie,
And beat the Rebells downe disordering Normandy:
That Amiens neere layd waste (whose strengths her could not save)
And the perfidious French out of the Country drave.

With these, another troupe of noble spirits there sprong,
That with the formost preast into the warlike throng.
The first of whom we place that stout Sir Phillip Hall,
So famous in the fight against the Count S. Paul,
That Crotoy us regain'd: and in the conflict twixt
The English and the French, that with the Scot were mixt,
On proud Charles Cleremont won that admirable day.

Strong Fastolph with this man compare we justly may,
By Salsbury who oft beeing seriously imploy'd
In many a brave attempt, the generall Foe annoy'd;
With excellent successe in Main and Anjou fought:
And many a Bulwarke there into our keeping brought;
And, chosen to goe forth with Vadamont in warre,
Most resolutely tooke proud Renate, Duke of Barre.

The valiant Draytons then, Sir Richard, and Sir John,
By any English spirits yet hardly over-gone;
The fame they got in France, with costly wounds that bought:
In Gascony and Guyne, who oft and stoutly fought.

Then, valiant Mathew Gough: for whom the English were
Much bound to noble Wales in all our Battels there,

377

Or sieging or besieg'd that never fayl'd our force,
Oft hazarding his blood in many a desperate course.
Hee beat the Bastard Balme with his selected band,
And at his Castle-gate surpriz'd him hand to hand,
And spight of all his power away him prisoner bare.

Our hardy Burdet then with him we will compare,
Besieg'd within Saint James de Beneon, issuing out,
Crying Salsbury, S. George, with such a horrid shout,
That cleft the wandring clowds; and with his valiant crew
Upon the envied French like hungry Lyons flew,
And Arthur Earle of Eure and Richmont tooke in fight:
Then following them (in heat) the Armie put to flight:
The Britan, French, and Scot, receiv'd a generall sack,
As, flying, one fell still upon anothers back;
Where our sixe hundred slew so many thousands more.
At our so good successe that once a French-man swore
That God was wholly turn'd unto the English side,
And to assist the French, the divell had deny'd.

Then heere our Kerrill claimes his roome amongst the rest,
Who justly if compar'd might match our very best.
Hee in our warres in France with our great Talbot oft,
With Willoughby and Scales, now downe, and then aloft,
Endur'd the sundry turnes of often varying Fate;
At Cleremont seiz'd the Earle before his Citty gate,
Eight hundred faithlesse French who tooke or put to sword;
And, by his valour, twice to Artoyse us restor'd.

In this our service then great Arondell doth ensue,
The Marshall Bousack who in Beuvoys overthrew;
And, in despight of France and all her power, did win
The Castles Darle, Nellay, S. Lawrence, Bomelin;
Tooke Silly, and Count Lore at Sellerin subdu'd,
Where with her owners blood, her buildings hee imbru'd:
Revolted Loveers sackt, and manfully supprest
Those Rebells, that so oft did Normandy molest.

As Poynings, such high prayse in Gelderland that got,
On the Savoyan side, that with our English shot
Strooke warlike Aiske, and Straule, when Flanders shooke with feare.

As Howard, by whose hand we so renowned were:
Whose great successe at Sea, much fam'd our English Fleet:
That in a navall fight the Scottish Barton beet;

378

And setting foote in France, her horribly did fright:
(As if great Chandos ghost, or feared Talbots spright
Had com'n to be their scourge, their fame againe to earne)
Who having stoutly sack't both Narbin and Deverne,
The Castles of De Boyes, of Fringes, tooke us there,
Of Columburge, of Rewe, of Dorlans, and Daveere;
In Scotland, and againe the Marches East to West,
Did with invasive warre most terribly infest.

A nobler of that name, the Earle of Surry then,
That famous Hëroe fit both for the Speare and Pen
(From Floddens doubtfull fight, that forward Scottish King
In his victorious troupe who home with him did bring)
Rebellious Ireland scourg'd, in Britany and wan
Us Morles. Happy time, that bredst so brave a man!

To Cobham, next, the place deservedly doth fall:
In France who then imploy'd with our great Admirall,
In his succesfull Road blew Sellois up in fire,
Tooke Bottingham and Bruce, with Samkerke and Mansier.

Our Peachy, nor our Carre, nor Thomas, shall be hid,
That at the Field of Spurres by Tirwyn stoutly did.
Sands, Guyldford, Palmer, Lyle, Fitzwilliams, and with them,
Brave Dacres, Musgrave, Bray, Coe, Wharton, Jerningham,
Great Martialists, and men that were renowned farre
At Sea; some in the French, some in the Scottish warre.

Courageous Randolph then, that serv'd with great Command,
Before Newhaven first, and then in Ireland.
The long-renown'd Lord Gray, whose spirit we oft did try;
A man that with drad Mars stood in account most hie.
Sir Thomas Morgan then, much fame to us that wan,
When in our Maiden raigne the Belgique warre began:
Who with our friends the Dutch, for England stoutly stood,
When Netherland first learn'd to lavish gold and blood.
Sir Roger Williams next (of both which, Wales might vaunt)
His marshall Compere then, and brave Commilitant:
Whose conflicts, with the French and Spanish manly fought,
Much honor to their names, and to the Britaines brought.

Th'Lord Willoughby may well be reccond with the rest,
Inferiour not a whit to any of our best;
A man so made for warre, as though from Pallas sprong.
Sir Richard Bingham then our valiant men among,

379

Himselfe in Belgia well, and Ireland, who did beare;
Our onely Schooles of Warre this later time that were.
As, Stanly, whose brave act at Zutphens service done,

Sir Edw. Stanley.

Much glory to the day, and him his Knighthood wonne.

Our noblest Norrice next, whose fame shall never die
Whilst Belgia shall be knowne; or there's a Britany:
In whose brave height of spirit, Time seem'd as to restore
Those, who to th'English name such honor gayn'd of yore.

Great Essex, of our Peeres the last that ere we knew;
Th'old worlds Heroës lyves who likely'st did renew;
The souldiers onely hope, who stoutly serv'd in France;
And on the Towers of Cales as proudly did advance
Our English Ensignes then, and made Iberia quake,
When as our warlike Fleet road on the surging Lake,
T'receive that Citties spoyle, which set her batter'd gate
Wide ope, t'affrighted Spayne to see her wretched state.

Next, Charles, Lord Mountjoy, sent to Ireland to suppresse
The envious Rebell there; by whose most faire successe,
The trowzed Irish led by their unjust Tyrone,
And the proud Spanish force, were justly overthrowne.
That still Kinsall shall keepe and faithfull record beare,
What by the English prowesse was executed there.

Then liv'd those valiant Veres, both men of great Command

Sir Francis, and Sir Horace.

In our imployments long: whose either Marshall hand
Reacht at the highest wreath, it from the top to get,
Which on the proudest head, Fame yet had ever set.

Our

Sir Henry.

Dokwray,

Sir Edmond.

Morgan next, Sir Samuell Bagnall, then
Stout

Sir Oliver.

Lambert, such as well deserve a living pen;
True Martialists and Knights, of noble spirit and wit.

The valiant Cicill, last, for great imployment fit,
Deservedly in warre the lat'st of ours that rose:
Whose honor every howre, and fame still greater growes.

When now the Kentish Nymphs doe interrupt her Song,
By letting Medway knowe shee tarried had too long
Upon this warlike troupe, and all upon them layd,
Yet for their nobler Kent shee nought or little said.

When as the pliant Muse, straight turning her about,
And comming to the Land as Medway goeth out,
Saluting the deare soyle, ô famous Kent, quoth shee,
What Country hath this Ile that can compare with thee,

380

Which hast within thy selfe as much as thou canst wish?
Thy Conyes, Venson, Fruit; thy sorts of Fowle and Fish:
As what with strength comports, thy Hay, thy Corne, thy Wood:
Nor any thing doth want, that any where is good.
Where Thames-ward to the shore, which shoots upon the rise,
Rich Tenham undertakes thy Closets to suffize
With Cherries, which wee say, the Sommer in doth bring,
Wherewith Pomona crownes the plump and lustfull Spring;
From whose deepe ruddy cheeke, sweet Zephyre kisses steales,
With their delicious touch his love-sicke hart that heales.
Whose golden Gardens seeme th'Hesperides to mock:
Nor there the Damzon wants, nor daintie Abricock,
Nor Pippin, which we hold of kernell-fruits the king,
The Apple-Orendge; then the savory Russetting:
The Peare-maine, which to France long ere to us was knowne,
Which carefull Frut'rers now have denizend our owne.
The Renat: which though first it from the Pippin came,
Growne through his pureness nice, assumes that curious name,
Upon the Pippin stock, the Pippin beeing set;
As on the Gentle, when the Gentle doth beget
(Both by the Sire and Dame beeing anciently descended)
The issue borne of them, his blood hath much amended.
The Sweeting, for whose sake the Plow-boyes oft make warre:
The Wilding, Costard, then the wel-known Pomwater,
And sundry other fruits, of good, yet severall taste,
That have their sundry names in sundry Countries plac't:
Unto whose deare increase the Gardiner spends his life,
With Percer, Wimble, Sawe, his Mallet, and his Knife;
Oft covereth, oft doth bare the dry and moystned root,
As faintly they mislike, or as they kindly sute:
And their selected plants doth workman-like bestowe,
That in true order they conveniently may growe.
And kils the slimie Snayle, the Worme, and labouring Ant,
Which many times annoy the graft and tender Plant:
Or else maintaines the plot much starved with the wet,
Wherein his daintiest fruits in kernels he doth set:
Or scrapeth off the mosse, the Trees that oft annoy.

But, with these tryfling things why idly doe I toy,
Who any way the time intend not to prolong?
To those Thamisian Iles now nimbly turnes my Song,

381

Faire Shepey and the Greane sufficiently supply'd,
To beautifie the place where Medway showes her pride.
But Greane seemes most of all the Medway to adore,
And Tenet, standing forth to the

Neere Sandwich.

Rhutupian shore,
By mightie Albion plac't till his returne againe
From Gaul; where, after, he by Hercules was slaine.
For, Earth-borne Albion then great Neptunes eldest sonne,
Ambicious of the fame by sterne Alcides wonne,
Would over (needs) to Gaul, with him to hazard fight,
Twelve Labors which before accomplisht by his might;
His Daughters then but young (on whom was all his care)
Which Doris, Thetis Nymph, unto the Gyant bare:
With whom those Iles he left; and will'd her for his sake,
That in their Grandsires Court shee much of them would make:
But Tenet, th'eldst of three, when Albion was to goe,
Which lov'd her Father best, and loth to leave him so,
There at the Giant raught; which was perceiv'd by chance:
This loving Ile would else have followed him to France;
To make the chanell wide that then he forced was,
Whereas (some say) before he us'd on foot to passe.

Thus Tenet being stay'd, and surely setled there,
Who nothing lesse then want and idlenes could beare,
Doth onely give her selfe to tillage of the ground.
With sundry sorts of Graine whilst thus shee doth abound,
She falls in love with Stour, which comming downe by Wye,
And towards the goodly Ile, his feet doth nimbly ply.
To Canterbury then as kindly he resorts,
His famous Country thus he gloriously reports;

O noble Kent, quoth he, this praise doth thee belong,
The hard'st to be controld, impatientest of wrong.
Who, when the Norman first with pride and horror sway'd,
Threw'st off the servile yoke upon the English lay'd;
And with a high resolve, most bravely didst restore
That libertie so long enjoy'd by thee before.
Not suffring forraine Lawes should thy free Customes bind,
Then onely showd'st thy selfe of th'ancient Saxon kind.
Of all the English Shires be thou surnam'd the Free,
And formost ever plac't, when they shall reckned bee.
And let this Towne, which Chiefe of thy rich Country is,
Of all the British Sees be still Metropolis.

382

Which having said, the Stour to Tenet him doth hie,
Her in his loving armes imbracing by and by,
Into the mouth of Tames one arme that forth doth lay,
The other thrusting out into the Celtique Sea.
Grym Goodwin all this while seems grievously to lowre,
Nor cares he of a strawe for Tennet, nor her Stour;
Still bearing in his mind a mortall hate to France
Since mighty Albions fall by warres incertaine chance.
Who, since his wisht revenge not all this while is had,
Twixt very griefe and rage is fall'n extreamly mad;
That when the rouling Tyde doth stirre him with her waves,
Straight foming at the mouth, impatiently he raves,
And strives to swallow up the Sea-marks in his Deepe,
That warne the wandring ships out of his jawes to keepe.

The Surgions of the Sea doe all their skill apply,
If possibly, to cure his greevous maladie:
As Amphitrites Nymphs their very utmost prove,
By all the meanes they could, his madnes to remove.
From Greenwich to these Sands, some Scurvigrasse doe bring,

Simples frequent in these places.

That inwardly apply'd's a wondrous soveraigne thing.
From Shepey, Sea-mosse some, to coole his boyling blood;
Some, his ill-seasond mouth that wisely understood,
Rob Dovers neighboring Cleeves of Sampyre, to excite
His dull and sickly taste, and stirre up appetite.

Now, Shepey, when shee found shee could no further wade
After her mightie Sire, betakes her to his trade,
With Sheephooke in her hand, her goodly flocks to heed,
And cherisheth the kind of those choice Kentish breed.
Of Villages she holds as husbandly a port,
As any British Ile that neighboreth Neptunes Court.
But Greane, as much as shee her Father that did love
(And, then the Inner Land, no further could remove)
In such continuall griefe for Albion doth abide,
That almost under-flood shee weepeth every Tide.

387

FINIS.

389

THE SECOND PART, OR A CONTINVANCE OF POLY-OLBION

FROM THE EIGHTEENTH SONG. Containing all the Tracts, Riuers, Mountaines, and Forrests: Intermixed with the most remarkable Stories, Antiquities, Wonders, Rarities, Pleasures, and Commodities of the East, and Northerne parts of this Isle, lying betwixt the two famous Riuers of Thames, and Tweed.

390

TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTIE, CHARLES PRINCE OF WALES.

393

TO MY HONOR'D FRIEND Mr. DRAYTON.

Englands brave Genius, raise thy head; and see,
We have a Muse in this mortalitie
Of Vertue yet survives; All met not Death,
When wee intoomb'd our deare Elizabeth.
Immortall Sydney, honoured Colin Clout,
Presaging what wee feele, went timely out.
Then why lives Drayton, when the Times refuse,
Both Meanes to live, and Matter for a Muse?
Onely without Excuse to leave us quite,
And tell us, Durst we act, he durst to write.

Now, as the people of a famish'd Towne,
Receiving no Supply, seeke up and downe
For mouldy Corne, and Bones long cast aside,
Wherewith their hunger may bee satisfide:
(Small store now left) we are inforc'd to prie
And search the darke Leaves of Antiquitie
For some good Name, to raise our Muse againe,
In this her Crisis, whose harmonious straine
Was of such compasse, that no other Nation
Durst ever venture on a sole Translation;
Whilst our full language, Musicall, and hie,
Speakes as themselves their best of Poesie.

Drayton, amongst the worthi'st of all those,
The glorious Laurell, or the Cyprian Rose
Have ever crown'd, doth claime in every Lyne,
An equall honor from the sacred Nyne:
For if old Time could like the restlesse Maine,
Roule himselfe backe into his Spring againe,
And on his wings beare this admired Muse,
For Ovid, Virgil, Homer, to peruse.
They would confesse, that never happier Pen,
Sung of his Loves, his Countrey, and the Men.

William Browne.

394

TO HIS NOBLE FRIEND, MICHAEL DRAYTON, ESQUIRE,

upon his Topo-chrono-graphicall Poeme.

From Cornwal's Foreland to the Cliffs of Dover,
O're hilly Cambria, and all England over,
Thy Muse hath borne me; and (in foure dayes) showne
More goodly Prospects, then I could have knowne
In foure yeares Travailes; If I had not thus
Beene mounted, on thy winged Pegasus.

The famous Rivers, the delightsome Fountaines;
The fruitfull Vallies, the steepe-rising Mountaines;
The new-built Towres, the ancient-ruin'd Walls;
The wholsome Baths, the bedds of Mineralls;
The nigh-worne Monuments of former Ages;
The Workes of Peace, the Marks of Civill-rages;
The Woods, the Forrests, and the open Plaines,
With whatsoe're this spacious Land containes,
For Profit, or for Pleasure: I o're-looke,
(As from one Station) when I read thy Booke.

Nor doe mine eyes from thence behold alone,
Such Things, as for the present there are done;
(Or Places, as this day, they doe appeare)
But Actions past, and Places as they were
A hundred Ages since, as well as now:
Which, he that wearies out his feet to know,
Shall never finde, nor yet so cheape attaine
(With so much ease and profit) halfe that gaine.
Good-speed befall Thee; who hast wag'd a Taske,
That better Censures, and Rewards doth aske,
Then these Times have to give. For, those that should
The honor of true Poesy uphold,
Are (for the most part) such as doe preferre
The fawning Lynes of every Pamphleter,

395

Before the best-writ Poems. And their sight
Or cannot, or else dares not, eye the Flight
Of free borne Numbers; least bright Virtue's fame,
Which flies in those, reflect on Them, their shame.

Tis well; thy happy Judgement, could devise,
Which way, a man this Age might Poetize,
And not write Satyrs: Or else, so to write
That scape thou mayst, the clutches of Despight.
For, through such Woods, and Rivers, trips thy Muse,
As, will or loose, or drowne him, that pursues.

Had my Invention (which I know too weake)
Enabled been, so brave a Flight to make;
(Should my unlucky Penn have overgone
So many a Province, and so many a Towne)
Though I to no mans wrong had gone astray,
I had been pounded on the Kings hye way.

But thou hast better Fortune, and hast chose
So brave a Patron, that thou canst not lose
By this Adventure. For, in Him, survives
His Brother Henrie's Virtues: and hee lives
To be that Comfort to thy Muse, which Hee
Had nobly (e're his death) begun to be.

Yet, overmuch presume not, that these Times,
Will therefore value thy Heroick Rymes,
According to their Merit. For, although,
Hee, and some fewe, the worth of them shall know:
This is their Fate. (And some unborne, will say,
I spake the Truth; what e're men thinke to Day)
Ages to come, shall hugg thy Poesy,
As we our deare Friends Pictures, when they dye.
Shose that succeed us, Draytons Name shall love,
And, so much this laborious Peece approove;
That such as write heereafter, shall to trim
Their new Inventions, pluck it limbe from limbe.
And our great-Grandsonnes Childrens-children may,
(Yea shall) as in a Glasse, this Isle survay,
As wee now see it: And as those did to,
Who lived many hundred yeares agoe.

396

For, when the Seas shall eat away the Shore,
Great Woods spring up, where Plaines were heretofore;
High Mountaines leveld with low Vallyes lye;
And Rivers runne where now the ground is drie:
This Poeme shall grow famous, And declare
What old-Things stood, where new-Things shall appeare.
And hereunto his Name subscribeth He,
Who shall by this Prædiction, live with Thee.

George Wither.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MICHAEL DRAYTON, ESQUIRE.

An Acrosticke Sonnet upon his Name.

Must Albion thus bee Stellified by thee,
In her full pompe, that her the world may praise,
Cheerefull, Brave Isle, yea shall I live to see
Him thus to decke, and crowne thy Front with Bayes,
And shall I not in Zeale, and Merit too
Expresse to thee my Joy, my Thankes to him;
Lesse (sure) then this I may not, will not doe.
Drayton, sith still Parnassus thou doest clime,
Right like thy selfe, whose Heaven-inspired Muse,
As doth the Phenix still her selfe renewing,
Yee into other the like life infuse;
Thou his rich Subject, he thy Fame pursuing.
O hadst thou lov'd him, as hee thee hath done,
No Land such Honor, (to all times) had wonne.

John Reynolds.

397

POLY-OLBION.

[THE SECOND PART.]

The nineteenth Booke

The Argument.

The Muse, now over Thames makes forth,
Upon her Progresse to the North,
From Cauney with a full carrere,
Shee up against the streame doth beare;
Where Waltham Forrests pride exprest,
Shee poynts directly to the East,
And shewes how all those Rivers straine
Through Essex, to the German mayne;
When Stoure, with Orwels ayd prefers,
Our Brittish brave Sea-voyagers;
Halfe Suffolke in with them shee takes,
Where of this Song an end shee makes.

Beare bravely up my Muse, the way thou went'st before,
And crosse the kingly Thames to the Essexian shore,

An Iland lying in the Thames, on Essex side.

Stem up his tyde-full streame, upon that side to rise,
Where

Albion fained to be the son of Neptune, going over into France to fight with Hercules, by whom he was vanquished, is supposed to leave his children, the Iles of Thanet, Sheppey, Greane, and this Cauney, lying in the mouth of Thames, to the tuition of Neptune their grand father. See to the latter end of the 18. Song.

Canvey, Albions child in-Iled richly lyes,
Which, though her lower scite doth make her seeme but meane,
Of him as dearly lov'd as Shepey is or Greane,
And him as dearly lov'd; for when he would depart,
With Hercules to fight, she tooke it so to heart,
That falling low and flat, her blubberd face to hide,
By Thames shee welneere is surrounded every tyde:
And since of worldly State, she never taketh keepe,
But onely gives her selfe, to tend, and milke her sheepe.

But Muse, from her so low, divert thy high-set song
To London-wards, and bring from Lea with thee along
The Forrests, and the Floods, and most exactly show,
How these in order stand, how those directly flow:
For in that happy soyle, doth pleasure ever wonne,
Through Forrests, where cleere Rills in wild Meanders runne;

398

Where daintie Summer Bowers, and Arborets are made,
Cut out of Busshy thicks, for coolenesse of the shade.
Fooles gaze at painted Courts, to th'countrey let me goe,
To climbe the easie hill, then walke, the valley lowe;
No gold-embossed Roofes, to me are like the woods;
No Bed like to the grasse, nor liquor like the floods:
A Citie's but a sinke, gay houses gawdy graves,
The Muses have free leave, to starve or live in caves:

The brave scituation of Waltham Forrest.

But Waltham Forrest still in prosperous estate,
As standing to this day (so strangely fortunate)
Above her neighbour Nymphs, and holds her head aloft;
A turfe beyond them all, so sleeke and wondrous soft,
Upon her setting side, by goodly London grac'd,
Upon the North by Lea, her South by Thames embrac'd.
Upon her rising point, shee chaunced to espie,
A daintie Forrest-Nymph of her societie.

Hatfield Forest lying lower towards the East betweene Stortford and Dunmow.

Faire Hatfield, which in height all other did surmount,
And of the Dryades held in very high account;
Yet in respect of her stood farre out of the way,
Who doubting of her selfe, by others late decay,
Her sisters glory view'd with an astonish'd eye,
Whom Waltham wisely thus reprooveth by and by.

Deare Sister rest content, nor our declining rue,
What thing is in this world (that we can say) is new;
The Ridge and Furrow shewes, that once the crooked Plow,
Turn'd up the grassy turfe, where Okes are rooted now:
And at this houre we see, the Share and Coulter teare
The full corne-bearing gleabe, where sometimes forrests were;
And those but Caitifes are, which most doe seeke our spoyle,
Who having sold our woods, doe lastly sell our soyle;
Tis vertue to give place to these ungodly times,
When as the fostred ill proceeds from others crimes;
Gainst Lunatiks, and fooles, what wise folke spend their force;
For folly headlong falls, when it hath had the course:
And when God gives men up, to wayes abhor'd and vile,
Of understanding hee deprives them quite, the while
They into errour runne, confounded in their sinne,
As simple Fowles in lyme, or in the Fowlers gynne.
And for those prettie Birds, that wont in us to sing,
They shall at last forbeare to welcome in the Spring,

399

When wanting where to pearch, they sit upon the ground,
And curse them in their Notes, who first did woods confound.
Deare Sister Hatfield, then hold up thy drooping head,
We feele no such decay, nor is all succour fled:
For Essex is our dower, which greatly doth abound,
With every simple good, that in the Ile is found:
And though we goe to wracke in this so generall waste,
This hope to us remaines, we yet may be the last.

When Hatfield taking heart, where late she sadly stood,

Many Townes that stand on this River, have her name as an addition: as Kythorp Roding, Leaden Roding, with many other.

Sends little Roding foorth, her best-beloved Flood;
Which from her Christall Fount, as to enlarge her fame,
To many a Village lends, her cleere and noble name,
Which as she wandreth on, through Waltham holds her way,
With goodly Oken wreaths, which makes her wondrous gay;
But making at the last into the watry Marsh,
Where though the blady grasse unwholesome be and harsh,
Those wreaths away she casts, which bounteous Waltham gave,
With Bulrush, Flags, and Reed, to make her wondrous brave,
And her selves strength divides, to sundry lesser streames,
So wantoning shee falls into her Soveraigne Thames.

From whose vast Beechy bankes a rumor straight resounds,
Which quickly ran it selfe through the Essexian grounds,
That Crouch amongst the rest, a Rivers name should seeke,
As scorning any more the nickname of a Creeke,
Well furnisht with a Streame, that from the fill to fall,
Wants nothing that a Flood should be adorn'd withall.
On

The fruitfulst Hundred of Essex.

Benge's Batfull side, and at her going out,
With Walnot, Foulnesse faire, neere watred round about.
Two Iles for greater state to stay her up that stand,
Thrust farre into the Sea, yet fixed to the land;
As Nature in that sort them purposely had plac'd,
That shee by Sea and Land, should every way be grac'd.
Some Sea-Nymphs and besides, her part (there were) that tooke,
As angry that their Crouch should not be cald a Brooke;
And bad her to complaine to Neptune of her wrong.

But whilst these grievous stirres thus hapned them among,
Choice Chelmer comes along, a Nymph most neatly cleere,

Chelmsford (abruptly Cheynsford) as much to say, as the Ford upon the River Chelmer.

Which welneere through the midst doth cut the wealthy Sheere,
By Dunmow gliding downe to Chelmsford hold her chase,
To which she gives the name, which as she doth imbrace

400

Cleere Can comes tripping in, and doth with Chelmer close:
With whose supply (though small as yet) she greater growes.
She for old

Anciently called Camolodunum where these ominous signes foreran that great overthrow given to the Roman Colony by the Britans. See the 8. Song.

Maldon makes, where in her passing by,
Shee to remembrance calls that Roman Colony,
And all those ominous signes her fall that did foregoe,
As that which most expres'd their fatall overthrow;
Crown'd Victory reverst, fell downe whereas shee stood,
And the vast greenish Sea, discoloured like to blood.
Shreeks heard like peoples cries, that see their deaths at hand;
The pourtratures of men imprinted in the sand.
When Chelmer scarce arrives in her most wished Bay,
But Blakwater comes in, through many a crooked way,
Which Pant was call'd of yore; but that, by Time exild,
Shee Froshwell after hight, then Blakwater instil'd,
But few, such titles have the British Floods among.
When Northey neere at hand, and th'Ile of Ousey rung
With shouts the Sea-Nymphs gave, for joy of their arrive,
As either of those Iles in curtesie doe strive,
To Tethis Darlings, which should greatest honor doe;
And what the former did, the latter adds thereto.

But Colne, which frankly lends faire Colechester her name,
(On all the Essexian shore, the Towne of greatest fame)
Perceiving how they still in Courtship did contend,
Quoth she, wherefore the time thus idly doe you spend?
What is there nothing here, that you esteeme of worth,
That our big-bellied Sea, or our rich land brings forth?
Thinke you our Oysters here, unworthy of your praise?
Pure

Walfleet Oysters.

Walfleet, which doe still the daintiest pallats please:
As excellent as those, which are esteemed most.

Cizicum is a city of Bythinia. Lucrinia is a citie of Apulia upon the Adriatick Sea; the Oysters of which places, were reckoned for great delicates with the Romans.

The Cizic shels, or those on the Lucrinian coast;
Or Cheese, which our fat soyle to every quarter sends;
Whose tacke the hungry Clowne, and Plow-man so commends.
If you esteeme not these, as things above the ground,
Looke under, where the Urnes of ancient times are found:
The Roman Emp'rours Coynes, oft dig'd out of the dust,
And warlike Weapons, now consum'd with cankring rust:
The huge and massy Bones, of mighty fearefull men,

The bones of Gyantlike people found in those parts.

To tell the worlds full strength, what creatures lived then;
When in her height of youth, the lustie fruitfull earth
Brought foorth her big-limb'd brood, even Gyants in their birth.

401

Thus spoke shee, when from Sea they suddenly doe heare
A strong and horrid noyse, which struck the land with feare:
For with their crooked Trumps, his Tritons, Neptune sent,
To warne the wanton Nymphs, that they incontinent
Should straight repaire to Stour, in Orwells pleasant Road;
For it had been divulg'd the Ocean all abroad,
That Orwell and this Stour, by meeting in one Bay,
Two, that each others good, intended every way,
Prepar'd to sing a Song, that should precisely show,
That Medway for her life, their skill could not out-goe:

Medway in the 18. Song, reciteth the Catalogue of the English Warriors.

For Stour, a daintie flood, that duly doth divide
Faire Suffolke from this Shire, upon her other side;
By Clare first comming in, to Sudbury doth show,
The even course she keepes; when farre she doth not flow,
But Breton a bright Nymph, fresh succour to her brings:
Yet is she not so proud of her superfluous Springs,
But Orwell comming in from Ipswitch thinkes that shee,
Should stand for it with Stour, and lastly they agree,
That since the Britans hence their first Discoveries made,
And that into the East they first were taught to trade.
Besides, of all the Roads, and Havens of the East,
This Harbor where they meet, is reckoned for the best.
Our Voyages by Sea, and brave discoveries knowne,
Their argument they make, and thus they sing their owne;

In Severns late tun'd lay, that Empresse of the West,

See the 4. Song.

In which great Arthurs actes are to the life exprest:
His Conquests to the North, who Norway did invade,
Who Groneland, Iseland next, then Lapland lastly made
His awfull Empires bounds, the Britans acts among,
This God-like Heroes deeds exactly have beene sung:
His valiant people then, who to those Countries brought,
Which many an age since that, our great'st discoveries thought.
This worthiest then of ours, our

Sea-voyages.

Argonauts shall lead.

Next Malgo, who againe that Conquerors steps to tread,
Succeeding him in Raigne, in conquests so no lesse,
Plow'd up the frozen Sea, and with as faire successe,
By that great Conquerors claime, first Orkney overran;
Proud Denmarke then subdu'd, and spacious Norway wan,
Ceasd Iseland for his owne, and Goteland to each shore,
Where Arthurs full-saild Fleet had ever toucht before.

402

And when the Britans Raigne came after to decline,
And to the Cambrian hils their fate did them confine,
The Saxon swaying all, in Alfreds powerfull raigne,
Our English Octer put a Fleet to Sea againe,
Of th'uge Norwegian Hilles, and newes did hither bring,
Whose tops are hardly wrought in twelve dayes travailing.
But leaving Norway then a Sterboard, forward kept,
And with our English Sayles that mightie Ocean swept,
Where those sterne people wonne, whom hope of gaine doth call
In Hulkes with grapling hooks, to hunt the dreadfull Whall;

The great river of Russia.

And great Duina downe from her first springing place,
Doth roule her swelling waves in churlish Neptunes face.

Then Woolstan after him discovering Dansig found,

The greatest river of Danske.

Where Wixels mighty mouth is powrd into the Sound,
And towing up his streame, first taught the English Oares,
The usefull way of Trade to those most gainefull shores.

And when the Norman Stem here strong and potent grew,
And their successefull sonnes, did glorious acts pursue,
One Nicholas nam'd of Lyn, where first he breath'd the ayre,
Though Oxford taught him Art, and well may hold him deare:
Ith' Mathematicks learnd, (although a Fryer profest)
To see those Northerne Climes, with great desire possest,
Himselfe he thither ship'd, and skilfull in the Globe,
Tooke every severall height with his true Astrolobe;

The greatest wonder of Nature.

The Whirlpooles of the seas, and came to understand,
From the foure Card'nall winds, foure indraughts that command
Int'any of whose falls, if th'wandring Barque doth light,
It hurried is away with such tempestuous flight,
Into that swallowing gulfe, which seemes as it would draw
The very earth it selfe into th'infernall maw.
Foure such Immeasur'd Pooles, Phylosophers agree,
Ith foure parts of the world undoubtedly to bee;
From which they have supposd, Nature the winds doth raise,
And from them to proceed the flowing of the Seas.

And when our Civill warres began at last to cease,
And these late calmer times of Olive-bearing Peace,
Gave leasure to great Minds, farre Regions to descry;
That brave adventrous Knight, our Sir Hugh Willoughby,
Ship'd for the Northren Seas, mongst those congealed Piles,
Fashioned by lasting Frosts, like Mountaines, and like Iles,

403

(In all her fearefulst shapes saw Horror, whose great mind,
In lesser bounds then these, that could not be confin'd,
Adventured on those parts, where Winter still doth keepe;
When most the Icy cold had chaind up all the Deepe)
In Bleake Arzina's Road his death neere Lapland tooke,
Where Kegor from her scite, on those grim Seas doth looke.

Two others follow then, eternall fame that wonne,
Our Chancellor, and with him, compare we Jenkinson:
For Russia both imbarqu'd, the first ariving there,
Entring Duina's mouth, up her proud streame did steere
To Volgad, to behold her pompe, the Russian State,
Moscovia measuring then; the other with like Fate,
Both those vast Realmes survay'd, then into Bactria past,
To Boghors bulwarkt walls, then to the liquid wast,
Where Oxus roleth downe twixt his farre distant shores,
And o're the Caspian Maine, with strong untyred Oares,
Adventured to view rich Persias wealth and pride,
Whose true report thereof, the English since have tride.

With Fitch, our Eldred next, deserv'dly placed is;
Both travailing to see, the Syrian Tripolis.
The first of which (in this whose noble spirit was showne)
To view those parts, to us that were the most unknowne,
On thence to Ormus set, Goa, Cambaya, then,
To vast Zelabdim, thence to Echubar, agen
Crost Ganges mighty streame, and his large bankes did view,
To Baccola went on, to Bengola, Pegu;
And for Mallaccan then, Zeiten, and Cochin cast,
Measuring with many a step, the great East-Indian wast.

The other from that place, the first before had gone,
Determining to see the broad-wald Babylon,
Crost Euphrates, and row'd against his mightie streame;
Licia, and Gaza saw, with great Hierusalem,
And our deare Saviours seat, blest Bethlem did behold,
And Jourdan, of whose waves, much is in Scriptures told.

Then Macham, who (through love to long adventures led)
Mederas wealthy Iles, the first discovered,
Who having stolne a mayd, to whom he was affi'd,
Yet her rich parents still her marriage rites deni'd,
Put with her foorth to Sea, where many a danger past,
Upon an Ile of those, at length by tempest cast;

404

And putting in, to give his tender Love some ease,
Which very ill had brook'd, the rough and boystrous Seas;
And lingring for her health, within the quiet Bay,
The Mariners most false, fled with the Ship away,
When as it was not long, but shee gave up her breath;
When he whose teares in vaine bewayld her timelesse death:
That their deserved Rites her Funerall could not have,
A homely Altar built upon her honoured grave.
When with his folke but few, not passing two or three,

The wonderful Adventure of Macham.

There making them a Boat, but rudely of one Tree,
Put foorth againe to Sea, where after many a flaw,
Such as before themselves, scarce Mortall ever saw;
Nor miserable men could possibly sustaine,
Now swallowed with the waves, and then spu'd up againe;
At length were on the coast of Sun-burnt Affrick throwne:
T'amaze that further world, and to amuse our owne.

Then Windham who new wayes, for us and ours to trie,
For great Morrocco made, discovering Barbarie.

Lock, Towerson, Fenner next, vast Guiney forth that sought,
And of her Ivory, home in great abundance brought.

The East-Indian Voy'ger then, the valiant Lancaster,
To Buona Esperance, Comara, Zanziber,
To Nicuba, as hee to Gomerpolo went,
Till his strong Bottome strucke Molluccos Continent;
And sayling to Brazeel another time he tooke
Olynda's chiefest Towne, and Harbour Farnambuke,
And with their precious Wood, Sugar, and Cotton fraught,
It by his safe returne, into his Countrie brought.

Then Forbosher, whose fame flew all the Ocean o'r,
Who to the Northwest sought, huge China's wealthy shore,
When nearer to the North, that wandring Sea-man set,
Where hee in our hotst Mon'ths of June and July met
With Snow, Frost, Haile, & Sleet, and found sterne Winter strong
With mighty Iles of Ice, and Mountaines huge and long.
Where as it comes and goes, the great eternall Light,
Makes halfe the yeare still day, and halfe continuall night.

Mæta Incognita.

Then for those Bounds unknown, he bravely set againe,
As he a Sea-god were, familiar with the Maine.

The Noble Fenton next, and Jackman we preferre,
Both Voyagers, that were with famous Forbosher.

405

And Davies, three times forth that for the Northwest made;
Still striving by that course, t'inrich the English Trade:
And as he well deserv'd to his eternall fame.
There by a mightie Sea, Imortaliz'd his Name.

Mare Davisium.

With noble Gilbert next, comes Hoard who tooke in hand
To cleere the course scarse knowne into the New-found Land,
And view'd the plenteous Seas, and fishfull Havens, where
Our neighbouring Nations since have stor'd them every yeare.

Then Globe-engirdling Drake, the Navall Palme that wonne,
Who strove in his long Course to emulate the Sunne:
Of whom the Spaniard us'd a Prophecie to tell,
That from the British Isles should rise a Dragon fell,
That with his armed wings, should strike th'Iberian Maine,
And bring in after time much horror upon Spaine.
This more then man (or what) this Demie-god at Sea,
Leaving behind his backe, the great America,
Upon the surging Maine his wel-stretch't Tacklings flewd,
To fortie three Degrees of North'ly Latitude;
Unto that Land before to th'Christian world unknowne,
Which in his Countries right he nam'd New Albion;
And in the Westerne Inde, spight of the power of Spaine,
Hee Saint Iago tooke, Domingo, Cartagene:
And leaving of his prowesse, a marke in every Bay,
Saint Augustins surpriz'd, in Terra Florida.

Then those that foorth for Sea, Industrious Rawleigh wrought,
And them with every thing, fit for discovery fraught;
That Amadas, (whose Name doth scarsely English sound)
With Barlow, who the first Virginia throughly found.
As Greenvile, whom he got to undertake that Sea,
Three sundry times from hence, who touch'd Virginia.
(In his so rare a choyce, it well approov'd his wit;
That with so brave a Spirit, his turne so well could fit.
O Greenvile, thy great Name, for ever be renown'd,
And borne by Neptune still, about this mightie Round;
Whose Navall Conflict wanne thy Nation so much fame,
And in th'Iberians bred feare of the English name.

Nor should Fame speake her low'dst, Of Lane, shee could not lie,
Who in Virginia left, with th'English Colony,
Himselfe so bravely bare, amongst our people there,
That him they onely lov'd, when others they did feare.

406

And from those Barbarous, brute, and wild Virginians wan
Such reverence, as in him there had been more then man.

Then he which favoured still, such high attempts as these,
Rawleigh, whose reading made him ski'd in all the Seas,
Imbarqu'd his worthy selfe, and his adventurous crue,
And with a prosperous Sayle to those faire Countries flew,
Where Orenoque, as he, on in his course doth roule,
Seemes as his greatnes meant, grim Neptune to controule;
Like to a puisant King, whose Realmes extend so farre,
That many a potent Prince his Tributaries are.
So are his Branches Seas, and in the rich Guiana,
A Flood as proud as he, the broad-brim'd Orellana:
And on the spacious firme Manoas mightie seat,
The land (by Natures power) with wonders most repleat.

So Leigh, Cape Briton saw, and Rameas Iles againe;
As Tompson undertooke the Voyage to New-Spaine:
And Hawkins not behind, the best of these before,
Who hoysing sayle, to seeke the most remotest shore,
Upon that new-nam'd Spaine, and Guinny sought his prize,
As one whose mighty mind small things could not suffice,
The sonne of his brave Syre, who with his furrowing Keele,
Long ere that time had touch'd the goodly rich Brazeel.

Couragious Candish then, a second Neptune here,
Whose fame fild every mouth, and tooke up every eare.
What man could in his time discourse of any Seas,
But of brave Candish talk'd, and of his voyages;
Who through the South Seas past, about this earthly Ball,
And saw those Starres, to them that onely rise and fall,
And with his silken sayles, stayn'd with the richest Ore,
Dar'd any one to passe where he had been before.

Count Cumberland, so hence to seeke th'Asores sent,
And to the Westerne-Inde, to Porta Ricco went,
And with the English power it bravely did surprize.

Sir Robert Dudley then, by sea that sought to rise,
Hoyst Sayles with happy winds to th'Iles of Trinidado:
Paria then he past, the Ilands of Granado;
As those of Sancta Cruz, and Porta Ricco: then
Amongst the famous ranke of our Sea-searching men,
Is Preston sent to Sea, with Summers foorth to finde,
Adventures in the parts upon the Westerne-Inde;

407

Port Santo who surpriz'd, and Coches, with the Fort
Of Coro, and the Towne, when in submissive sort,
Cumana ransome crav'd, Saint James of Leon sack'd;
Jamica went not free, but as the rest they wrack'd.

Then Sherley, (since whose name such high renowne hath won)
That Voyage undertooke, as they before had done:
He Saint Iago saw, Domingo, Margarita,
By Terra firma sayl'd to th'Ilands of Jamica,
Up Rio Dolce row'd, and with a prosperous hand,
Returning to his home, touch'd at the New-found-land,
Where at Jamicas Iles, couragious Parker met
With Sherley, and along up Rio Dolce set,
Where bidding him adue, on his owne course he ran,
And tooke Campeches Towne, the chief'st of Jucatan.
A Freegate, and from thence did home to Britan bring,
With most strange Tribute fraught, due to that Indian King,

At mightie Neptunes beck, thus ended they their Song,
When as from Harwich all to Loving-land along,
Great claps and shouts were heard resounding to the shore,
Wherewith th' Essexian Nymphs applaud their loved Stour,
From the Suffolcean side yet those which Stour preferre
Their princely Orwell praise, as much as th'other her:
For though cleare Briton be rich Suffolkes from her spring,
Which Stour upon her way to Harwich downe doth bring,
Yet Deben of her selfe a stout and stedfast friend,
Her succour to that Sea, neere Orwels Road doth send.

When Waveney to the North, rich Suffolks onely meere,

Suffolke bounded on the South and North.

As Stour upon the North, from Essex parts this Sheere;
Lest Stour and Orwell thus might steale her Nymphes away,
In Neptunes name commands, that here their force should stay:
For that her selfe and Yar in honor of the Deepe,
Were purposed a Feast in Loving-land to keepe.

409

The twentieth Song.

The Argument.

The Muse that part of Suffolke sings,
That lyes to Norfolke, and then brings
The bright Norfolcean Nymphes, to ghest
To Loving-land, to Neptunes Feast;
To Ouze the lesse then downe shee takes,
Where shee a Flight at River makes:
And thence to Marsh-land shee descends,
With whose free praise this Song shee ends.

From Suffolke rose a sound, through the Norfolcean shore
That ran it selfe, the like had not bin heard before:
For he that doth of Sea the powerful Trident weld,
His Tritons made proclaime, a

A meeting, or Feast of Nymphs.

Nymphall to be held
In honor of himselfe, in Loving-land, where he
The most selected Nymphes appointed had to be.
Those Seamayds that about his secret walkes doe dwell,
Which tend his mightie heards of Whales, and Fishes fell,
As of the Rivers those, amongst the Meadowes ranke,
That play in every Foar'd, and sport on every banke,
Were summon'd to be there, in paine of Neptunes hate:
For he would have his Feast, observ'd with god-like state,

When those Suffolcean Floods, that sided not with Stoure,
Their streames but of themselves into the Ocean powre,
As Or, through all the coast a Flood of wondrous fame,
Whose honored fall begets a

Orford Haven.

Haven of her name.
And Blyth a daintie Brooke, their speedy course doe cast,
For Neptune with the rest, to Loving-land to hast:
When Waveney in her way, on this Septentriall side,
That these two Easterne Shires doth equally divide,
From

The place of her Spring.

Laphamford leads on, her streame into the East,
By Bungey, then along by Beckles, when possest
Of Loving-land, 'bout which her limber Armes she throwes,
With Neptune taking hands, betwixt them who inclose,
And her an Iland make, fam'd for her scite so farre.
But leave her Muse awhile, and let us on with Yar,

410

Which Gariena some, some Hier, some Yar doe name;
Who rising from her spring not farre from Walsingham,

At Gatesend not far thence.

Through the Norfolcean fields seemes wantonly to play,
To Norwich comes at length, towards Yarmouth on her way,
Where Wentsum from the South, and Bariden doe beare
Up with her, by whose wealth she much is honored there,
To intertaine her Yar, that in her state doth stand,

Norwich, in place the 4. city of England.

With Townes of high'st account, the fourth of all the land:
That hospitable place to the Industrious Dutch,

The Dutch a most industrious poeple.

Whose skill in making Stuffes, and workmanship is such,
(For refuge hither come) as they our ayd deserve,
By labour sore that live, whilst oft the English starve;
On Roots, and Pulse that feed, on Beefe and Mutton spare,
So frugally they live, not gluttons as we are.

But from my former Theame, since thus I have digrest,
Ile borrow more of Time, untill my Nymphs be drest:
And since these Foods fall out so fitly in my way,
A little while to them I will convert my Lay.

Roots and Garden-fruits of this Iland.

The Colewort, Colifloure, and Cabidge in their season,
The Rouncefall, great Beanes, and early ripening Peason;
The Onion, Scallion, Leeke, which Housewives highly rate;
Their kinsman Garlicke then, the poore mans Mithridate;
The savory Parsnip next, and Carret pleasing food;
The Skirret (which some say) in Sallats stirres the blood;
The Turnip, tasting well to Clownes in Winter weather.
Thus in our verse we put, Roots, Hearbs, and Fruits together.
The great moyst Pumpion then, that on the ground doth lie,
A purer of his kind, the sweet Muske-million by;
Which dainty pallats now, because they would not want,
Have kindly learnt to set, as yearely to transplant:
The Radish somewhat hote, yet urine doth provoke;
The Cucumber as cold, the heating Artichoke;
The Citrons, which our soyle not easly doth affourd;
The Rampion rare as that, the hardly gotten Gourd.

But in these triviall things, Muse, wander not too long,
But now to nimble Yar, turne we our active Song,
Which in her winding course, from Norwich to the Mayne,

So called by the falling of Yar into the Sea.

By many a stately seat lasciviously doth straine,
To Yarmouth till she come, her onely christned Towne,
Whose fishing through the Realme, doth her so much renowne,

411

Where those that with their nets still haunt the boundles lake,
Her such a sumptuous feast of salted Herrings make,
As they had rob'd the Sea of all his former store,
And past that very howre, it could produce no more.

Her owne selves Harbour here, when Yar doth hardly win,
But kindly she againe, saluted is by Thrin,
A faire Norfolcean Nymph, which gratifies her fall.

Now are the

Supposed to be Trumpeters to Neptune.

Tritons heard, to Loving-land to call,
Which Neptunes great commaunds, before them bravely beare,
Commanding all the Nymphs of high account that were,
Which in fat Holland lurke amongst the queachy plashes,
Or play them on the sands, upon the fomy washes,
As all the watry brood, which haunt the German deepes,
Upon whose briny Curles, the dewy morning weepes,
To Loving-land to come, and in their best attires,
That meeting to observe, as now the time requires.

When Erix, Neptunes sonne by Venus, to the shore
To see them safely brought, their Herault came before,
And for a Mace he held in his huge hand, the horne
Of that so-much-esteem'd, sea-honoring Unicorne.

The vertuall properties incident to waters, as well Seas, as Rivers, expressed by their names in the persons of Nymphs, as hath bin used by the Ancients.

Next Proto wondrous swift, led all the rest the way,
Then she which makes the calmes, the mild Cymodice,
With god-like Dorida, and Galatea faire,
With daintie Nets of pearle, cast o'r their braided haire:
Analiis which the Sea doth salt, and seasoned keepe;
And Batheas, most supreame and soveraigne in the deepe,
Brings Cyane, to the waves which that greene colour gives;
Then Atmis, which in Fogs and mistie vapours lives:
Phrinax, the Billowes rough, and surges that bestrides,
And Rothion, that by her on the wilde waters rides;
With Icthias, that of Frye the keeping doth retaine,
As Pholoë, most that rules the Monsters of the Maine:
Which brought to beare them out, if any need should fall,
The Dolphin, Sea-horse, Gramp, the Wherlpoole, and the Whall.
An hundred more besides, I readily could name,
With these as Neptune wil'd, to Loving-land that came.

These Nymphs trick'd up in tyers, the Sea-gods to delight:
Of Currall of each kind, the blacke, the red, the white;

The delicacies of the Sea.

With many sundry shels, the Scallop large, and faire;
The Cockle small and round, the Periwinkle spare,

412

The Oyster, wherein oft the pearle is found to breed,
The Mussell, which retaines that daintie Orient seed:
In Chaines and Bracelets made, with linkes of sundry twists,
Some worne about their wasts, their necks, some on the wrists.
Great store of Amber there, and Jeat they did not misse;
Their lips they sweetned had with costly Ambergris.

Scarcely the

Sea-Nymphs.

Neriad's thus arrived from the Seas,
But from the fresher streames the brighter

Nymphs of Rivers.

Niades,
To Loving-land make haste with all the speed they may,
For feare their fellow-Nymphes should for their comming stay.
Glico the running Streames in sweetnesse still that keepes,
And Clymene which rules, when they surround their deepes.
Spio, in hollow bankes, the waters that doth hide:
With Opis that doth beare them backward with the Tyde.
Semaia that for sights doth keepe the water cleare:
Zanthe their yellow sands, that maketh to appeare,
Then Drymo for the Okes that shaddow every banke,
Phylodice, the boughs for Garlands fresh and ranke.
Which the cleare Naiades make them

Coronets of Flowers.

Anadems withall,
When they are cald to daunse in Neptunes mightie hall.
Then Ligea, which maintaines the Birds harmonious layes,
Which sing on Rivers banks amongst the slender sprayes,
With Rhodia, which for them doth nurse the Roseat sets,
Ioida, which preserves the azure Violets.
Anthea, of the flowers, that hath the generall charge,
And Syrinx of the Reeds, that grow upon the Marge.
Some of these lovely Nymphes wore on their flaxen haire
Fine Chaplets made of Flaggs, that fully flowred were:
With Water-cans againe, some wantonly them dight,
Whose larger leafe and flower, gave wonderfull delight
To those that wistly view'd their Beauties: some againe,
That soveraigne places held amongst the watry traine,
Of Cat-tayles made them Crownes, which from the Sedge doth grow,
Which neatly woven were, and some to grace the show,
Of Lady-smocks most white, doe rob each neighbouring Mead,
Wherewith their looser locks most curiously they breyd.

Now thus together com'n, they friendly doe devise,
Some of light toyes, and some of matters grave and wise.
But to breake off their speech, her reed when Syrinx sounds,
Some cast themselves in Rings, and fell to Hornepipe rounds:

413

They ceasing, as againe to others turnes it falls,
They lustie Galiards tread, some others Jiggs, and Braules.
This done, upon the banke together being set,
Proceeding in the cause, for which they thus were met,
In mightie Neptunes praise, these Sea-borne Virgins sing:

The Song of the Sea-Nymphs in praise of Neptune.

Let earth, and ayre, say they with the high praises ring,
Of Saturne by his Ops, the most renowned Sonne,
From all the gods but Jove, the Diadem that wonne,
Whose ofspring wise and strong, deare Nymphes let us relate,
On mountaines of vast waves, know he that sits in state,
And with his Trident rules, the universall streame,
To be the onely syre of mightie Polypheme.
On fayre Thoosa got old Phorcus loved child,
Who in a fained shape that god of Sea beguild.
Three thousand princely sonnes, and lovely Nymphs as we,
Were to great Neptune borne, of which we sparing be:
Some by his goodly Queene, some in his Lemmans bed;
Chryasor grim begot, on sterne Medusas head.
Swart Brontes, for his owne so mightie Neptune takes,
One of the Cyclops strong, Joves Thunder-bolts that makes.
Great Neptune, Nelius got, (if you for wisedome seeke)
Who was old Nestors syre, the grav'st and wisest Greeke.
Or from this King of waves, of such thou lov'st to heare,
Of famous Nations first, that mightie Founders were;
Then Cadmus, who the plot of ancient Thebes contriv'd,
From Neptune God of Sea, his Pedigree deriv'd,
By Agenor his old Syer, who rul'd Phenicia long:
So Inachus, the chiefe of Argives great and strong
Claim'd kinred of this King, and by some beautious Neece,
So did Pelasgus too, who peopled ancient Greece.
A world of mightie Kings and Princes I could name,
From our god Neptune sprung; let this suffice, his fame
Incompasseth the world; those Starres which never rise,
Above the lower South, are never from his eyes:
As those againe to him doe every day appeare,
Continually that keepe the Northerne Hemisphere;
Who like a mightie King, doth cast his Watched robe,
Farre wider then the land, quite round about the Globe.
Where is there one to him that may compared be,
That both the Poles at once continually doth see;

414

And Gyant-like with heaven as often maketh warres;
The Ilands (in his power) as numberlesse as Starres,
He washeth at his will, and with his mightie hands,
He makes the even shores, oft mountainous with Sands:
Whose creatures, which observe his wide Emperiall seat,
Like his immeasured selfe, are infinite and great.

Thus ended they their Song, and off th'assembly brake,
When quickly towards the west, the Muse her way doth take;
Whereas the swelling soyle, as from one banke doth bring
This

The fountaines of these rivers, not farre asunder, yet one running Northward, the other to the East.

Waveney sung before, and

A description of a flight at River.

Ouse the lesse, whose spring
Towards Ouse the greater poynts, and downe by Thetford glides,
Where shee cleere Thet receives, her glory that divides,
With her new-named Towne, as wondrous glad that shee,
For frequency of late, so much esteemd should be:
Where since these confluent Floods, so fit for Hauking lye,
And store of Fowle intice skil'd Falkoners there to flye.

Now of a flight at Brooke shall my description be:
What subject can be found, that lies not faire to me.
Of simple Shepheards now, my Muse exactly sings,
And then of courtly Loves, and the affaires of Kings.
Then in a Buskind straine, the warlike speare and shield,
And instantly againe of the disports of Field;
What can this Ile produce, that lyes from my report,
Industrious Muse, proceed then to thy Hawking sport.

When making for the Brooke, the Falkoner doth espie
On River, Plash, or Mere, where store of Fowle doth lye:
Whence forced over land, by skilfull Falconers trade:
A faire convenient flight, may easily be made.
He whistleth off his Hawkes, whose nimble pineons streight,
Doe worke themselves by turnes, into a stately height:
And if that after

After Pigeons, Crowes, or such like.

check, the one or both doe goe,
Sometimes he them the Lure, sometimes doth water show;
The trembling Fowle that heare the Jigging Hawk-bels ring,
And find it is too late, to trust then to their wing,
Lye flat upon the flood, whilst the high-mounted Hawks,
Then being lords alone, in their etheriall walkes,
Aloft so bravely stirre, their bells so thicke that shake;
Which when the Falkoner sees, that scarce one

When they sore as Kites doe.

plane they make:
The gallant'st Birds saith he, that ever flew on wing,
And sweares there is a Flight, were worthy of a King.

415

Then making to the Flood, to force the Fowles to rise,
The fierce and eager Hawkes, downe thrilling from the Skies,
Make sundry

Crossing the ayre in their downe-come.

Canceleers e'r they the Fowle can reach,
Which then to save their lives, their wings doe lively stretch.
But when the whizzing Bels the silent ayre doe cleave,
And that their greatest speed, them vainly doe deceive;
And the sharpe cruell Hawkes, they at their backs doe view,
Themselves for very feare they instantly

Lay the Fowles againe into the water.

ineawe.

The Hawkes get up againe into their former place;
And ranging here and there, in that their ayery race:
Still as the fearefull Fowle attempt to scape away,
With many a stouping brave, them in againe they lay.
But when the Falkoners take their Hawking-poles in hand,
And crossing of the Brooke, doe put it over land:
The Hawke gives it a souse, that makes it to rebound,
Well neere the height of man, sometime above the ground;
Oft takes a leg, or wing, oft takes away the head,
And oft from necke to tayle, the backe in two doth shread.
With many a Wo ho ho, and jocond Lure againe,
When he his quarry makes upon the grassy plaine.

But to my Floods againe: when as this Ouze the lesse
Hath taken in cleere Thet, with farre more free accesse
To Ouze the great shee goes, her Queene that commeth crown'd,
As such a River fits, so many miles renown'd;
And poynting to the North, her Christall front she dashes
Against the swelling sands of the surrounded Washes;
And Neptune in her Armes, so amply doth imbrace,
As she would rob his Queene, faire Thetis of her place.
Which when rich Marsh-land sees, least she should loose her state,
With that faire River thus, shee gently doth debate.

Disdaine me not, deare Flood, in thy excessive pride,
There's scarcely any soyle that sitteth by thy side,
Whose Turfe so batfull is, or beares so deepe a swath;
Nor is there any Marsh in all Great Britaine, hath
So many goodly seats, or that can truely show
Such Rarities as I: so that all Marshes owe
Much honor to my name, for that exceeding grace,
Which they receive by me, so soveraigne in my place.
Though Rumney, as some say, for finenesse of her grasse,
And for her daintie scite, all other doth surpasse:

416

Yet are those Seas but poore, and Rivers that confine
Her greatnesse but meane Rills, be they compar'd with mine.
Nor hardly doth shee tyth th'aboundant Fowle and Fish,
Which Nature gives to me, as I my selfe can wish.
As Amphitrite oft, calls me her sweet and faire,
And sends the Northrene winds to curle my braided haire,
And makes the

The Washes lying betweene Marsh-land, and the Sea.

Washes stand, to watch and ward me still,
Lest that rough god of Sea, on me should worke his will.
Old Wisbitch to my grace, my circuit sits within,
And neere my banks I have the neighbourhood of Lyn.
Both Townes of strength and state, my profits still that vent:
No Marsh hath more of Sea, none more of continent.
Thus Marsh-land ends her speech, as one that throughly knew,
What was her proper praise, and what was Ouzes due.

With that the zealous Muse, in her Poetique rage,
To Walsingham would needs have gone a Pilgrimage,
To view those farthest shores, whence little Niger flowes
Into the Northrene Maine, and see the gleabe where growes
That Saffron, (which men say) this land hath not the like,
All Europe that excels: but here she sayle doth strike.
For that Apollo pluckt her easly by the eare;
And told her in that part of Norfolke, if there were
Ought worthy of respect, it was not in her way,
When for the greater Ouze, her wing she doth display.

417

The one and twentieth Song.

The Argument.

Now from New-market comes the Muse,
Whose spacious Heath, shee wistly viewes,
Those Ancient Ditches and surveyes,
Which our first Saxons here did raise:
To Gogmagog then turnes her tale,
And shewes you Ring-tailes pleasant vale.
And to doe Cambridge all her Rites,
The Muses to her Towne invites.
And lastly, Elies praise shee sings,
An end which to this Canto brings.

By this our little rest, thus having gotten breath,
And fairely in our way, upon Newmarket-Heath:
That great and ancient

The Divels Ditch.

Ditch, which us expected long,
Inspired by the Muse, at her arrivall song:
O Time, what earthly thing with thee it selfe can trust,
When thou in thine owne course, art to thy selfe unjust!
Dost thou contract with death, and to oblivion give
Thy glories, after them, yet shamefully dar'st live?
O Time, hadst thou preserv'd, what labouring man hath done,
Thou long before this day, mightst to thy selfe have wonne
A Deitie with the gods, and in thy Temple plac'd,
But sacriligious thou, hast all great workes defac'd;
For though the things themselves have suffered by thy theft,
Yet with their Ruines, thou, to ages mightst have left,
Those Monuments who rear'd, and not have suffred thus
Posteritie so much, t'abuse both thee and us.
I, by th'East Angles first, who from this Heath arose,
The long'st and largest Ditch, to check their Mercian foes;

The great ditch cutting New-market Heath, beginneth at Rech, & endeth at Cowlidge.

Because my depth, and breadth, so strangely doth exceed,
Mens low and wretched thoughts, they constantly decreed,
That by the Devils helpe, I needs must raised be,
Wherefore the Devils-Ditch they basely named me:
When ages long before, I bare Saint Edmonds name,
Because up to my side, (some have supposed) came

418

The Liberties bequeath'd to his more sacred Shrine.
Therefore my fellow Dykes, ye ancient friends of mine,
That out of earth were raisd, by men whose minds were great,
It is no marvaile, though Oblivion doe you threat.
First,

Alias, Seven mile ditch, being so much in length from the East side of the river Grant to Balsham. From Hinxston to Horsheath five miles. From Melburne to Fulmer, the shortest of the foure.

Flemditch next my selfe, that art of greatest strength,
That doest extend thy course full seaven large mile in length:
And thou the

Fivemile cald, yet not lesse deare to me;
With

Brenditch, that againe is shortest of the three,
Can you suppose your selves at all to be respected,
When you may see my truth's bely'd, and so neglected:
Therefore deare Heath, live still in prosperous estate,
And let thy wel-fleec'd Flocks, from morne to evening late,
(By carefull Shepheards kept) rejoyce thee with their praise;
And let the merry Larke, with her delicious layes,
Give comfort to thy plaines, and let me onely lye,
(Though of the world contemn'd) yet gracious in thine eye.

Thus said, these ancient Dykes neglected in their ground,
Through the sad aged earth, sent out a hollow sound,
To gratulate her speech; when as we met againe,
With one whose constant heart, with cruell love was slaine:
Old Gogmagog, a Hill of long and great renowne,
Which neere to Cambridge set, o'rlookes that learned Towne.
Of Balshams pleasant hilles, that by the name was knowne,
But with the monstrous times, he rude and barbarous growne,
A Gyant was become; for man hee cared not,
And so the fearefull name of Gogmagog had got:
Who long had borne good will to most delicious Grant:
But doubting lest some god his greatnesse might supplant.
For as that daintie Flood by Cambridge keepes her course,
He found the Muses left their old Beotian source,
Resorting to her banks, and every little space,
He saw bright Phœbus gaze upon her Christall face,
And through th'exhaled Fogs, with anger looked red,
To leave his loved Nymph, when he went downe to bed.
Wherefore this Hill with love, being fouly overgone:
And one day as he found the lovely Nymph alone,
Thus wooes her; Sweeting mine, if thou mine owne wilt be,
C'have many a pretty gaud, I keepe in store for thee.
A nest of broad-fac'd Owles, and goodly Urchins too;
Nay Nymph take heed of me, when I begin to wooe:

419

And better yet then this, a Bulchin twa yeares old,
A curld-pate Calfe it is, and oft could have beene sold:
And yet beside all this, c'have goodly Beare-whelps twa,
Full daintie for my Joy, when shee's dispos'd to play,
And twentie Sowes of Lead, to make our wedding Ring;
Bezides, at Sturbridge Fayre, chill buy thee many a thing:
Chill zmouch thee every morne, before the Sunne can rise,
And looke my manly face, in thy sweet glaring eyes.

Thus said, he smug'd his Beard, and stroked up his hayre,
As one that for her love he thought had offered fayre:
Which to the Muses, Grant did presently report,
Wherewith they many a yeare shall make them wondrous sport.

When Ringdale in her selfe, a most delicious Dale,

The Vale of Ringdale, of the vulgar falsly called Ringtaile.

Who having heard too long the barbarous Mountaines tale,
Thus thinketh in her selfe, Shall I be silenc'd, when
Rude Hills, and Ditches, digg'd by discontented men,
Are ayded by the Muse; their Mind's at large to speake:
Besides my sister Vales supposing me but weake,
Judge meanly of my state, when she no longer stayd,
But in her owne behalfe, thus to the other said.

What though betwixt two Sheeres, I be by Fortune throwne,

This Vale standeth part in Hartfordshire, part in Cambridgeshire.

That neither of them both can challenge me her owne,
Yet am I not the lesse, nor lesse my Fame shall be:
Your Figures are but base, when they are set by me;
For Nature in your shapes, notoriously did erre,
But skillfull was in me, cast pure Orbiculer.
Nor can I be compar'd so like to any thing,
By him that would expresse my shape, as to a Ring:
For Nature bent to sport, and various in her trade,
Of all the British Vales, of me a circle made:
For in my very midst, there is a swelling ground,
About which Ceres Nymphs dance many a wanton Round.
The frisking Fairy there, as on the light ayre borne,
Oft runne at Barley-breake upon the eares of Corne;
And catching drops of dew in their lascivious chases,
Doe cast the liquid pearle in one anothers faces.
What they in largenesse have, that beare themselves so hie,
In my most perfect forme, and delicacie, I,
For greatnesse of my graine, and finenesse of my grasse;
This Ile scarce hath a Vale, that Ringdale doth surpasse.

420

When more she would have said, but suddenly there sprung,
A confident report, that through the Countrey rung,
That Cam her daintiest Flood, long since entituled Grant,

A famous Village in the confines of Hartfordshire.

Whose fountaine Ashwell crown'd, with many a upright plant,
In sallying on for Ouze, determin'd by the way,
To intertaine her friends the Muses with a Lay.
Wherefore to shew her selfe er'e she to Cambridge came,
Most worthy of that Towne to which she gives the name,
Takes in her second head, from Linton comming in,
By Shelford having slid, which straightway she doth win:
Then which, a purer Streame, a delicater Brooke,
Bright Phœbus in his course, doth scarcely overlooke.
Thus furnishing her bankes; as sweetly she doth glide
Towards Cambridge, with rich Meads layd forth on either side;
And with the Muses oft, did by the way converse:
Wherefore it her behooves, that something she reherse,
The Sisters that concern'd, who whispered in her eare,
Such things as onely shee, and they themselves should heare,
A wondrous learned Flood; and she that had been long,
(Though silent, in her selfe, yet) vexed at the wrong
Done to Apollo's Priests, with heavenly fire infused,
Oft by the worthlesse world, unworthily abused:
With whom, in their behalfe, hap ill, or happen well,
Shee meant to have a bout, even in despight of Hell,
When humbly lowting low, her due obedience done,
Thus like a Satyre shee, deliberatly begun.

My Invective, thus quoth she, I onely ayme at you,
(Of what degree soe'r) ye wretched worldly crue,
In all your brainlesse talke, that still direct your drifts
Against the Muses sonnes, and their most sacred gifts,
That hate a Poets name, your vilenesse to advance,
For ever be you damn'd in your dull ignorance.
Slave, he whom thou dost thinke, so meane and poore to be,
Is more then halfe divine, when he is set by thee.
Nay more, I will avow, and justifie him then,
He is a god, compar'd with ordinary men.
His brave and noble heart, here in a heaven doth dwell,
Above those worldly cares, that sinks such sots to hell:
A caitife if there be more viler then thy selfe,
If he through basenesse light upon this worldly pelfe,

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The Chimney-sweepe, or he that in the dead of night,
Doth emptie lothsome vaults, may purchase all your right;
When not the greatest King, should he his treasure raine,
The Muses sacred gifts, can possibly obtaine;
No, were he Monarch of the universall earth,
Except that gift from heaven, be breath'd into his birth.
How transitory be those heaps of rotting mud,
Which onely to obtaine, yee make your chiefest good?
Perhaps to your fond sonnes, your ill-got goods yee leave,
You scarcely buried are, but they your hopes deceive.
Have I not knowne a wretch, the purchase of whose ground,
Was valued to be sould, at threescore thousand pound;
That in a little time, in a poore threed-bare coat,
Hath walk'd from place to place, to beg a silly groat?
When nothing hath of yours, or your base broods been left,
Except poore widdowes cries, to memorize your theft.
That curse the Serpent got in Paradise for hire,
Descend upon you all, from him your devillish Sire,
Groveling upon the earth, to creepe upon your breast,
And licke the lothsome dust, like that abhorred beast.

But leave these hatefull heards, and let me now declare,
In th'Helliconian Fount, who rightly christned are:
Not such as basely sooth the Humour of the Time,
And slubberingly patch up some slight and shallow Rime,
Upon Pernassus top, that strive to be instal'd,
Yet never to that place were by the Muses call'd.
Nor yet our Mimick Apes, out of their bragging pride,
That faine would seeme to be, what nature them denide;
Whose Verses hobling runne, as with disjoynted bones,
And make a viler noyse, then carts upon the stones;
And these forsooth must be, the Muses onely heires,
When they but Bastards are, and foundlings none of theirs,
Inforcing things in Verse for Poesie unfit,
Mere filthy stuffe, that breakes out of the sores of wit:
What Poet reckes the praise upon such Anticks heap'd,
Or envies that their lines, in Cabinets are kept?
Though some fantasticke foole promove their ragged Rymes,
And doe transcribe them o'r a hundred severall times,
And some fond women winnes, to thinke them wondrous rare,
When they lewd beggery trash, nay very gibbrish are.

422

Give me those Lines (whose touch the skilfull eare to please)
That gliding flow in state, like swelling Euphrates,
In which things naturall be, and not in falsely wrong:
The Sounds are fine and smooth, the Sense is full and strong,
Not bumbasted with words, vaine ticklish eares to feed;
But such as may content the perfect man to read.
What is of Paynters said, is of true Poets rife,
That he which doth expresse things neerest to the life,
Doth touch the very poynt, nor needs he adde thereto:
For that the utmost is, that Art doth strive to doe.

Had Orpheus, whose sweet Harpe (so musically strung)
Intised Trees, and Rocks, to follow him along:
Th'moralitie of which, is that his knowledge drew
The stony, blockish rout, that nought but rudenesse knew,
T'imbrace a civill life, by his inticing Layes.
Had he compos'd his lines, like many of these dayes,
Which to be understood, doe take in it disdaine:
Nay, Oedipus may fayle, to know what they would meane.
If Orpheus had so play'd, not to be understood,
Well might those men have thought the Harper had been wood;
Who might have sit him downe, the trees and rockes among,
And been a veryer blocke, then those to whom he sung.

O noble Cambridge then, my most beloved Towne,
In glory flourish still, to heighten thy renowne:

The Embleme of Cambridge.

In womans perfect shape, still be thy Embleme right,
Whose one hand holds a Cup, the other beares a Light.
Phocis bedew'd with drops, that from Pernassus fall,
Let Cirrha seeke to her, nor be you least of all,
Yee faire Beotian Thebes, and Thespia still to Pay
My Cambridge all her Rites: Cirrhea send this way.
O let the thrice-three Maids, their dewes upon thee raine,
From Aganippa's fount, and hoofe-plow'd Hyppocrene.
Mount Pindus, thou that art the Muses sacred place
In Thessaly; and thou, O Pimpla, that in Thrace
They chose for their owne hill, then thou Pernassus hye,
Upon whose by-clift top, the sacred company
About Apollo sit; and thou O Flood, with these
Pure Hellicon, belov'd of the Pierides.

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With Tempe, let thy walks, and shades, be brought to her,
And all your glorious gifts upon my Towne conferre.

This said, the lovely Grant glides eas'ly on along,
To meet the mighty Ouze, which with her watry throng,
The Cantabrigian fields had entred, taking in
Th'in-Iled Elies earth, which strongly she doth win
From Grants soft-neighbouring grounds, when as the fruitfull Ile,
Much wondring at her selfe, thought surely all this while,
That by her silence shee had suffred too much wrong.
Wherefore in her selfe praise, loe thus the Iland sung.

Of all the Marshland Iles, I Ely am the Queene:
For Winter each where sad, in me lookes fresh and greene.
The Horse, or other beast, o'rway'd with his owne masse,
Lies wallowing in my Fennes, hid over head in grasse:
And in the place where growes ranke Fodder for my Neat;
The Turffe which beares the Hay, is wondrous needfull Peat:

Fuell cut out of the earth in squares, like Brickes.

My full and batning earth, needs not the Plowmans paines;
The Rils which runne in me, are like the branched vaines
In humane Bodies seene; those Ditches cut by hand,
From the surrounding Meres, to winne the measured land,
To those choyce waters, I most fitly may compare,
Wherewith nice women use to blanch their Beauties rare.
Hath there a man beene borne in me, that never knew
Of Watersey the Leame, or th'other cal'd the New.

Famous Ditches, or Water-draughts in the Isle.

The Frithdike neer'st my midst, and of another sort,
Who ever fish'd, or fowl'd, that cannot make report
Of sundry Meres at hand, upon my Westerne way,
As Ramsey mere, and Ug, with the great Whittelsey:
Of the aboundant store of Fish and Fowle there bred,
Which whilst of Europes Iles Great Britaine is the Head,
No Meres shall truely tell, in them, then at one draught,
More store of either kinds hath with the Net been caught:
Which though some pettie Iles doe challenge them to be
Their owne, yet must those Iles likwise acknowledge me
Their soveraigne. Nor yet let that Islet Ramsey shame,
Although to Ramsey-Mere shee onely gives the name;

Though Ely be in part of Cambridge Shire, yet are these Meres for the most part in Huntingdon Shire.

Nor Huntingdon, to me though she extend her grounds,
Twit me that I at all usurpe upon her Bounds.

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Those Meres may well be proud, that I will take them in,
Which otherwise perhaps forgotten might have bin.

The Towne and Church of Ely.

Besides my towred Phane, and my rich Citied seat,
With Villages, and Dorpes, to make me most compleat.

Thus broke she off her speech, when as the Muse awhile,
Desirous to repose, and rest her with the Ile,
Here consumates her Song, and doth fresh courage take,
With warre in the next Booke, the Muses to awake.

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The two and twentieth Song

The Argument.

The Muse, Ouze from her Fountaine brings
Along by Buckingham, and sings:
The Earth that turneth wood to stone,
And t'holy Wells of Harlweston:
Then shewes wherefore the Fates doe grant,
That shee the Civill warres should chant:
By Huntingdon shee Waybridge meetes,
And thence the German Ocean greetes.

Invention as before, thy high-pitcht pinions rouze,
Exactly to set downe how the far-wandring Ouze,

The Progresse of the River of Ouze to the German Sea.

Through the Bedfordian fields deliciously doth strain,
As holding on her course, by Huntingdon againe,
How bravely shee her selfe betwixt her Bankes doth beare,
E'r Ely shee in-Ile, a Goddesse honored there;
From Brackley breaking forth, through soiles most heavenly sweet,
By Buckingham makes on, and crossing Watling-Street,
Shee with her lesser Ouze, at Newport next doth twin,
Which from proud Chiltern neere, comes eas'ly ambling in.
The Brooke which on her banke doth boast that earth alone:
(Which noted) of this Ile, converteth wood to stone.
That little Aspleyes earth we anciently instile,
Mongst sundry other things, A wonder of the Ile:

One of the wonders of this Iland.

Of which the lesser Ouze oft boasteth in her way,
As shee her selfe with Flowers doth gorgeously aray.

Ouze having Ouleney past, as shee were waxed mad,

After this river hath entred Bedford Shire, there is scarce any River in this Iland, that runneth with so many intricate Gyres and turnings as this Ouze.

From her first stayder course immediatly doth gad;
And in Meandred Gyres doth whirle herselfe about,
That, this way, here, and there, backe, forward, in, and out,
And like a wanton Girle, oft doubling in her gate,
In Labyrinth-like turnes, and twinings intricate,
Through those rich fields doth runne, till lastly in her pride,
The Shires Hospitious towne, shee in her course divide,
Where shee her spacious breast in glorious bredth displayes;
And varying her cleere forme a thousand sundry wayes,

426

Streakes through the verdant Meads; but farre she hath not gone,
When Ivell a cleare Nymph from Shefford sallying on,
Comes deftly dauncing in through many a daintie Slade,
Crown'd with a goodly Bridge, arriv'd at Bickleswade,
Encouraged the more her Mistris to pursue,
In whose cleere face the Sunne delights himselfe to view:
To mixe her selfe with Ouze, as on she thus doth make,
And lovingly at last hath hapt to overtake;
Shee in her Chrystall Armes her soveraigne Ouze doth cling,
Which Flood in her Allie, as highly glorying,
Shoots forward to Saint Neots, into those nether grounds,
Towards Huntingdon, and leaves the lov'd Bedfordian bounds.
Scarce is she entred yet upon this second Sheere,

The holy Springs of Harlweston.

Of which she soveraigne is, but that two Fountaines cleere,
At Harlweston neere hand, th'one salt, the other sweet,
At her first entrance, thus her greatnesse gently greet.

Once were we two faire Nymphs, who fortunatly prov'd,
The pleasures of the Woods, and faithfully belov'd
Of two such Sylvan gods, by hap that found us here;
For then their Sylvan kind most highly honoured were,
When this whole Countries face was Forresty, and we
Liv'd loosely in the Weilds, which now thus peopled be.
Oft interchang'd we sighs, oft amorous lookes we sent,
Oft whispering our deare loves, our thoughts oft did we vent
Amongst the secret shades, oft in the groves did play,
And in our sports our joyes, and sorrowes did bewray.
Oft cunningly we met, yet coyly then imbrac't,
Still languish'd in desire, yet liv'd we ever chast.
And quoth the saltish Spring, as one day mine and I,
Set to recount our loves, from his more tender eye
The brinish teares drop'd downe, on mine impearced breast,
And instantly therein so deeply were imprest,
That brackish I became: he finding me depriv'd
Of former freshnesse quite, the cause from him deriv'd,
On me bestow'd this gift, my sweetnesse to requite,
That I should ever cure the dimnesse of the sight.
And, quoth the fresher Spring, the Wood-god me that woo'd,
As one day by my brim, surpriz'd with love he stood,
On me bestow'd this gift, that ever after I
Should cure the painfull Itch, and lothsome Leprosie.

427

Held on with this discourse, shee on not farre hath runne,
But that shee is ariv'd at goodly Huntingdon;
Where shee no sooner viewes her darling and delight,
Proud Portholme, but became so ravish'd with the sight,

A little Iland made by this River, lying neere Huntingdon.

That shee her limber armes lascivously doth throw
About the Islets waste, who b'ing imbraced so,
Her Flowry bosome shewes to the inamored Brooke;
On which when as the Ouze amazedly doth looke
On her brave Damask'd breast, bedeck'd with many a flowre
(That grace this goodly Mead) as though the Spring did powre
Her full aboundance downe, whose various dyes so thicke,
Are intermixt as they by one another sticke,
That to the gazing eye that standeth farre, they show
Like those made by the Sunne in the Celestiall Bow.

But now t'advaunce this Flood, the Fates had brought to passe,
As shee of all the rest the onely River was:
That but a little while before that fatall warre,
Twixt that divided Blood of Yorke and Lancaster,
Neere Harleswood, above in her Bedfordian trace,

Prodigious signes forerunning the wars betwixt the houses of Lancaster and Yorke in this River of Ouze.

By keeping backe her streame, for neere three furlongs space,
Laying her Bosome bare unto the publique view,
Apparantly was prov'd by that which did ensue,
In her Prophetique selfe, those troubles to foresee:
Wherefore (even as her due) the Destinies agree,
Shee should the glory have our civill fights to sing,
When swelling in her bankes, from her aboundant Spring,
Her sober silence shee now resolutely breakes,
In language fitting warre, and thus to purpose speakes.

With that most fatall field, I will not here begin,
Where Norman William first the Conqueror, did win
The day at

In Sussex, neere the Sea.

Hastings, where the valiant Harold slaine,
Resign'd his Crowne, whose soyle the colour doth retaine,
Of th'English blood there shed, as th'earth still kept the skarre:
Which since not ours begot, but an invasive warre,
Amongst our home-fought fields, hath no discription here:

In Normandy nor that, that same day fortie yeare,
That Bastard William brought a Conquest on this Ile,
Twixt Robert his eld'st sonne, and Henry, who the while,
His Brothers warlike tents in Palestine were pight,
In England here usurp'd his eld'st borne brothers right;

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Which since it forraine was, not strucke within this land,
Amongst our civill fights here numbred shall not stand.

The Battell at Lincolne.

But Lincolne Battell now we as our first will lay,
Where Maud the Empresse stood to trie the doubtfull day,
With Stephen, when he here had welneere three yeares raign'd,
Where both of them their right couragiously maintain'd,
And marshalling their Troups, the King his person put,
Into his well-arm'd Maine, of strong and valiant Foot:
The Wings that were his Horse, in th'one of them he plac'd
Young Alan that brave Duke of Britaine, whom he grac'd
With th'Earles of Norfolke, and Northampton, and with those,
He Mellent in that wing, and Warren did dispose.
The other no whit lesse, that this great day might sted;
The Earle of Aubemerle, and valiant Ipres led.
The Empresse powers again, but in two Squadrons were:
The Vaward Chester had, and Gloucester the Reare;
Then were there valiant Welsh, and desperate men of ours,
That when supplies should want, might reinforce their powers.
The Battels joyne, as when two adverse Seas are dasht
Against each others waves, that all the plaines were washt
With showers of sweltring blood, that downe the furrowes ran,
Ere it could be discern'd which either lost or wan.
Earle Baldwin, and Fitzurse those valiant Knights, were seene
To charge the Empresse Horse, as though dread Mars had beene
There in two sundry shapes; the day that beautious was,
Twinckled as when you see the Sunne-beames in a glasse,
That nimbly being stirr'd, flings up the trembling flame
At once, and on the earth reflects the very same.
With their resplendent swords, that glistred gainst the Sunne;
The honour of the day, at length the Empresse wonne.
King Stephen prisoner was, and with him many a Lord,
The common Souldiers put together to the sword.

The next, the Battell neere Saint Edmundsbury fought,
By our

The Battell at Saint Edmunds Bury. Henry the second.

Fitz-Empresse force, and Flemings hither brought
By th'Earle of Leister, bent to move intestine strife,
For yong King Henries cause, crown'd in his fathers life;
Which to his kingly Syre much care and sorrow bred,
In whose defiance then that Earle his Ensignes spred,
Back'd by Hugh Bigots power, the Earle of Norfolke then,
By bringing to his ayd the valiant Norfolke men.

429

Gainst Bohun, Englands great high Constable that swayd
The Royall forces, joyn'd with Lucy for his ayd
Chiefe Justice, and with them the German powers, to expell
The Earles of Cornewall came, Gloster, and Arundell,
From Bury, that with them Saint Edmonds Banner bring,
Their Battels in aray; both wisely ordering
The Armies chanc'd to meet upon the Marshy ground,
Betwixt Saint Edmunds towne, and Fornham (fitly found)
The bellowing Drummes beat up a thunder for the charge,
The Trumpets rend the ayre, the Ensignes let at large,
Like waving flames farre off, to either hoste appeare:
The bristling Pykes doe shake, to threat their comming neere;
All clouded in a mist, they hardly could them view,
So shaddowed with the Shafts from either side that flew.
The Wings came wheeling in, at joyning of whose forces,
The either part were seene to tumble from their horses,
Which emptie put to rout, are paunch'd with Gleaves and Pyles,
Lest else by running loose, they might disranke their Fyles.
The Bilmen come to blowes, that with the cruell thwacks,
The ground lay strew'd with Male, and shreds of tatterd Jacks:
The playnes like to a shop, lookt each where to behold,
Where limbes of mangled men on heaps lay to be sold;
Sterne discontented Warre did never yet appeare
With a more threatning brow, then it that time did there.

O Leicester (alas) in ill time wast thou wonne
To ayd this gracelesse youth, the most ingratefull sonne
Against his naturall Syre, who crown'd him in his dayes,
Whose ill-requited love did him much sorrow raise,
As Le'ster by this warre against King Henry show'd,
Upon so bad a cause, O courage ill bestow'd;
Who had thy quarrell beene, as thou thy selfe was skild
In brave and martiall feats, thou evermore hadst fild
This Ile with thy high deeds, done in that bloody field:
But Bigot and this Lord, inforc'd at length to yeeld
Them to the other part, when on that fatall plaine,
Of th'English and the Dutch, ten thousand men lay slaine.

As for the second Fight at Lincolne, betwixt those
Who sided with the French, by seeking to depose
Henry the sonne of John, then young, and to advaunce
The Daulphin Lewes, sonne to Philip King of France,

430

Which Lincolne Castle, then most straightly did besiege;
And William Marshall Earle of Pembroke for his Liege,
(Who led the faithfull Lords) although so many there,
Or in the conflict slaine, or taken prisoners were;
Yet for but a surprize, no field appointed fight,
Mongst our set Battels here, may no way claime a right.

The Battell of Lewes.

The Field at Lewes then, by our third Henry fought,
Who Edward his brave sonne unto that Conflict brought;
With Richard then the King of Almaine, and his sonne
Young Henry, with such Lords as to his part he wonne.
With him their Soveraigne Liege, their lives that durst engage.
And the rebellious league of the proud Barronage,
By Symon Mounford Earle of Le'ster their chiefe Head,
And th'Earle of Gloster, Clare, against King Henry led;
For th'ancient Freedomes here that bound their lives to stand,
The Aliens to expulse, who troubled all the land,
Whilst for this dreadfull day, their great designes were meant;
From Edward the young Prince, defiances were sent
To Mountfords valiant sonnes, Lord Henry, Sim, and Guy,
And calling unto him a Herauld, quoth he, Flie
To th'Earle of Leisters Tents, and publikely proclame
Defiance to his face, and to the Montfords name,
And say to his proud sonnes, say boldly thus from me;
That if they be the same, that they would seeme to be,
Now let them in the field be by their Band-roules knowne,
Where as I make no doubt, their valour shall be showne.
Which if they dare to doe, and still uphold their pride,
There will we vent our spleenes, where swords shall it decide.

To whom they thus replide, Tell that brave man of Hope,
He shall the Mountfords find in t'head of all their Troupe,
To answere his proud braves; our Bilbowes be as good
As his, our Armes as strong; and he shall find our blood
Sold at as deare a rate as his; and if we fall,
Tell him weele hold so fast, his Crowne shall goe withall.

The King into three fights his forces doth divide,
Of which his princely

Prince Edward after called Edward the first.

sonne the Vaward had to guide:
The second to the King of Almaine, and his sonne,
Young Henry he betooke, in the third Legion
Of Knights, and Men of Armes, in person he appeares.

Into foure severall Fights, the desperate Barons theirs.

431

I'th first those valiant youths, the sonnes of Leister came,
Of leading of the which, Lord Henry had the name:
The Earle of Gloster brought the second Battell on,
And with him were the Lords Mountchency, and Fitz-John:
The third wherein alone the Londoners were plac'd,
The stout Lord Segrave led, the greatest, and the last,
Brave Leicester himselfe, with courage undertooke.
The day upon the host affrightedly doth looke,
To see the dreadfull shocke, their first encounter gave,
As though it with the rore, the Thunder would out-brave.
Prince Edward all in gold, as he great Jove had beene:
The Mountfords all in Plumes, like Estriges were seene,
To beard him to his teeth, toth' worke of death they goe;
The crouds like to a Sea seemd waving to and fro.
Friend falling by his friend, together they expire:
He breath'd, doth charge afresh; he wounded, doth retyre.
The Mountfords with the Prince vye valour all the day,
Which should for Knightly deeds excell, or he, or they,
To them about his head, his glistring blade he throwes,
They waft him with their swords, as long with equall showes:
Now Henry, Simon then, and then the youngest Guy,
Kept by his brothers backe, thus stoutly doth reply,
What though I be but young, let death me overwhelme,
But I will breake my sword upon his plumed helme.
The younger Bohun there, to high atchivements bent,
With whom two other Lords, Lucy, and Hastings went,
Which charging but too home, all sorely wounded were,
Whom living from the field, the Barons strove to beare,
Being on their partie fixd; whilst still Prince Edward spurres,
To bring his Forces up to charge the Londoners,
T'whom cruell hate he bare, and joyning with their Force,
Of heavy-armed Foot, with his light Northerne Horse,
He putting them to flight, foure miles in chase them slew:
But ere he could returne, the conquest wholly drew
To the stout Barons side: his father fled the field,
Into the Abbay there, constrained thence to yeeld.
The Lords Fitz-warren slaine, and Wilton that was then
Chiefe Justice (as some say) with them five thousand men;
And Bohun that great Earle of Her'ford overthrowne,
With Bardolfe, Somery, Patshull, and Percie knowne,

432

By their Coat-armours then, for Barons, prisoners ta'n;
Though Henry ware the Crowne, great Le'ster yet did raigne.

Now for the Conflict next, at Chesterfield that chanc'd
Gainst Robert that proud Earle of Darby, who advanc'd
His Ensignes gainst the King, (contrary to his oath)
Upon the Barons part, with the Lord Devell, both
Surpriz'd by Henry Prince of Almain with his power,
By comming at so strange an unexpected hower:
And taking them unarmd; since meerely a defeat,
With our well-ordered fights, we will not here repeat.

The Battell at Evsham.

The fatall Battell then at fertile Evsham struck,
Though with the selfe same hands, not with the selfe same luck:
For both the King and Prince at Lewes prisoners taken,
By fortune were not yet so utterly forsaken;
But that the Prince was got from Le'ster, and doth gather
His friends, by force of Armes yet to redeeme his father;
And th'Earle of Glo'ster wonne, who through the Mountfords pride
Disgrac'd, came with his power to the Emperiall side.
When now those Lords, which late at Lewes wonne the day,
The Sacrament receiv'd, their Armes not downe to lay,
Untill the King should yeeld th'old Charter to maintaine.
King Henry and his sonne Prince Edward swore againe,
They would repeale those Lawes that were at Oxford made,
Or through this bloody warre to their destruction wade.
But since the King remain'd in puissant Lei'sters power,
The remnant of his friends, whom death did not devoure
At Lewes Battell late, and durst his part partake.
The Prince excites againe, an Armie up to make,
Whom Roger Bigot, Earle of Norfolke doth assist,
Englands high Marshall then, and that great Martialist,
Old Henry Bohun, Earle of Her'ford, in this warre,
Gray, Basset, and Saint-John, Lisle, Percie, Latimer,
All Barons, which to him their utmost strengths doe lay,
With many a Knight for power their equall every way;
And William Valence, Earle of Pembroke, who had fled
From Lewes field, to France, thence with fresh succour sped.
Young Humphrey Bohun still, doth with great Le'ster goe,
Who for his Countries cause becomes his fathers foe.
Fitz-John, Gray, Spencer, Strange, Rosse, Segrave, Vessey, Gifford,
Wake, Lucy, Vipount, Vaux, Clare, Marmion, Hastings, Clifford.

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In that blacke night before his sad and dismall day,
Were apparitions strange, as drad Heaven would bewray
The horrors to ensue, O most amazing sight!
Two Armies in the Ayre, discerned were to fight,
Which came so neere to earth, that in the morne they found
The prints of horses feet remaining on the ground,
Which came but as a show, the time to entertaine,
Till th'angry Armies joyn'd, to act the bloody Sceane.

Shrill shouts, and deadly cries, each way the ayre do fill,
And not a word was heard from either side, but kill:
The father gainst the sonne, the brother gainst the brother,
With Gleaves, Swords, Bills, and Pykes, were murthering one another.
The full luxurious earth, seemes surfitted with blood,
Whilst in his Unckles gore th'unnaturall Nephew stood;
Whilst with their charged Staves, the desperate horsmen meet,
They heare their kinsmen groane under their Horses feet.
Dead men, and weapons broke, doe on the earth abound;
The Drummes bedash'd with braines, doe give a dismall sound.
Great Le'ster there expir'd, with Henry his brave sonne,
When many a high exployt they in that day had done.
Scarce was there noble House, of which those times could tell,
But that some one thereof, on this, or that side fell;
Amongst the slaughtered men, that there lay heap'd on pyles:
Bohuns, and Beauchamps were, Basets, and Mandeviles:
Segraves, and Saint-Johns seeke, upon the end of all,
To give those of their names their Christian buriall.
Ten thousand on both sides were ta'n and slaine that day:
Prince Edward gets the gole, and beares the Palme away.

All Edward Long-shankes time, her civill warres did cease,

The Conflicts at Burton and Burrough Bridge in the second Barons warres

Who strove his Countries bounds by Conquest to increase.
But in th'insuing raigne of his most riotous sonne,
As in his fathers dayes, a second warre begun;
When as the stubborne heires of the stout Barons dead,
Who for their Countries cause, their blood at Evsham shed,
Not able to endure the Spencers hatefull pride,
The father and the sonne, whose counsels then did guide
Th'inconsiderate King, conferring all his graces,
On them who got all gifts, and bought and sold all places,
Them raising, to debase the Baronage the more
For Gavaston, whom they had put to death before.

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Which urg'd too farre, at length to open Armes they brake,
And for a speedy warre, they up their powers doe make.

Upon King Edwards part, for this great Action bent,
His brother Edmund came, the valiant Earle of Kent,
With Richmount, Arundell, and Pembroke, who engage,
Their powers, (three powerfull Earles) against the Baronage.

And on the Barons side, great master of the warre,
Was Thomas (of the Blood) the Earle of Lancaster,
With Henry Bohun, Earle of Hereford, his Peere,
With whom (of great command and Martialists) there were
Lyle, Darcy, Denvile, Teis, Beach, Bradburne, Bernvile, Knovile,
With Badlesmer, and Bercks, Fitz-william, Leyburne, Lovell,
Tuchet, and Talbot stout, doe for the Barons stand,
Maudute, and Mowbray, with great Clifford that command
Their Tenants to take Armes, that with their Landlords runne;
With these went also Hugh, and Henry Willington;
Redoubted Damory, as Audley, Elmesbridge, Wither,
Earles, Barons, Knights, Esquiers, embodied all together,
At Burton upon Trent who having gathered head,
Towards them with all his power the King in person sped;
Who at his neere approach (upon his March) discri'd,
That they against his power the Bridge had fortifi'd:
Which he by strong assault, assayes from them to win,
Where as a bloody fight doth instantly begin,
When he to beat them off, assayes them first by shot;
And they to make that good, which they before had got,
Defend them with the like, like Haylestones from the skie,
From Crosse-bowes, and the Long, the light-wingd arrowes flie:
But friended with the Flood, the Barons hold their strength,
Forcing the King by Boats, and pyles of wood at length,
T'attempt to land his force upon the other side.
The Barons, that the more his stratagems defide,
Withstand them in the streame, when as the troubled flood,
(With in a little time) was turned all to blood;
And from the Boats and Bridge, the mangled bodies feld,
The poore affrighted Fish, their watry walks expeld.
While at the Bridge the fight still strongly doth abide,
The King had learnt to know, that by a skilfull guide,
He by a Fourd not farre might passe his power of Horse,
Which quickly he performes, which drave the Barons force

435

From the defended Bridge, t'affront th'approching foe,
Imbattelling themselves, when to the shocke they goe,
(On both sides so assaild) till th'water, and the shore
Of one complexion were, distaind with equall gore.
Oft forc'd to change their fights, being driven from their ground,
That when by their much losse, too weake themselves they found,
Th'afflicted Barons flie, yet still together keepe.
The King his good successe, not suffring so to sleepe,
Pursues them with his power, which Northward still doe beare;
And seldome scapes a day, but he doth charge their Reare:
Till come to Burrough Bridge, where they too soone were staid
By Andrew Herckley, Earle of Carleill, with fresh ayd
Being lately thither come, King Edwards part to take.
The Barons range their fights, still good their ground to make;
But with long Marches tyerd, their wearied breath they draw,
After the desperat'st fight the Sunne yet ever saw,
Brave Bohun there was slaine, and Lancaster forsaken
Of Fortune, is surpriz'd; the Barons prisoners taken.

For those Rebellions, Stirres, Commotions, Uprores, here
In Richard Burdeaux raigne, that long so usuall were;

Richard the second, borne at Burdeux.

As that the first by Straw, and Tyler, with their Rout
Of Rebels brought from Kent, most insolent and stout,
By entring London, thought the Iland to subdue:

Jack Straw, kild by the Maior of London with his dagger.

The first of which, the Maior of London bravely slew;
Walworth, which wonne his name much honour by the deed:
As they of Suffolke next, those Rascals that succeed,
By

John Litstar, a Dyer of Norwich.

Litster led about, their Captaine who enstil'd
Himselfe the Commons King, in hope to have exil'd
The Gentry from those parts, by those that were his owne,
By that brave Bishop (then) of Norwitch overthrowne.

Henry Spencer, the warlike Bishop of Norwich.

By such unruly Slaves, and that in Essex rais'd
By Thomas that stout Duke of Glo'ster, strongly

At Hatfield.

ceaz'd,
As that at Radcot bridge, where the last named Peere,
With foure brave

Warwicke, Darby, Arundell, & Nottingham.

Earles his friends, encountred Robert Vere
Then Duke of Ireland cald, by Richard so created,
And gainst those Lords maintain'd, whom they most deadly hated;
Since they but Garboyles were, in a deformed masse,
Not ordered fitting warre, we lightly overpasse.

I chuse the Battell next of Shrewsbury to chant,

The Battell of Shrewsbury.

Betwixt Henry the fourth, the sonne of John of Gant,

436

And the stout Percies, Henry Hotspurre and his Eame
The Earle of Wor'ster, who the rightfull Diademe
Had from King Richard reft, and heav'd up to his Seat
This Henry, whom (too soone) they found to be too great,
Him seeking to depose, and to the Rule preferre
Richards proclaimed Heire, their cosen Mortimer,
Whom Owen Glendour then in Wales a prisoner staid,
Whom to their part they wonne, and thus their plot they laid,
That Glendour should have Wales, along as Severne went,
The Percies all the North, that lay beyond the Trent;
And Mortimer from thence the South to be his share;
Which Henry having heard, doth for the warre prepare,
And down to Cheshire makes, (where gathering powers they were)
At Shrewsbury to meet, and doth affront them there:
With him his peerelesse sonne, the princely Henry came,
With th'Earle of Stafford, and of Gentlemen of name,
Blunt, Shyrley, Clifton, men that very powerfull were,
With Cockayne, Calverly, Massy, and Mortimer,
Gausell, and Wendsley, all in Friends and Tenants strong,
Resorting to the King still as he past along;
Which in the open field before the ranged fights,
He with his warlike Sonne, there dub'd his Mayden Knights.

Th'Earle Dowglasse for this day doth with the Percies stand,
To whom they Berwicke gave, and in Northumberland
Some Seigniories and Holds, if they the Battell got,
Who brought with him to Field full many an angry Scot,
At Holmdon Battell late that being overthrowne,
Now on the King and Prince hop'd to regaine their owne;
With almost all the power of Cheshire got together,
By Venables, (there great) and Vernon mustred thether.
The Vaward of the King, great Stafford tooke to guide.
The Vaward of the Lords upon the other side,
Consisted most of Scots, which joyning, made such spoyle,
As at the first constrain'd the English to recoyle,

The high courage of Dowglasse wan him that addition of Doughty Dowglasse, which after grew to a Proverbe.

And almost brake their Rankes, which when King Henry found,
Bringing his Battell up, to reinforce the ground,
The Percies bring up theirs, againe to make it good.
Thus whilst the either Host in opposition stood,
Brave Dowglasse with his spurres, his furious Courser strake,
His Lance set in his rest, when desperatly he brake

437

In, where his eye beheld th'Emperiall Ensigne pight,
Where soone it was his chance, upon the King to light,
Which in his full carreere he from his Courser threw;
The next Sir Walter Blunt, he with three other slew,
All armed like the King, which he dead sure accounted;
But after when hee saw the King himselfe remounted:
This hand of mine, quoth he, foure Kings this day hath slaine,
And swore out of the earth he thought they sprang againe,
Or Fate did him defend, at whom he onely aym'd.
When Henry Hotspurre, so with his high deeds inflam'd,
Doth second him againe, and through such dangers presse,
That Dowglasse valiant deeds he made to seeme the lesse,
As still the people cryed, A Percy Espirance.
The King which saw then time, or never to advance
His Battell in the Field, which neere from him was wonne,
Ayded by that brave Prince, his most couragious sonne,
Who bravely comming on, in hope to give them chase,
It chanc'd he with a shaft was wounded in the face;
Whom when out of the fight, his friends would beare away,
He strongly it refus'd, and thus was heard to say,
Time never shall report, Prince Henry left the field,
When Harry Percy staid, his traytrous sword to weeld.
Now rage and equall wounds, alike inflame their bloods,
And the maine Battels joyne, as doe two adverse floods
Met in some narrow Arme, shouldring as they would shove
Each other from their path, or would their bankes remove.
The King his traytrous foes, before him downe doth hew,
And with his hands that day, neere fortie persons slue:
When conquest wholly turnes to his victorious side,
His power surrounding all, like to a furious tyde;
That Henry Hotspurre dead upon the cold earth lyes,
Stout Wor'ster taken was, and doughtie Douglasse flyes.
Five thousand from both parts left dead upon the ground,
Mongst whom the kings fast friend, great Staffords coarse was found;
And all the Knights there dub'd the morning but before,
The evenings Sunne beheld there sweltred in their gore.

Here I at Bramham More, the Battell in should bring,
Of which Earle Percie had the greatest managing,
With the Lord Bardolfe there, against the Counties power,
Fast cleaving to his friend, even to his utmost houre:

438

In Flanders, France, and Wales, who having been abroad
To raise them present powers, intending for a Road
On England, for the hate he to King Henry bore;
His sonne and brothers blood augmenting it the more,
Which in his mightie spirit still rooted did remaine,
By his too much default, whom he imputed slaine
At Shrewsbury before, to whom if he had brought
Supplies, (that bloody field, when they so bravely fought)
They surely it had wonne; for which to make amends,
Being furnished with men, amongst his forraine friends,
By Scotland entred here, and with a violent hand
Upon those Castles ceaz'd within Northumberland
His Earledome, (which the King, who much his truth did doubt,
Had taken to himselfe, and put his people out)
Toward Yorkshire comming on, where (soone repaid his owne)
At Bramhams fatall More, was fowly overthrowne:
Which though it were indeed a long and mortall fight,
Where many men were maim'd, and many slaine outright:
Where that couragious Earle, all hopes there seeing past,
Amongst his murthered troups (even) fought it to the last:
Yet for it was atchiev'd by multitudes of men,
Which with Ralfe Roksby rose, the Shreefe of Yorkshire then,
No well proportion'd fight, we of description quit,
Amongst our famous fields; nor will we here admit
That of that Rakehel Cades, and his rebellious crue,
In Kent and Sussex raisd, at Senok fight that slue
The Staffords with their power, that thither him pursu'd,
Who twice upon Black heath, back'd with the Commons rude,
Incamp'd against the King: then goodly London tooke,
There ransoming some rich, and up the prisons broke,
His sensuall beastly will, for Law that did preferre,
Beheaded the Lord Say, then Englands Treasurer,
And forc'd the King to flight, his person to secure,
The Muse admits not here, a rabble so impure.

The first Battell of Saint Albans.

But brings that Battell on of that long dreadfull warre,
Of those two Houses nam'd of Yorke and Lancaster,
In faire Saint Albans fought, most fatally betwixt
Richard then Duke of Yorke, and Henry cald the sixt,

Henry the fourth.

For that ill-gotten Crowne, which him his Grandsire left,
That likewise with his life, he from King Richard reft,

439

When underhand the Duke doth but promove his claime,
Who from the elder sonne, the Duke of Clarence came,
For which he raised Armes, yet seem'd but to abet
The people, to plucke downe the Earle of Somerset,
By whom (as they gave out) we Normandy had lost,
And yet he was the man that onely rul'd the roast.

With Richard Duke of Yorke, (into his faction wonne)
Salsbury and Warwicke came, the father and the sonne;
The Nevils nobler name, that have renown'd so farre.
So likewise with the King in this great action are,
The Dukes of Somerset, and Buckingham, with these
Were thrice so many Earles, their stout accomplices,
As Pembroke great in power, and Stafford with them stand
With Devonshire, Dorset, Wilt, and fierce Northumberland,
With Sidley, Bernes, and Rosse, three Barons with the rest,
When Richard Duke of Yorke, then marching from the west;
Towards whom, whilst with his power King Henry forward set,
Unluckily as't hapt, they at Saint Albans met;
Where taking up the Street, the buildings them enclose,
Where Front doth answer Front, & strength doth strength oppose;
Whilst like two mightie walls, they each to other stand,
And as one sinketh downe under his enemies hand,
Another thrusting in, his place doth still supply,
Betwixt them whilst on heaps the mangled bodies lie:
The Staules are overthrowne with the unweldy thrust,
The windowes with the shot, are shivered all to dust.
The Winters Sleet or Hayle was never seene so thicke,
As on the houses sides the bearded arrowes sticke,
Where Warwicks courage first most Comet-like appeard,
Who with words full of Spirit, his fighting Souldiers cheerd;
And ever as he saw the slaughter of his men,
He with fresh forces fil'd the places up agen.
The valiant

Men brought out of the Marches of Wales.

Marchmen thus the battell still maintaine,
That when King Henry found on heaps his Souldiers slaine,
His great Commanders cals, who when they sadly saw,
The honour of the day would to the Yorkists draw,
Their persons they put in, as for the last to stand;
The Duke of Somerset, Henry Northumberland,
Of those brave warlike Earles, the second of that name,
The Earle of Stafford, sonne to th'Duke of Buckingham,

440

And John Lord Clifford then, which shed their noble gore
Under the Castles signe, (of which not long before,
A Prophet bad the Duke of Somerset beware)
With many a valiant Knight, in death that had his share:
So much great English blood, for others lawlesse guilt,
Upon so little ground before was never spilt.
Proud Yorke hath got the gole, the King of all forsaken,
Into a cottage got, a wofull prisoner taken.

The Battell of Blore heath.

The Battell of Blore-heath, the place doth next supply,
Twixt Richard Nevill, that great Earle of Salisbury,
Who with the Duke of Yorke, had at Saint Albans late,
That glorious Battell got with uncontrouled Fate:
And James Lord Audley stir'd by that revengefull Queene,
To stop him on his way, for the inveterate spleene
Shee bare him, for that still he with the Yorkists held,
Who comming from the North, (by sundry wrongs compeld
To parley with the King) the Queene that time who lay
In Staffordshire, and thought to stop him on his way,
That valiant Tuchet stir'd, in Cheshire powerfull then,
T'affront him in the field, where Cheshire Gentlemen
Divided were, th'one part made valiant Tuchet strong,
The other with the Earle rose as he came along,
In camping both their powers, divided by a Brooke,
Whereby the prudent Earle, this strong advantage tooke:
For putting in the field his Army in aray,
Then making as (with speed) he meant to march away,
He caus'd a flight of Shafts to be discharged first.
The enemy who thought that he had done his worst,
And cowardly had fled in a disordred Rout,
Attempt to wade the Brooke, he wheeling (soone) about,
Set fiercely on that part, which then were passed over;
Their Friends then in the Reare, not able to recover
The other rising banke, to lend the Vaward ayd.
The Earle who found the plot take right that he had layd,
On those that forward prest, as those that did recoyle,
As hungry in revenge, there made a ravenous spoyle:
There Dutton, Dutton kils; A Done doth kill a Done;
A Booth, a Booth; and Leigh by Leigh is overthrowne;
A Venables, against a Venables doth stand;
And Troutbeck fighteth with a Troutbeck hand to hand;

441

There Molineux doth make a Molineux to die,
And Egerton, the strength of Egerton doth trie.
O Cheshire wert thou mad, of thine owne native gore
So much untill this day thou never shedst before!
Above two thousand men upon the earth were throwne,
Of which the greatest part were naturally thine owne.
The stout Lord Audley slaine, with many a Captaine there;
To Salsbury it sorts the Palme away to beare.

Then faire Northampton next, thy Battell place shall take,

The Battell of Northampton.

Which of th'Emperiall warre, the third fought Field doth make,
Twixt Henry cald our sixt, upon whose partie came
His neere and deare Allies, the Dukes of Buckingham,
And Somerset, the Earle of Shrewsbury of account,
Stout Vicount Beaumount, and the yong Lord Egremount,
Gainst Edward Earle of March, sonne to the Duke of Yorke,
With Warwicke, in that warre, who set them all at worke,
And Falkonbridge with him, not much unlike the other;
A Nevill nobly borne, his puisant fathers brother,
Who to the Yorkists claime, had evermore been true,
And valiant Bourcher, Earle of Essex, and of Eau.

The King from out the towne, who drew his Foot and Horse,
As willingly to give full field-roomth to his Force,
Doth passe the River Nen, neere where it downe doth runne
From his first fountaines head, is neere to Harsington,
Advised of a place, by Nature strongly wrought,
Doth there encampe his power: the Earle of March who sought
To proove by dint of sword, who should obtaine the day,
From Tawcester traynd on his powers in good aray.
The Vaward Warwicke led, (whom no attempt could feare;
The Middle March himselfe, and Falkonbridge the Reare.

Now July entred was, and ere the restlesse Sunne,
Three houres ascent had got, the dreadfull fight begun
By Warwicke, who a straight from Vicount Beaumont tooke,
Defeating him at first, by which hee quickly brooke
In, on th'Emperiall host, which with a furious charge,
He forc'd upon the field, it selfe more to enlarge.
Now English Bowes, and Bills, and Battle-axes walke,
Death up and downe the field in gastly sort doth stalke.
March in the flower of Youth, like Mars himselfe doth beare;
But Warwicke as the man, whom Fortune seem'd to feare,

442

Did for him what he would, that wheresoere he goes,
Downe like a furious storme, before him all he throwes:
So Shrewsbury againe of Talbots valiant straine,
(That fatall Scourge of France) as stoutly doth maintaine,
The party of the King, so princely Somerset,
Whom th'others knightly deeds, more eagerly doth whet,
Beares up with them againe: by Somerset opposd
At last King Henries host being on three parts enclosd,
And ayds still comming in upon the Yorkists side,
The Summer being then at height of all her pride,
The Husbandman, then hard upon his Harvest was:
But yet the cocks of Hay, nor swaths of new-shorne grasse,
Strew'd not the Meads so thick, as mangled bodies there,
When nothing could be seene, but horror every where:
So that upon the bancks, and in the streame of

The River running by Northampton.

Nen,
Ten thousand well resolv'd, stout, native English men
Left breathlesse, with the rest great Buckingham is slaine,
And Shrewsbury whose losse those times did much complaine,
Egremont, and Beaumont, both found dead upon the Field,
The miserable King, inforc'd againe to yeeld.

The Battell of Wakefield.

Then Wakefield Battell next, we in our Bedroule bring,
Fought by Prince Edward, sonne to that oft-conquered King,
And Richard Duke of Yorke, still strugling for the Crowne,
Whom Salsbury assists, the man with whose renowne,
The mouth of Fame seem'd fild, there having with them then
Some few selected Welsh, and Southerne Gentlemen:
A handfull to those powers, with which Prince Edward came;
Of which amongst the rest, the men of noblest name,
Were those two great-borne Dukes, which still his right preferre
His cosen Somerset, and princely Excester,
The Earle of Wiltshire still, that on his part stucke close:
With those two valiant Peeres, Lord Clifford, and Lord Rosse,
Who made their March from Yorke to Wakefield, on their way
To meet the Duke, who then at Sandall Castle lay,
Whom at his (very) gate, into the Field they dar'd,
Whose long expected powers not fully then prepar'd,
That March his valiant sonne, should to his succours bring.
Wherefore that puissant Lord, by speedy mustering
His Tenants and such friends, as he that time could get,
Five thousand in five dayes, in his Battalion set

443

Gainst their twice doubled strength; nor could the Duke be stayd,
Till he might from the South be seconded with ayd;
As in his martiall pride, disdaining his poore foes,
So often us'd to winne, he never thought to lose.

The Prince, which still provok'd th'incensed Duke to fight,
His maine Battalion rang'd in Sandals loftie sight,
In which he, and the Dukes, were seene in all their pride:
And as Yorkes powers should passe, he had on either side
Two wings in ambush laid, which at the place assign'd
His Rereward should inclose, which as a thing divin'd,
Just caught as he forecast; for scarce his armie comes
From the descending banks, and that his ratling Drummes
Excites his men to charge; but Wiltshire with his force,
Which were of light-arm'd Foot, and Rosse with his light Horse,
Came in upon their backes, as from a mountaine throwne,
In number to the Dukes, by being foure to one.
Even as a Rout of wolves, when they by chance have caught
A Beast out of the Heard, which long time they have sought;
Upon him all at once couragiously doe set,
Him by the Dewlaps some, some by the flanke doe get:
Some climbing to his eares, doe never leave their hold,
Till falling on the ground, they have him as they would,
With many of his kind, which, when he us'd to wend,
What with their hornes & hoofes, could then themselves defend.
Thus on their foes they fell, and downe the Yorkists fall;
Red Slaughter in her armes encompasseth them all.
The first of all the fights in this unnaturall warre,
In which blind Fortune smild on wofull Lancaster.

Heere Richard Duke of Yorke, downe beaten, breath'd his last,
And Salsbury so long with conquest still that past,
Inforced was to yeeld; Rutland a younger sonne
To the deceased Duke, as he away would runne,
(A child scarse twelve yeares old) by Clifford there surpriz'd,
Who whilst he thought with teares his rage to have suffiz'd,
By him was answered thus, Thy father hath slaine mine,
And for his blood (young Boy) Ile have this blood of thine,
And stab'd him to the heart: thus the Lancastrians raigne,
The Yorkist in the field on heaps together slaine.

The Battell at that Crosse, which to this day doth beare

The Battell at Mortimers Crosse.

The great and ancient name of th'English Mortimer,

444

The next shall heare have place, betwixt that Edward fought,
Entitled Earle of March, (revengefully that sought
To wreake his fathers blood, at Wakefield lately shed
But then he Duke of Yorke, his father being dead)
And Jasper Tudor Earle of Pembroke, in this warre,
That stood to underprop the House of Lancaster,
Halfe brother to the King, that strove to hold his Crowne,
With Wiltshire, whose high prowesse had bravely beaten downe
The Yorkists swelling pride in that successefull warre
At Wakefield, whose greatst power of Welsh and Irish are.
The Dukes were Marchers most, which still stucke to him close,
And meeting on the plaine, by that forenamed Crosse;
As either Generall there for his advantage found,
(For wisely they surveyd the fashion of the ground)
They into one maine fight their either Forces make,
When to the Duke of Yorke (his spirits as to awake)
Three sonnes at once appear'd, all severally that shone,
Which in a little space were joyned all in one.
Auspicious to the Duke, as after it fell out,
Who with the weaker power, (of which he seem'd to doubt)
The proud Lancastrian part had quickly put to chase,
Where plainly it should seeme, the Genius of the place,
The very name of March should greatly favour there,
A Title to this Prince deriv'd from Mortimer:
To whom this Trophy rear'd, much honored had the soyle.
The Yorkists here enrich'd with the Lancastrian spoyle,
Are Masters of the day; foure thousand being slaine,
The most of which were those, there standing to maintaine
The title of the King. Where Owen Tudors lot
Was to be taken then; who this young Earle begot
On Katherin the bright Queene, the fift King Henries Bride,
Who too untimely dead, this Owen had affide.
But he a Prisoner then, his sonne and Ormond fled,
At Hereford was made the shorter by the head;
When this most warlike Duke, in honour of that signe,
Which of his good successe so rightly did divine,
And thankfull to high heaven, which of his cause had care,
Three Sunnes for his device still in his Ensigne bare.

The second Battell of Saint Albans.

Thy second Battell now, Saint Albans I record,
Struck twixt Queene Margrets power, to ransome backe her Lord,

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Ta'n prisoner at that towne, when there those factions fought,
Whom now the part of Yorke had thither with them brought,
Whose force consisted most of Southerne men, being led
By Thomas Howard Duke of Norfolke, and the head
Of that proud faction then, stout Warwicke still that swayd,
In every bloody field (the Yorkists onely ayd)
When eithers power approch'd, and they themselves had fixt,
Upon the South and North, the towne them both betwixt,
Which first of all to take, the Yorkists had forecast,
Putting their Vaward on, and their best Archers plac'd
The Market-sted about, and them so fitly layd,
That when the foe came up, they with such terror playd
Upon them in the Front, as forc'd them to retreit.
The Northerne mad with rage upon the first defeat,
Yet put for it againe, to enter from the North,
Which when great Warwicke heard, he sent his Vaward forth,
T'oppose them in what place so ere they made their stand,
Where in too fit a ground, a Heath too neere at hand,
Adjoyning to the towne, unluckily they light,
Where presently began a fierce and deadly fight.
But those of Warwicks part, which scarce foure thousand were,
To th'Vaward of the Queenes, that stood so stoutly there,
Though still with fresh supplies from her maine Battell fed;
When they their courage saw so little them to sted,
Deluded by the long expectance of their ayd,
By passages too straight, and close ambushments stayd:
Their succours that forslow'd, to flight themselves betake,
When after them againe, such speed the Northerne make,
Being followed with the force of their maine Battell strong,
That this disordred Rout, these breathlesse men among,
They entred Warwicks Hoste, which with such horrour strooke
The Southerne, that each man began about to looke
A way how to escape, that when great Norfolke cri'd,
Now as you favour Yorke, and his just cause, abide.
And Warwicke in the Front even offred to have stood,
Yet neither of them both, should they have spent their blood,
Could make a man to stay, or looke upon a foe:
Where Fortune it should seeme, to Warwicke meant to show,
That shee this tide of his could turne, when ere she would.

Thus when they saw the day was for so little sould;

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The King, which (for their ends) they to the field had brought,
Behind them there they leave, but as a thing of naught,
Which serv'd them to no use: who when his Queene and sonne,
There found in Norfolkes tent, the Battell being done,
With many a joyfull teare, each other they imbrace;
And whilst blind Fortune look'd with so well pleas'd a face:
Their swords with the warme blood of Yorkists so inbrude,
Their foes but lately fled, couragiously pursude.

The Battell of Towton.

Now followeth that blacke Sceane, borne up so wondrous hie,
That but a poore dumbe shew before a Tragedie,
The former Battels fought, have seem'd to this to be;
O Towton, let the blood Palme-Sunday spent on thee,
Affright the future times, when they the Muse shall heare,
Deliver it so to them; and let the ashes there
Of fortie thousand men, in that long quarrell slaine,
Arise out of the earth, as they would live againe,
To tell the manlike deeds, that bloody day were wrought
In that most fatall field, (with various fortunes fought)
Twixt Edward Duke of Yorke, then late proclaimed King,
Fourth of that royall name, and him accompanying,
The Nevills, (of that warre maintaining still the streame)
Great Warwicke, and with him his most couragious Eame,
Stout Falconbridge, the third, a firebrand like the other,
Of Salisbury surnam'd, that Warwicks bastard brother.
Lord Fitzwater, who still the Yorkists power assists,
Blount, Wenlock, Dinham, Knights approved Martialists.
And Henry the late King, to whom they still durst stand,
His true as powerfull friend, the great Northumberland,
With Westmerland, his claime who ever did preferre
His kinsman Somerset, his cosen Excester,
Dukes of the Royall line, his faithfull friends that were,
And little lesse then those, the Earle of Devonshire,
Th'Lord Dacres, and Lord Wels, both wise and warlike wights,
With him of great command, Nevill and Trolop, Knights.

Both armies then on foot, and on their way set forth,
King Edward from the South, King Henry from the North.
The later crowned King doth preparation make,
From Pomfret (where he lay) the passage first to take
O'r Aier at Ferybridge, and for that service sends
A most selected troupe of his well-chosen friends,

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To make that passage good, when instantly began
The dire and ominous signes, the slaughter that foreran.
For valiant Clifford there, himselfe so bravely quit,
That comming to the Bridge (ere they could strengthen it)
From the Lancastrian power, with his light troupe of Horse,
And early in the morne defeating of their force,
The Lord Fitzwater slew, and that brave Bastard sonne
Of Salsbury, themselves who into danger runne:
For being in their beds, suspecting nought at all;
But hearing sudden noyse, suppos'd some broyle to fall
Mongst their misgovern'd troups, unarmed rushing out,
By Cliffords Souldiers soone incompassed about,
Were miserably slaine: which when great Warwicke heares,
As he had felt his heart transpersed through his eares,
To Edward mad with rage, imediatly he goes,
And with distracted eyes, in most sterne manner showes
The slaughter of those Lords; this day alone, quoth he,
Our utter ruine shall, or our sure rising be.
When soone before the Host, his glittering sword he drew,
And with relentlesse hands his sprightly Courser slew.
Then stand to me (quoth he) who meaneth not to flie;
This day shall Edward winne, or here shall Warwicke die.

Which words by Warwicke spoke, so deeply seem'd to sting
The much distempered breast of that couragious King,
That straight he made proclaim'd, that every fainting heart,
From his resolved host had licence to depart:
And those that would abide the hazard of the fight,
Rewards and titles due to their deserved right:
And that no man, that day, a prisoner there should take;
For this the upshot was, that all must marre or make.
A hundred thousand men in both the Armies stood,
That native English were: O worthy of your Blood
What conquest had there been? But Ensignes flie at large,
And trumpets every way sound to the dreadfull charge.
Upon the Yorkists part, there flew the irefull Beare:
On the Lancastrian side, the Cressant waving there.
The Southerne on this side, for Yorke a Warwicke crie,
A Percy for the right, the Northerne men reply.
The two maine Battels joyne, the foure large Wings doe meet;
What with the shouts of men, and noyse of horses feet,

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Hell through the troubled earth, her horrour seem'd to breath;
A thunder heard above, an earth-quake felt beneath:
As when the Evening is with darknesse overspread,
Her Star-befreckled face with Clouds invelloped,
You oftentimes behold, the trembling lightning flie,
Which suddenly againe, but turning of your eye,
Is vanished away, or doth so swiftly glide,
That with a trice it touch t'Horizons either side;
So through the smoke of dust, from wayes, and fallowes raisd,
And breath of horse and men, that both together ceasd
The ayre one every part, sent by the glimmering Sunne,
The splendor of their Armes doth by reflection runne:
Till heapes of dying men, and those already dead,
Much hindred them would charge, and letted them that fled.
Beyond all wonted bounds, their rage so farre extends,
That sullen night begins, before their fury ends.
Ten howers this fight endur'd, whilst still with murthering hand
Expecting the next morne, the weak'st unconquered stands;
Which was no sooner come, but doth begin againe
To wrecke their friends deare blood, the former evening slaine.
New Battels are begun, new fights that newly wound,
Till the Lancastrian part, by their much lesning found
Their long expected hopes were utterly forlorne,
When lastly to the foe, their recreant backs they turne.
Thy Channell then, O

A little Rivilet neere to Towton, running into Wharfe.

Cock, was fild up with the dead,
Of the Lancastrian side, that from the Yorkists fled,
That those of Edwards part, that had the Reare in chase,
As though upon a Bridge, did on their bodies passe.
That Wharfe to whose large banks thou contribut'st thy store,
Had her more Christall face discoloured with the gore
Of fortie thousand men, that up the number made,
Northumberland the great, and Westmerland there layd
Their bodies: valiant Wels, and Dacres there doe leave
Their carkases, (whose hope too long) did them deceive.
Trolop and Nevill found massacred in the field,
The Earle of Wiltshire forc'd to the sterne foe to yeeld.
King Henry from fayre Yorke, upon this sad mischance
To Scotland fled, the Queene sayld over into France,
The Duke of Somerset, and Excester doe flie,
The rest upon the earth together breathlesse lie.

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Muse, turne thee now to tell the Field at Hexam struck,
Upon the Yorkists part, with the most prosp'rous luck
Of any yet before, where to themselves they gain'd

The Battell at Hexam.

Most safetie, yet their powers least damage there sustain'd,
Twixt John Lord Mountacute, that Nevill, who to stand
For Edward, gathered had out of Northumberland
A sort of valiant men, consisting most of Horse,
Which were againe suppli'd with a most puisant force,
Sent thither from the South, and by King Edward brought
In person downe to Yorke, to ayd if that in ought
His Generall should have need, for that he durst not trust
The Northerne, which so oft to him had been unjust:
Whilst he himselfe at Yorke, a second power doth hold,
To heare in this rough warre, what the Lancastrians would.

And Henry with his Queene, who to their powers had got,
The lively daring French, and the light hardy Scot,
To enter with them here, and to their part doe get,
Their faithfull lov'd Allie, the Duke of Somerset,
And Sir Ralfe Percie, then most powerfull in those parts,
Who had beene reconcil'd to Edward, but their hearts
Still with King Henry stay'd, to him and ever true,
To whom by this revolt, they many Northerne drew:
Sir William Taylboys, (cald of most) the Earle of Kime,
With Hungerford, and Rosse, and Mullins, of that time
Barons of high account, with Nevill, Tunstall, Gray,
Hussy, and Finderne, Knights, men bearing mighty sway.

As forward with his force, brave Mountacute was set,
It hap'd upon his way at Hegly More he met
With Hungerford, and Rosse, and Sir Ralph Percy, where,
In signe of good successe (as certainly it were)
They and their utmost force were quickly put to flight;
Yet Percy as he was a most couragious Knight,
Ne'r boudg'd till his last breath, but in the field was slaine.
Proud of this first defeat, then marching forth againe,
Towards Livells, a large Waste, which other plaines out-braves,
Whose Verge fresh

A little River neere Hexam.

Dowell still is watring with her waves,
Whereas his posting Scouts, King Henries power discri'd,
Tow'rds whom with speedy march, this valiant Generall hied,
Whose haste there likewise had such prosperous event,
That lucklesse Henry yet, had scarcely cleer'd his Tent,

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His Captaines hardly set his Battels, nor enlarg'd
Their Squadrons on the field, but this great Nevill charg'd:
Long was this doubtfull fight on either side maintain'd,
That rising whilst this falls, this loosing whilst that gain'd:
The ground which this part got, and there as Conquerors stood,
The other quickly gaine, and firmely make it good,
To either as blind Chance, her favors will dispose;
So to this part it eb'd, and to that side it flowes.
At last, till whether 'twere that sad and horrid sight,
At Saxton that yet did their fainting spirits affright,
With doubt of second losse, and slaughter, or the ayd
That Mountacute receav'd; King Henries power dismayd:
And giving up the day, dishonourably fled,
Whom with so violent speed the Yorkists followed,
That had not Henry spur'd, and had a Courser swift,
Besides a skilfull guide, through woods and hilles to shift,
He sure had been surpriz'd, as they his Hench-men tooke,
With whom they found his Helme; with most disastrous lucke,
To save themselves by flight, ne'r more did any strive,
And yet so many men ne'r taken were alive.

The Battell of Banbury.

Now Banbury we come thy Battell to report,
And show th'efficient cause, as in what wondrous sort
Great Warwicke was wrought in to the Lancastrian part,
When as that wanton King so vex'd his mightie heart:
Whilst in the Court of France, that Warriour he bestow'd,
(As potent here at home, as powerfull else abroad)
A marriage to intreat with Bona bright and sheene,
Of the Savoyan Blood, and sister to the Queene,
Which whilst this noble Earle negotiated there,
The widdow Lady Gray, the King espoused here.
By which the noble Earle in France who was disgrac'd,
(In England his revenge doth but too quickly hast)
T'excite the Northerne men doth secretly begin,
(With whom he powerfull was) to rise, that comming in,

The Citie of Yorke like to have bin fired by Warwicks faction.

He might put in his hand, (which onely he desir'd)
Which rising before Yorke were likely to have fierd
The Citie, but repuls'd, and Holdorn them that led,
Being taken, for the cause made shorter by the head.
Yet would not they disist, but to their Captaines drew
Henry the valiant sonne of John the Lord Fitz-Hugh,

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With Coniers that brave Knight, whose valour they preferre,
With Henry Nevill, sonne to the Lord Latimer,
By whose Allies and friends, they every day grew strong,
And so in proud aray tow'rds London march along.
Which when King Edward saw the world began to side
With Warwicke, till himselfe he might of power provide,
To noble Pembroke sends, those Rebels to withstand.
Six thousand valiant Welsh, who mustring out of hand,
By Richard Harberts ayd, his brother them doth bring,
And for their greater strength (appointed by the King)
Th'Lord Stafford (of his house) of Powick named then,
Eight hundred Archers brought, the most selected men
The Marches could make out: these having Severne crost,
And up to Cotswould clome, they heard the Northern host,
Being at Northampton then, it selfe tow'rds Warwicke wayd,
When with a speedy march, the Harberts that forlayd
Their passage, charg'd their Reare with neere two thousand horse,
That the Lancastrian part suspecting all their force
Had followed them againe, their armie bring about,
Both with such speed and skill, that e're the Welsh got out,
By having charg'd too farre, some of their Vaward lost,
Beat to their armie backe; thus as these Legions coast,
On Danemore they are met, indifferent for this warre,
Whereas three easie hils that stand Trianguler,
Small Edgcoat overlooke; on that upon the West
The Welsh encampe themselves; the Northerne them possest
Of that upon the South, whilst, (by warres strange event)
Yong Nevill, who would brave the Harberts in their Tent,
Leading a troupe of Youth, (upon that fatall plaine)
Was taken by the Welsh, and miserably slaine;
Of whose untimely death, his friends the next day tooke
A terrible revenge, when Stafford there forsooke
The army of the Welsh, and with his Archers bad
Them fight that would for him; for that proud Pembroke had
Displac'd him of his Inne, in Banbury where he
His Paramore had lodg'd; where since he might not be,
He backward shapes his course, and leaves the Harberts there,
T'abide the brunt of all: with outcries every where
The clamorous Drummes & Fifes to the rough charge do sound,
Together horse and man come tumbling to the ground:

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Then limbs like boughs were lop'd, from shoulders armes doe flie;
They fight as none could scape, yet scape as none could die.
The ruffling Northern Lads, and the stout Welshmen tri'd it;
Then Head-pieces hold out, or braines must sore abide it.
The Northern men Saint George for Lancaster doe crie:
A Pembroke for the King, the lustie Welsh replie;
When many a gallant youth doth desperatly assay,
To doe some thing that might be worthy of the day:
Where Richard Harbert beares into the Northern prease,
And with his Poleaxe makes his way with such successe,
That breaking through the Rankes, he their maine Battell past,
And quit it so againe, that many stood aghast,
That from the higher ground beheld him wade the crowd,
As often ye behold in tempests rough and proud,
O'rtaken with a storme, some Shell or little Crea,
Hard labouring for the land, on the high-working Sea,
Seemes now as swallowed up, then floating light and free
O'th top of some high wave; then thinke that you it see
Quite sunke beneath that waste of waters, yet doth cleere
The Maine, and safely gets some Creeke or Harbor neere:
So Harbert cleer'd their Host; but see th'event of warre,
Some Spialls on the hill discerned had from farre
Another Armie come to ayd the Northerne side,
When they which Claphams craft so quickly not espide,
Who with five hundred men about Northampton raisd,
All discontented spirits, with Edwards rule displeasd,
Displaying in the field great Warwicks dreaded Beare:
The Welsh who thought the Earle in person had been there,
Leading a greater power (disheartened) turne the backe
Before the Northerne host, that quickly goe to wracke.
Five thousand valiant Welsh are in chase o'rthrowne,
Which but an houre before had thought the day their owne.
Their Leaders (in the flight) the high-borne Harberts t'ane,
At Banbury must pay for Henry Nevill slaine.

The Battell of Stamford, or Loose-coat field.

Now Stamford in due course, the Muse doth come to tell,
Of thine owne named field, what in the fight befell,
Betwixt brave youthfull Wells, from Lincolnshire that led
Neere twentie thousand men, tow'rd London making head,
Against the Yorkists power, great Warwicke to abet,
Who with a puisant force prepared forth to set,

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To joyne with him in Armes, and joyntly take their chance.
And Edward with his friends, who likewise doe advance
His forces, to refell that desperate daring foe;
Who for he durst himselfe in open Armes to show,
Nor at his dread command them downe againe would lay.
His father the Lord Wells, who he suppos'd might sway
His so outragious sonne, with his lov'd law-made brother,
Sir Thomas Dymock, thought too much to rule the other,
He strangely did to die, which so incens'd the spleene
Of this couragious youth, that he to wreake his teene
Upon the cruell King, doth every way excite
Him to an equall field, that com'n where they might smite
The Battell: on this plaine it chanc'd their Armies met:
They rang'd their severall fights, which once in order set,
The loudly-brawling Drummes, which seemed to have feard
The trembling ayre at first, soone after were not heard,
For out-cries, shreekes, and showts, whilst noyse doth noyse confound.
No accents touch the eare, but such as death doe sound:
In thirsting for revenge, whilst fury them doth guide:
As slaughter seemes by turnes to sease on either side.
The Southerne expert were, in all to warre belong,
And exercise their skill, the Marchmen stout and strong,
Which to the Battell sticke, and if they make retreat,
Yet comming on againe, the foe they backe doe beat,
And Wels for Warwicke crie, and for the rightfull Crowne;
The other call a Yorke, to beat the Rebels downe:
The worst that warre could doe, on either side she showes,
Or by the force of Bils, or by the strength of Bowes;
But still by fresh supplies, the Yorkists power encrease:
And Wels, who sees his troups so overborne with prease,
By hazarding too farre into the boystrous throng,
Incouraging his men the adverse troupes among,
With many a mortall wound, his wearied breath expir'd:
Which sooner knowne to his, then his first hopes desir'd,
Ten thousand on the earth before them lying slaine,
No hope left to repaire their ruin'd state againe,
Cast off their Countries coats, to hast their speed away,
(Of them) which Loose-coat field is cald (even) to this day.

Since needsly I must sticke upon my former text,

The Battell of Barnet.

The bloody Battell fought, at Barnet followeth next,

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Twixt Edward, who before he setled was to raigne,
By Warwicke hence expuls'd; but here ariv'd againe,
From Burgundy, brought in munition, men and pay,
And all things fit for warre, expecting yet a day.
Whose brother

George Duke of Clarence.

George came in, with Warwicke that had stood,
Whom nature wrought at length t'adhere to his owne blood:
His brother Richard Duke of Gloster, and his friend;
Lord Hastings, who to him their utmost powers extend;

And Warwick, whose great heart so mortall hatred bore
To Edward, that by all the Sacraments he swore,
Not to lay downe his Armes, untill his sword had rac'd,
That proud King from his Seat, that so had him disgrac'd:
And Marquesse Mountacute, his brother, that brave stem
Of Nevils noble Stock, who joyned had to them,
The Dukes of Somerset, and Excester, and take
The Earle of Oxford in; the Armies forward make,
And meeting on the plaine, to Barnet very neere,
That to this very day, is called Gladmore there.

Duke Richard to the field, doth Edwards Vaward bring;
And in the middle came that most couragious King,
With Clarence his reclaim'd, and brother then most deare;
His friend Lord Hastings had the guiding of the Reare,
(A man of whom the King most highly did repute.)

On puisant Warwicks part, the Marquesse Mountacute
His brother, and his friend the Earle of Oxford led
The right wing; and the left which most that day might sted,
The Duke of Excester; and he himselfe doe guide
The middle fight (which was the Armies onely pride)
Of Archers most approv'd, the best that he could get,
Directed by his friend, the Duke of Somerset.

O Sabboth ill bestow'd, O drery Easter day,
In which (as some suppose) the Sunne doth use to play,
In honour of that God for sinfull man that dy'd,
And rose on that third day, that Sunne which now doth hide
His face in foggy mists; nor was that morning seene,
So that the space of ground those angry hosts betweene,
Was overshadowed quite with darknesse, which so cast
The armies on both sides, that they each other past,
Before they could perceive advantage, where to fight;
Besides the envious mist so much deceiv'd their sight,

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That where eight hundred men, which valiant Oxford brought,
Ware Comets on their coats: great Warwicks force which thought
They had King Edwards beene, which so with Sunnes were drest,
First made their shot at them, who by their friends distrest,
Constrayned were to flie, being scattered here and there.
But when this direfull day at last began to cleere,
King Edward then beholds that height of his first hopes,
Whose presence gave fresh life to his oft-fainting troupes,
Prepar'd to scourge his pride, there daring to defie
His mercie, to the host proclaiming publikely
His hatefull breach of faith, his perjury, and shame,
And what might make him vile; so Warwicke heard that name
Of Yorke, which in the field he had so oft advanc'd,
And to that glorious height, and greatnesse had inhanc'd,
Then cried against his power, by those which oft had fled,
Their swift pursuing foe, by him not bravely led,
Upon the enemies backe, their swords bath'd in the gore
Of those from whom they ran, like heartlesse men before,
Which Warwicks nobler name injuriously defide,
Even as the irefull host then joyned side to side.

Where cruell Richard charg'd the Earles maine battell, when
Proud Somerset therein, with his approoved men
Stood stoutly to the shocke, and flang out such a flight
Of shafts, as welneere seem'd t'eclipse the welcom'd light,
Which forc'd them to fall off, on whose retreit againe,
That great Battalion next approcheth the fayre plaine,
Wherein the King himselfe in person was to trie,
Proud Warwicks utmost strength: when Warwicke by and by,
With his left wing came up, and charg'd so home and round,
That had not his light horse by disvantagious ground
Been hindred, he had strucke the heart of Edwards host:
But finding his defeat, his enterprise so lost,
He his swift Currers sends, to will his valiant brother,
And Oxford, in command being equall to the other,
To charge with the right wing, who bravely up doe beare;
But Hastings that before raught thither with his Reare,
And with King Edward joynd, the host too strongly arm'd.
When every part with spoyle, with rape, with fury charm'd,
Are prodigall of blood, that slaughter seemes to swill
It selfe in humane gore, and every one cries kill.

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So doubtfull and so long the battell doth abide,
That those, which to and fro, twixt that and London ride,
That Warwicke winnes the day for certaine newes doe bring,
Those following them againe, sayd certainly the King,
Untill great Warwicke found his armie had the worse,
And sore began to faint, alighting from his horse,
In with the formost puts, and wades into the throng;
And where he saw death stern'st, the murthered troupes among,
He ventures, as the Sunne in a tempestuous day,
With darknesse threatned long, yet sometimes doth display
His cheerefull beames, which scarce appeare to the cleere eye,
But suddenly the clouds, which on the winds doe flie,
Doe muffle him againe within them, till at length,
The storme (prevailing still with an unusuall strength)
His cleerenesse quite doth close, and shut him up in night:
So mightie Warwicke fares in this outragious fight.

The cruell Lyons thus inclose the dreaded Beare,
Whilst Montacute, who strives (if any helpe there were)
To rescue his belov'd and valiant brother, fell:
The losse of two such spirits at once, time shall not tell;
The Duke of Somerset, and th'Earle of Oxford fled,
And Excester being left for one amongst the dead,
At length recovering life, by night escap'd away,
Yorke never safely sat, till this victorious day.

Thus Fortune to his end this mightie Warwicke brings
This puisant setter up, and plucker downe of Kings.
He who those battels wonne, which so much blood had cost,
At Barnets fatall fight, both Life and Fortune lost.

The Battell at Tewxbury.

Now Tewksbury it rests, thy storry to relate,
Thy sad and dreadfull fight, and that most direfull Fate
Of the Lancastrian Line, which hapned on that day,
Fourth of that fatall Month, that still-remembred May:
Twixt Edmund that brave Duke of Somerset, who fled
From Barnets bloody field, (againe there gathering head)
And Marquesse Dorset bound in blood to ayd him there,
With Thomas Courtney Earle of powerfull Devonshire:
With whom King Henries sonne, young Edward there was seene,
To claime his doubtlesse right, with that undaunted Queene
His mother, who from France with succours came on land
That day, when Warwicke fell at Barnet, which now stand,

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Their fortune yet to trie, upon a second fight.
And Edward who imploy'd the utmost of his might,
The poore Lancastrian part (which he doth eas'ly feele,
By Warwicks mightie fall, already faintly reele)
By Battell to subvert, and to extirpe the Line;
And for the present act, his army doth assigne
To those at Barnet field so luckily that sped;
As Richard late did there, he here the Vaward led,
The Maine the King himselfe, and Clarence tooke to guide;
The Rearward as before by Hastings was supplide.

The Army of the Queene, into three Battels cast,
The first of which the Duke of Somerset, and (fast
To him) his brother John doe happily dispose;
The second, which the Prince for his owne safety chose
The Barons of Saint John, and Wenlocke; and the third,
To Courtney that brave Earle of Devonshire referd.
Where in a spacious field they set their Armies downe;
Behind, hard at their backes, the Abbey, and the Towne,
To whom their foe must come, by often banks and steepe,
Through quickset narrow Lanes, cut out with ditches deepe,
Repulsing Edwards power, constraining him to proove
By thundring Cannon shot, and Culvering to remoove
Them from that chosen ground, so tedious to assayle;
And with the shot came shafts, like stormy showres of Hayle:
The like they sent againe, which beat the other sore,
Who with the Ordnance strove the Yorkists to outrore,
And still make good their ground, that whilst the Peeces play,
The Yorkists hasting still to hand-blowes, doe assay,
In strong and boystrous crowds to scale the combrous Dykes;
But beaten downe with Bills, with Poleaxes, and Pykes,
Are forced to fall off; when Richard there that led
The Vaward, saw their strength so little them to sted,
As he a Captaine was, both politique and good,
The stratagems of warre, that rightly understood,
Doth seeme as from the field his forces to withdraw.
His sudden, strange retire, proud Somerset that saw,
(A man of haughtie spirit, in honour most precise;
In action yet farre more adventurous then wise)
Supposing from the field for safetie he had fled,
Straight giveth him the chase; when Richard turning head,

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By his incounter let the desperate Duke to know,
Twas done to traine him out, when soone began the show
Of slaughter every where; for scarce their equall forces
Began the doubtfull fight, but that three hundred horses,
That out of sight this while on Edwards part had stayd,
To see that neere at hand no ambushes were layd,
Soone charg'd them on the side, disordring quite their Ranks,
Whilst this most warlike King had wonne the climing Banks,
Upon the equall earth, and comming bravely in
Upon the adverse power, there likewise doth begin
A fierce and deadly fight, that the Lancastrian side,
The first and furious shocke not able to abide
The utmost of their strength, were forced to bestow,
To hold what they had got; that Somerset below,
Who from the second force, had still expected ayd,
But frustrated thereof, even as a man dismaid,
Scarce shifts to save himselfe his Battell overthrowne;
But faring as a man that frantique had beene growne,
With Wenlock hap'd to meet (preparing for his flight)
Upbraiding him with tearmes of basenesse and despight,
That cow'rdly he had faild to succour him with men:
Whilst Wenlock with like words requiteth him agen,
The Duke (to his sterne rage, as yeelding up the raines)
With his too pondrous Axe pasht out the Barons braines.

The partie of the Queene in every place are kild,
The Ditches with the dead, confusedly are fild,
And many in the flight, i'th neighbouring Rivers drown'd,
Which with victorious wreaths, the conquering Yorkists crownd.
Three thousand of those men, on Henries part that stood,
For their presumption paid the forfeit of their blood.
John Marquesse Dorset dead, and Devonshire that day
Drew his last vitall breath, as in that bloody fray,
Delves, Hamden, Whittingham, and Leuknor, who had there,
Their severall brave commands, all valiant men that were,
Found dead upon the earth. Now all is Edwards owne,
And through his enemies tents he march'd into the towne,
Where quickly he proclaimes, to him that foorth could bring
Young Edward, a large Fee, and as he was a King,
His person to be safe. Sir Richard Crofts who thought
His prisoner to disclose, before the King then brought

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That faire and goodly Youth; whom when proud Yorke demands,
Why thus he had presum'd by helpe of traytrous hands
His kingdome to disturbe, and impiously display'd
His Ensignes: the stout Prince, as not a jot dismay'd,
With confidence replies, To claime his ancient right,
Him from his Grandsires left; by tyranny and might,
By him his foe usurp'd: with whose so bold reply,
Whilst Edward throughly vext, doth seeme to thrust him by;
His second brother George, and Richard neere that stood,

The murther of Prince Edward.

With many a cruell stab let out his princely blood;
In whom the Line direct of Lancaster doth cease,
And Somerset himselfe surprized in the prease;
With many a worthy man, to Gloster prisoners led,
There forfeited their lives: Queene Margaret being fled
To a religious Cell, (to Tewksbury, too neere)
Discoverd to the King, with sad and heavy cheere,
A prisoner was convey'd to London, wofull Queene,
The last of all her hopes, that buried now had seene.

But of that outrage here, by that bold Bastard soone

A briefe passage of the Bastard Falkonbridge his Rebellion.

Of Thomas Nevill, nam'd Lord Falkonbridge, which wonne
A rude rebellious Rout in Kent and Essex rais'd,
Who London here besieg'd, and Southwarke having seas'd,
Set fire upon the Bridge: but when he not prevaild,
The Suburbs on the East he furiously assayl'd;
But by the Cities power was lastly put to flight:
Which being no set Field, nor yet well ordred fight,
Amongst our Battels here, may no way reckoned be.

Then Bosworth here the Muse now lastly bids for thee,

The Battell of Bosworth.

Thy Battell to describe, the last of that long warre,
Entit'led by the name of Yorke and Lancaster;
Twixt Henry Tudor Earle of Richmond onely left
Of the Lancastrian Line, who by the Yorkists reft
Of libertie at home, a banish'd man abroad,
In Britany had liv'd; but late at Milford Road,
Being prosperously ariv'd, though scarce two thousand strong,
Made out his way through Wales, where as he came along.
First Griffith great in Blood, then Morgan next doth meet
Him, with their severall powers, as offring at his feet
To lay their Lands, and lives; Sir Rice ap Thomas then,
With his brave Band of Welsh, most choyce and expert men,

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Comes lastly to his ayd; at Shrewsbury ariv'd,
(His hopes so faint before, so happily reviv'd)
He on for England makes, and neere to Newport towne,
The next ensuing night setting his Army downe,
Sir Gilbert Talbot still for Lancaster that stood,
(To Henry neere Alli'd in friendship as in Blood)
From th'Earle of Shrewsbury his Nephew (under age)
Came with two thousand men, in warlike Equipage,
Which much his power increas'd; when easily setting on,
From Lichfield, as the way leads foorth to Atherston,
Brave Bourcher and his friend stout Hungerford, whose hopes
On Henry long had laine, stealing from Richards troups,
(Wherewith they had been mix'd) to Henry doe appeare,
Which with a high resolve, most strangely seem'd to cheere,
His oft-appauled heart, but yet the man which most,
Gave sayle to Henries selfe, and fresh life to his host,
The stout Lord Stanley was, who for he had affide
The mother of the Earle, to him so neere allide:
The King who fear'd his truth, (which he to have, compeld)
The yong Lord Strange his sonne, in hostage strongly held,
Which forc'd him to fall off, till he fit place could finde,
His sonne in law to meet; yet he with him combinde
Sir William Stanley, knowne to be a valiant Knight,
T'assure him of his ayd. Thus growing tow'rds his hight,
A most selected Band of Cheshire Bow-men came,
By Sir John Savage led, besides two men of name:
Sir Brian Sanford, and Sir Simon Digby, who
Leaving the tyrant King, themselves expresly show
Fast friends to Henries part, which still his power increast:
Both Armies well prepar'd, towards Bosworth strongly preast,
And on a spacious Moore, lying Southward from the towne;
Indifferent to them both, they set their Armies downe
Their Souldiers to refresh, preparing for the fight:
Where to the guiltie King, that black fore-running night,

Richards fearefull Dreames the night before the Battell.

Appeare the dreadfull ghosts of Henry and his sonne,
Of his owne brother George, and his two nephewes done
Most cruelly to death; and of his wife and friend,
Lord Hastings, with pale hands prepar'd as they would rend
Him peece-meale; at which oft he roreth in his sleepe.

No sooner gan the dawne out of the East to peepe,

461

But Drummes and Trumpets chide, the Souldiers to their Armes,
And all the neighboring fields are covered with the swarmes
Of those that came to fight, as those that came to see,
(Contending for a Crowne) whose that great day should be.

First, Richmond rang'd his fights, on Oxford, and bestowes
The leading, with a Band of strong and Sinewy Bowes
Out of the Army pick'd; the Front of all the field,
Sir Gilbert Talbot next, he wisely tooke to weeld,
The right Wing, with his strengths, most Northern men that were.
And Sir John Savage, with the power of Lancashire,
And Cheshire (Chiefe of men) was for the left Wing plac'd:
The Middle Battell he in his faire person grac'd,
With him the noble Earle of Pembroke, who commands
Their Countrey-men the Welsh, (of whom it mainly stands,
For their great numbers found to be of greatest force)
Which but his guard of Gleaves, consisted all of Horse.

Into two severall fights the King contriv'd his strength,
And his first Battell cast into a wondrous length,
In fashion of a wedge, in poynt of which he set
His Archery, thereof and to the guidance let
Of John the noble Duke of Norfolke, and his sonne
Brave Surrey: he himselfe the second bringing on,
Which was a perfect square; and on the other side,
His Horsemen had for wings, which by extending wide,
The adverse seem'd to threat; with an unequall power.
The utmost poynt ariv'd of this expected hower,
He to Lord Stanley sends, to bring away his ayd;
And threats him by an Oath, if longer he delayd
His eldest sonne young Strange imediatly should die,
To whom stout Stanley thus doth carelessely reply:
Tell thou the King Ile come, when I fit time shall see,
I love the Boy, but yet I have more sonnes then he.

The angry Armies meet, when the thin ayre was rent,
With such re-ecchoing shouts, from eithers Souldiers sent,
That flying o'r the field the Birds downe trembling dropt.
As some old building long that hath been underpropt,
When as the Timber fayles, by the unweldy fall,
Even into powder beats, the Roofe, and rotten wall,
And with confused clouds of smouldring dust doth choke
The streets and places neere; so through the mistie smoke,

462

By Shot and Ordnance made, a thundring noyse was heard.
When Stanley that this while his succours had deferd,
Both to the cruell King, and to the Earle his sonne,
When once he doth perceive the Battell was begun,
Brings on his valiant Troups, three thousand fully strong,
Which like a cloud farre off, that tempest threatned long,
Falls on the Tyrants host, which him with terrour strooke,
As also when he sees, he doth but vainly looke
For succours from the great Northumberland, this while,
That from the Battell scarce three quarters of a mile,
Stood with his power of Horse, nor once was seene to stirre:
When Richard (that th'event no longer would deferre,
The two maine Battels mix'd, and that with wearied breath,
Some laboured to their life, some laboured to their death,
(There for the better fought) even with a Spirit elate,
As one that inly scorn'd the very worst that Fate
Could possibly impose, his Launce set in his Rest,
Into the thick'st of Death, through threatning perill prest,
To where he had perceiv'd the Earle in person drew,
Whose Standard-Bearer he, Sir William Brandon slew,
The pile of his strong staffe into his arme-pit sent;
When at a second shocke, downe Sir John Cheney went,
Which scarce a Launces length before the Earle was plac'd,
Untill by Richmonds Guard, invironed at last,
With many a cruell wound, was through the body gride.
Upon this fatall field, John Duke of Norfolke dide;
The stout Lord Ferrers fell, and Ratcliffe, that had long
Of Richards counsels been, found in the field among
A thousand Souldiers that on both sides were slaine,
O Red-more, it then seem'd, thy name was not in vaine,
When with a thousands blood the earth was coloured red.
Whereas th'Emperiall Crowne was set on Henries head,
Being found in Richards Tent, as he it there did winne;
The cruell Tyrant stript to the bare naked skin,
Behind a Herauld truss'd, was backe to Le'ster sent,
From whence the day before he to the Battell went.

The Battell of Stoke.

The Battell then at Stoke, so fortunatly strucke,
(Upon King Henries part, with so successefull lucke,
As never till that day he felt his Crowne to cleave
Unto his temples close, when Mars began to leave

463

His fury, and at last to sit him downe was brought)
I come at last to sing, twixt that seventh Henry fought;
With whom, to this brave Field the Duke of Bedford came,
With Oxford his great friend, whose praise did him inflame
To all Atchievements great, that fortunate had bin
In every doubtfull fight, since Henries comming in,
With th'Earle of Shrewsbury, a man of great command,
And his brave sonne Lord George, for him that firmly stand.

And on the other side, John Duke of Suffolks sonne,
(John Earle of Lincolne cald) who this sterne warre begun,
Subborning a lewd Boy, a false Imposter, who
By Simonds a worse Priest, instructed what to doe;
Upon him tooke the name of th'Earle of Warwicke, heire
To George the murthered Duke of Clarence, who (for feare
Lest some that favoured Yorke, might under hand maintaine)
King Henry in the Tower, did at that time detaine.

The Dutchesse of Burgundy was sister to Edward the 4, and so was this Earles mother.

Which practise set on foot, this Earle of Lincolne sayld
To Burgundy, where he with Margaret prevayld,
Wife to that warlike Charles, and his most loved Aunt,
Who vexed that a proud Lancastrian should supplant
The lawfull Line of Yorke, whence she her blood deriv'd;
Wherefore for Lincolnes sake shee speedily contriv'd,
And Lovell, that brave Lord, before him sent to land

The Lord Francis Lovell.

Upon the same pretence, to furnish them a Band
Of Almanes, and to them for their stout Captaine gave
The valiant Martin Swart, the man thought scarce to have
His match for Martiall feats, and sent them with a Fleet
For Ireland, where shee had appoynted them to meet,
With Simonds that lewd Clerke, and Lambert, whom they there
The Earle of Warwicke cald, and publish'd every where
His title to the Crowne, in Divelin, and proclaime
Him Englands lawfull King, by the fift Edwards name:
Then joyning with the Lord Fitz-Gerald, to their ayd

The Lord Thomas Geraldine.

Who many Irish brought, they up their Ankres wayd,
And at the rocky Pyle of

On the coast of Lancashire.

Fowdray put to shore
In Lancashire; their power increasing more and more,
By Souldiers sent them in from Broughton (for supply)

Sir Thomas Broughton.

A Knight that long had been of their confederacy;
Who making thence, direct their marches to the South.

When Henry saw himselfe so farre in dangers mouth,

464

From Coventry he came, still gathering up his Host,
Made greater on his way, and doth the Countrey coast,
Which way he understood his enemies must passe:
When after some few dayes (as if their Fortunes was)
At Stoke, a village neere to Newarke upon Trent,
Each in the others sight pitcht downe their warlike Tent.
Into one Battell soone, the Almans had disposd
Their Army, in a place upon two parts inclosd
With Dells, and fenced Dykes, (as they were expert men.)
And from the open fields King Henries Host agen,
In three faire severall fights came equally devided;
The first of which, and fitst, was given to be guided
By Shrewsbury, which most of Souldiers choice consisted:
The others plac'd as Wings, which ever as they listed,
Came up as need requir'd, or fell backe as they found
Just cause for their retire; when soone the troubled ground,
On her black bosome felt the thunder, which awooke
Her Genius, with the shock that violently shooke
Her intrayles; this sad day when there ye might have seene
Two thousand Almains stand, of which each might have beene
A Leader for his skill, which when the charge was hot,
That they could hardly see the very Sunne for shot,
Yet they that motion kept that perfect Souldiers should;
That most couragious Swart there might they well behold,
With most unusuall skill, that desperate fight maintaine,
And valiant De la Poole, most like his princely straine,
Did all that courage could, or noblesse might befit;
And Lovell that brave Lord, behind him not a whit,
For martiall deeds that day: stout Broughton that had stood
With Yorke (even) from the first, there lastly gave his blood
To that well-foughten Field: the poore Trowz'd Irish there,
Whose Mantles stood for Mayle, whose skinns for Corslets were,
And for their weapons had but Irish Skaines and Darts,
Like men that scorned death, with most resolved hearts,
Give not an inch of ground, but all in pieces hewen,
Where first they fought, they fell; with them was overthrowne
The Leader Geralds hope, amidst his men that fought,
And tooke such part as they, whom he had thither brought.

A Field bravely fought.

This of that field be told, There was not one that fled,
But where he first was plac'd, there found alive or dead.

465

If in a foughten field, a man his life should loose,
To dye as these men did, who would not gladly choose,
Which full foure thousand were. But in this tedious Song,
The too laborious Muse hath taried all too long.

As for the Black-Smiths Rout, who did together rise,

Michael Joseph with the Cornish Rebels. The Rebellion of Cornwall, in the third yeere of Edward the sixt.

Encamping on Blackheath, t'annull the Subsidies
By Parliment then given, or that of Cornwall call'd,
Inclosures to cast downe, which overmuch enthrald
The Subject: or proud Kets, who with the same pretence
In Norfolke rais'd such stirres, as but with great expence
Of blood was not appeas'd; or that begun in Lent
By Wyat and his friends, the Mariage to prevent,

Sir Thomas Wyat.

That Mary did intend with Philip King of Spaine:
Since these but Ryots were, nor fit the others straine,
Shee here her Battels ends: and as Shee did before,
So travelling along upon her silent shore,
Waybridge a neighbouring Nymph, the onely remnant left
Of all that Forrest kind, by Times injurious theft
Of all that tract destroy'd, with wood which did abound,
And former times had seene the goodliest Forrest ground,
This Iland ever had: but she so left alone,
The ruine of her kind, and no man to bemoane.
The deepe intranced Flood, as thinking to awake,
Thus from her shady Bower shee silently bespake.

O Flood in happy plight, which to this time, remainst,
As still along in state to Neptunes Court thou strainst;
Revive thee with the thought of those forepassed howers,
When the rough Wood-gods kept, in their delightfull Bowers
On thy embroydered bankes, when now this Country fild,
With villages, and by the labouring plowman tild,
Was Forrest, where the Firre, and spreading Poplar grew.
O let me yet the thought of those past times renew,
When as that woody kind, in our umbragious Wyld,
Whence every living thing save onely they exild,
In this their world of wast, the soveraigne Empire swayd.
O who would ere have thought, that time could have decayd
Those trees whose bodies seem'd by their so massie weight,
To presse the solid earth, and with their wondrous height
To climbe into the Clouds, their Armes so farre to shoot,
As they in measuring were of Acres, and their Root,

466

With long and mightie spurnes to grapple with the land,
As Nature would have sayd, that they should ever stand:
So that this place where now this Huntingdon is set,
Being an easie hill where mirthfull Hunters met,
From that first tooke the name. By this the Muse arives
At Elies Iled Marge, by having past Saint Ives,
Unto the German Sea shee hasteth her along,
And here shee shutteth up her two and twentieth Song,
In which shee quite hath spent her vigor, and must now,
As Workmen often use, a while sit downe and blow;
And after this short pause, though lesning of her height,
Come in another Key, yet not without delight.

467

The three and twentieth Song

The Argument.

From furious Fights Invention comes,
Deafned with noyse of ratling Drummes,
And in the Northamptonian bounds,
Shewes Whittlewoods, and Sacies grounds;
Then to Mount Hellidon doth goe,
(Whence Charwell, Leame, and Nen doe flow)
The Surface, which of England sings,
And Nen downe to the Washes brings;
Then whereas Welland makes her way,
Shewes Rockingham, her rich aray:
A Course at Kelmarsh then shee takes,
Where shee Northamptonshire forsakes.

On tow'ds the Mid-lands now, th'industrious Muse doth make,
The Northamptonian earth, and in her way doth take;
As fruitfull every way, as those by Nature, which
The Husbandman by Art, with Compost doth inrich,
This boasting of her selfe; that walke her Verge about,
And view her well within, her breadth, and length throughout:
The worst foot of her earth, is equall with their best,
With most aboundant store, that highliest thinke them blest.
When Whittlewood betime th'unwearied Muse doth win
To talke with her awhile; at her first comming in,
The Forrest thus that greets: With more successefull Fate,
Thrive then thy fellow Nymphs, whose sad and ruinous state
We every day behold, if any thing there be,
That from this generall fall, thee happily may free,
'Tis onely for that thou dost naturally produce
More Under-wood, and Brake, then Oke for greater use:
But when this ravenous Age, of those hath us bereft,
Time wanting this our store, shall sease what thee is left.
For what base Averice now inticeth men to doe,
Necessitie in time shall strongly urge them too;
Which each divining Spirit most cleerely doth foresee.

Whilst at this speech perplext, the Forrest seem'd to be,

468

A Water-nymph, neere to this goodly Wood-nymphs side,
(As tow'rds her soveraigne Ouze, shee softly downe doth slide)
Tea, her delightsome streame by Tawcester doth lead;
And sporting her sweet selfe in many a daintie Mead,
Shee hath not sallied farre, but Sacy soone againe
Salutes her; one much grac'd amongst the Sylvan traine:
One whom the Queene of Shades, the bright Diana oft
Hath courted for her lookes, with kisses smooth and soft,
On her faire Bosome lean'd, and tenderly imbrac't,
And cald her, her Deare heart, most lov'd, and onely chast:
Yet Sacie after Tea, her amourous eyes doth throw,
Till in the bankes of Ouze the Brooke her selfe bestow.

Where in those fertill fields, the Muse doth hap to meet
Upon that side which sits the West of Watling-street,
With

A hill not farre from Daventry.

Helidon a Hill, which though it bee but small,
Compar'd with their proud kind, which we our Mountaines call;
Yet hath three famous Floods, that out of him doe flow,
That to three severall Seas, by their assistants goe;
Of which the noblest, Nen, to fayre Northampton hies,
By Owndle sallying on, then Peterborough plyes
Old

The ancient name of Peterborough.

Medhamsted: where her the Sea-mayds intertaine,
To lead her through the Fen into the German Maine.

The second, Charwell is, at Oxford meeting Thames,
Is by his King convayd into the

The French Sea.

Celtick streames.
Then Leame as least, the last, to mid-land Avon hasts,
Which Flood againe it selfe, into proud Severne casts:
As on

The Spanish Sea.

th'Iberian Sea, her selfe great Severne spends;
So Leame the Dower she hath, to that wide Ocean lends.

But Helidon wax'd proud, the happy Sire to be
To so renowned Floods, as these fore-named three,
Besides the Hill of note, neere Englands midst that stands,
Whence from his Face, his backe, or on his either hands,
The Land extends in bredth, or layes it selfe in length.
Wherefore, this Hill to shew his state and naturall strength,
The surface of this part determineth to show,
Which we now England name, and through her tracts to goe.
But being plaine and poore, professeth not that hight,
As Falkon-like to sore, till lesning to the sight.
But as the sundry soyles, his style so altring oft,
As full expressions fit, or Verses smooth and soft,

469

Upon their severall Scites, as naturally to straine,
And wisheth that these Floods, his tunes to entertaine,
The ayre with Halcion calmes, may wholly have possest,
As though the rough winds tyerd, were eas'ly layd to rest.
Then on the worth'est tract up tow'rds the mid-dayes Sun,
His undertaken taske, thus Hellidon begun.

From where the kingly Thames his stomacke doth discharge,

A discription of the Surface of the sundrie Tracts of England.

To Devonshire, where the land her bosome doth inlarge;
And with the In-land ayre, her beauties doth releeve,
Along the Celtick Sea, cald oftentimes the Sleeve:
Although upon the coast, the Downes appeare but bare,
Yet naturally within the Countries wooddy are.

Then Cornwall creepeth out into the westerne Maine,
As (lying in her eye) shee poynted still at Spaine:
Or as the wanton soyle, disposd to lustfull rest,
Had layd her selfe along on Neptunes amorous breast.

With Denshire, from the firme, that Beake of land that fils,
What Landskip lies in Vales, and often rising hils,
So plac'd betwixt the French, and the Sabrinian Seas,
As on both sides adorn'd with many harborous Bayes,
Who for their Trade to Sea, and wealthy Mynes of Tinne,
From any other Tract, the praise doth clearely winne.

From Denshire by those shores, which Severne oft Surrounds,
The Soyle farre lower sits, and mightily abounds
With sundry sort of Fruits, as well-growne Grasse and Corne,
That Somerset may say, her batning Mores doe scorne
Our Englands richest earth, for burthen should them staine;
And on the selfe same Tract, up Severns streame againe,
The Vale of Evsham layes her length so largely forth,
As though shee meant to stretch her selfe into the North,
Where still the fertill earth depressed lyes and low,
Till her rich Soyle it selfe to Warwickshire doe show.

Hence somewhat South by East, let us our course incline,
And from these setting shores so meerely Maratine,
The Iles rich In-land parts, lets take with us along,
To set him rightly out, in our well-ordred Song;
Whose prospects to the Muse their sundry scites shall show,
Where shee from place to place, as free as ayre shall flow,
Their superficies so exactly to descry,
Through Wiltshire, poynting how the Plaine of Salisbury

470

Shootes foorth her selfe in length, and layes abroad a traine
So large, as though the land serv'd scarsely to containe
Her vastnesse, North from her, himselfe proud Cotswould vaunts,
And casts so sterne a looke, about him that he daunts,
The lowly Vales, remote that sit with humbler eyes.

In Barckshire, and from thence into the Orient lies
That most renowned Vale of White-horse, and by her,
So Buckingham againe doth Alsbury preferre,
With any English Earth, along upon whose pale,
That mounting Countrie then, which maketh her a Vale,
The chaulky Chilterne, runnes with Beeches crown'd about,
Through Bedfordshire that beares, till his bald front he shoot,
Into that foggy earth towards Ely, that doth grow
Much Fenny, and surrounds with every little flow.

So on into the East, upon the In-land ground,

The River running by Uxbridge, falling into the Thames at Colebrooke.

From where that Christall Colne most properly doth bound,
Rough Chilterne, from the soyle, where in rich London sits,
As being faire and flat it naturally befits
Her greatnesse every way, which holdeth on along
To the Essexian earth, which likewise in our Song,
Since in one Tract they lye, we here together take,
Although the severall Shires, by sundry soyles doe make
It different in degrees; for Middlesex of Sands
Her soyle composed hath; so are th'Essexian lands,
Adjoyning to the same, that sit by Isis side,
Which London over-lookes: but as she waxeth wide,
So Essex in her Tydes, her deepe-growne Marshes drownds,
And to Inclosures cuts her drier upland grounds,
Which lately woody were, whilst men those woods did prize;
Whence those fayre Countries lie, upon the pleasant rise,
(Betwixt the mouth of Thames, and where Ouze roughly dashes
Her rude unweildy waves, against the queachy Washes)
Suffolke and Norfolke neere, so named of their Scites,
Adorned every way with wonderfull delights,
To the beholding eye, that every where are seene,
Abounding with rich fields, and pastures fresh and greene,
Faire Havens to their shores, large Heaths within them lie,
As Nature in them strove to shew varietie.

From Ely all along upon that Easterne Sea,
Then Lincolneshire her selfe, in state at length doth lay,

471

Which for her fatning Fennes, her Fish, and Fowle may have
Preheminence, as she that seemeth to out-brave
All other Southerne Shires, whose head the Washes feeles,
Till wantonly she kicke proud Humber with her heeles.

Up tow'rds the Navell then, of England from her Flanke,
Which Lincolneshire we call, so levelled and lanke.
Northampton, Rutland then, and Huntingdon, which three
Doe shew by their full Soyles, all of one piece to be,
Of Nottingham a part, as Lester them is lent,
From Bevers batning Vale, along the banks of Trent.
So on the other side, into the Set againe,
Where Severne tow'rds the Sea from Shrewsbury doth straine,
Twixt which and Avons banks (where Arden when of old,

See to the 13. Song.

Her bushy curled front, she bravely did uphold,
In state and glory stood) now of three severall Shires,
The greatest portions lie, upon whose earth appeares
That mightie Forrests foot, of Worstershire a part,
Of Warwickeshire the like, which sometime was the heart
Of Arden that brave Nymph, yet woody here and there,
Oft intermixt with Heaths, whose Sand and Gravell beare,
A Turfe more harsh and hard, where Stafford doth partake,
In qualitie with those, as Nature strove to make
Them of one selfe same stuffe, and mixture, as they lye,
Which likewise in this Tract, we here together tye.

From these recited parts to th'North, more high and bleake,
Extended ye behold, the Mooreland and the Peake,
From eithers severall scite, in eithers mightie waste,
A sterner lowring eye, that every way doe cast
On their beholding Hills, and Countries round about;
Whose soyles as of one shape, appearing cleane throughout.
For Moreland which with Heath most naturally doth beare,
Her Winter livery still, in Summer seemes to weare;
As likewise doth the Peake, whose dreadfull Caverns found,
And Lead-mines, that in her, doe naturally abound,
Her superficies makes more terrible to show:
So from her naturall fount, as Severne downe doth flow,
The high Sallopian hills lift up their rising sayles;
Which Country as it is the near'st alli'd to Wales,
In Mountaines, so it most is to the same alike.

Now tow'rds the Irish Seas a little let us strike,

472

Where Chesshire, (as her choyce) with Lancashire doth lie
Along th'unlevel'd shores; this former to the eye,
In her complexion showes blacke earth with gravell mixt,
A Wood-land and a plaine indifferently betwixt,
A good fast-feeding grasse, most strongly that doth breed:
As Lancashire no lesse excelling for her seed,
Although with Heath, and Fin, her upper parts abound;
As likewise to the Sea, upon the lower ground,
With Mosses, Fleets, and Fells, she showes most wild and rough,
Whose Turfe, and square cut Peat, is fuell good ynough.
So, on the North of Trent, from Nottingham above,
Where Sherwood her curld front, into the cold doth shove,
Light Forrest land is found, to where the floting Don,
In making tow'rds the Maine, her Doncaster hath won,
Where Yorkshire's layd abroad, so many a mile extent,
To whom preceding times, the greatest circuit lent,
A Province, then a Shire, which rather seemeth: so
It incidently most varietie doth show.
Heere stony stirrill grounds, there wondrous fruitfull fields,
Here Champaine, and there Wood, it in abundance yeelds:
Th'West-riding, and North, be mountainous and high,
But tow'rds the German Sea the East, more low doth lie.
This Ile hath not that earth, of any kind elsewhere,
But on this part or that, epitomized here.

Tow'rds those Scotch-Irish Iles, upon that Sea againe,
The rough Virgivian cald, that tract which doth containe
Cold Cumberland, which yet wild Westmerland excels,
For roughnesse, at whose point lies rugged Fournesse Fells,
Is fild with mighty Mores, and Mountaines, which doe make
Her wilde superfluous waste, as Nature sport did take
In Heaths, and high-cleev'd Hils, whose threatning fronts doe dare
Each other with their looks, as though they would out-stare
The Starry eyes of heaven, which to out-face they stand.

From these into the East, upon the other hand,
The Bishopricke, and fayre Northumberland doe beare
To Scotlands bordering Tweed, which as the North elsewhere,
Not very fertile are, yet with a lovely face
Upon the Ocean looke; which kindly doth imbrace
Those Countries all along, upon the Rising side,
Which for the Batfull Gleabe, by nature them denide,

474

With mightie Mynes of Cole, abundantly are blest,
By which this Tract remaines renown'd above the rest:
For what from her rich wombe, each harbourous Road receives.

Yet Hellidon not here, his lov'd description leaves,
Though now his darling Springs desir'd him to desist;
But say all what they can, hee'll doe but what he list.
As he the Surface thus, so likewise will he show,
The Clownish Blazons, to each Country long agoe,
Which those unlettered times, with blind devotion lent,
Before the Learned Mayds our Fountaines did frequent,
To shew the Muse can shift her habit, and she now
Of Palatins that sung, can whistle to the Plow;
And let the curious tax his Clownry, with their skill
He recks not, but goes on, and say they what they will.

Kent first in our account, doth to it selfe apply,

Here follow the Blazons of the Shires.

(Quoth he) this Blazon first, Long Tayles and Libertie.
Sussex with Surrey say, Then let us lead home Logs.
As Hamshire long for her, hath had the tearme of Hogs.
So Dorsetshire of long, they Dorsers usd to call.
Cornwall and Devonshire crie, Weele wrastle for a Fall.
Then Somerset sayes, Set the Bandog on the Bull.
And Glostershire againe is blazon'd, Weigh thy Wooll.
As Barkshire hath for hers, Lets to't and tosse the Ball.
And Wiltshire will for her, Get home and pay for all.
Rich Buckingham doth beare the terme of Bread and Beefe,
Where if you beat a Bush, tis ods you start a Theefe.
So Hartford blazon'd is, The Club, and clowted Shoone,
Thereto, Ile rise betime, and sleepe againe at Noone.
When Middlesex bids, Up to London let us goe,
And when our Markets done, weele have a pot or two.
As Essex hath of old beene named, Calves and Styles,
Fayre Suffolke, Mayds and Milke, and Norfolke, Many Wyles.
So Cambridge hath been call'd, Hold Nets, and let us winne;
And Huntingdon, With Stilts weele stalke through thick and thinne.
Northamptonshire of long hath had this Blazon, Love,
Below the girdle all, but little else above.
An outcrie Oxford makes, The Schollers have been heere,
And little though they payd, yet have they had good cheere.
Quoth warlike Warwickshire, Ile binde the sturdy Beare.
Quoth Worstershire againe, And I will squirt the Peare.

474

Then Staffordshire bids Stay, and I will Beet the Fire,
And nothing will I aske, but good will for my hire.
Beane-belly Lestershire, her attribute doth beare.
And Bells and Bag-pipes next, belong to Lincolneshire.
Of Malt-horse, Bedfordshire long since the Blazon wan.
And little Rutlandshire is tearmed Raddleman.
To Darby is assign'd the name of Wooll and Lead.
As Nottinghams, of old (is common) Ale and Bread.
So Hereford for her sayes, Give me Woofe and Warpe.
And Shropshire saith in her, That Shinnes be ever sharpe,
Lay wood upon the fire, reach hither mee my Harpe,
And whilst the blacke Bowle walks, we merily will carpe.
Old Chesshire is well knowne to be the Chiefe of Men.
Faire Women doth belong to Lancashire agen.
The lands that over Ouze to Berwicke foorth doe beare,
Have for their Blazon had the Snaffle, Spurre, and Speare.

Now Nen extreamely griev'd those barbarous things to heare,
By Helidon her sire, that thus delivered were:
For as his eld'st, shee was to passed ages knowne,
Whom by Aufona's name the Romans did renowne.
A word by them deriv'd of Avon, which of long,
The Britans cald her by, expressing in their tongue
The full and generall name of waters; wherefore shee
Stood much upon her worth, and jealous grew to bee,
Lest things so low and poore, and now quite out of date,
Should happily impaire her dignitie and state.
Wherefore from him her syre imediatly she hasts;
And as shee foorth her course to Peterborough casts,
Shee falleth in her way with Weedon, where tis sayd,
Saint Werburge princely borne, a most religious Mayd,
From those peculier fields, by prayer the Wild-geese drove,
Thence through the Champaine shee lasciviously doth rove
Tow'rds faire Northampton, which, whilst Nen was Avon cald,
Resum'd that happy name, as happily instald
Upon her

Northampton, for Northavonton, the towne upon the North of Avon.

Northerne side, where taking in a Rill,
Her long impoverish'd banks more plenteously to fill,
She flourishes in state, along the fruitfull fields;
Where whilst her waters shee with wondrous pleasure yeelds,
To

So called of his many wells or Fountaines.

Wellingborough comes, whose Fountaines in shee takes,
Which quickening her againe, imediately shee makes

475

To Owndle, which receives contractedly the sound
From Avondale, t'expresse that Rivers lowest ground:
To Peterborough thence she maketh foorth her way,
Where Welland hand in hand, goes on with her to Sea;
When Rockingham, the Muse to her faire Forrest brings,
Thence lying to the North, whose sundry gifts she sings.

O deare and daintie Nymph, most gorgeously arayd,
Of all the Driades knowne, the most delicious Mayd,
With all delights adorn'd, that any way beseeme
A Sylvan, by whose state we verily may deeme
A Deitie in thee, in whose delightfull Bowers,
The Fawnes and Fayries make the longest dayes, but howers,
And joying in the Soyle, where thou assum'st thy seat,
Thou to thy Handmaid hast, (thy pleasures to awayt)
Faire Benefield, whose care to thee doth surely cleave,
Which beares a grasse as soft, as is the daintie sleave,
And thrum'd so thicke and deepe, that the proud Palmed Deere,
Forsake the closser woods, and make their quiet leyre
In beds of platted fogge, so eas'ly there they sit.
A Forrest and a Chase in every thing so fit
This Iland hardly hath, so neere allide that be,
Brave Nymph, such praise belongs to Benefield and thee.

Whilst Rockingham was heard with these Reports to ring,
The Muse by making on tow'rds Wellands ominous Spring,
With

A place in the North part of Northamtonshire, excellent for coursing with Greyhounds.

Kelmarsh there is caught, for coursing of the Hare,
Which scornes that any place, should with her Plaines compare:
Which in the proper Tearmes the Muse doth thus report;

The man whose vacant mind prepares him to the sport,
The

The Hare-finder.

Finder sendeth out, to seeke out nimble Wat,
Which crosseth in the field, each furlong, every Flat,
Till he this pretty Beast upon the Forme hath found,
Then viewing for the Course, which is the fairest ground,

A description of a Course at the Hare.

The Greyhounds foorth are brought, for coursing then in case,
And choycely in the Slip, one leading forth a brace;
The Finder puts her up, and gives her Coursers law.
And whilst the eager dogs upon the Start doe draw,
Shee riseth from her seat, as though on earth she flew,
Forc'd by some yelping

A Curre.

Cute to give the Greyhounds view,
Which are at length let slip, when gunning out they goe,
As in respect of them the swiftest wind were slow,

476

When each man runnes his Horse, with fixed eyes, and notes
Which Dog first turnes the Hare, which first the other coats,

When one Greyhound outstrips the other in the Course.

They wrench her once or twice, ere she a turne will take,
Whats offred by the first, the other good doth make;
And turne for turne againe with equall speed they ply,
Bestirring their swift feet with strange agilitie:
A hardned ridge or way, when if the Hare doe win,
Then as shot from a Bow, she from the Dogs doth spin,
That strive to put her off, but when hee cannot reach her,
This giving him a Coat, about againe doth fetch her
To him that comes behind, which seemes the Hare to beare;
But with a nimble turne shee casts them both arrere:
Till oft for want of breath, to fall to ground they make her,
The Greyhounds both so spent, that they want breath to take her.
Here leave I whilst the Muse more serious things attends,
And with my Course at Hare, my Canto likewise ends.

477

The foure and twentieth Song.

The Argument.

The fatall Welland from her Springs,
This Song to th'Ile of Ely brings:
Our ancient English Saints revives,
Then in an oblique course contrives,
The Rarities that Rutland showes,
Which with this Canto shee doth close.

This way, to that faire Fount of Welland hath us led,
At

The Fountaine of Welland.

Nasby to the North, where from a second head
Runs Avon, which along to Severne shapes her course,
But pliant Muse proceed, with our new-handled sourse,
Of whom from Ages past, a prophecie there ran,
(Which to this ominous flood much feare and reverance wan)
That she alone should drowne all Holland, and should see

An ancient Prophecie of the River of Welland.

Her Stamford, which so much forgotten seemes to bee;
Renown'd for Liberall Arts, as highly honoured there,
As they in Cambridge are, or Oxford ever were;
Whereby shee in her selfe a holinesse suppos'd,
That in her scantled banks, though wandring long inclos'd,
Yet in her secret breast a Catalogue had kept
Of our religious Saints, which though they long had slept,
Yet through the chrystned world, for they had wonne such fame
Both to the British first, then to the English name,
For their abundant Faith, and sanctimony knowne,
Such as were hither sent, or naturally our owne,
It much her Genius grievd, to have them now neglected,
Whose pietie so much those zealous times respected.
Wherefore she with her selfe resolved, when that shee
To Peterborough came, where much shee long'd to be,
That in the wished view of Medhamsted, that Towne,
Which he the greatst of Saints doth by his Name renowne,
Shee to his glorious Phane an Offring as to bring,
Of her deare Countries Saints, the Martyrologe would sing:
And therefore all in haste to Harborough she hy'd,
Whence Lestershire she leaves upon the Northward side,

The course of Welland to the Sea.

478

At Rutland then ariv'd, where Stamford her sustaines,
By Deeping drawing out, to Lincolneshire she leanes,
Upon her Bank by North, against this greater throng,
Northamptonshire to South still lyes with her along,
And now approching neere to this appointed place,
Where she and Nen make shew as though they would imbrace;
But onely they salute, and each holds on her way,
When holy Welland thus was wisely heard to say.

I sing of Saints, and yet my Song shall not be fraught
With Myracles by them, but fayned to be wrought,
That they which did their lives so palpably belye,
To times have much impeach'd their holinesse thereby:
Though fooles (I say) on them, such poore impostures lay,
Have scandal'd them to ours, farre foolisher then they,
Which thinke they have by this so great advantage got
Their venerable names from memory to blot,
Which truth can ne'r permit; and thou that art so pure,
The name of such a Saint that no way canst endure;
Know in respect of them to recompense that hate,
The wretchedst thing, and thou have both one death and date:
From all vaine worship too; and yet am I as free
As is the most precise, I passe not who hee bee.
Antiquitie I love, nor by the worlds despight,
I can not be remoov'd from that my deare delight.
This spoke, to her faire ayd her sister Nen shee winnes,
When shee of all her Saints, now with that man beginnes.

Saints in the Primitive British Church.

The first that ever told Christ crucified to us,
(By Paul and Peter sent) just Aristobulus,
Renown'd in holy Writ, a Labourer in the word,
For that most certaine Truth, opposing fire and sword,
By th'Britans murthered here, so unbeleeving then.
Next holy Joseph came, the mercifulst of men,
The Saviour of mankind, in Sepulchre that layd,
That to the Britans was th'Apostle; in his ayd
Saint Duvian, and with him Saint Fagan, both which were
His Scollers, likewise left their sacred Reliques here:
All Denizens of ours, t'advaunce the Christian state,
At Glastenbury long that were commemorate.
When Amphiball againe our Martyrdome began
In that most bloody raigne of Dioclesian:

479

This man into the truth, that blessed Alban led
(Our Proto-Martyr call'd) who strongly discipled
In Christian Patience, learnt his tortures to appease:
His fellow-Martyrs then, Stephen, and Socrates,
At holy Albans Towne, their Festivall should hold;
So of that Martyr nam'd, (which Ver'lam was of old.)
A thousand other Saints, whom Amphiball had taught,
Flying the Pagan foe, their lives that strictly sought,
Were slaine where Lichfield is, whose name doth rightly sound,
(There of those Christians slaine) Dead field, or burying ground.

Then for the Christian faith, two other here that stood,
And teaching, bravely seald their Doctrine with their blood:
Saint Julius, and with him Saint Aron, have their roome,
At Carleon suffring death by Dioclesians doome;
Whose persecuting raigne tempestuously that rag'd,
Gainst those here for the Faith, their utmost that ingag'd,
Saint Angule put to death, one of our holiest men,
At London, of that See, the godly Bishop then
In that our Infant Church, so resolute was he.
A second Martyr too grace Londons ancient See,
Though it were after long, good Voadine who reprov'd
Proud Vortiger his King, unlawfully that lov'd
Anothers wanton wife, and wrong'd his Nuptiall bed;
For which by that sterne Prince unjustly murthered,
As he a Martyr dy'd, is Sainted with the rest.
The third Saint of that See (though onely he confest)
Was Guithelme, unto whom those times that reverence gave,
As he a place with them eternally shall have.
So Melior may they bring, the Duke of Cornwalls sonne,
By his false brothers hands, to death who being done
In hate of Christian faith, whose zeale lest time should taint,
As he a Martyr was, they justly made a Saint.

Those godly Romans then (who as mine Authour saith)
Wanne good King Lucius first t'imbrace the Christian faith,
Fugatius, and his friend Saint Damian, as they were
Made Denizens of ours, have their remembrance here:
As two more (neere that time, Christ Jesus that confest,
And that most lively faith, by their good works exprest)
Saint Elvan with his pheere Saint Midwin, who to win
The Britans, (com'n from Rome, where Christned they had bin)

480

Converted to the Faith their thousands, whose deare grave,
That Glastenbury grac'd, there their memoriall have.

As they their sacred Bones in Britaine here bestow'd,
So Britaine likewise sent her Saints to them abroad:

Britain sendeth her holy men to other countries.

Marsellus that just man, who having gathered in
The scattered Christian Flocke, instructed that had bin
By holy Joseph here; to congregate he wan
This justly named Saint, this never-wearied man,
Next to the Germans preach'd, till (voyd of earthly feare)
By his couragious death, he much renown'd Trevere.

Then of our Native Saints, the first that di'd abroad;
Beatus, next to him shall fitly be bestow'd,
In Switzerland who preach'd, whom there those Paynims slue,
When greater in their place, though not in Faith, ensue
Saint Lucius (call'd of us) the primer christned King,
Of th'ancient Britons then, who led the glorious ring
To all the Saxon Race, that here did him succeed,
Changing his regall Robe to a religious Weed,
His rule in Britaine left, and to Helvetia hied,
Where he a Bishop liv'd, a Martyr lastly died.
As Constantine the Great, that godly Emperour,
Here first the Christian Church that did to peace restore,
Whose ever blessed birth, (as by the power divine)
The Roman Empire brought into the British Line,
Constantinoples Crowne, and th'ancient Britans glory.
So other here we have to furnish up our Story,
Saint Melon welneere, when the British Church began,
(Even early in the raigne of Romes Valerian)
Here leaving us for Rome, from thence to Roan was cald,
To preach unto the French, where soone he was instauld
Her Bishop: Britaine so may of her Gudwall vaunt,
Who first the Flemmings taught, whose feast is held at Gaunt.
So others foorth she brought, to little Britaine vow'd,
Saint Wenlocke, and with him Saint Sampson, both alow'd
Apostles of that place, the first the Abbot sole
Of Tawrac, and the last sate on the See of Dole:
Where dying, Maglor then, thereof was Bishop made,
Sent purposely from hence, that people to perswade,
To keepe the Christian faith: so Golvin gave we thither,
Who sainted being there, we set them here together.

481

As of the weaker Sex, that ages have enshrin'd
Amongst the British Dames, and worthily divin'd:
The finder of the Crosse Queene Helena doth lead,
Who though Rome set a Crowne on her Emperiall head,
Yet in our Britaine borne, and bred up choicely here.
Emerita the next, King Lucius sister deare,
Who in Helvetia with her martyred brother di'd;
Bright Ursula the third, who undertooke to guide
Th'eleven thousand Mayds to little Britaine sent,
By Seas and bloody men devoured as they went:
Of which we find these foure have been for Saints preferd,
(And with their Leader still doe live incalenderd)
Saint Agnes, Cordula, Odillia, Florence, which
With wondrous sumptuous shrines those ages did inrich
At Cullen, where their Lives most clearely are exprest,
And yearely Feasts observ'd to them and all the rest.

But when it came to passe the Saxon powers had put
The Britans from these parts, and them o'r Severne shut,

The Cambro-British Saints.

The Christian Faith with her, then Cambria had alone,
With those that it receiv'd (from this now England) gone,
Whose Cambrobritans so their Saints as duely brought,
T'advance the Christian Faith, effectually that wrought,
Their David, (one deriv'd of th'royall British blood)
Who gainst Palagius false and damn'd opinions stood,
And turn'd Menenias name to Davids sacred See,
The Patron of the Welsh deserving well to be:
With Cadock, next to whom comes Canock, both which were
Prince Brechans sonnes, who gave the name to Brecnocksheere;
The first a Martyr made, a Confessor the other.
So Clintanck, Brecknocks Prince, as from one selfe same mother,
A Saint upon that seat, the other doth ensue,
Whom for the Christian Faith a Pagan Souldier slue.

So Bishops can shee bring, which of her Saints shall bee,
As Asaph, who first gave that name unto that See;
Of Bangor, and may boast Saint David which her wan
Much reverence, and with these Owdock and Telean,
Both Bishops of Landaff, and Saints in their Succession;
Two other following these, both in the same profession,
Saint Dubric whose report old Carleon yet doth carry,
And Elery in Northwales, who built a Monastery,

482

In which himselfe became the Abot, to his praise,
And spent in Almes and Prayer the remnant of his dayes.

But leaving these Divin'd, to Decuman we come,
In Northwales who was crown'd with glorious Martyrdome.
Justinian, as that man a Sainted place deserv'd,
Who still to feed his soule, his sinfull body sterv'd:
And for that height in zeale, whereto he did attaine,
There by his fellow Monkes most cruelly was slaine.
So Cambria, Beno bare; and Gildas, which doth grace
Old Bangor, and by whose learn'd writings we imbrace,
The knowledge of those times; the fruits of whose just pen,
Shall live for ever fresh, with all truth-searching men:

Then other, which for hers old Cambria doth averre,
Saint Senan, and with him wee set Saint Deiserre,
Then Tather will we take, and Chyned to the rest,
With Baruk, who so much the Ile of Bardsey blest
By his most powerfull prayer, to solitude that liv'd,
And of all worldly care his zealous Soule depriv'd.
Of these, some liv'd not long, some wondrous aged were,
But in the Mountaines liv'd, all Hermits here and there.
O more then mortall men, whose Faith and earnest prayers,
Not onely bare ye hence, but were those mightie stayres
By which you went to heaven, and God so clearely saw,
As this vaine earthly pompe had not the power to draw
Your elevated soules, but once to looke so low,
As those depressed paths, wherein base worldlings goe.
What mind doth not admire the knowledge of these men?
But zealous Muse returne unto thy taske agen.

These holy men at home, as here they were bestow'd,
So Cambria had such too, as famous were abroad.
Sophy King Gulicks sonne of Northwales, who had seene
The Sepulchre three times, and more, seven times had beene
On Pilgrimage at Rome, of Beniventum there
The painfull Bishop made; by him so place we here,
Saint Mackloue, from Northwales to little Britaine sent,
That people to convert, who resolutely bent,
Of Athelney in time the Bishop there became,
Which her first title chang'd, and tooke his proper name.
So she her Virgins had, and vow'd as were the best:
Saint Keyne Prince Brechans child, (a man so highly blest,

483

That thirtie borne to him all Saints accounted were.)
Saint Inthwar so apart shall with these other beare,
Who out of false suspect was by her brother slaine.
Then Winifrid, whose name yet famous doth remaine,
Whose Fountaine in Northwales intitled by her name,
For Mosse, and for the Stones that be about the same,
Is sounded through this Ile, and to this latter age
Is of our Romists held their latest Pilgrimage.

But when the Saxons here so strongly did reside,
And surely seated once, as owners to abide;
When nothing in the world to their desire was wanting,
Except the Christian Faith, for whose substantiall planting,
Saint Augustine from Rome was to this Iland sent;

Those that came from forraine parts into this Ile, & were canonized here for Saints.

And comming through large France, ariving first in Kent,
Converted to the faith King Ethelbert, till then
Unchristened that had liv'd, with all his Kentishmen,
And of their chiefest Towne, now Canterbury cald,
The Bishop first was made, and on that See instauld.
Foure other, and with him for knowledge great in name,
That in this mighty worke of our conversion came,
Lawrence, Melitus then, with Justus, and Honorius,
In this great Christian worke, all which had beene laborious,
To venerable age, each comming in degree,
Succeeded him againe in Canterbury See,
As Peter borne in France, with these and made our owne,
And Pauline whose great zeale, was by his Preaching showne.
The first to Abbots state, wise Austen did preferre,
And to the latter gave the See of Rochester;
All canoniz'd for Saints, as worthy sure they were,
For establishing the Faith, which was received here.
Few Countries where our Christ had ere been preached then,
But sent into this Ile some of their godly men.
From Persia led by zeale, so Ive this Iland sought,
And neere our Easterne Fennes a fit place finding, taught
The Faith: which place from him the name alone derives,
And of that sainted man since called is Saint-Ives;
Such reverence to her selfe that time Devotion wan.

So Sun-burnt Affrick sent us holy Adrian,
Who preacht the Christian Faith here nine and thirtie yeere,
An Abbot in this Isle, and to this Nation deare,

484

That in our Countrey two Provinciall Synods cald,
T'reforme the Church that time with Heresies enthrald.
So Denmarke Henry sent t'encrease our holy store,
Who falling in from thence upon our Northerne shore
In th'Isle of

An Islet upon the coast of Scotland, in the German Sea.

Cochet liv'd, neere to the mouth of Tyne,
In Fasting as in Prayer, a man so much divine,
That onely thrice a weeke on homely cates he fed,
And three times in the weeke himselfe he silenced,
That in remembrance of this most abstenious man,

How the name of Henry came so frequent among the English.

Upon his blessed death the English men began,
By him to name their Babes, which it so frequent brings,
Which name hath honoured been by many English Kings.

So Burgundy to us three men most reverent bare,
Amongst our other Saints, that claime to have their share,
Of which was Felix first, who in th'East-Saxon raigne,
Converted to the faith King Sigbert: him againe
Ensueth Anselme, whom Augusta sent us in,
And Hugh, whose holy life, to Christ did many win,
By

Henry the second.

Henry th'Empresse sonne holpe hither, and to have
Him wholly to be ours, the See of Lincolne gave.

So Lumbardy to us, our reverent Lanfranck lent,
For whom into this land King William Conqueror sent,
And Canterburies See to his wise charge assign'd.

Nor France to these for hers was any whit behind,
For Grimbald shee us gave (as Peter long before,
Who with Saint Austen came, to preach upon this shore)
By Alfred hither cald, who him an Abbot made,
Who by his godly life, and preaching did perswade,
The Saxons to beleeve the true and quickning word:
So after long againe she likewise did afford,
Saint Osmond, whom the See of Salsbury doth owne,
A Bishop once of hers, and in our conquest knowne,
When hither to that end their Norman William came,
Remigius then, whose mind, that worke of ours of fame,
Rich Lincolne Minster shewes, where he a Bishop sat,
Which (it should seeme) he built for men to wonder at.
So potent were the powers of Church-men in those dayes.

Then Henry nam'd of Bloys, from France who crost the Seas,
With Stephen Earle of Bloys his brother, after King,
In Winchesters rich See, who him establishing,

485

He in those troublous times in preaching tooke such paine,
As he by them was not canonized in vaine.

As other Countries here, their holy men bestow'd;
So Britaine likewise sent her Saints to them abroad,

Native English sent into forraine parts, canonized.

And into neighbouring France, our most religious went,
Saint Clare that native was of Rochester in Kent,
At Volcasyne came vow'd the French instructing there,
So early ere the truth amongst them did appeare,
That more then halfe a God they thought that reverent man.
Our Judock, so in France such fame our Nation wan,
For holinesse, where long an Abbots life he led
At Pontoyse, and so much was honoured, that being dead,
And after threescore yeares (their latest period dated)
His body taken up, was solemnly translated.
As Ceofrid, that sometime of Wyremouth Abbot was,
In his returne from Rome, as he through France did passe,
At Langres left his life, whose holinesse even yet,
Upon his reverent grave, in memory doth sit.
Saint Alkwin so for ours, we English boast againe,
The Tutor that became to mightie Charlemaigne,
That holy man, whose heart was so with goodnesse fild,
As out of zeale he wan that mightie King to build
That Academy now at Paris, whose Foundation
Through all the Christian world hath so renown'd that Nation,
As well declares his wealth, that had the power to doe it,
As his most lively zeale, perswading him unto it.
As Simon cald the Saint of Burdeux, which so wrought,
By preaching there the truth, that happily he brought
The people of those parts, from Paganisme, wherein
Their unbeleeving soules so long had nuzled bin.
So in the Norman rule, two most religious were,
Amongst ours that in France dispersed here and there,
Preach'd to that Nation long, Saint Hugh, who borne our owne,
In our first Henries rule sate on the See of Roan,
Where reverenc'd he was long. Saint Edmund so againe,
Who banished from hence in our third Henries raigne,
There led an Hermits life neere Pontoyse, where before,
Saint Judock did the like) whose honour to restore,
Religious Lewes there interr'd with wondrous cost,
Of whose rich Funerall France deservedly may boast.

486

Then Main we adde to these, an Abbot here of ours,
To little Britaine sent, imploying all his powers
To bring them to the Faith, which he so well effected,
That since he as a Saint hath ever been respected.

As these of ours in France, so had wee those did show
In Germany, as well the Higher, as the Low,
Their Faith: In Freezeland first Saint Boniface our best,
Who of the See of Mentz, whilst there he sate possest,
At Dockum had his death, by faithlesse Frizians slaine,
Whose Anniversaries there did after long remaine.
So Wigbert full of faith, and heavenly wisedome went
Unto the selfe same place, as with the same intent;
With Eglemond a man as great with God as he;
As they agreed in life, so did their ends agree,
Both by Radbodius slaine, who ruld in Frizia then:
So in the sacred roule of our Religious men,
In Freeze that preach'd the faith we of Saint Lullus read,
Who in the See of Mentz did Boniface succeed;
And Willihad that of Bren, that sacred Seat supplide,
So holy that him there, they halfely deifide;
With Marchelme, and with him our Plechelme, holy men,
That to the Freezes now, and to the Saxons then,
In Germany abroad the glorious Gospell spread,
Who at their lives depart, their bodies gathered,
Were at old-Seell enshrin'd, their Obiits yearely kept:
Such as on them have had as many praises heap'd,
That in their lives the truth as constantly confest,
As th'other that their Faith by Martyrdome exprest.

In Freeze, as these of ours, their names did famous leave,
Againe so had we those as much renown'd in Cleave;
Saint Swibert, and with him Saint Willick, which from hence,
To Cleeve-land held their way, and in the Truths defence
Pawn'd their religious lives, and as they went together,
So one and selfe same place allotted was to either:
For both of them at Wert in Cleaveland seated were,
Saint Swibert Bishop was, Saint Willick Abbot there.

So Guelderland againe shall our most holy bring,
As Edilbert the sonne of Edilbald the King
Of our South-Saxon Rule, incessantly that taught
The Guelders, whose blest dayes unto their period brought,

487

Unto his reverent Corpse, old Harlem harbour gave;
So Werenfrid againe, and Otger both we have,
Who to those people preach'd, whose praise that country tells.
What Nation names a Saint, for vertue that excels
Saint German who for Christ his Bishoprick forsooke,
And in the Netherlands most humbly him betooke,
From place to place to passe, the secrets to reveale,
Of our deare Saviours death, and last of all to seale
His doctrine with his blood: In Belgia so abroad,
Saint Wynock in like sort, his blessed time bestow'd,
Whose reliques Wormshault (yet) in Flanders hath reserv'd.

Of these, th'rebellious flesh (to winne them heaven) that starv'd,
Saint Menigold, a man, who in his youth had beene
A Souldier, and the French, and German warres had seene,
A Hermit last became, his sinfull soule to save,
To whom good Arnulph, that most godly Emperour gave
Some ground not farre from Leedge, his Hermitage to set,
Whose floore when with his teares, he many a day had wet,
He for the Christian faith upon the same was slaine:
So did th'Erwaldi there most worthily attaine
Their Martyrs glorious Types, to Ireland first approov'd,
But after (in their zeale) as need requir'd remoov'd,
They to Westphalia went, and as they brothers were,
So they, the Christian faith together preaching there,
Th'old Pagan Saxons slew, out of their hatred deepe
To the true Faith, whose shrines brave Cullen still doth keepe.

So Adler one of ours, by England set apart
For Germany, and sent that people to convert,
Of Erford Bishop made, there also had his end.
Saint Liphard likewise to our Martyraloge shall lend,
Who having been at Rome on Pilgrimage, to see
The Reliques of the Saints, supposed there to bee,
Returning by the way of Germany, at last,
Preaching the Christian faith, as he through Cambray past,
The Pagan people slew, whose Reliques Huncourt hath;
These others so we had, which trode the selfe same path
In Germany, which shee most reverently imbrac'd.
Saint John a man of ours, on Salzburgs See was plac'd;
Saint Willibald of Eist the Bishop so became,
And Burchard English borne, the man most great of name,

488

Of Witzburg Bishop was, at Hohemburg that reard
The Monastery, wherein he richly was interd.

So Mastreight unto her Saint Willibord did call,
And seated him upon her See Episcopall,
As two Saint Lebwins there amongst the rest are brought;
Th'one o'r Isells banks the ancient Saxons taught:
At over Isell rests, the other did apply,
The Gueldres, and by them interd at Deventry.
Saint Wynibald againe, at Hidlemayne enjoy'd
The Abbacy, in which his godly time employ'd
In their Conversion there, which long time him withstood.
Saint Gregory then, with us sprung of the Royall blood,
And sonne to him whom we the elder Edward stile,
Both Court and Country left, which he esteemed vile,
Which Germany receav'd, where he at Myniard led
A strict Monastick life, a Saint alive and dead.

So had we some of ours for Italy were prest,
As well as these before, sent out into the East.
King Inas having done so great and wondrous things,
As well might be suppos'd the works of sundry Kings,
Erecting beautious Phanes, and Monuments so faire,
As Monarchs have not since beene able to repaire,
Of many that he built, the least, in time when they
Have (by weake mens neglect) been falne into decay:
This Realme by him enrich'd, he povertie profest,
In Pilgrimage to Rome, where meekly he deceast.
As Richard the deare sonne to Lothar King of Kent,
When he his happy dayes religiously had spent;
And feeling the approch of his declining age,
Desirous to see Rome in holy Pilgrimage,
Into thy Country com'n at Leuca, left his life,
Whose myracles there done, yet to this day are rife.
The Patron of that place, so Thuscany in thee,
At faire Mount-flascon still the memory shall bee
Of holy Thomas there most reverently interd,
Who sometime to the See of Hereford preferd;
Thence travailing to Rome, in his returne bereft
His life by sicknesse, there to thee his body left.

Yet Italy gave not these honors all to them
That visited her Rome, but from Jerusalem,

489

Some comming back through thee, and yeelding up their spirits,
On thy rich earth receiv'd their most deserved merits.
O Naples, as thine owne, in thy large Territory,
Though to our Countries praise, yet to thy greater glory,
Even to this day the Shrines religiously dost keepe,
Of many a blessed Saint which in thy lap doth sleepe!
As Eleutherius, com'n from visiting the Tombe,
Thou gav'st to him at Arke in thy Apulia roome
To set his holy Cell, where he an Hermite dy'd,
Canonized her Saint; so hast thou glorifide
Saint Gerrard, one of ours, (above the former grac'd)
In such a sumptuous Shrine at Galinaro plac'd;
At Sancto Padre so, Saint Fulke hath ever fame,
Which from that reverent man 't should seeme deriv'd the name,
His Reliques there reserv'd; so holy Ardwins Shrine
Is at Ceprano kept, and honoured as divine,
For Myracles, that there by his strong faith were wrought.
Mongst these selected men, the Sepulchre that sought,
And in thy Realme arriv'd, their blessed soules resign'd:
Our Bernards body yet at Arpine we may find,
Untill this present time, her patronizing Saint.

So Countries more remote, with ours we did acquaint,
As Richard for the fame his holinesse had wonne,
And for the wondrous things that through his Prayers were done,
From this his native home into Calabria cald,
And of Saint Andrewes there the Bishop was instauld,
For whom shee hath profest much reverence to this land:
Saint William with this man, a paralell may stand,
Through all the Christian world accounted so divine,
That travelling from hence to holy Palestine,
Desirous that most blest Jerusalem to see,
(In which the Saviours selfe so oft vouchsaft to be)
Priour of that holy house by Suffrages related,
To th'Sepulchre of Christ, which there was dedicated;
To Tyre in Syria thence remov'd in little space,
And in lesse time ordain'd Archbishop of that place;
That God inspired man, with heavenly goodnesse fild,
A Saint amongst the rest deservedly is held.

Yet Italy, nor France, nor Germany, those times
Imployd not all our men, but into colder Clymes,

490

They wandred through the world, their Countries that forsooke.
So Sigfrid sent from hence, devoutly undertooke
Those Pagans wild and rude, of Gothia to convert,
Who having laboured long, with danger oft ingirt,
Was in his reverent age for his deserved fee,
By Olaus King of Goths, set on Vexovia's See.
To Norway, and to those great North-East Countries farre;
So Gotebald gave himselfe holding a Christian warre
With Paynims, nothing else but Heathenish Rites that knew.
As Suethia to her selfe these men most reverent drew,
Saint Ulfrid of our Saints, as famous there as any,
Nor scarcely find we one converting there so many.
And Henry in those dayes of Oxsto Bishop made,
The first that Swethen King, which ever did perswade,
On Finland to make warre, to force them by the sword,
When nothing else could serve to heare the powerfull word;
With Eskill thither sent, to teach that barbarous Nation,
Who on the Passion day, there preaching on the Passion,
T'expresse the Saviours love to mankind, taking paine,
By cruell Paynims hands was in the Pulpit slaine,
Upon that blessed day Christ dyed for sinfull man,
Upon that day for Christ, his Martyrs Crowne he wan.
So David drawne from hence into those farther parts,
By preaching, who to pearce those Paynims hardned hearts,
Incessantly proclaim'd Christ Jesus, with a crie
Against their Heathen gods, and blind Idolatry.
Into those colder Clymes to people beastly rude,
So others that were ours couragiously pursude,
The planting of the Truth, in zeale three most profound,
The relish of whose names by likelinesse of sound,
Both in their lives and deaths, a likelinesse might show,
As Unaman we name, and Shunaman that goe,
With Wynaman their friend, which martyred gladly were
In Gothland, whilst they taught with Christian patience there.

Nor those from us that went, nor those that hither came
From the remotest parts, were greater yet in name,
Then those residing here on many a goodly See,
(Great Bishops in account, now greater Saints that be)
Some such selected ones for pietie and zeale,
As to the wretched world, more clearely could reveale,

491

How much there might of God in mortall man be found
In charitable workes, or such as did abound,
Which by their good successe in aftertimes were blest,
Were then related Saints, as worthier then the rest.

Of Canterbury here with those I will begin,

Bishops of this land canonized Saints.

That first Archbishops See, on which there long hath bin
So many men devout, as rais'd that Church so high,
Much reverence, and have wonne their holy Hierarchy:
Of which he first that did with goodnesse so inflame
The hearts of the devout (that from his proper name)
As one (even) sent from God, the soules of men to save
The title unto him, of Deodat they gave.
The Bishops Brightwald next, and Tatwin in we take,
Whom time may say, that Saints it worthily did make
Succeeding in that See directly even as they,
Here by the Muse are plac'd, who spent both night and day
By doctrine, or by deeds, instructing, doing good,
In raising them were falne, or strengthening them that stood.

Then Odo the Severe, who highly did adorne
That See, (yet being of unchristened parents borne,
Whose Country Denmarke was, but in East England dwelt)
He being but a child, in his cleere bosome felt
The most undoubted truth, and yet unbaptiz'd long;
But as he grew in yeares, in spirit so growing strong:
And as the Christian faith this holy man had taught,
He likewise for that Faith in Sundry battels fought.
So Dunstan as the rest arose through many Sees,
To this Arch-type at last ascending by degrees,
There by his power confirm'd, and strongly credit wonne,
To many wondrous things, which he before had done.
To whom when (as they say) the Devill once appear'd,
This man so full of faith, not once at all afeard,
Strong conflicts with him had, in myracles most great.
As Egelnoth againe much grac'd that sacred seat,
Who for his godly deeds surnamed was the Good,
Not boasting of his birth, though com'n of Royall blood:
For that, nor at the first, a Monkes meane Cowle despis'd,
With winning men to God, who never was suffic'd.
These men before exprest; so Eadsine next ensues,
To propagate the truth, no toyle that did refuse;

492

In Haralds time who liv'd, when William Conqueror came,
For holinesse of life, attain'd unto that fame,
That Souldiers fierce and rude, that pitty never knew,
Were suddenly made mild, as changed in his view.
This man with those before, most worthily related
Arch-saints, as in their Sees Arch-bishops consecrated.
Saint Thomas Becket then, which Rome so much did hery,
As to his Christned name it added Canterbury;
There to whose sumptuous Shrine the neere succeeding ages,
So mighty offrings sent, and made such Pilgrimages,
Concerning whom, the world since then hath spent much breath,
And many questions made both of his life and death:
If he were truely just, he hath his right; if no,
Those times were much to blame, that have him reckond so.

Then these from Yorke ensue, whose lives as much have grac'd
That See, as these before in Canterbury plac'd:
Saint Wilfrid of her Saints, we then the first will bring,
Who twice by Egfrids ire, the sterne Northumbrian King,
Expulst his sacred Seat, most patiently it bare,
The man for sacred gifts almost beyond compare.
Then Bosa next to him as meeke and humble hearted,
As the other full of grace, to whom great God imparted
His mercies sundry wayes, as age upon him came.
And next him followeth John, who likewise bare the name,
Of Beverley, where he most happily was borne,
Whose holinesse did much his native place adorne,
Whose Vigils had by those devouter times bequests
The Ceremonies due to great and solemne Feasts.
So Oswald of that seat, and Cedwall sainted were,
Both reverenc'd and renown'd Archbishops, living there
The former to that See, from Worcester transfer'd,
Deceased, was againe at Worcester inter'd:
The other in that See a sepucher they chose,
And did for his great zeale amongst the Saints dispose,
As William by descent com'n of the Conquerors straine,
Whom Stephen ruling here did in his time ordaine
Archbishop of that See, among our Saints doth fall,
Deriv'd from those two Seats, styld Archiepiscopall.

Next these Arch-Sees of ours, now London place doth take,
Which had those, of whom time Saints worthily did make.

493

As Ceda, (brother to that reverent Bishop Chad,
At Lichfield in those times, his famous seat that had)
Is Sainted for that See amongst our reverent men,
From London though at length remoov'd to Lestingen,
A monastery, which then he richly had begun.
Him Erkenwald ensues th'East English Offa's sonne,
His fathers kingly Court, who for a Crosiar fled,
Whose works such fame him wonne for holinesse, that dead,
Time him enshrin'd in Pauls, (the mother of that See)
Which with Revenues large, and Priviledges he
Had wondrously endow'd; to goodnesse so affected,
That he those Abbayes great, from his owne power erected
At Chertsey neere to Thames, and Barking famous long.
So Roger hath a roome in these our Sainted throng,
Who by his words and works so taught the way to heaven,
As that great name to him sure was not vainely given.

With Winchester againe proceed we, which shall store
Us with as many Saints, as any See (or more)
Of whom we yet have sung, (as Heada there we have)
Who by his godly life, so good instructions gave,
As teaching that the way to make men to live well,
Example us assur'd, did Preaching farre excell.
Our Swithen then ensues, of him why ours I say,
Is that upon his Feast, his dedicated day,
As it in Harvest haps, so Plow-men note thereby,
Th'ensuing fortie dayes be either wet or dry,
As that day falleth out, whose Myracles may wee
Beleeve those former times, he well might sainted bee.

So Frithstan for a Saint incalendred we find,
With Brithstan not a whit the holyest man behind,
Canoniz'd, of which two, the former for respect
Of vertues in him found, the latter did elect
To sit upon his See, who likewise dying there,
To Ethelbald againe succeeding did appeare,
The honour to a Saint, as challenging his due.
These formerly exprest, then Elpheg doth ensue;
Then Ethelwald, of whom this Almes-deed hath been told,
That in a time of dearth his Churches plate he sold,
T'releeve the needy poore; the Churches wealth (quoth he)
May be againe repayr'd, but so these cannot be.

494

With these before exprest, so Britwald forth she brought,
By faith and earnest prayer his myracles that wrought,
That such against the Faith, that were most stony-hearted,
By his religious life, have lastly been converted.
This man, when as our Kings so much decayed were,
As 'twas suppos'd their Line would be extinguisht here,
Had in his Dreame reveald, to whom All-doing heaven,
The Scepter of this land in after-times had given;
Which in Prophettick sort by him delivered was,
And as he stoutly spake, it truly came to passe.

So other Southerne Sees, here either lesse or more,
Have likewise had their Saints, though not alike in store.
Of Rochester, we have Saint Ithamar, being then
In those first times, first of our native English men
Residing on that Seat; so as an ayd to her,
But singly Sainted thus, we have of Chichester,
Saint Richard, and with him Saint Gilbert, which doe stand
Enrold amongst the rest of this our Mytred Band,
Of whom such wondrous things, for truths delivered are,
As now may seeme to stretch our strait beleefe too farre.

And Cimbert, of a Saint had the deserved right,
His yearely Obiits long, done in the Isle of Wight;
A Bishop, as some say, but certaine of what See,
It scarcely can be proov'd, nor is it knowne to me.

Whilst Sherburne was a See, and in her glory shone,
And Bodmin likewise had a Bishop of her owne,
Whose Diocesse that time contained Cornwall; these
Had as the rest their Saints, derived from their Sees:
The first, her Adelme had, and Hamond, and the last
Had Patrock, for a Saint that with the other past;
That were it fit for us but to examine now
Those former times, these men for Saints that did allow,
And from our reading urge, that others might as well
Related be for Saints, as worthy every deale.
This scruteny of ours, would cleere that world thereby,
And shew it to be voyd of partiality,
That each man holy cald, was not canoniz'd here,
But such whose lives by death had triall many a yeere.

That See at Norwich now establisht (long not stird)
At Eltham planted first, to Norwich then transferd

495

Into our bedroule here, her Humbert in doth bring,
(A Counsellour that was to that most martyred King
Saint Edmund) who in their rude massacre then slaine,
The title of a Saint, his Martyrdome doth gaine.

So Hereford hath had on her Cathedrall Seat,
Saint Leofgar, a man by Martyrdome made great,
Whom Griffith Prince of Wales, that Towne which did subdue,
(O most unhallowed deed) unmercifully slue.

So Worster, (as those Sees here sung by us before)
Hath likewise with her Saints renown'd our native shore:
Saint Egwin as her eld'st, with Woolstan as the other,
Of whom she may be proud, to say shee was the Mother,
The Churches Champions both, for her that stoutly stood.

Lichfield hath those no whit lesse famous, nor lesse good:
The first of whom is that most reverent Bishop Chad,
In those religious times for holinesse that had,
The name above the best that lived in those dayes,
That Stories have been stuft with his abundant praise;
Who on the See of Yorke being formerly instauld,
Yet when backe to that place Saint Wilfrid was recald,
The Seat to that good man he willingly resign'd,
And to the quiet Closse of Lichfield him confin'd.
So Sexulfe after him, then Owen did supply,
Her Trine of reverent men, renown'd for sanctitie.

As Lincolne to the Saints, our Robert Grosted lent,
A perfect godly man, most learn'd and eloquent,
Then whom no Bishop yet walkt in more upright wayes,
Who durst reproove proud Rome, in her most prosperous dayes,
Whose life, of that next age the Justice well did show,
Which we may boldly say, for this we clearely know,
Had Innocent the fourth the Churches Suffrage led,
This man could not at Rome have been Canonized.

Her sainted Bishop John, so Ely addes to these,
Yet never any one of all our severall Sees
Northumberland like thine, have to these times been blest,
Which sent into this Isle so many men profest,
Whilst Hagustald had then a Mother-Churches stile,
And Lindisferne of us now cald the Holy-Ile,
Was then a See before that Durham was so great,
And long ere Carleill came to be a Bishops seat.

496

Aidan, and Finan both, most happily were found
Northumberland in thee, even whilst thou didst abound
With Paganisme, which them thy Oswin that good King,
His people to convert did in from Scotland bring:
As Etta likewise hers, from Malrorse that arose,
Being Abbot of that place, whom the Northumbers chose
The Bishopricke of Ferne, and Hagustald to hold.
And Cuthbert of whose life such Myracles are told,
As Storie scarcely can the truth thereof maintaine,
Of th'old Scotch-Irish Kings descended from the straine,
To whom since they belong, I from them here must swerve,
And till I thither come, their holinesse reserve,
Proceeding with the rest that on those Sees have showne,
As Edbert after these borne naturally our owne.
The next which in that See Saint Cuthbert did succeed,
His Church then built of wood, and thatch'd with homely reed,
He builded up of stone, and covered fayre with Lead,
Who in Saint Cuthberts Grave they buried being dead,
As his sad people he at his departing wild.
So Higbald after him a Saint is likewise held,
Who when his proper See, as all the Northren Shore,
Were by the Danes destroyd, he not dismayd the more,
But making shift to get out of the cruell flame,
His Cleargie carrying foorth, preach'd wheresoere he came.

And Alwyn who the Church at Durham now, begun,
Which place before that time was strangely overrun
With shrubs, and men for corne that plot had lately eard,
Where he that goodly Phane to after ages reard,
And thither his late Seat from

An Isle neere to Scotland, lying into the German Ocean, since that called Holy Iland, as you may read in the next page following.

Lindisferne translated,
Which his Cathedrall Church by him was consecrated.

So Acca we account mongst those which have been cald
The Saints of this our See, which sate at Hagenstald,
Of which he Bishop was, in that good age respected,
In Calenders preserv'd, in th'Catalogues neglected,
Which since would seeme to shew the Bishops as they came:
Then Edilwald, which some (since) Ethelwoolph doe name,
At Durham by some men supposed to reside
More rightly, but by some at Carleill justifide,
The first which rul'd that See, which

Henry the first.

Beauclerke did preferre,
Much gracing him, who was his only Confessor.

497

Nor were they Bishops thus related Saints alone;
Northumberland, but thou (besides) hast many a one,
Religious Abbots, Priests, and holy Hermits then,
Canonized as well as thy great Mytred men:
Two famous Abbots first are in the ranke of these,
Whose Abbayes touch'd the walls of thy two ancient Seas.

Thy Roysill (in his time the tutillage that had
Of Cuthbert that great Saint, whose hopes then but a lad,
Exprest in riper yeares how greatly he might merit)
The man who had from God a prophesying Spirit,
Foretelling many things; and growing to be old,
His very hower of death, was by an Angell told.
At Malroyes this good man his Sainting well did earne,
Saint Oswald his againe at holy Lindisferne,
With Ive a godly Priest, supposd to have his lere
Of Cuthbert, and with him was Herbert likewise there
His fellow-pupill long, (who as mine Authour saith)
So great opinion had, of Cuthbert and his faith,
That at one time and place, he with that holy man,
Desir'd of God to dye, which by his prayer he wan.

Our venerable Bede so forth that Country brought,
And worthily so nam'd, who of those ages sought
The truth to understand, impartially which he
Delivered hath to time, in his Records that we,
Things left so farre behind, before us still may read,
Mongst our canoniz'd sort, who called is Saint Bede.

A sort of Hermits then, by thee to light are brought,
Who liv'd by Almes, and Prayer, the world respecting nought.
Our Edilwald the Priest, in Ferne (now holy Ile)
Which standeth from the firme to Sea nine English mile,
Sate in his reverent Cell, as Godrick thou canst show;
His head and beard as white as Swan or driven Snow,
At Finchall threescore yeeres, a Hermits life to lead;
Their solitary way in thee did Alrick tread,
Who in a Forrest neere to Carleill, in his age,
Bequeath'd himselfe to his more quiet Hermitage.
Of Wilgusse, so in thee Northumberland we tell,
Whose most religious life hath merited so well,
(Whose blood thou boasts to be of thy most royall straine)
That Alkwin, Master to that mightie Charlemaigne,

498

In Verse his Legend writ, who of our holy men,
He him the subject chose for his most learned pen.
So Oswyn, one of thy deare Country thou canst show,
To whom as for the rest for him we likewise owe
Much honour to thy earth, this godly man that gave,
Whose Reliques that great house of Lesting long did save,
To sinders till it sanke: so Benedict by thee,
We have amongst the rest, for Saints that reckoned bee,
Of Wyremouth worship'd long, her Patron buried there,
In that most goodly Church, which he himselfe did reare.
Saint Thomas so to us Northumberland thou lent'st,
Whom up into the South, thou from his Country sent'st;
For sanctitie of life, a man exceeding rare,
Who since that of his name so many Saints there are,
This man from others more, that times might understand,
They to his christened name added Northumberland.

Nor in one Country thus our Saints confined were,
But through this famous Isle dispersed here and there:
As Yorkshire sent us in Saint Robert to our store,
At Knarsborough most knowne, whereas he long before
His blessed time bestowd; then one as just as he,
(If credit to those times attributed may be)
Saint Richard with the rest deserving well a roome,
Which in that Country once, at Hampoole had a toombe.
Religious Alred so, from Rydall we receive,
The Abbot, who to all posteritie did leave,
The fruits of his staid faith, delivered by his Pen.
Not of the least desert amongst our holiest men,
One Eusac then we had, but where his life he led,
That doubt I, but am sure he was Canonized,
And was an Abbot too, for sanctity much fam'd.

Then Woolsey will we bring, of Westminster so nam'd,
And by that title knowne, in power and goodnesse great;
And meriting as well his Sainting, as his Seat.
So have we found three Johns, of sundry places here,
Of which (three reverent men) two famous Abbots were.
The first Saint Albans shew'd, the second Lewes had,
Another godly John we to these former add,
To make them up a Trine, (the name of Saints that wonn)
Who was a Yorkshire man, and Prior of Berlington.

499

So Biren can we boast, a man most highly blest
With the title of a Saint, whose ashes long did rest
At Dorchester, where he was honoured many a day;
But of the place he held, books diversly dare say,
As they of Gilbert doe, who founded those Divines,
Monasticks all that were, of him nam'd Gilbertines:
To which his Order here, he thirteene houses built,
When that most thankfull time, to shew he had not spilt
His wealth on it in vaine, a Saint hath made him here,
At Sempringham enshrin'd, a towne of Lincolneshire.

Of sainted Hermits then, a company we have,
To whom devouter times this veneration gave:
As Gwir in Cornwall kept his solitary Cage,
And Neoth by Hunstock there, his holy Hermitage,
As Guthlake, from his youth, who liv'd a Souldier long,
Detesting the rude spoyles, done by the armed throng,
The mad tumultuous world contemptibly forsooke,
And to his quiet Cell by Crowland him betooke,
Free from all publique crowds, in that low Fenny ground.
As Bertiline againe, was neere to Stafford found:
Then in a Forrest there, for solitude most fit,
Blest in a Hermits life, by there enjoying it.
An Hermit Arnulph so in Bedfordshire became,
A man austere of life, in honour of whose name,
Time after built a Towne, where this good man did live,
And did to it the name of Arnulphsbury give.
These men, this wicked world respected not a hayre,
But true Professors were of povertie and prayer.

Amongst these men which times have honoured with the Stile
Of Confessors, (made Saints) so every little while,
Our Martyrs have com'n in, who sealed with their blood,
That faith which th'other preach'd, gainst them that it withstood;
As Alnoth, who had liv'd a Herdsman, left his Seat,
Though in the quiet fields, whereas he kept his Neat,
And leaving that his Charge, he left the world withall,
An Anchorite and became, within a Cloystred wall,
Inclosing up himselfe, in prayer to spend his breath,
But was too soone (alas) by Pagans put to death.
Then Woolstan, one of these, by his owne kinsman slaine
At Evsham, for that he did zealously maintaine

500

The veritie of Christ. As Thomas, whom we call
Of Dover, adding Monke, and Martyr therewithall;
For that the barbarous Danes he bravely did withstand,
From ransacking the Church, when here they put on land,
By them was done to death, which rather he did chuse,
Then see their Heathen hands those holy things abuse.

Two Boyes of tender age, those elder Saints ensue,
Of Norwich William was, of Lincolne little Hugh,
Whom th'unbeleeving Jewes (rebellious that abide)
In mockery of our Christ at Easter crucifi'd,
Those times would every one should their due honour have,
His freedome or his life, for Jesus Christ that gave.

So Wiltshire with the rest her Hermit Ulfrick hath
Related for a Saint, so famous in the Faith,
That sundry ages since, his Cell have sought to find,
At Hasselburg, who had his Obiits him assign'd.

Saxon Kings canonized for Saints.

So had we many Kings most holy here at home,
As men of meaner ranke, which have attaind that roome:
Northumberland, thy seat with Saints did us supply
Of thy religious Kings; of which high Hierarchy
Was Edwin, for the Faith by Heathenish hands inthrald,
Whom Penda which to him the Welsh Cadwallyn cald,
Without all mercy slew: But he alone not dide
By that proud Mercian King, but Penda yet beside,
Just Oswald likewise slew, at Oswaldstree, who gave
That name unto that place, as though time meant to save
His memory thereby, there suffring for the Faith,
As one whose life deserv'd that memory in death.
So likewise in the Roule of these Northumbrian Kings,
With those that Martyrs were, so foorth that Country brings
Th'annoynted Oswin next, in Deira to ensue,
Whom Osway that bruit King of wild Bernitia slue:
Two kingdomes, which whilst then Northumberland remain'd
In greatnesse, were within her larger bounds contain'd;
This Kingly Martyr so, a Saint was rightly crown'd.
As Alkmond one of hers for sanctity renown'd,
King Alreds Christned sonne, a most religious Prince,
Whom when the Heathenish here by no meanes could convince,
(Their Paganisme a pace declining to the wane)
At Darby put to death, whom in a goodly Phane,

501

Cald by his glorious name, his corpse the Christians layd.
What fame deserv'd your faith, (were it but rightly wayd)
You pious Princes then, in godlinesse so great;
Why should not full-mouthd Fame your praises oft repeat?
So Ethelwolph her King, Northumbria notes againe,
In Martyrdome the next, though not the next in raigne,
Whom his false Subjects slue, for that he did deface
The Heathenish Saxon gods, and bound them to embrace
The lively quickning Faith, which then began to spread.
So for our Saviour Christ, as these were martyred:
There other holy Kings were likewise, who confest,
Which those most zealous times have Sainted with the rest,
King Alfred that his Christ he might more surely hold,
Left his Northumbrian Crowne, and soone became encould,
At Malroyse, in the land, whereof he had been King.
So Egbert to that Prince, a Paralell we bring,
To Oswoolph his next heire, his kingdome that resign'd,
And presently himselfe at Lindisferne confin'd,
Contemning Courtly state, which earthly fooles adore:
So Ceonulph againe as this had done before,
In that religious house, a cloystred man became,
Which many a blessed Saint hath honoured with the name.

Nor those Northumbrian Kings the onely Martyrs were,
That in this seven-fold Rule the scepters once did beare,
But that the Mercian raigne, which Pagan Princes long,
Did terribly infest, had some her Lords among,
To the true Christian Faith much reverence which did add
Our Martyrologe to helpe: so happily shee had
Rufin, and Ulfad, sonnes to Wulphere, for desire
They had t'imbrace the Faith, by their most cruell Sire
Were without pittie slaine, long ere to manhood growne,
Whose tender bodies had their burying Rites at

A Towne in Staffordshire.

Stone.
So Kenelme, that the King of Mercia should have beene,
Before his first seven yeares he fully out had seene,
Was slaine by his owne Guard, for feare lest waxing old,
That he the Christian Faith undoubtedly would hold.
So long it was ere truth could Paganisme expell.

Then Fremund, Offa's sonne, of whom times long did tell,
Such wonders of his life and sanctitie, who fled
His fathers kingly Court, and after meekly led

502

An Hermits life in Wales, where long he did remaine
In Penitence and prayer, till after he was slaine
By cruell Oswayes hands, the most inveterate foe,
The Christian faith here found: so Etheldred shall goe
With these our martyred Saints, though onely he confest,
Since he of Mercia was, a King who highly blest,
Faire Bardney, where his life religiously he spent,
And meditating Christ, thence to his Saviour went.

Nor our West-Saxon raigne was any whit behind
Those of the other rules (their best) whose zeale wee find,
Amongst those sainted Kings, whose fames are safeliest kept;
As Cedwall, on whose head such praise all times have heapt,
That from a Heathen Prince, a holy Pilgrim turn'd,
Repenting in his heart against the truth t'have spurn'd,
To Rome on his bare feet his patience exercis'd,
And in the Christian faith there humbly was baptiz'd.
So Ethelwoolph, who sat on Cedwalls ancient Seat,
For charitable deeds, who almost was as great,
As any English King, at Winchester enshrin'd,
A man amongst our Saints, most worthily devin'd.
Two other Kings as much our Martyrologe may sted,
Saint Edward, and with him comes in Saint Ethelred,
By Alfreda, the first, his Stepmother was slaine,
That her most loved sonne young Ethelbert might raigne:
The other in a storme, and deluge of the Dane,
For that he Christned was, receav'd his deadly bane;
Both which with wondrous cost, the English did interre,
At Wynburne this first Saint, the last at Winchester,
Where that West-Saxon Prince, good Alfred buried was
Among our Sainted Kings, that well deserves to passe.

Nor were these Westerne Kings of the old Saxon straine,
More studious in those times, or stoutlier did maintaine
The truth, then these of ours, the Angles of the East,
Their neer'st and deer'st Allies, which strongly did invest
The

A people of the Saxons, who gave the name to England, of Angles land.

Island with their name, of whose most holy Kings,
Which justly have deserv'd their high Canonizings,
Are Sigfrid, whose deare death him worthily hath crownd,
And Edmund in his end, so wondrously renownd,

Saint Edmundsbury.

For Christs sake suffring death, by that blood-drowning Dane,
To whom those times first built that Citie and that Phane,

503

Whose ruines Suffolke yet can to her glory show,
When shee will have the world of her past greatnesse know.
As Ethelbert againe alur'd with the report
Of more then earthly pompe, then in the Mercian Court,
From the East-Angles went, whilst mighty Offa raign'd;
Where, for he christned was, and Christian-like abstain'd
To Idolatrize with them, fierce Quenred, Offa's Queene
Most treacherously him slew out of th'inveterate spleene
Shee bare unto the Faith, whom we a Saint adore.
So Edwald brother to Saint Edmund, sung before,
A Confessor we call, whom past times did interre,
At Dorcester by Tame, (now in our Calender.)

Amongst those kingdomes here, so Kent account shall yeeld
Of three of her best blood, who in this Christian Field
Were mighty, of the which, King Ethelbert shall stand
The first; who having brought Saint Augustine to land,
Himselfe first christned was, by whose example then,
The Faith grew after strong amongst his Kentishmen.
As Ethelbrit againe, and Ethelred his pheere,
To Edbald King of Kent, who naturall Nephewes were,
For Christ there suffring death, assume them places hye,
Amongst our martyred Saints, commemorate at Wye.
To these two brothers, so two others come againe,
And of as great discent in the Southsexian straine:
Arwaldi of one name, whom ere King Cedwall knew
The true and lively Faith, he tyranously slew:
Who still amongst the Saints have their deserved right,
Whose Vigils were observ'd (long) in the Isle of Wight.
Remembred too the more, for being of one name,
As of th'East-Saxon line, King Sebba so became
A most religious Monke, at London, where he led
A strict retyred life, a Saint alive and dead.
Related for the like, so Edgar we admit,
That King, who over eight did soly Monarch sit,
And with our holyest Saints for his endowments great,
Bestow'd upon the Church. With him we likewise seat
That sumptuous shrined King, good Edward, from the rest
Of that renowned name, by Confessor exprest.

To these our sainted Kings, remembred in our Song,

Holy women Canonized Saints.

Those Mayds and widdowed Queenes, doe worthily belong,

504

Incloystred that became, and had the selfe same style,
For Fasting, Almes, and Prayer, renowned in our Isle,
As those that foorth to France, and Germany we gave,
For holy charges there; but here first let us have
Our Mayd-made-Saints at home, as Hilderlie, with her
We Theorid thinke most fit, for whom those times averre,
A Virgin strictlyer vow'd, hath hardly lived here.
Saint Wulfshild then we bring, all which of Barking were,
And reckoned for the best, which most that house did grace,
The last of which was long the Abbesse of that place.
So Werburg, Wulpheres child, (of Mercia that had been
A persecuting King) by Ermineld his Queene,
At Ely honoured is, where her deare mother late,
A Recluse had remain'd, in her sole widdowed state:
Of which good Audry was King Ina's daughter bright,
Reflecting on those times so cleare a Vestall light,
As many a Virgin-breast she fired with her zeale,
The fruits of whose strong faith, to ages still reveale
The glory of those times, by liberties she gave,

Saint Audries Liberties.

By which those Easterne Shires their Priviledges have.
Of holy Audries too, a sister here we have,
Saint Withburg, who her selfe to Contemplation gave,
At Deerham in her Cell, where her due howres she kept,
Whose death with many a teare in Norfolke was bewept.

And in that Isle againe, which beareth Elies name,
At Ramsey, Merwin so a Vayled Mayd became
Amongst our Virgin-Saints, where Elfled is enrold,
The daughter that is nam'd of noble Ethelwold,
A great East-Anglian Earle, of Ramsey Abbas long,
So of our Mayden-Saints, the Female sex among.
With Milburg, Mildred comes, and Milwid, daughters deere,
To Mervald, who did then the Mercian Scepter beare.
At Wenlock, Milburg dy'd, (a most religious mayd)
Of which great Abbay shee the first foundation layd:
And Thanet as her Saint (even to this age) doth herye
Her Mildred. Milwid was the like at Canterbury.

Nor in this utmost Isle of Thanet may we passe,
Saint Eadburg Abbesse there, who the deare daughter was,
To Ethelbert her Lord, and Kents first Christened King,
Who in this place most fitst we with the former bring,

505

Translated (as some say) to Flanders: but that I,
As doubtfull of the truth, here dare not justifie.

King Edgars sister so, Saint Edith, place may have
With these our Maiden-Saints, who to her Powlsworth gave
Immunities most large, and goodly livings layd.
Which Modwen, long before, a holy Irish mayd,
Had founded in that place, with most devout intent.
As Eanswine, Eadwalds child, one of the Kings of Kent,
At Foulkston found a place (given by her father there)
In which she gave her selfe to abstinence and prayer.

Of the West-Saxon rule, borne to three severall Kings,
Foure holy Virgins more the Muse in order brings:
Saint Ethelgive the child to Alfred, which we find,
Those more devouter times at Shaftsbury enshrin'd.
Then Tetta in we take, at Winburne on our way,
Which Cuthreds sister was, who in those times did sway
On the West-Saxon Seat, two other sacred Mayds,
As from their Cradels vow'd to bidding of their beads.
Saint Cuthburg, and with her Saint Quinburg, which we here
Succeedingly doe set, both as they Sisters were,
And Abbesses againe of Wilton, which we gather,
Our Virgin-Band to grace, both having to their father
Religious Ina, red with those which ruld the West,
Whose mothers sacred wombe with other Saints was blest,
As after shall be shew'd: an other Virgin vow'd,
And likewise for a Saint amongst the rest allow'd;
To th'elder Edward borne, bright Eadburg, who for she,
(As five related Saints of that blest name there be)
Of Wilton Abbasse was, they her of Wilton styl'd:
Was ever any Mayd more mercifull, more mild,
Or sanctimonious knowne: But Muse, on in our Song,
With other princely Mayds, but first with those that sprung
From Penda, that great King of Mercia; holy Tweed,
And Kinisdred, with these their sisters, Kinisweed,
And Eadburg, last not least, at Godmanchester all
Incloystred; and to these Saint Tibba let us call,
In solitude to Christ, that set her whole delight,
In Godmanchester made a constant Anchorite.
Amongst which of that house, for Saints that reckoned be,
Yet never any one more grac'd the same then she.

506

Deriv'd of royall Blood, as th'other Elfled than
Neece to that mighty King, our English Athelstan,
At Glastenbury shrin'd; and one as great as shee,
Being Edward Out-lawes child, a Mayd that liv'd to see
The Conquerour enter here, Saint Christian (to us knowne)
Whose life by her cleere name divinely was foreshowne.

For holinesse of life, that as renowned were,
And not lesse nobly borne, nor bred, produce we here;
Saint Hilda, and Saint Hien, the first of noble name,
At Strenshalt, tooke her vow, the other sister came
To Colchester, and grac'd the rich Essexian shore:
Whose Reliques many a day the world did there adore.
And of our sainted Mayds, the number to supply,
Of Eadburg we allow, sometime at Alsbury,
To Redwald then a King of the East-Angles borne,
A Votresse as sincere as shee thereto was sworne.
Then Pandwine we produce, whom this our native Isle,
As forraine parts much priz'd, and higher did instyle,
The holyest English Mayd, whose Vigils long were held
In Lincolneshire; yet not Saint Frideswid exceld,
The Abbesse of an house in Oxford, of her kind
The wonder; nor that place, could hope the like to find.
Two sisters so we have, both to devotion plite,
And worthily made Saints; the elder Margarite,
Of Katsby Abbesse was, and Alice, as we read,
Her sister on that seat, did happily succeed,
At Abington, which first receiv'd their living breath.
Then those Northumbrian Nymphs, all vayld, as full of Faith,
That Country sent us in, t'increase our Virgin-Band,
Faire Elfled, Oswalds child, King of Northumberland,
At Strenshalt that was vaild. As mongst those many there,
O Ebba, whose cleere fame, time never shall out-weare,
At Coldingham, farre hence within that Country plac'd;
The Abbesse, who to keepe thy vayled Virgins chast,
Which else thou fearst the Danes would ravish, which possest
This Isle; first of thy selfe and then of all the rest,
The Nose and upper Lip from your fayre faces kerv'd,
And from pollution so your hallowed house preserv'd.
Which when the Danes perceiv'd, their hopes so farre deluded,
Setting the house on fire, their Martyrdome concluded.

507

As Leofron, whose faith with others rightly wayd,
Shall shew her not out-match'd by any English Mayd:
Who likewise when the Dane with persecution storm'd,
She here a Martyrs part most gloriously perform'd.
Two holy Mayds againe at Whitby were renown'd,
Both Abbesses thereof, and Confessors are crown'd;
Saint Ethelfrid, with her Saint Congill, as a payre
Of Abbesses therein, the one of which by prayer
The Wild-geese thence expeld, that Island which annoy'd,

Wild geese falling downe, if they fly over the place.

By which their grasse and graine was many times destroy'd,
Which fall from off their wings, nor to the ayre can get
From the forbidden place, till they be fully set.

As these within this Isle in Cloysters were inclosd:
So we our Virgins had to forraine parts exposd;
As Eadburg, Ana's child, and Sethred borne our owne,
Were Abbesses of Bridge, whose zeale to France was knowne:
And Ercongate againe we likewise thither sent,
(Which Ercombert begot, sometime a King of Kent)
A Prioresse of that place; Burgundosora bare,
At Evreux the chaste rule, all which renowned are
In France, which as this Isle of them may freely boast,

So Germany some grac'd, from this their native coast.
Saint Walburg heere extract from th'royall English Line,
Was in that Country made Abbesse of Heydentine.
Saint Tecla to that place at Ochenford they chose:
From Wynburne with the rest (in Dorsetshire) arose
Chast Agatha, with her went Lioba along.
From thence, two not the least these sacred Mayds among,
At Biscopsen, by time encloystred and became.
Saint Lewen so attayn'd an everliving name
For Martyrdome, which shee at Wynokebergin wan,
Mayds seeming in their Sex t'exceed the holyest man.
Nor had our Virgins here for sanctitie the prize,
But widdowed Queenes as well, that being godly wise,
Forsaking second beds, the world with them forsooke,
To strict retyred lives, and gladly them betooke
To Abstinence and Prayer, and as sincerely liv'd.
As when the Fates of life King Ethelwold depriv'd,
That o'r the East-Angles raign'd, bright Heriswid his wife,
Betaking her to lead a strait Monasticke life,

508

Departing hence to France, receav'd the holy Vayle,
And lived many a day incloystred there at Kale.
Then Keneburg in this our Sainted front shall stand,
To Alfred the lov'd wife, King of Northumberland,
Daughter to Penda King of Mercia, who though he
Himselfe most Heathenish were, yet liv'd that age to see
Foure Virgins, and this Queene, his children, consecrated
Of Godmanchester all, and after Saints related.

As likewise of this Sex, with Saints that doth us store,
Of the Northumbrian Line so have we many more;
Saint Eanfled widdowed left, by Osway raigning there,
At Strenshalt tooke her Vaile, as Ethelburg the pheere
To Edwin, (rightly nam'd) the holy, which possest
Northumbers sacred seat, her selfe that did invest
At Lymming farre in Kent, which Country gave her breath.
So Edeth as the rest after King Sethricks death,
Which had the selfe same rule of Wilton Abbesse was,
Where two West-Saxon Queenes for Saints shall likewise passe,
Which in that selfe same house, Saint Edeth did succeed,
Saint Ethelwid, which here put on her hallowed weed,
King Alreds worthy wife, of Westsex; so againe
Did Wilfrid, Edgars Queene, (so famous in his raigne)
Then Eadburg, Ana's wife, received as the other,
Who as a Saint her selfe, so likewise was she mother
To two most holy Mayds, as we before have show'd
At Wilton, (which we say) their happy time bestow'd,
Though she of Barking was, a holy Nunne profest,
Who in her husbands time, had raigned in the West:
Th'East-Saxon Line againe, so others to us lent,
As Sexburg sometime Queene to Ercombert of Kent,
Though Ina's loved child, and Audryes sister knowne,
Which Ely in those dayes did for her Abbesse owne.
Nor to Saint Osith we lesse honour ought to give,
King Sethreds widdowed Queene, who (when death did deprive
Th'Essexian King of life) became enrould at Chich,
Whose Shrine to her there built, the world did long enrich.
Two holy Mercian Queenes so widdowed, Saints became,
For sanctity much like, not much unlike in name.
King Wulpheres widdowed Pheere, Queene Ermineld, whose life
At Ely is renown'd, and Ermenburg, the wife

509

To Mervald raigning there, a Saint may safely passe,
Who to three Virgin-Saints the vertuous mother was,
The remnant of her dayes, religiously that bare,
Immonastred in Kent, where first she breath'd the ayre.
King Edgars mother so, is for a Saint preferd,
Queene Algyve, who (they say) at Shipston was interd.
So Edward Outlawes wife, Saint Agatha, we bring,
By Salomon begot, that great Hungarian King;
Who when she saw the wrong to Edgar her deare sonne,
By cruell Harold first, then by the Conquerour done,
Depriv'd his rightfull crowne, no hope it to recover,
A Vestall habite tooke, and gave the false world over.
Saint Maud here not the least, though shee be set the last,
And scarcely over-matcht by any that is past,
Our Beauclearks Queene, and borne to Malcolme King of Scots,
Whose sanctity was seene to wipe out all the spots
Were laid upon her life, when shee her Cloyster fled,
And chastly gave her selfe to her lov'd husbands bed,
Whom likewise for a Saint those reverend ages chose,
With whom we at this time our Catalogue will close.

Now Rutland all this time, who held her highly wrong'd,
That shee should for the Saints thus strangely be prolong'd,
As that the Muse such time upon their praise should spend,
Sent in her ambling Wash, faire Welland to attend
At Stamford, which her Streame doth eas'ly overtake,
Of whom her Mistresse Flood seemes wondrous much to make;
For that she was alone the darling and delight
Of Rutland, ravisht so with her beloved sight,
As in her onely childs, a mothers heart may be:
Wherefore that she the least, yet fruitfulst Shire should see,
The honourable ranke shee had amongst the rest,
The ever-labouring Muse her Beauties thus exprest.

Love not thy selfe the lesse, although the least thou art,
What thou in greatnesse wantst, wise Nature doth impart
In goodnesse of thy soyle; and more delicious mould,
Survaying all this Isle, the Sunne did nere behold.
Bring forth that British Vale, and be it ne'r so rare,
But Catmus with that Vale, for richnesse shall compare:
What Forrest-Nymph is found, how brave so ere she be,
But Lyfield shewes her selfe as brave a Nymph as shee?

510

What River ever rose from Banke, or swelling Hill,
Then Rutlands wandring Wash, a delicater Rill?
Small Shire that can produce to thy proportion good,
One Vale of speciall name, one Forrest, and one Flood.
O Catmus, thou faire Vale, come on in Grasse and Corne,
That Bever ne'r be sayd thy sister-hood to scorne,
And let thy Ocham boast, to have no litle grace,
That her the pleased Fates, did in thy bosome place,
And Lyfield, as thou art a Forrest, live so free,
That every Forrest-Nymph may praise the sports in thee.
And downe to Wellands course, O Wash, runne ever cleere,
To honour, and to be much honoured by this Shire.

And here my Canto ends, which kept the Muse so long,
That it may rather seeme a Volume, then a Song.

511

The five and twentieth Song

The Argument.

Tow'rds Lincolnshire our Progresse layd,
Wee through deepe Hollands Ditches wade,
Fowling, and Fishing in the Fen;
Then come wee next to Kestiven,
And bringing Wytham to her fall,
On Lindsey light wee last of all,
Her Scite and Pleasures to attend,
And with the Isle of Axholme end.

Now in upon thy earth, rich Lincolnshire I straine,
At Deeping, from whose Street, the plentious Ditches draine,
Hemp-bearing Hollands Fen, at Spalding that doe fall
Together in their Course, themselves as emptying all
Into one generall Sewer, which seemeth to divide,

Holland divided into two parts, the Lower, and the Higher.

Low Holland from the High, which on their Easterne side
Th'in-bending Ocean holds, from the Norfolcean lands,
To their more Northern poynt, where

The length of Holland by the Sea shore, from the coast of Norfolke to Wainfleet.

Wainfleet drifted stands,
Doe shoulder out those Seas, and Lindsey bids her stay,
Because to that faire part, a challenge she doth lay.
From fast and firmer Earth, whereon the Muse of late,
Trod with a steady foot, now with a slower gate,
Through

The Description of the Washes.

Quicksands, Beach, and Ouze, the Washes she must wade,
Where Neptune every day doth powerfully invade
The vast and queachy soyle, with Hosts of wallowing waves,
From whose impetuous force, that who himselfe not saves,
By swift and sudden flight, is swallowed by the deepe,
When from the wrathfull Tydes the foming Surges sweepe,
The Sands which lay all nak'd, to the wide heaven before,
And turneth all to Sea, which was but lately Shore,
From this our Southerne part of Holland, cal'd the Low,
Where Crowlands ruines yet, (though almost buried) show
Her mighty Founders power, yet his more Christian zeale,
Shee by the Muses ayd, shall happily reveale
Her sundry sorts of Fowle, from whose abundance she
Above all other Tracts, may boast her selfe to be

512

The Mistris, (and indeed) to sit without compare,
And for no worthlesse soyle, should in her glory share,
From her moyst seat of Flags, of Bulrushes and Reed,
With her just proper praise, thus Holland doth proceed.

Hollands Oration.

Yee Acherusian Fens, to mine resigne your glory,
Both that which lies within the goodly Territory
Of Naples, as that Fen Thesposia's earth upon,
Whence that infernall Flood, the smutted Acheron
Shoves forth her sullen head, as thou most fatall Fen,
Of which Hetruria tells, the watry Thrasimen,
In History although thou highly seemst to boast,
That Haniball by thee o'rthrew the Roman Host.
I scorne th'Egyptian Fen, which Alexandria showes,
Proud Mareotis, should my mightinesse oppose,
Or Scythia, on whose face the Sunne doth hardly shine,
Should her Meotis thinke to match with this of mine,
That covered all with Snow continually doth stand.
I stinking Lerna hate, and the poore Libian Sand.

A Nymph supposed to have the charge of the Shore.

Marica that wise Nymph, to whom great Neptune gave
The charge of all his Shores, from drowning them to save,
Abideth with me still upon my service prest,
And leaves the looser Nymphs to wayt upon the rest:
In Summer giving earth, from which I sqare my

Fuell cut out of the Marsh.

Peat,
And faster feedings by, for Deere, for Horse, and Neat.
My various

Brookes and Pooles worne by the water, into which the rising floods have recourse.

Fleets for Fowle, O who is he can tell,
The species that in me for multitudes excell!
The Duck, and Mallard first, the Falconers onely sport,
(Of River-flights the chiefe, so that all other sort,
They onely Greene-Fowle tearme) in every Mere abound,
That you would thinke they sate upon the very ground,
Their numbers be so great, the waters covering quite,
That rais'd, the spacious ayre is darkened with their flight;
Yet still the dangerous Dykes, from shot doe them secure,
Where they from Flash to Flash, like the full Epicure
Waft, as they lov'd to change their Diet every meale;
And neere to them ye see the lesser dibling Teale
In

The word in Falconry, for a company of Teale.

Bunches, with the first that flie from Mere to Mere,
As they above the rest were Lords of Earth and Ayre.
The Gossander with them, my goodly Fennes doe show
His head as Ebon blacke, the rest as white as Snow,

513

With whom the Widgeon goes, the Golden-Eye, the Smeath,
And in odde scattred pits, the Flags, and Reeds beneath;
The Coot, bald, else cleane black, that whitenesse it doth beare
Upon the forehead star'd, the Water-Hen doth weare
Upon her little tayle, in one small feather set.
The Water-woosell next, all over black as Jeat,
With various colours, black, greene, blew, red, russet, white,
Doe yeeld the gazing eye as variable delight,
As doe those sundry Fowles, whose severall plumes they be.
The diving Dob-chick, here among the rest you see,
Now up, now downe againe, that hard it is to proove,
Whether under water most it liveth, or above:
With which last little Fowle, (that water may not lacke;
More then the Dob-chick doth, and more doth love the

Salt water.

brack)
The Puffin we compare, which comming to the dish,
Nice pallats hardly judge, if it be flesh or fish.

But wherefore should I stand upon such toyes as these,
That have so goodly Fowles, the wandring eye to please.
Here in my vaster Pooles, as white as Snow or Milke,
(In water blacke as Stix) swimmes the wild Swanne, the Ilke,
Of Hollanders so tearm'd, no niggard of his breath,
(As Poets say of Swannes, which onely sing in death)
But oft as other Birds, is heard his tunnes to roat,
Which like a Trumpet comes, from his long arched throat,
And tow'rds this watry kind, about the Flashes brimme,
Some cloven-footed are, by nature not to swimme.
There stalks the stately Crane, as though he march'd in warre,
By him that hath the Herne, which (by the Fishy Carre)
Can fetch with their long necks, out of the Rush and Reed,
Snigs, Fry, and yellow Frogs, whereon they often feed:
And under them againe, (that water never take,
But by some Ditches side, or little shallow Lake
Lye dabling night and day) the pallat-pleasing Snite,
The Bidcocke, and like them the Redshanke, that delight
Together still to be, in some small Reedy bed,
In which these little Fowles in Summers time were bred.
The Buzzing Bitter sits, which through his hollow Bill,
A sudden bellowing sends, which many times doth fill
The neighbouring Marsh with noyse, as though a Bull did roare;
But scarcely have I yet recited halfe my store:

514

And with my wondrous flocks of Wild-geese come I then,
Which looke as though alone they peopled all the Fen,
Which here in Winter time, when all is overflow'd,
And want of sollid sward inforceth them abroad,
Th'abundance then is seene, that my full Fennes doe yeeld,
That almost through the Isle, doe pester every field.
The Barnacles with them, which wheresoere they breed,
On Trees, or rotten Ships, yet to my Fennes for feed
Continually they come, and chiefe abode doe make,
And very hardly forc'd my plenty to forsake:
Who almost all this kind doe challenge as mine owne,
Whose like I dare averre, is elsewhere hardly knowne.
For sure unlesse in me, no one yet ever saw
The multitudes of Fowle, in Mooting time they draw:
From which to many a one, much profit doth accrue.

Now such as flying feed, next these I must pursue;
The Sea-meaw, Sea-pye, Gull, and Curlew heere doe keepe,
As searching every Shole, and watching every deepe,
To find the floating Fry, with their sharpe-pearcing sight,
Which suddenly they take, by stouping from their height.
The Cormorant then comes, (by his devouring kind)
Which flying o'r the Fen, imediatly doth find
The Fleet best stor'd of Fish, when from his wings at full,
As though he shot himselfe into the thickned skull,
He under water goes, and so the Shoale pursues,
Which into Creeks doe flie, when quickly he doth chuse,
The Fin that likes him best, and rising, flying feeds.
The Ospray oft here seene, though seldome here it breeds,
Which over them the Fish no sooner doe espie,
But (betwixt him and them, by an antipathy)
Turning their bellies up, as though their death they saw,
They at his pleasure lye, to stuffe his glutt'nous maw.

The pleasures of the Fennes.

The toyling Fisher here is tewing of his Net:
The Fowler is imployd his lymed twigs to set.
One underneath his Horse, to get a shoot doth stalke;
Another over Dykes upon his Stilts doth walke:
There other with their Spades, the Peats are squaring out,
And others from their Carres, are busily about,
To draw out Sedge and Reed, for Thatch and Stover fit,
That whosoever would a Landskip rightly hit,

515

Beholding but my Fennes, shall with more shapes be stor'd,
Then Germany, or France, or Thuscan can afford:
And for that part of me, which men high Holland call,
Where Boston seated is, by plenteous Wythams fall,
I peremptory am, large Neptunes liquid field,
Doth to no other tract the like aboundance yeeld.
For that of all the Seas invironing this Isle,
Our Irish, Spanish, French, how e'r we them enstyle,
The German is the great'st, and it is onely I,
That doe upon the same with most advantage lye.
What Fish can any shore, or British Sea-towne show,
That's eatable to us, that it doth not bestow
Abundantly thereon? the Herring king of Sea,
The faster feeding Cod, the Mackrell brought by May,
The daintie Sole, and Plaice, the Dabb, as of their blood;
The Conger finely sous'd, hote Summers coolest food;
The Whiting knowne to all, a generall wholesome Dish;
The Gurnet, Rochet, Mayd, and Mullet, dainty Fish;
The Haddock, Turbet, Bert, Fish nourishing and strong;
The Thornback, and the Scate, provocative among:
The Weaver, which although his prickles venom bee,
By Fishers cut away, which Buyers seldome see:
Yet for the Fish he beares, tis not accounted bad;
The Sea-Flounder is here as common as the Shad;
The Sturgeon cut to Keggs, (too big to handle whole)
Gives many a dainty bit out of his lusty Jole.
Yet of rich Neptunes store, whilst thus I Idely chat,
Thinke not that all betwixt the Wherpoole, and the Sprat,
I goe about to name, that were to take in hand,
The Atomy to tell, or to cast up the sand;
But on the English coast, those most that usuall are,
Wherewith the staules from thence doe furnish us for farre;
Amongst whose sundry sorts, since thus farre I am in,
Ile of our Shell-Fish speake, with these of Scale and Fin:

The Sperme-increasing Crab, much Cooking that doth aske,
The big-legg'd Lobster, fit for wanton Venus taske,
Voluptuaries oft take rather then for food,
And that the same effect which worketh in the blood
The rough long Oyster is, much like the Lobster limb'd:
The Oyster hote as they, the Mussle often trimd

516

With Orient Pearle within, as thereby nature show'd,
That she some secret good had on that Shell bestow'd:
The Scallop cordiall judgd, the dainty Wilk and Limp,
The Periwincle, Prawne, the Cockle, and the Shrimpe,
For wanton womens tasts, or for weake stomacks bought.

When Kestiven this while that certainly had thought,

Kestivens Oration.

Her tongue would ne'r have stopt, quoth shee, O how I hate,
Thus of her foggy Fennes, to heare rude Holland prate,
That with her Fish and Fowle, here keepeth such a coyle,
As her unwholesome ayre, and more unwholesome soyle,
For these of which shee boasts, the more might suffred be;
When those her feathered flocks she sends not out to me,
Wherein cleare Witham they, and many a little Brooke,
(In which the Sunne it selfe may well be proud to looke)
Have made their Flesh more sweet by my refined food,
From that so ramish tast of her most fulsome mud,
When the toyld Cater home them to the Kitchen brings,
The Cooke doth cast them out, as most unsavory things.
Besides, what is she else, but a foule woosie Marsh,
And that shee calls her grasse, so blady is, and harsh,
As cuts the Cattels mouthes, constrain'd thereon to feed,
So that my poorest trash, which mine call Rush and Reed,
For litter scarcely fit, that to the dung I throw,
Doth like the Penny grasse, or the pure Clover show,
Compared with her best: and for her sundry Fish,
Of which she freely boasts, to furnish every Dish.
Did not full Neptunes fields so furnish her with store,
Those in the Ditches bred, within her muddy Moore,
Are of so earthy taste, as that the Ravenous Crow
Will rather starve, thereon her stomack then bestow.

From Stamford as along my tract tow'rd Lincolne straines,
What Shire is there can shew more valuable Vaines
Of soyle then is in mee? or where can there be found,
So faire and fertile fields, or Sheep-walks nere so sound?
Where doth the pleasant ayre resent a sweeter breath?
What Countrey can produce a delicater Heath,
Then that which her faire Name from

Ancaster Heath.

Ancaster doth hold?
Through all the neighboring Shires, whose praise shall still be told,
Which Flora in the Spring doth with such wealth adorne,
That Bever needs not much her company to scorne,

517

Though shee a Vale lye low, and this a Heath sit hye,
Yet doth she not alone, allure the wondring eye
With prospect from each part, but that her pleasant ground
Gives all that may content, the well-breath'd Horse and Hound:
And from the Britans yet, to shew what then I was,
One of the Roman Wayes neere through my midst did passe:
Besides to my much praise, there hath been in my mould
Their painted Pavements found, and Armes of perfect gold.
They neere the Saxons raigne, that in this tract did dwell,

No Tract can shew so brave Churches.

All other of this Isle, for that they would excell
For Churches every where, so rich and goodly rear'd
In every little Dorpe, that after-times have fear'd
T'attempt so mighty workes; yet one above the rest,
In which it may be thought, they strove to doe their best,
Of pleasant Grantham is, that Piramis so hye,
Rear'd (as it might be thought) to overtop the skie,
The Traveller that strikes into a wondrous maze,
As on his Horse he sits, on that proud height to gaze.

When Wytham that this while a listning eare had laid,
To hearken (for her selfe) what Kestiven had said,
Much pleasd with this report, for that she was the earth
From whom she onely had her sweet and seasoned birth,
From Wytham which that name derived from her Springs,

A Towne so called.

Thus as she trips along, this dainty Rivelet sings.

Ye easie ambling streames, which way soe'r you runne,
Or tow'rds the pleasant rise, or tow'rds the mid-day Sunne:
By which (as some suppose by use that have them tride)
Your waters in their course are neatly purifi'd.
Be what you are, or can, I not your Beauties feare,
When Neptune shall commaund the Naiades t'appeare.
In River what is found, in me that is not rare:
Yet for my wel-fed Pykes, I am without compare.

From Wytham mine owne Towne, first watred with my sourse,
As to the Easterne Sea, I hasten on my course.
Who sees so pleasant plaines, or is of fairer seene,
Whose Swains in Shepheards gray, and Gyrles in Lincolne greene?
Whilst some the rings of Bells, and some the Bag-pipes ply,

Lincolne anciently dyed the best greene of England.

Dance many a merry Round, and many a Hydegy.
I envy, any Brooke should in my pleasure share,
Yet for my daintie Pykes, I am without compare.

518

No Land-floods can mee force to over-proud a height;
Nor am I in my Course, too crooked, or too streight:
My depths fall by descents, too long, nor yet too broad,
My Foards with Pebbles, cleare as Orient Pearles, are strowd;
My gentle winding Banks, with sundry Flowers are drest,
The higher rising Heaths, hold distance with my brest.
Thus to her proper Song, the Burthen still she bare;
Yet for my dainty Pykes, I am without compare.

By this to Lincolne com'n, upon whose loftie Scite,
Whilst wistly Wytham looks with wonderfull delight,
Enamoured of the state, and beautie of the place,
That her of all the rest especially doth grace,
Leaving her former Course, in which she first set forth,
Which seemed to have been directly to the North:
Shee runnes her silver front into the muddy Fen,
Which lyes into the East, in her deepe journey, when
Cleare Ban a pretty Brooke, from Lyndsey comming downe,

Botulphs towne contractedly Boston.

Delicious Wytham leads to holy Botulphs Towne,
Where proudly she puts in amongst the great resort,
That their appearance make in Neptunes watry Court.

Now Lyndsey all this while, that duely did attend,
Till both her Rivals thus had fully made an end

Lyndsies oration.

Of their so tedious talke, when lastly shee replyes;
Loe, bravely here she sits, that both your states defies.
Faire Lincolne is mine owne, which lies upon my South,
As likewise to the North, great Humbers swelling mouth
Encircles me, twixt which in length I bravely lye:
O who can me the best, before them both deny?
Nor Britaine in her Bounds, scarce such a Tract can show,
Whose shore like to the backe of a well-bended Bow,
The Ocean beareth out, and every where so thicke,
The Villages and Dorps upon my Bosome sticke,
That it is very hard for any to define,
Whether Up-land most I be, or most am Maratine.
What is there that compleat can any Country make,
That in large measure I, (faire Lindsey) not pertake,
As healthy Heaths, and Woods, faire Dales, and pleasant Hils,
All watred here and there, with pretty creeping Rills,
Fat Pasture, mellow Gleabe, and of that kind what can,
Give nourishment to beast, or benefit to man,

519

As Kestiven doth boast, her Wytham so have I,
My Ancum (onely mine) whose fame as farre doth flie,
For fat and daintie Eeles, as hers doth for her Pyke,

Wytham Eele, and Ancum Pyke, In all the world there is none syke.

Which makes the Proverbe up, the world hath not the like.
From Razin her cleere Springs, where first she doth arive,
As in an even course, to Humber foorth doth drive,
Faire Barton shee salutes, which from her Scite out-braves
Rough Humber, when he strives to shew his sternest waves.

Now for my Bounds to speake, few Tracts (I thinke) there be,

The Bounds of Kestiven.

(And search through all this Isle) to paralell with mee:
Great Humber holds me North, (as I have said before)
From whom (even) all along, upon the Easterne shore,
The German Ocean lyes; and on my Southerne side,
Cleere Wytham in her course, me fairely doth divide
From Holland; and from thence the Fosdyke is my bound,
Which our first Henry cut from Lincolne, where he found,
Commodities by Trent, from Humber to convay:
So Nature, the cleere Trent doth fortunatly lay,
To ward me on the West, though farther I extend,
And in my larger bounds doe largely comprehend
Full Axholme, (which those neere, the fertile doe instile)
Which Idle, Don, and Trent, imbracing make an Isle.

But wherefore of my Bounds, thus onely doe I boast,
When that which Holland seemes to vaunt her on the most,
By me is overmatcht; the Fowle which shee doth breed:
Shee in her foggy Fennes, so moorishly doth feed,
That Phisick oft forbids the Patient them for food,
But mine more ayrie are, and make fine spirits and blood:
For neere this batning Isle, in me is to be seene,
More then on any earth, the Plover gray, and greene,
The Corne-land-loving Quayle, the daintiest of our bits,
The Rayle, which seldome comes, but upon Rich mens spits:
The Puet, Godwit, Stint, the pallat that allure,
The Miser and doe make a wastfull Epicure:
The Knot, that called was Canutus Bird of old,
Of that great King of Danes, his name that still doth hold,
His apetite to please, that farre and neere was sought,
For him (as some have sayd) from Denmarke hither brought
The Dotterell, which we thinke a very daintie dish,
Whose taking makes such sport, as man no more can wish;

520

For as you creepe, or cowre, or lye, or stoupe, or goe,
So marking you (with care) the Apish Bird doth doe,
And acting every thing, doth never marke the Net,
Till he be in the Snare, which men for him have set.
The big-boan'd Bustard then, whose body beares that size,
That he against the wind must runne, e're he can rise:
The Shouler, which so shakes the ayre with saily wings,
That ever as he flyes, you still would thinke he sings.
These Fowles, with other Soyles, although they frequent be,
Yet are they found most sweet and delicate in me.

Thus whilst shee seemes t'extoll in her peculiar praise,
The Muse which seem'd too slacke, in these too low-pitcht layes,
For nobler height prepares, her oblique course, and casts
A new Booke to begin, an end of this shee hasts.

521

The sixe and twentieth Song.

The Argument.

Three Shires at once this Song assayes,
By various and unusuall wayes.
At Nottingham first comming in,
The Vale of Bever doth begin;
Tow'rds Lester then her course shee holds,
And sayling o'r the pleasant Oulds,
Shee fetcheth Soare downe from her Springs,
By Charnwood, which to Trent shee brings,
Then showes the Braveries of that Flood,
Makes Sherwood sing her Robin Hood;
Then rouzes up the aged Peake,
And of her Wonders makes her speake:
Thence Darwin downe by Darby tends,
And at her fall, to Trent, it ends.

Now scarcely on this Tract the Muse had entrance made,
Enclining to the South, but Bevers batning Slade
Receiveth her to Guest, whose comming had too long
Put off her rightfull praise, when thus her selfe she sung.

Three Shires there are (quoth she) in me their parts that claime,

The Vale of Bever bordreth upon 3. Shires.

Large Lincolne, Rutland Rich, and th'Norths Eye Nottingham.
But in the last of these since most of me doth lye,
To that my most-lov'd Shire my selfe I must apply.

Not Evsham that proud Nymph, although she still pretend

Not a more pleasant Vale in all great Britaine, then Bever.

Her selfe the first of Vales, and though abroad she send
Her awfull dread Command, that all should tribute pay
To her as our great Queene; nor White-horse, though her Clay
Of silver seeme to be, new melted, nor the Vale
Of Alsbury, whose grasse seemes given out by tale,
For it so Silken is, nor any of our kind,
Or what, or where they be, or howsoere inclind,
Me Bever shall outbrave, that in my state doe scorne,
By any of them all (once) to be overborne,
With theirs, doe but compare the Country where I lye,
My Hill, and Oulds will say, they are the Islands eye.

522

Consider next my Scite, and say it doth excell;
Then come unto my Soyle, and you shall see it swell,
With every Grasse and Graine, that Britaine forth can bring:
I challenge any Vale, to shew me but that thing
I cannot shew to her, (that truly is mine owne)
Besides I dare thus boast, that I as farre am knowne,
As any of them all, the South their names doth sound,
The spacious North doth mee, that there is scarcely found
A roomth for any else, it is so fild with mine,
Which but a little wants of making me divine:
Nor barren am of Brookes, for that I still reteine
Two neat and daintie Rills, the little Snyte, and Deane,
That from the lovely Oulds, their beautious parent sprong
From the Lecestrian fields, come on with me along,
Till both within one Banke, they on my North are meint,
And where I end, they fall, at Newarck, into Trent.

Hence wandring as the Muse delightfully beholds
The beautie of the large, and goodly full-flockd Oulds,
Shee on the left hand leaves old Lecester, and flyes,
Untill the fertile earth glut her insatiate eyes,
From Rich to Richer still, that riseth her before,
Untill shee come to cease upon the head of Soare,
Where

The 2. famous Wayes of England. See to the 13. Song.

Fosse, and Watling cut each other in their course
At

A little Village at the rising of Soare.

Sharnford, where at first her soft and gentle sourse,
To her but shallow Bankes, beginneth to repayre,
Of all this beautious Isle, the delicatest ayre;
Whence softly sallying out, as loath the place to leave,
Shee Sence a pretty Rill doth courteously receive:
For Swift, a little Brooke, which certainly shee thought
Downe to the Banks of Trent, would safely her have brought,
Because their native Springs so neerely were allyde,
Her sister Soare forsooke, and wholly her applide
To Avon, as with her continually to keepe,
And wayt on her along to the Sabrinian deepe.

Thus with her hand-mayd Sence, the Soare doth eas'ly slide
By Lecester, where yet her ruines show her pride,
Demolisht many yeares, that of the great foundation
Of her long buried walls, men hardly see the station;
Yet of some pieces found, so sure the Cyment locks
The stones, that they remaine like perdurable rocks:

523

Where whilst the lovely Soare, with many a deare imbrace,
Is solacing her selfe with this delightfull place,
The Forrest, which the name of that brave Towne doth beare,

Lecester Forrest.

With many a goodly wreath, crownes her disheveld hayre,
And in her gallant Greene, her lusty Livery showes
Her selfe to this faire Flood, which mildly as shee flowes,
Reciprocally likes her length and breadth to see,
As also how shee keepes her fertile purlues free:
The Herds of Fallow Deere shee on the Launds doth feed,
As having in her selfe to furnish every need.
But now since gentle Soare, such leasure seemes to take,
The Muse in her behalfe this strong defence doth make,
Against the neighbour floods, for that which tax her so,
And her a Channell call, because she is so slow.
The cause is that shee lyes upon so low a Flat,
Where nature most of all befriended her in that,
The longer to enjoy the good she doth possesse:
For had those (with such speed that forward seeme to presse)
So many dainty Meads, and Pastures theirs to be,
They then would wish themselves to be as slow as she,
Who well may be compar'd to some young tender Mayd,
Entring some Princes Court, which is for pompe arayd,

A Simily of Soare.

Who led from roome to roome amazed is to see
The furnitures and states, which all Imbroyderies be,
The rich and sumptuous Beds, with Tester-covering plumes,
And various as the Sutes, so various the perfumes,
Large Galleries, where piece with piece doth seeme to strive,
Of Pictures done to life, Landskip, and Perspective,
Thence goodly Gardens sees, where Antique Statues stand
In Stone and Copper, cut by many a skilfull hand,
Where every thing to gaze, her more and more entices,
Thinking at once shee sees a thousand Paradices,
Goes softly on, as though before she saw the last,
She long'd againe to see, what she had slightly past.
So the enticing Soyle the Soare along doth lead,
As wondring in her selfe, at many a spacious Mead;
When Charnwood from the rocks salutes her wished sight,
(Of many a Wood-god woo'd) her darling and delight,
Whose beautie whilst that Soare is pawsing to behold
Cleere Wreakin comming in, from Waltham on the Ould,

524

Brings Eye, a pretty Brooke, to beare her silver traine,
Which on by Melton make, and tripping o'r the Plaine,
Here finding her surpriz'd with proud Mount-Sorrels sight,
By quickning of her Course, more eas'ly doth invite
Her to the goodly Trent, where as she goes along
By Loughborough, she thus of that faire Forrest sung.

O Charnwood, be thou cald the choycest of thy kind,
The like in any place, what Flood hath hapt to find?
No Tract in all this Isle, the proudest let her be,
Can shew a Sylvan Nymph, for beautie like to thee:
The Satyrs, and the Fawnes, by Dian set to keepe,
Rough Hilles, and Forrest holts, were sadly seene to weepe,
When thy high-palmed Harts the sport of Bowes and Hounds,
By gripple Borderers hands, were banished thy grounds.
The Driades that were wont about thy Lawnes to rove,
To trip from Wood to Wood, and scud from Grove to Grove,
On

Two mightie Rocks in the Forrest.

Sharpley that were seene, and

Two mightie Rocks in the Forrest.

Cadmans aged rocks,
Against the rising Sunne, to brayd their silver locks;
And with the harmelesse Elves, on Heathy

A Hill in the Forrest.

Bardons height,
By Cynthia's colder beames to play them night by night,
Exil'd their sweet aboad, to poore bare Commons fled,
They with the Okes that liv'd, now with the Okes are dead.
Who will describe to life, a Forrest, let him take
Thy Surface to himselfe, nor shall he need to make
An other forme at all, where oft in thee is found
Fine sharpe but easie Hills, which reverently are crownd
With aged Antique Rocks, to which the Goats and Sheepe,
(To him that stands remoat) doe softly seeme to creepe,
To gnaw the little shrubs, on their steepe sides that grow;
Upon whose other part, on some descending Brow,
Huge stones are hanging out, as though they downe would drop,
Where under-growing Okes, on their old shoulders prop
The others hory heads, which still seeme to decline,
And in a Dimble neere, (even as a place divine,
For Contemplation fit) an Ivy-seeled Bower,
As Nature had therein ordayn'd some Sylvan power;

A Simily of Charnwood Forrest.

As men may very oft at great Assemblies see,
Where many of most choyce, and wondred Beauties be:
For Stature one doth seeme the best away to beare;
Another for her Shape, to stand beyond compare;

525

Another for the fine composure of a face:
Another short of these, yet for a modest grace
Before them all preferd; amongst the rest yet one,
Adjudg'd by all to bee, so perfect Paragon,
That all those parts in her together simply dwell,
For which the other doe so severally excell.
My Charnwood like the last, hath in her selfe alone,
What excellent can be in any Forrest showne,

On whom when thus the Soare had these high praises spent,
She easily slid away into her Soveraigne Trent,
Who having wandred long, at length began to leave
Her native Countries bounds, and kindly doth receive
The lesser Tame, and Messe, the Messe a daintie Rill,
Neere Charnwood rising first, where she begins to fill
Her Banks, which all her course on both sides doe abound
With Heath and Finny olds, and often gleaby ground,
Till Croxals fertill earth doth comfort her at last
When shee is entring Trent; but I was like t'ave past
The other Sence, whose source doth rise not farre from hers,
By Ancor, that her selfe to famous Trent prefers,

Two Rivers of one name in one Shire.

The second of that name, allotted to this Shire,
A name but hardly found in any place but here;
Nor is to many knowne, this Country that frequent.

But Muse returne at last, attend the princely Trent,
Who straining on in state, the Norths imperious Flood,
The third of England cald, with many a daintie Wood,
Being crown'd to Burton comes, to Needwood where she showes
Her selfe in all her pompe; and as from thence she flowes,
Shee takes into her Traine rich Dove, and Darwin cleere,
Darwin, whose fount and fall are both in Darbysheere;
And of those thirtie Floods, that wayt the Trent upon,
Doth stand without compare, the very Paragon.

Thus wandring at her will, as uncontrould shee ranges,
Her often varying forme, as variously and changes.
First Erwash, and then Lyne, sweet Sherwood sends her in;
Then looking wyde, as one that newly wak'd had bin,
Saluted from the North, with Nottinghams proud height,
So strongly is surpriz'd, and taken with the sight,
That shee from running wild, but hardly can refraine,
To view in how great state, as she along doth straine,

526

That brave exalted seat, beholdeth her in pride,
As how the large-spread Meads upon the other side,
All flourishing in Flowers, and rich embroyderies drest,
In which she sees her selfe above her neighbours blest.
As rap'd with the delights, that her this Prospect brings,
In her peculiar praise, loe thus the River sings.

Whence Trent is supposed to derive her name. See to the 12. Song.

What should I care at all, from what my name I take,
That Thirtie doth import, that thirty Rivers make;
My greatnesse what it is, or thirty Abbayes great,
That on my fruitfull Banks, times formerly did seat:
Or thirtie kinds of Fish, that in my Streames doe live,
To me this name of Trent did from that number give.
What reack I: let great Thames, since by his fortune he
Is Soveraigne of us all that here in Britaine be;
From Isis, and old Tame, his Pedigree derive:
And for the second place, proud Severne that doth strive,
Fetch her discent from Wales, from that proud Mountaine sprung,
Plinillimon, whose praise is frequent them among,
As of that princely Mayd, whose name she boasts to beare,
Bright Sabrin, which she holds as her undoubted heyre.
Let these imperious Floods draw downe their long discent
From these so famous Stocks, and only say of Trent,
That Moorelands barren earth me first to light did bring,
Which though she be but browne, my cleere complexiond Spring,
Gain'd with the Nymphs such grace, that when I first did rise,
The Naiades on my brim, danc'd wanton Hydagies,
And on her spacious breast, with Heaths that doth abound)
Encircled my faire Fount with many a lustie round:
And of the British Floods, though but the third I be,
Yet Thames, and Severne both in this come short of me,
For that I am the Mere of England, that divides
The North part from the South, on my so either sides,
That reckoning how these Tracts in compasse be extent,
Men bound them on the North, or on the South of Trent;
Their Banks are barren Sands, if but compar'd with mine,
Through my perspicuous Breast, the pearly Pebbles shine:
I throw my Christall Armes along the Flowry Vallies,
Which lying sleeke, and smooth, as any Garden-Allies,
Doe give me leave to play, whilst they doe Court my Streame,
And crowne my winding banks with many an Anademe:

527

My Silver-scaled Skuls about my Streames doe sweepe,
Now in the shallow foords, now in the falling Deepe:
So that of every kind, the new-spawn'd numerous Frie
Seeme in me as the Sands that on my Shore doe lye.
The Barbell, then which Fish, a braver doth not swimme,
Nor greater for the Ford within my spacious brimme,
Nor (newly taken) more the curious taste doth please;
The Greling, whose great Spawne is big as any Pease;
The Pearch with pricking Finnes, against the Pike prepar'd,
As Nature had thereon bestow'd this stronger guard,
His daintinesse to keepe, (each curious pallats proofe)
From his vile ravenous foe: next him I name the Ruffe,
His very neere Ally, and both for scale and Fin,
In taste, and for his Bayte (indeed) his next of kin;
The pretty slender Dare, of many cald the Dace,
Within my liquid glasse, when Phæbus lookes his face,
Oft swiftly as he swimmes, his silver belly showes,
But with such nimble slight, that ere yee can disclose
His shape, out of your sight like lightning he is shot.
The Trout by Nature markt with many a Crimson spot,
As though shee curious were in him above the rest,
And of fresh-water Fish, did note him for the best;
The Roche, whose common kind to every Flood doth fall;
The Chub, (whose neater name) which some a Chevin call,
Food to the Tyrant Pyke, (most being in his power)
Who for their numerous store he most doth them devoure;
The lustie Salmon then, from Neptunes watry Realme,
When as his season serves, stemming my tydefull Streame,
Then being in his kind, in me his pleasure takes,
(For whom the Fisher then all other Game forsakes)
Which bending of himselfe to th'fashion of a Ring,
Above the forced Weares, himselfe doth nimbly fling,
And often when the Net hath dragd him safe to land,
Is seene by naturall force to scape his murderers hand;
Whose graine doth rise in flakes, with fatnesse interlarded,
Of many a liquorish lip, that highly is regarded.
And Humber, to whose waste I pay my watry store,
Me of her Sturgeons sends, that I thereby the more
Should have my beauties grac'd, with some thing from him sent:
Not Ancums silvered Eele exceedeth that of Trent;

528

Though the sweet-smelling Smelt be more in Thames then me,
The Lamprey, and his

The Lamparne.

Lesse, in Severne generall be;
The Flounder smooth and flat, in other Rivers caught,
Perhaps in greater store, yet better are not thought:
The daintie Gudgeon, Loche, the Minnow, and the Bleake,
Since they but little are, I little need to speake
Of them, nor doth it fit mee much of those to reck,
Which every where are found in every little Beck;
Nor of the Crayfish here, which creepes amongst my stones,
From all the rest alone, whose shell is all his bones:
For Carpe, the Tench, and Breame, my other store among,
To Lakes and standing Pooles, that chiefly doe belong,
Here scowring in my Foards, feed in my waters cleere,
Are muddy Fish in Ponds to that which they are heere.

From Nottingham, neere which this River first begun,
This Song, she the meane while, by Newarke having run,
Receiving little Snyte, from Bevers batning grounds,
At Gaynsborough goes out, where the Lincolnian bounds.
Yet Sherwood all this while not satisfi'd to show
Her love to princely Trent, as downward shee doth flow,
Her Meden and her Man, shee downe from Mansfield sends
To Idle for her ayd, by whom she recommends
Her love to that brave Queene of waters, her to meet,
When she tow'rds Humber comes, do humbly kisse her feet,
And clip her till shee grace great Humber with her fall.
When Sherwood somewhat backe, the forward Muse doth call;
For shee was let to know, that Soare had in her Song
So chanted Charnwoods worth, the Rivers that along,
Amongst the neighbouring Nymphs, there was no other Layes,
But those which seem'd to sound of Charnwood, and her praise:
Which Sherwood tooke to heart, and very much disdain'd,
(As one that had both long, and worthily maintain'd
The title of the great'st, and bravest of her kind)
To fall so farre below, one wretchedly confin'd
Within a furlongs space, to her large skirts compar'd:
Wherefore shee as a Nymph that neither fear'd, nor car'd
For ought to her might chance, by others love or hate,
With Resolution arm'd, against the power of Fate,
All selfe-praise set apart, determineth to sing
That lustie Robin Hood, who long time like a King

529

Within her compasse liv'd, and when he list to range
For some rich Booty set, or else his ayre to change,
To Sherwood still retyr'd, his onely standing Court,
Whose praise the Forrest thus doth pleasantly report.

The merry pranks he playd, would aske an age to tell,

Robin Hoods Story.

And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befell,
When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath bin layd,
How he hath cosned them, that him would have betrayd;
How often he hath come to Nottingham disguisd,
And cunningly escapt, being set to be surprizd.
In this our spacious Isle, I thinke there is not one,
But he hath heard some talke of him and little John;
And to the end of time, the Tales shall ne'r be done,
Of Scarlock, George a Greene, and Much the Millers sonne,
Of Tuck the merry Frier, which many a Sermon made,
In praise of Robin Hood, his Out-lawes, and their Trade.
An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood,
Still ready at his call, that Bow-men were right good,
All clad in Lincolne Greene, with Caps of Red and Blew,
His fellowes winded Horne, not one of them but knew,
When setting to their lips their little Beugles shrill,
The warbling Eccho's wakt from every Dale and Hill:
Their Bauldricks set with Studs, athwart their shoulders cast,
To which under their armes, their Sheafes were buckled fast,
A short Sword at their Belt, a Buckler scarse a span,
Who strooke below the knee, not counted then a man:
All made of Spanish Yew, their Bowes were wondrous strong;
They not an Arrow drew, but was a cloth-yard long.
Of Archery they had the very perfect craft,
With Broad-arrow, or But, or Prick, or Roving Shaft,
At Markes full fortie score, they us'd to Prick, and Rove,
Yet higher then the breast, for Compasse never strove;
Yet at the farthest marke a foot could hardly win:
At Long-buts, short, and Hoyles, each one could cleave the pin:
Their Arrowes finely pair'd, for Timber, and for Feather,
With Birch and Brazill peec'd, to flie in any weather;
And shot they with the round, the square, or forked Pyle,
The loose gave such a twang, as might be heard a myle.
And of these Archers brave, there was not any one,
But he could kill a Deere his swiftest speed upon,

530

Which they did boyle and rost, in many a mightie wood,
Sharpe hunger the fine sauce to their more kingly food.
Then taking them to rest, his merry men and hee
Slept many a Summers night under the Greenewood tree.
From wealthy Abbots chests, and Churles abundant store,
What often times he tooke, he shar'd amongst the poore:
No lordly Bishop came in lusty Robins way,
To him before he went, but for his Passe must pay:
The Widdow in distresse he graciously reliev'd,
And remedied the wrongs of many a Virgin griev'd:
He from the husbands bed no married woman wan,
But to his Mistris deare, his loved Marian
Was ever constant knowne, which wheresoere shee came,
Was soveraigne of the Woods, chiefe Lady of the Game:
Her Clothes tuck'd to the knee, and daintie braided haire,
With Bow and Quiver arm'd, shee wandred here and there,
Amongst the Forrests wild; Diana never knew
Such pleasures, nor such Harts as Mariana slew.

Of merry Robin Hood, and of his merrier men,
The Song had scarcely ceas'd, when as the Muse agen
Wades

A Riveret parting the two Shires.

Erwash, (that at hand) on Sherwoods setting side,
The Nottinghamian Fields, and Derbian doth divide,
And Northward from her Springs, haps Scardale forth to find,
Which like her Mistris Peake, is naturally enclind
To thrust forth ragged Cleeves, with which she scattered lyes,
As busie Nature here could not her selfe suffice,
Of this oft-altring earth the sundry shapes to show,
That from my entrance here, doth rough and rougher grow,
Which of a lowly Dale, although the name it beare,
You by the Rocks might think that it a Mountaine were,
From which it takes the name of Scardale, which exprest,
Is the hard Vale of Rocks, of Chesterfield possest,
By her which is instild; where Rother from her rist,
Ibber, and Crawley hath, and Gunno, that assist
Her weaker wandring Streame tow'rds Yorkeshire as she wends,
So Scardale tow'rds the same, that lovely Iddle sends,
That helps the fertile Seat of Axholme to in-Isle:
But to th'unwearied Muse the Peake appeares the while,
A withered Beldam long, with bleared watrish eyes,
With many a bleake storme dim'd, which often to the Skies

531

Shee cast, and oft to th'earth bow'd downe her aged head,
Her meager wrinkled face, being sullyed still with lead,
Which sitting in the workes, and poring o'r the Mines,
Which shee out of the Oare continually refines:
For shee a Chimist was, and Natures secrets knew,
And from amongst the Lead, she Antimony drew,
And Christall there congeal'd, (by her enstyled Flowers)
And in all Medcins knew their most effectuall powers.
The spirits that haunt the Mynes, she could command and tame,
And bind them as she list in Saturns dreadfull name:
Shee Mil-stones from the Quarrs, with sharpned picks could get,
And dainty Whetstones make, the dull-edgd tooles to whet.
Wherefore the Peake as proud of her laborious toyle,
As others of their Corne, or goodnesse of their Soyle,
Thinking the time was long, till shee her tale had told,
Her Wonders one by one, thus plainly doth unfold.

My dreadfull daughters borne, your mothers deare delight,

The Peakes Wonders.

Great Natures chiefest worke, wherein shee shew'd her might;
Yee darke and hollow Caves, the pourtratures of Hell,
Where Fogs, and misty Damps continually doe dwell;
O yee my onely Joyes, my Darlings, in whose eyes,
Horror assumes her seat, from whose abiding flyes
Thicke Vapours, that like Rugs still hang the troubled ayre,
Yee of your mother Peake, the hope and onely care:
O thou my first and best, of thy blacke Entrance nam'd
The Divels-Arse, in me, O be thou not asham'd,

The Divels-arse in the Peake.

Nor thinke thy selfe disgrac'd, or hurt thereby at all,
Since from thy horror first men us'd thee so to call:
For as amongst the Moores, the Jettiest blacke are deem'd
The beautifulst of them; so are your kind esteem'd,
The more ye gloomy are, more fearefull and obscure,
(That hardly any eye your sternnesse may endure)
The more yee famous are, and what name men can hit,
That best may ye expresse, that best doth yee befit:
For he that will attempt thy blacke and darksome jawes,
In midst of Summer meets with Winters stormy flawes,
Cold Dewes, that over head from thy foule roofe distill,
And meeteth under foot, with a dead sullen Rill,
That Acheron it selfe, a man would thinke he were
Imediately to passe, and stay'd for Charon there;

532

Thy Flore drad Cave, yet flat, though very rough it be,
With often winding turnes: then come thou next to me,

Pooles Hole.

My prettie daughter Poole, my second loved child,
Which by that noble name was happily enstild,
Of that more generous stock, long honor'd in this Shire,
Of which amongst the rest, one being out-law'd here,
For his strong refuge tooke this darke and uncouth place,
An heyre-loome ever since, to that succeeding race:
Whose entrance though deprest below a mountaine steepe,
Besides so very strait, that who will see't, must creepe
Into the mouth thereof, yet being once got in,
A rude and ample Roofe doth instantly begin
To raise it selfe aloft, and who so doth intend
The length thereof to see, still going must ascend
On mightie slippery stones, as by a winding stayre,
Which of a kind of base darke Alablaster are,
Of strange and sundry formes, both in the Roofe and Floore,
As Nature show'd in thee, what ne'r was seene before.

Elden Hole.

For Elden thou my third, a Wonder I preferre
Before the other two, which perpendicular
Dive'st downe into the ground, as if an entrance were
Through earth to lead to hell, ye well might judge it here,
Whose depth is so immense, and wondrously profound,
As that long line which serves the deepest Sea to sound,
Her bottome never wrought, as though the vast descent,
Through this Terrestriall Globe directly poynting went
Our Antipods to see, and with her gloomy eyes,
To glote upon those Starres, to us that never rise;
That downe into this hole if that a stone yee throw,
An acres length from thence, (some say that) yee may goe,
And comming backe thereto, with a still listning eare,
May heare a sound as though that stone then falling were.

Yet for her Caves, and Holes, Peake onely not excells,
But that I can againe produce those wondrous Wells
Of Buckston, as I have, that most delicious Fount,
Which men the second Bath of England doe account,
Which in the primer raignes, when first this well began

Saint Anne of Buckston.

To have her vertues knowne unto the blest Saint Anne,
Was consecrated then, which the same temper hath,
As that most daintie Spring, which at the famous Bath,

533

Is by the Crosse enstild, whose fame I much preferre,
In that I doe compare my daintiest Spring to her,
Nice sicknesses to cure, as also to prevent,
And supple their cleare skinnes, which Ladies oft frequent;
Most full, most faire, most sweet, and most delicious sourse.
To this a second Fount, that in her naturall course,

Tydeswell.

As mighty Neptune doth, so doth shee ebbe and flow.
If some Welsh Shires report, that they the like can show,
I answere those, that her shall so no wonder call,
So farre from any Sea, not any of them all.
My Caves, and Fountaines thus delivered you, for change,
A little Hill I have, a wonder yet more strange,

Sandy Hill.

Which though it be of light, and almost dusty sand,
Unaltred with the wind, yet firmly doth it stand;
And running from the top, although it never cease,
Yet doth the foot thereof, no whit at all increase.
Nor is it at the top, the lower, or the lesse,
As Nature had ordain'd, that so its owne excesse,
Should by some secret way within it selfe ascend,
To feed the falling backe; with this yet doe not end
The wonders of the Peake, for nothing that I have,
But it a wonders name doth very justly crave:
A Forrest such have I, (of which when any speake,
Of me they it enstile, The Forrest of the Peake)

The Peake Forrest.

Whose Hills doe serve for Brakes, the Rocks for shrubs and trees,
To which the Stag pursu'd, as to the thicket flees;
Like it in all this Isle, for sternnesse there is none,
Where Nature may be said to show you groves of stone,
As she in little there, had curiously compyld
The modell of the vast Arabian stony Wyld.
Then as it is suppos'd, in England that there be
Seven wonders: to my selfe so have I here in me,
My seaven before rehearc'd, allotted me by Fate,
Her greatnesse, as therein ordain'd to imitate.

No sooner had the Peake her seven proud wonders sung,
But Darwin from her Fount, her mothers Hills among,
Through many a crooked way, opposd with envious Rocks,
Comes tripping downe tow'rds Trent, and sees the goodly Flocks
Fed by her mother Peake; and Heards, (for horne and haire,
That hardly are put downe by those of Lancashire,)

534

Which on her Mountaines sides, and in her Bottoms graze,
On whose delightfull Course, whilst Unknidge stands to gaze,
And looke on her his fill, doth on his tiptoes get,
He Nowstoll plainly sees, which likewise from the Set,
Salutes her, and like friends, to Heaven-Hill farre away,
Thus from their lofty tops, were plainly heard to say.

Faire Hill bee not so proud of thy so pleasant Scite,
Who for thou giv'st the eye such wonderfull delight,
From any Mountaine neere, that glorious name of Heaven,
Thy bravery to expresse, was to thy greatnesse given:
Nor cast thine eye so much on things that be above:
For sawest thou as we doe, our Darwin, thou wouldst love
Her more then any thing, that so doth thee allure;
When Darwin that by this her travell could endure,
Takes Now into her traine, (from Nowstoll her great Sire,
Which shewes to take her name) with many a winding Gyre.

Then wandring through the Wylds, at length the pretty Wye,
From her blacke mother Poole, her nimbler course doth plye
Tow'rds Darwin, and along from Bakewell with her brings
Lathkell a little Brooke, and Headford, whose poore Springs,
But hardly them the name of Riverets can affoord;
When Burbrook with the strength, that Nature hath her stor'd,
Although but very small, yet much doth Darwin sted.
At Worksworth on her way, when from the Mynes of Lead,
Browne Eclesborne comes in, then Amber from the East,
Of all the Darbian Nymphs of Darwin lov'd the best,
(A delicater Flood from fountaine never flow'd)
Then comming to the Towne, on which she first bestow'd
Her naturall

Darwin, of the British Doure Guin, which is White water. Darby from thence, as the place by the water.

British name, her Darby, so againe,
Her, to that ancient Seat, doth kindly intertaine,
Where Marten-Brooke, although an easie shallow Rill,
There offereth all she hath, her Mistris Banks to fill,
And all too little thinks that was on Darwin spent;
From hence as shee departs, in travailing to Trent,
Backe goes the active Muse, tow'rds Lancashire amaine,
Where matter rests ynough her vigor to maintaine,
And to the Northern Hills shall lead her on along,
Which now must wholly bee the subject of my Song.

535

The seaven and twentieth Song.

The Argument.

The circuit of this Shire exprest,
Erwell, and Ribble then contest;
The Muse next to the Mosses flies,
And to fayre Wyre her selfe applies,
The Fishy Lun then doth shee bring,
The praise of Lancashire to sing,
The Isle of Man maintaines her plea,
Then falling Eastward from that Sea,
On rugged Furnesse, and his Fells,
Of which this Canto lastly tells.

Scarce could the labouring Muse salute this lively Shire,
But strait such shouts arose from every Mosse and Mere,
And Rivers rushing downe, with such unusuall noyse,
Upon their peably sholes, seem'd to expresse their joyes,
That Mersey (in her course which happily confines
Brave Chesshire from this Tract, two County Palatines)
As ravish'd with the newes, along to Lerpoole ran,
That all the Shores which lye to the

The Irish Sea.

Vergivian,
Resounded with the shouts, so that from Creeke to Creeke,
So lowd the Ecchoes cry'd, that they were heard to shreeke
To Fournesse ridged Front, whereas the rocky Pile

The circuit and true demension of Lancashire.

Of Foudra is at hand, to guard the out-layd Isle
Of Walney, and those grosse and foggy Fells awooke;
Thence flying to the East, with their reverberance shooke
The Clouds from Pendles head, (which as the people say,
Prognosticates to them a happy Halcyon day)
Rebounds on Blackstonedge, and there by falling fils
Faire Mersey, making in from the Derbeian Hills.

But whilst the active Muse thus nimbly goes about,
Of this large Tract to lay the true Demensions out,
The neat Lancastrian Nymphes, for beauty that excell,
That for the

The Lancashire Horne-pipe.

Hornpipe round doe beare away the bell;
Some that about the Banks of Erwell make abode,
With some that have their seat by Ribbles silver road,

536

In great contention fell, (that mighty difference grew)
Which of those Floods deserv'd to have the soveraigne due;
So that all future spleene, and quarrels to prevent,
That likely was to rise about their long discent,
Before the neighbouring Nymphs, their right they meane to plead,
And first thus for her selfe the lovely Erwell sayd.

Erwels oration.

Yee Lasses, quoth this Flood, have long and blindly er'd,
That Ribble before me, so falsely have prefer'd,
That am a Native borne, and my descent doe bring,
From ancient Gentry here, when Ribble from her Spring,
An Alien knowne to be, and from the Mountaines rude
Of Yorkshire getting strength, here boldly dares intrude
Upon my proper Earth, and through her mighty fall,
Is not asham'd her selfe of Lancashire to call:
Whereas of all the Nymphes that carefully attend
My Mistris Merseys State, ther's none that doth transcend
My greatnesse with her grace, which doth me so preferre,
That all is due to me, which doth belong to her.
For though from Blackstonedge the Taume come tripping downe,
And from that long-ridg'd Rocke, her fathers high renowne,
Of Mersey thinks from me, the place alone to winne,
With my attending Brooks, yet when I once come in,
I out of count'nance quite doe put the Nymph, for note,
As from my Fountaine I tow'rds mightier Mersey float,
First Roch a dainty Rill, from Roch-dale her deare Dame,
Who honored with the halfe of her sterne mothers name,
Growes proud; yet glad her selfe into my Bankes to get,
Which Spodden from her Spring, a pretty Rivelet,
As her attendant brings, when Irck addes to my store,
And Medlock to their much, by lending somewhat more,
At Manchester doe meet, all kneeling to my State,
Where brave I show my selfe; then with a prouder gate,
Tow'rds Mersey making on, great Chatmosse at my fall,
Lyes full of Turfe, and Marle, her unctuous Minerall,
And Blocks as blacke as Pitch, (with boring-Augars found)
There at the generall Flood supposed to be drownd.
Thus chiefe of Merseys traine, away with her I runne,
When in her prosperous course shee watreth Warrington,
And her faire silver load in Lerpoole downe doth lay,
A Road none more renownd in the Vergivian Sea.

537

Yee lustie Lasses then, in Lancashire that dwell,
For Beautie that are sayd to beare away the Bell,
Your Countries Horn-pipe, yee so minsingly that tread,
As ye the Eg-pye love, and Apple Cherry-red;

He that wil fish for a Lancashire man, at any time or tide, Must bait his hooke with a good Eg-pie, or an Apple with a red side.

In all your mirthfull Songs, and merry meetings tell,
That Erwell every way doth Ribble farre excell.

Her well-disposed speech had Erwell scarcely done,
But swift report therewith imediatly doth runne
To the Virgivian Shores, among the Mosses deepe,
Where Alt a neighboring Nymph for very joy doth weepe,
That Symonds-wood, from whence the Flood assumes her Spring,
Excited with the same, was lowdly heard to ring;
And over all the Moores, with shrill re-ecchoing sounds,
The drooping Fogs to drive from those grosse watry grounds,
Where those that toyle for Turffe, with peating Spades doe find
Fish living in that earth (contrary to their kind)

A wonder in Nature.

Which but that Pontus, and Heraclia likewise showes,
The like in their like earth, that with like moisture flowes,
And that such Fish as these, had not been likewise found,
Within farre firmer earth, the Paphlagonian ground,
A Wonder of this Isle, this well might have been thought.

But Ribbell that this while for her advantage wrought,
Of what shee had to say, doth well her selfe advise,
And to brave Erwels speech, thus boldly she replies.
With that, whereby the most thou thinkst me to disgrace,
That I an Alien am, (not rightly of this place)
My greatest glory is, and Lancashire therefore,
To Nature for my Birth, beholding is the more;
That Yorkshire, which all Shires for largenesse doth exceed,
A kingdome to be cald, that well deserves (indeed)
And not a Fountaine hath, that from her wombe doth flow
Within her spacious selfe, but that she can bestow;
To Lancaster yet lends, me Ribbell, from her store,
Which adds to my renowne, and makes her Bountie more.
From Penigents proud foot, as from my source I slide,
That Mountaine my proud Syre, in height of all his pride,
Takes pleasure in my Course, as in his first-borne Flood:
And Ingleborow Hill of that Olympian Brood,
With Pendle, of the North the highest Hills that be,
Doe wistly me behold, and are beheld of me,

538

These Mountaines make me proud, to gaze on me that stand:
So Long-ridge, once ariv'd on the Lancastrian Land,
Salutes me, and with smiles, me to his soyle invites,
So have I many a Flood, that forward me excites,
As Hodder, that from home attends me from my Spring;
Then Caldor comming downe, from Blackstonedge doth bring
Me eas'ly on my way, to Preston the greatst Towne,
Wherewith my Banks are blest; whereat my going downe,
Cleere Darwen on along me to the Sea doth drive,
And in my spacious fall no sooner I arrive,
But Savock to the North, from Longridge making way,
To this my greatnesse adds, when in my ample Bay,
Swart Dulas comming in, from Wiggin with her ayds,
Short Taud, and Dartow small, two little Country Mayds,
(In those low watry lands, and Moory Mosses bred)
Doe see mee safely layd in mighty Neptunes bed;
And cutting in my course, even through the very heart
Of this renowned Shire, so equally it part,
As Nature should have said, Loe thus I meant to doe;
This Flood divides this Shire thus equally in two.
Ye Mayds, the Horne-pipe then, so minsingly that tread,
As yee the Egg-pye love, and Apple Cherry-red;
In all your mirthfull Songs, and merry meetings tell,
That Ribbell every way, your Erwell doth excell.

Heere ended shee againe, when Mertons Mosse and Mere,
With Ribbels sole reply so much revived were,
That all the Shores resound the Rivers good successe,
And wondrous joy there was all over

A part of Lancashire so called.

Andernesse,
Which straight convayd the newes into the upper land,

Ingleborow, Pendle, and Penigent, The highest Hils betwixt Barwick and Trent. See to the 28. Song.

Where Pendle, Penigent, and Ingleborow stand
Like Gyants, and the rest doe proudly overlooke;
Or Atlas-like as though they onely undertooke
To under-prop high Heaven, or the wide Welkin dar'd,
Who in their Ribbles praise (be sure) no speeches spar'd;
That the loud sounds from them downe to the Forrests fell,
To Bowland brave in state, and Wyersdale, which as well,
As any Sylvan Nymphes, their beautious Scites may boast,
Whose Eccho's sent the same all round about the Coast,
That there was not a Nymph to Jollity inclind,
Or of the wooddy brood, or of the watry kind,

539

But at their fingers ends, they Ribbels Song could say,
And perfectly the Note upon the Bag-pipe play.

That Wyre, when once she knew how well these Floods had sped,
(When their reports abroad in every place was spred)
It vex'd her very heart, their eminence to see,
Their equall (at the least) who thought her selfe to be,
Determins at the last to Neptunes Court to goe,
Before his ample State, with humblenesse to show
The wrongs she had sustain'd by her proud sisters spight,
And offring them no wrong, to doe her greatnesse right;
Arising but a Rill at first from Wyersdales lap,
Yet still receiving strength from her full Mothers pap,
As downe to Seaward she, her serious course doth ply,
Takes Caldor comming in, to beare her company.
From Woolfcrags Cliffy foot, a Hill to her at hand,
By that fayre Forrest knowne, within her Verge to stand.
So Bowland from her breast sends Brock her to attend,
As she a Forrest is, so likewise doth shee send
Her child, on Wyresdales Flood, the dainty Wyre to wayt,
With her assisting Rills, when Wyre is once repleat:
Shee in her crooked course to Seaward softly slides,
Where Pellins mighty Mosse, and Mertons, on her sides
Their boggy breasts out lay, and Skipton downe doth crawle,
To entertaine this Wyer, attained to her fall:
When whilst each wandring flood seem'd setled to admire,
First Erwell, Ribbell then, and last of all this Wyre,
That mighty wagers would have willingly been layd,
(But that these matters were with much discretion staid)
Some broyles about these Brooks had surely been begun.
When Coker a coy Nymph, that cleerely seemes to shun
All popular applause, who from her Christall head,
In Wyresdale, neere where Wyre is by her fountaine fed,
That by their naturall birth, they seeme (in deed) to twin,
Yet for her sisters pride shee careth not a pin,
Of none, and being help'd, she likewise helpeth none,
But to the Irish Sea goes gently downe alone
Of any undisturbd, till comming to her Sound,
Endangered by the Sands, with many a loftie bound,
Shee leaps against the Tydes, and cries to Christall Lon,
The Flood that names the Towne, from whence the Shire begun,

540

Her title first to take, and loudly tells the Flood,
That if a little while she thus but trifling stood,
These pettie Brooks would bee before her still preferd.
Which the long-wandring Lon, with good advisement heard,
As shee comes ambling on from Westmerland, where first
Arising from her head, amongst the Mountaines nurst,
By many a pretty spring, that howerly getting strength,
Ariving in her Course in Lancashire at length,

Lunesdale.

To Lonsdale showes her selfe, and lovingly doth play
With her deare daughter Dale, which her frim Cheeke doth lay
To her cleere mothers Breast, as minsingly she traces,
And oft imbracing her, she oft againe imbraces,
And on her Darling smiles, with every little gale.
When Lac the most lov'd child of this delicious Dale,
And Wemming on the way, present their eithers Spring.
Next them she Henbourne hath, and Robourne, which do bring
Their bounties in one banke, their Mistris to preferre,
That shee with greater state may come to Lancaster,
Of her which takes the name, which likewise to the Shire,
The Soveraigne title lends, and eminency, where
To give to this her Towne, what rightly doth belong,
Of this most famous Shire, our Lun thus frames her Song.

Lancashire, Faire women.

First, that most precious thing, and pleasing most to man,
Who from him (made of earth) imediatly began,
His shee selfe woman, which the goodliest of this Isle,
This country hath brought forth, that much doth grace my stile;
Why should those Ancients else, which so much knowing were,
When they the Blazons gave to every severall Shire,
Fayre women as mine owne, have titled due to me?

Lancashire Breed of cattel the best.

Besides in all this Isle, there no such Cattell be,
For largenesse, Horne, and Haire, as these of Lancashire;
So that from every part of England farre and neere,
Men haunt her Marts for Store, as from her Race to breed.
And for the third, wherein she doth all Shires exceed,

Lancashire, Deepe mouthd Hounds.

Be those great race of Hounds, the deepest mouth'd of all
The other of this kind, which we our Hunters call,
Which from their bellowing throats upon a sent so roare,
That you would surely thinke, that the firme earth they tore
With their wide yawning chaps, or rent the Clouds in sunder,
As though by their lowd crie they meant to mocke the thunder.

541

Besides, her Natives have been anciently esteem'd,
For Bow-men neere our best, and ever have been deem'd
So loyall, that the Guard of our preceding Kings,

Lancashire Bowmen.

Of them did most consist; but yet mongst all these things,
Even almost ever since the English Crowne was set
Upon the lawfull head, of our Plantaginet,
In Honor, next the first, our Dukedome was allow'd,
And alwayes with the greatst, revenewes was endow'd:
And after when it hapt, France-conquering Edwards blood
Divided in it selfe, here for the Garland stood;
The right Lancastrian Line, it from Yorks Issue bare;
The Red-rose, our brave Badge, which in their Helmets ware,

The White and Red Rose.

In many a bloody field, at many a doubtfull fight,
Against the House of Yorke, which bare for theirs the White.

And for my selfe there's not the Tivy, nor the Wye,

See to the sixt Song.

Nor any of those Nymphs, that to the Southward lye,
For Salmon me excels; and for this name of Lun,

Llun, in the British, fulnesse.

That I am Christned by, the Britaines it begun,
Which Fulnesse doth import, of waters still encrease:
To Neptune lowting low, when Christall Lun doth cease,
And Conder comming in, conducts her by the hand,
Till lastly shee salute the poynt of

A part of Lancashire jutting out into the Irish Sea.

Sunderland,
And leaves our dainty Lun to Amphitrites care.

So blyth and bonny now the Lads and Lasses are,
That ever as anon the Bag-pipe up doth blow,
Cast in a gallant Round about the Harth they goe,
And at each pause they kisse, was never seene such rule
In any place but heere, at Boon-fire, or at Yeule;
And every village smokes at Wakes with lusty cheere,
Then Hey they cry for Lun, and Hey for Lancashire;
That one high Hill was heard to tell it to his brother,
That instantly againe to tell it to some other:
From Hill againe to Vale, from Vale to Hill it went,
The High-lands they againe, it to the lower sent,
The mud-exhausted Meres, and Mosses deepe among,
With the report thereof, each Road, and Harbor rung;
The Sea-Nymphs with their Song, so great a coyle doe keepe,
They cease not to resound it over all the Deepe,
And acted it each day before the Isle of Man,
Who like an Empresse sits in the Virgivian,

542

The Calfe of Man, a little Island.

By her that hath the Calfe, long Walney, and the Pyle,
As Hand-mayds to attend on her their Soveraigne Isle,
To whom, so many though the Hebrides doe show,
Acknowlege, that to her they due subjection owe:
With Corne and Cattell stor'd, and what for hers is good,
(That we, nor Ireland, need not scorne her neighbourhood)
Her midst with Mountaines set, of which, from

A mountaine in the Isle of Man.

Sceafels height,
A cleere and perfect eye, the weather being bright,
(Be Neptunes visage ne'r so terrible and sterne)
The Scotch, the Irish Shores, and th'English may discerne;
And what an Empire can, the same this Island brings
Her Pedigrees to show, her right successive Kings,
Her Chronicles and can as easily rehearce,
And with all forraine parts to have had free commerce;
Her Municipiall Lawes, and Customes very old,
Belonging to her State, which strongly shee doth hold:

This Island, with the Song of Lun is taken so,
As shee hath speciall cause before all other, who
For her bituminous Turfe, squar'd from her Mossy ground,
And Trees farre under earth, (by daily digging found,
As for the store of Oats, which her blacke Gleabe doth beare,
In every one of these resembling Lancashire,
To her shee'l stoutly stick, as to her neerest kin,
And cries the day is ours, brave Lancashire doth win.
But yet this Isle of Man more seemes not to rejoyce
For Lancashires good luck, nor with a louder voyce
To sound it to the Shores; then Furnesse whose sterne face,
With Mountaines set like Warts, which Nature as a grace
Bestow'd upon this Tract, whose Browes doe looke so sterne,
That when the Nymphs of Sea did first her Front discerne,
Amazedly they fled, to Amphitrite's Bower.
Her grim aspect to see, which seem'd to them so sower,
As it malign'd the Rule which mighty Neptune bare,
Whose Fells to that grim god, most sterne and dreadfull are,
With Hills whose hanging browes, with Rocks about are bound,
Whose weighty feet stand fixt in that blacke beachy ground,
Whereas those scattered trees, which naturally pertake,
The fatnesse of the soyle (in many a slimy Lake,
Their roots so deeply sok'd) send from their stocky bough,
A soft and sappy Gum, from which those Tree-geese grow,

543

Call'd Barnacles by us, which like a Jelly first
To the beholder seeme, then by the fluxure nurst,
Still great and greater thrive, untill you well may see

Barnacles one of the British Wonders.

Them turn'd to perfect Fowles, when dropping from the tree
Into the Meery Pond, which under them doth lye,
Waxe ripe, and taking wing, away in flockes doe flye;
Which well our Ancients did among our Wonders place:
Besides by her strong Scite, she doth receave this grace,
Before her neighbouring Tracts, (which Fournesse well may vaunt)
That when the Saxons here their forces first did plant,
And from the Inner-land the ancient Britains drave,
To their distrest estate it no lesse succour gave,
Then the trans-Severn'd Hills, which their old stocke yet stores,
Which now we call the Welsh, or the Cornubian Shores.
What Countrey lets ye see those soyles within her Seat,
But shee in little hath, what it can shew in great?
As first without her selfe at Sea to make her strong,
(Yet how soe'r expos'd, doth still to her belong)
And fence her furthest poynt, from that rough Neptunes rage,
The Isle of Walney lyes, whose longitude doth swage
His fury when his waves, on Furnesse seeme to warre,
Whose crooked back is arm'd with many a rugged

A scarre is a Rock.

scarre
Against his boystrous shocks, which this defensive Isle
Of Walney still assayle, that shee doth scorne the while,
Which to assist her hath the Pyle of Fouldra set,
And Fulney at her backe, a pretty Insulet,
Which all their forces bend, their Furnesse safe to keepe:
But to his inner earth, divert we from the deepe,
Where those two mightie Meres, out-stretcht in length do wander,
The lesser Thurstan nam'd, the famouser Wynander,
So bounded with her Rocks, as Nature would descry,
By her how those great Seas Mediterranean lye.
To Sea-ward then shee hath her sundry Sands agen,
As that of Dudden first, then Levin, lastly Ken,
Of three bright Naiades nam'd, as Dudden on the West,
That Cumberland cuts off from this Shire, doth invest
Those Sands with her proud Style, when Levin from the Fells,
Besides her naturall source, with the abundance swells,
Which those two mighty Meres, upon her either side
Contribute by recourse, that out of very pride,

544

Shee leaves her ancient name, and Fosse her selfe doth call,
Till comming to the Sands, even almost at her fall,
On them her ancient Style shee liberally bestowes.
Upon the East from these, cleere Ken her beautie showes,
From Kendale comming in, which shee doth please to grace,
First with her famous Type, then lastly in her race,
Her name upon those Sands doth liberally bequeath,
Whereas the Muse awhile may sit her downe to breath,
And after walke along tow'rds Yorkshire on her way,
On which shee strongly hopes to get a noble day.

545

The eight and twentieth Song.

The Argument.

Invention hence her Compasse steeres,
Towards Yorke the most renown'd of Shires,
Makes the three Ridings in their Stories,
Each severally to shew their glories.
Ouse for her most-lov'd Cities sake,
Doth her Dukes Title undertake;
His Floods then Humber welcomes in,
And showes how first he did begin.

The Muse from Blackstonedge, no whit dismaid at all,
With sight of the large Shire, on which shee was to fall,
(Whose Forrests, Hils, & Floods, then long for her arive
From Lancashire, that lookt her Beauties to contrive)
Doth set her selfe to sing, of that above the rest
A Kingdome that doth seeme, a Province at the least,
To them that thinke themselves no simple Shires to be;
But that wherein the world her greatnesse most may see,
And that which doth this Shire before the rest preferre,
Is of so many Floods, and great, that rise from her,
Except some silly few out of her Verge that flow,
So neere to other Shires, that it is hard to know,
If that their Springs be hers, or others them divide,
And those are onely found upon her Setting side.
Else be it noted well, remarkeable to all,

A great bravery of Yorkshire.

That those from her that flow, in her together fall.
Nor can small praise beseeme so beautious Brooks as these,
For from all other Nymphs these be the Nayades,
In Amphitrites Bower, that princely places hold,
To whom the Orkes of Sea dare not to be so bold,
As rudely once to touch, and wheresoere they come,
The Tritons with their Trumps proclaime them publique roome.

Now whiles the Muse prepares these Floods along to lead,
The wide West-riding first, desires that shee may plead
The right that her belongs, which of the Muse she winnes,

The West Ridings oration.

When with the course of Don, thus she her Tract begins.

546

Thou first of all my Floods, whose Banks doe bound my South,
And offrest up thy Streame to mightie Humbers mouth,

Much Ewe and Elme upon the Bank of Don.

Of Ewe, and climing Elme, that crown'd with many a spray,
From thy cleare Fountaine first through many a Mead dost play,
Till Rother, whence the name of Rotheram first begun,
At that her christened Towne doth loose her in my Don,
Which proud of her recourse, tow'rds Doncaster doth drive,
Her greatst and chiefest towne, the name that doth derive
From Don's neere bordering Banks, when holding on her race,
Shee dancing in and out, indenteth Hatfield Chase,
Whose bravery hourely adds, new honors to her Banke:
When Sherwood sends her in slow Iddle, that made ranke
With her profuse excesse, shee largely it bestowes
On Marshland, whose swolne wombe with such abundance flowes,
As that her batning brest, her Fatlings sooner feeds,
And with more lavish waste, then oft the Grasier needs:
Whose soyle, as some report, that be her Borderers note,
With th'water under earth undoubtedly doth flote:
For when the waters rise, it risen doth remaine

A strange opinion held by those of the neighboring Villages.

High whilst the Floods are high, and when they fall againe,
It falleth: but at last, when as my lively Don,
Along by Marshlands side, her lusty course hath runne,
The little wandring Went, wonne by the lowd report
Of the magnifique State, and height of Humbers Court,
Drawes on to meet with Don, at her approch to Aire:
Now speake I of a Flood, who thinks there's none should dare
(Once) to compare with her, supposd by her discent,
The darling daughter borne of loftie Penigent,
Who from her fathers foot, by Skipton downe doth scud,
And leading thence to Leeds, that delicatest Flood,
Takes Caldor comming in by Wakefield, by whose force,
As from a lusty Flood, much strengthened in her course;
But Caldor as shee comes, and greater still doth wax,

Beheading, which we call Halifax Law.

And travelling along by Heading-Halifax,
Which Horton once was cald, but of a Virgins haire,
(A Martyr that was made, for Chastity, that there
Was by her Lover slaine) being fastned to a tree:
The people that would needs it should a Relique be,
It Halifax since nam'd, which in the Northerne tongue,
Is Holy haire: but thence as Caldor comes along,

547

It chanc'd shee in her Course on Kirkbey cast her eye,

Robin Hoods burying place.

Where merry Robbin Hood, that honest Thiefe doth lye,
Beholding fitly too before how Wakefield stood,
Shee doth not onely thinke of lustie Robin Hood,
But of his merry man, the Pindar of the Towne
Of Wakefield, George a Greene, whose fames so farre are blowne,
For their so valiant fight, that every free mans Song,
Can tell you of the same, quoth she be talk'd on long,
For yee were merry Lads, and those were merry dayes;
When Aire to Caldor calls, and bids her come her wayes,
Who likewise to her helpe, brings Hebden, a small Rill:
Thus Aire holds on her course tow'rds Humber, till she fill
Her fall with all the wealth that Don can her affoord.
Quoth the West-riding thus, with Rivers am I stor'd.

Next guide I on my Wharfe, the great'st in her degree,
And that I well may call the worthiest of the three,
Who her full fountaine takes from my wast Westerne wild,
(Whence all but Mountaineers, by Nature are exild)
On Langstrethdale, and lights at th'entrance of her race,
When keeping on her course, along through Barden Chase,
Shee watreth Wharfdales breast, which proudly beares her name;
For by that time shees growne a flood of wondrous fame,
When Washbrooke with her wealth her Mistris doth supply;
Thus Wharfe in her brave course imbracing Wetherby,

See to the 22. Song.

Small Cock, a sullen Brooke comes to her succour then,
Whose Banks receav'd the blood of many thousand men,
On sad Palme-Sunday slaine, that Towton-Field we call,
Whose Channell quite was chok'd with those that there did fall,
That Wharfe discolored was with gore, that then was shed,
The bloodiest field betwixt the White Rose, and the Red,
Of welneere fifteene fought in England first and last:

But whilst the goodly Wharfe doth thus tow'rds Humber haste,
From Wharnside Hill not farre, outflowes the nimble Nyde,
Through Nydersdale along, as neatly she doth glide
Tow'rds Knarsburg on her way, a pretty little Rill,
Call'd Kebeck, stowes her streame, her Mistris Banks to fill,
To intertaine the Whafe where that brave

Knarsborough Forrest.

Forrest stands,
Entitled by the Towne, who with upreared hands
Makes signes to her of joy, and doth with Garlands crowne
The River passing by; but Wharfe that hasteth downe

548

To meet her Mistris Ouse, her speedy course doth hie;
Dent, Rother, Rivell, Gret, so on my Set have I,
Which from their fountaines there all out of me do flow,
Yet from my bounty I on Lancashire bestow,
Because my rising soyle doth shute them to the West:
But for my Mountaines I, will with the Isle contest,
All other of the North in largenesse shall exceed,
That ages long before it finally decreed,

Pendle Hill is neere upon the verge of this Tract, but standeth in Lancashire.

That Ingleborow Hill, Pendle, and Penigent,
Should named be the high'st betwixt our Tweed and Trent.
My Hills, brave Whelpston then, thou Wharnside, and thou Cam,
Since I West-Riding still your onely mother am;
All that Report can give, and justly is my due,
I as your naturall Dam, share equally with you;
And let me see a Hill that to the North doth stand,
The proudest of them all, that dare but lift a hand
O'r Penigent to peere; not Skiddo, that proud Mount,
Although of him so much, Rude Cumberland account,
Nor Cheviot, of whose height Northumberland doth boast

Scotland.

Albania to survey; nor those from Coast to Coast
That welneere runne in length, that rew of Mountaines tall,
By th'name of th'English Alpes, that our most learned call;
As soone shall those, or these remove out of their place,
As by their lofty lookes, my Penigent out-face:
Yee thus behold my Hills: my Forrests, Dales, and Chases
Upon my spacious breast note too how Nature places,
Farre up into my West, first Langstrethdale doth lye,
And on the Banke of Wharfe, my pleasant Bardon by,
With Wharfdale hard by her, as taking hand in hand:
Then lower tow'rds the Sea brave Knarsborough doth stand,
As higher to my North, my Niddersdale by Nyde,
And Bishopsdale above upon my Setting side,
Marshland, and Hatfield Chase, my Easterne part doe bound,
And Barnsdale there doth butt on Dons wel-watred ground:
And to my great disgrace, if any shall object
That I no wonder have that's worthy of respect
In all my spacious Tract, let them (so wise) survey
My Ribbles rising Banks, their worst, and let them say;

The Metamorphosis of that Fountaine.

At Giggleswick where I a Fountaine can you show,
That eight times in a day is sayd to ebbe and flow,

549

Who sometime was a Nymph, and in the Mountaines hye
Of Craven, whose blew heads for Caps put on the Skye,
Amongst

Nymphs of the Mountaines.

th'Oread's there, and Sylvans made abode,
(It was e'r humane foot upon those Hills had trod)
Of all the Mountaine kind and since she was most faire,
It was a Satyrs chance to see her silver haire
Flow loosely at her backe, as up a Cliffe she clame,
Her Beauties noting well, her Features, and her Frame,
And after her he goes; which when she did espie,
Before him like the winde, the nimble Nymph doth flie,
They hurry downe the Rocks, o'r Hill and Dale they drive;
To take her he doth straine, t'outstrip him shee doth strive,
Like one his kind that knew, and greatly fear'd his Rape,
And to the

The supposed Genius of the place.

Topick gods by praying to escape,
They turn'd her to a Spring, which as she then did pant,
When wearied with her course, her breath grew wondrous scant:
Even as the fearefull Nymph, then thicke and short did blow,
Now made by them a Spring, so doth shee ebbe and flow.
And neere the Streame of Nyde, another Spring have I,
As well as that, which may a wonders place supply,
Which of the forme it beares, men Dropping well doe call,
Because out of a Rock, it still in drops doth fall,
Neere to the foot whereof it makes a little Pon,
Which in as little space converteth Wood to Stone,
Chevin, and Kilnsey Crags, were they not here in me,
In any other place, right well might Wonders be,
For their Gygantick height, that Mountaines doe transcend?
But such are frequent here, and thus she makes an end.

When Your thus having heard the Genius of this Tract,

Your, the chiefest River of Yorkshire, who after her long course, by the confluence of other floods, gets the name of Ouse.

Her well-deserved praise so happily to act,
This River in her selfe that was extreamely loth,
The other to deferre, since that shee was to both
Indifferent, straitly wills West-riding there to cease;
And having made a signe to all the watry prease
For silence; which at once, when her commaund had wonne,
The proud North-Riding thus for her great selfe begunne.

My soveraigne Flood, quoth shee, in nature thou art bound

The North-Ridings Oration.

T'acknowledge me of three to be the worthiest ground:
For note of all those Floods, the wild West-Riding sends,
Ther's scarcely any one thy greatnesse that attends,

550

Till thou hast passed Yorke, and drawest neere thy fall;
And when thou hast no need of their supplies at all,
Then come they flattring in, and will thy followers be;

The Simily.

So as you oftentimes these wretched worldlings see,
That whilst a man is poore, although some hopes depend
Upon his future age, yet ther's not one will lend
A farthing to releeve his sad distressed state,
Not knowing what may yet befall him; but when Fate
Doth poure upon his head his long expected good,
Then shall you see those Slaves, aloofe before that stood,
And would have let him starve, like Spaniels to him crouch,
And with their glavering lips, his very feet to touch:
So doe they by thee Your; whereas the Floods in me,
That spring and have their Course, (even) give thy life to thee:
For till that thou and Swale, into one Banke doe take,
Meeting at Borough-Bridge, thy greatnesse there to make:
Till then the name of Ouse thou art not knowne to owe,
A tearme in former times the Ancients did bestow
On many a full-bankt Flood; but for my greater grace,
These Floods of which I speake, I now intend to trace
From their first springing Founts, beginning with the Your,
From Morvils mightie foot which rising, with the power
That Bant from Sea-mere brings, her somewhat more doth fill,
Neere Bishops-dale at hand, when Cover a cleere Rill,
Next commeth into Your, whereas that lustie Chace
For her lov'd Covers sake, doth lovingly embrace
Your as shee yeelds along, amongst the Parks and Groves,
In Middlehams amorous eye, as wandringly shee roves,
At Rippon meets with Skell, which makes to her amaine,
Whom when she hath receav'd into her Nymphish traine,

Rippon Fayre.

(Neere to that towne so fam'd, for Colts there to be bought,
For goodnesse farre and neere, by Horsemen that are sought)
Fore-right upon her way shee with a merryer gale,
To Borough Bridge makes on, to meet her sister Swale,

The reason why Swale is called Holy.

(A wondrous holy Flood (which name she ever hath)
For when the Saxons first receav'd the Christian Faith,
Paulinus of old Yorke, the zealous Bishop then,
In Swales abundant streame Christned ten thousand men,
With women and their babes, a number more beside,
Upon one happy day, whereof shee boasts with pride)

551

Which springs not farre from whence Your hath her silver head;
And in her winding Banks along my bosome led,
As shee goes swooping by, to Swaledale whence shee springs,
That lovely name shee leaves, which foorth a Forrest brings,
The Vallies Style that beares, a braver Sylvan Mayd,
Scarce any Shire can show; when to my Rivers ayd,
Come Barney, Arske, and Marske, their soveraigne Swale to guide,
From Applegarths wide waste, and from New Forrest side.
Whose Fountaines by the Fawnes, and Satyrs, many a yeere,
With youthfull Greens were crownd, yet could not stay them there,
But they will serve the Swale, which in her wandring course,
A Nymph nam'd Holgat hath, and Risdale, all whose force,
Small though (God wot) it be, yet from their Southerne shore,
With that salute the Swale, as others did before,
At Richmond and arive, which much doth grace the Flood,

Richmondshire within Yorkeshire.

For that her Precinct long amongst the Shires hath stood:
But Yorkshire wills the same her glory to resigne.
When passing thence the Swale, this mineon Flood of mine
Next takes into her traine, cleere Wiske, a wanton Gyrle,
As though her watry path were pav'd with Orient Pearle,
So wondrous sweet she seemes, in many a winding Gyre,
As though shee Gambolds made, or as she did desire,
Her Labyrinth-like turnes, and mad Meandred trace,
With marvell should amaze, and comming doth imbrace

A Countie within Yorke-Shire.

North-Alerton, by whom her honour is increast,
Whose Liberties include a County at the least,
To grace the wandring Wiske, then well upon her way,
Which by her count'nance thinks to carry all the sway;
When having her receav'd, Swale bonny Codbeck brings,
And Willowbeck with her, two pretty Rivellings,
And Bedall bids along, then almost at the Ouze,
Who with these Rills enrich'd begins her selfe to rouse.
When that great Forrest-Nymph faire Gautresse on her way,
Shee sees to stand prepar'd, with Garlands fresh and gay
To decke up Ouze, before her selfe to Yorke she show,
So out of my full wombe the Fosse doth likewise flow,
That meeting thee at Yorke, under the Cities side,
Her glories with thy selfe doth equally divide,
The East part watring still, as thou dost wash the West,
By whose Imbraces Yorke aboundantly is blest.

552

So many Rivers I continually maintaine,
As all those lesser Floods that into Darwin straine,
Their Fountaines find in me, the Ryedale naming Rye,
Fosse, Rycall, Hodbeck, Dow, with Semen, and them by
Cleere Costwy, which her selfe from Blackmore in doth bring,
And playing as shee slides through shady Pickering,
To Darwent homage doth; and Darwent that divides
The East-riding and me, upon her either sides,
Although that to us both, she most indifferent bee,
And seemeth to affect her equally with me,
From my Division yet her Fountaine doth derive,
And from my Blackmore here her Course doth first contrive.

Let my Demensions then be seriously pursude,
And let great Britaine see in my brave Latitude,
How in the high'st degree, by nature I am grac'd;
For tow'rds the Craven Hills, upon my West are plac'd
New-Forrest, Applegarth, and Swaledale,

Nymphs of the Woods.

Dryades all,
And lower towards the Ouze, if with my Floods ye fall,
The goodly Gautresse keeps chiefe of my Sylvan kind,
There stony Stanmore view, bleake with the Sleet and Wind,
Upon this Easterne side, so Ryedale darke and deepe,
Amongst whose Groves of yore, some say that Elves did keepe;
Then Pickering, whom the Fawnes beyond them all adore,
By whom not farre away lyes large-spred Blackimore,
The Cleeveland North from these, a State that doth maintaine,
Leaning her lustie side to the great Germane Maine,
Which if she were not heere confined thus in me,
A Shire even of her selfe might well be said to be.

Nor lesse hath Pickering Leigh, her libertie then this,
North-Alerton a Shire so likewise reckoned is;
And Richmond of the rest, the greatest in estate,
A Countie justly call'd, that them accommodate;
So I North-Riding am, for spaciousnesse renown'd,
Our mother Yorkshires eld'st, who worthily is crown'd
The Queene of all the Shires, on this side Trent, for we
The Ridings severall parts of her vaste greatnesse be,
In us, so we againe have severall seats, whose bounds
Doe measure from their sides so many miles of grounds,

A Simily of Yorkshire.

That they are called Shires; like to some mightie King,
May Yorkshire be compar'd, (the lik'st of any thing)

553

Who hath Kings that attend, and to his State retaine,
And yet so great, that they have under them againe
Great Princes, that to them be subject, so have we
Shires subject unto us, yet wee her subjects be;
Although these be ynough sufficiently to show,
That I the other two for bravery quite out-goe:
Yet looke yee up along into my Setting side,
Where Teis first from my bounds, rich

The Bishoprick of Durham.

Dunelme doth divide,
And you shall see those Rills, that with their watry prease,
Their most beloved Teis so plenteously increase,
The cleere yet lesser Lune, the Bauder, and the Gret,
All out of me doe flow; then turne ye from the Set,
And looke but tow'rds the Rise, upon the German Maine,
Those Rarities, and see, that I in me containe;
My Scarborough, which looks as though in heaven it stood,

A Catalogue of the wonders of the North-Riding.

To those that lye below, from th'Bay of Robin Hood,
Even to the fall of Teis; let me but see the man,
That in one Tract can show the wonders that I can,
Like Whitbies selfe I thinke, ther's none can shew but I,
O'r whose attractive earth there may no Wild-geese flie,
But presently they fall from off their wings to ground:
If this no wonder be, wher's there a wonder found,
And stones like Serpents there, yet may yee more behold,
That in their naturall Gyres are up together rold.
The Rocks by Moultgrave too, my glories forth to set,
Out of their cranied Cleeves, can give you perfect Jet,
And upon Huntclipnab, you every where may find,
(As though nice Nature lov'd to vary in this kind)
Stones of a Spherick forme of sundry Mickles fram'd,
That well they Globes of stone, or bullets might be nam'd
For any Ordnance fit: which broke with Hammers blowes,
Doe headlesse Snakes of stone, within their Rounds enclose.
Marke Gisboroughs gay Scite, where Nature seemes so nice,
As in the same shee makes a second Paradice,
Whose Soyle imbroydered is, with so rare sundry Flowers,
Her large Okes so long greene, as Summer there her Bowers,
Had set up all the yeare, her ayre for health refin'd,
Her earth with Allome veines most richly intermin'd.
In other places these might Rarities be thought,
So common but in me, that I esteeme as nought.

554

Then could I reckon up my Ricall, making on
By Rydale, towards her dear-lov'd Darwent, who's not gone
Farre from her pearly Springs, but under-ground she goes;
As up towards Craven Hills, I many have of those,
Amongst the cranied Cleeves, that through the caverns creepe,
And dimbles hid from day, into the earth so deepe,
That oftentimes their sight, the senses doth appall,
Which for their horrid course, the people Helbecks call,
Which may for ought I see, be with my Wonders set,
And with much marvell seene: that I am not in debt
To none that neigboureth me; nor ought can they me lend.
When Darwent bad her stay, and there her speech to end,
For that East-Riding cald, her proper cause to plead:
For Darwent a true Nymph, a most impartiall Mayd,
And like to both ally'd, doth will the last should have
That priviledge, which time to both the former gave,

The East-Ridings oration.

And wills th'East-Riding then, in her owne cause to speake,
Who mildly thus begins; Although I be but weake,
To those two former parts, yet what I seeme to want
In largenesse, for that I am in my Compasse scant,
Yet for my Scite I know, that I them both excell;
For marke me how I lye, yea note me very well,
How in the East I raigne, (of which my name I take)
And my broad side doe beare up to the German Lake,
Which bravely I survey; then turne ye and behold

Yorks Ould.

Upon my pleasant breast, that large and spacious Ould
Of Yorke that takes the name, that with delighted eyes,
When he beholds the Sunne out of the Seas to rise,
With pleasure feeds his Flocks, for which he scarse gives place
To Cotswold, and for what becomes a Pastorall grace,
Doth goe beyond him quite; then note upon my South,
How all along the Shore, to mighty Humbers mouth,
Rich Holdernesse I have, excelling for her graine,
By whose much plentie I, not onely doe maintaine
My selfe in good estate, but Shires farre off that lye,
Up Humber that to Hull, come every day to buy,
To me beholding are; besides, the neigbouring Townes,
Upon the Verge whereof, to part her, and the Downes,
Hull downe to Humber hasts, and takes into her Banke
Some lesse but lively Rills, with waters waxing ranke,

555

Shee Beverley salutes, whose beauties so delight
The fayre-enamoured Flood, as ravisht with the sight,
That shee could ever stay, that gorgeous Phane to view,

The Church of Beverley.

But that the Brooks, and Bournes, so hotly her pursue,
To Kingston and convey, whom Hull doth newly name,
Of Humber-bordring Hull, who hath not heard the fame:
And for great Humbers selfe, I challenge him for mine:
For whereas Fowlwy first, and Shelfleet doe combine,
By meeting in their course, so courteously to twin,
Gainst whom on th'other side, the goodly Trent comes in,
From that especiall place, great Humber hath his raigne,

The marks how farre he is called Humber.

Beyond which hee's mine owne: so I my Course maintaine,
From Kilnseys pyle-like poynt, along the Easterne shore,
And laugh at Neptunes rage, when lowdl'est he doth rore,
Till Flamborough jutt foorth into the German Sea.

The length of the East-Riding upon the Sea.

And as th'East-Riding more yet ready was to say,
Ouse in her owne behalfe doth interrupt her speech,
And of th'Imperious land doth liberty beseech,
Since she had passed Yorke, and in her wandring race,
By that faire Cities scite, received had such grace,
Shee might for it declame, but more to honor Yorke,
Shee who supposd the same to bee her onely worke,
Still to renowne those Dukes, who strongly did pretend
A title to the Crowne, as those who did descend
From them that had the right, doth this Oration make,
And to uphold their claime, thus to the Floods she spake.

They very idly erre, who thinke that blood then spilt,

Ouzes Oration.

In that long-lasting warre, proceeded from the guilt,
Of the proud Yorkists part; for let them understand,
That Richard Duke of Yorke, whose brave and martiall hand
The Title undertooke, by tyranny and might,

The title of the house of Yorke to the Crowne.

Sought not t'attaine the Crowne, but from succesfull right,
Which still upheld his claime, by which his valiant sonne,
Great Edward Earle of March, the Garland after wonne:
For Richard Duke of Yorke, at Wakefield Battell slaine,
Who first that title broach'd, in the sixt Henries raigne,
From Edmond a fift sonne of Edward did descend,
That justly he thereby no title could pretend,
Before them com'n from Gaunt, well knowne of all to be,
The fourth to Edward borne, and therefore a degree

556

Before him to the Crowne; but that which did preferre
His title, was the match with Dame Anne Mortimer,
Of Roger Earle of March the daughter, that his claime,
From Clarence the third sonne of great King Edward came,
Which Anne deriv'd alone, the right before all other,
Of the delapsed Crowne, from Philip her faire mother,
Daughter and onely heire of Clarence, and the Bride
To Edmond Earle of March; this Anne her daughter tide
In wedlocke to the Earle of Cambridge, whence the right
Of Richard as I said, which fell at Wakefield fight,
Descended to his sonne, brave Edward after King,
(Henry the sixt depos'd) thus did the Yorkists bring
Their title from a straine, before the line of Gaunt,
Whose issue they by Armes did worthily supplant.

By this the Ouze perceav'd great Humber to looke grim;
(For evermore shee hath a speciall eye to him)
As though he much disdain'd each one should thus be heard,
And he their onely King, untill the last deferd,
At which hee seem'd to frowne; wherefore the Ouze off breaks,
And to his confluent Floods, thus mighty Humber speaks.

The Oration of Humber.

Let Trent her tribute pay, which from their severall founts,
For thirtie Floods of name, to me her King that counts,
Be much of me belov'd, brave River; and from me,
Receive those glorious Rites that Fame can give to thee.
And thou Marsh-drowning Don, and all those that repaire
With thee, that bringst to me thy easie ambling Aire,
Embodying in one Banke: and Wharfe, which by thy fall
Dost much augment my Ouze, let me embrace you all,
My brave West-Riding Brooks, your King you need not scorne,
Proud Nyades neither yee, North-Riders that are borne;
My yellow-sanded Your, and thou my sister Swale,
That dauncing come to Ouze, through many a daintie Dale,
Doe greatly me inrich, cleare Darwent driving downe
From Cleeveland; and thou Hull, that highly dost renowne
Th'East-Riding by thy rise, doe homage to your King,
And let the Sea-Nymphs thus of mighty Humber sing;
That full an hundred Floods my watry Court maintaine,
Which either of themselves, or in their greaters traine,

557

Their Tribute pay to me; and for my princely name,
From Humber King of Hunns, as anciently it came;
So still I sticke to him: for from that Easterne King
Once in me drown'd, as I my Pedigree doe bring:
So his great name receives no prejudice thereby;
For as he was a King, so know ye all that I
Am King of all the Floods, that North of Trent doe flow;
Then let the idle world no more such cost bestow,
Nor of the muddy Nyle, so great a Wonder make,
Though with her bellowing fall, shee violently take
The neighbouring people deafe; nor Ganges so much praise,
That where he narrowest is, eight miles in broadnesse layes
His bosome, nor so much hereafter shall be spoke
Of that (but lately found) Guyanian Orenoque,
Whose

A fall of water.

Cateract a noyse so horrible doth keepe,
That it even Neptune frights; what Flood comes to the Deepe,
Then Humber that is heard more horribly to rore?
For when my

The roring of the waters, at the comming in of the Tyde.

Higre comes, I make my either shore
Even tremble with the sound, that I afarre doe send.

No sooner of this speech had Humber made an end,
But the applauding Floods sent foorth so shrill a shout,
That they were eas'ly heard all Holdernesse about,
Above the Beachy Brack, amongst the Marshes rude,
When the East-Riding her Oration to conclude,
Goes on; My Sisters boast that they have little Shires
Their subjects, I can shew the like of mine for theirs;
My Howdon hath as large a Circuit, and as free,

A Liberty in the East-riding.

On Ouse, and Humbers banks, and as much graceth me,
My Latitude compar'd with those that me oppugne:
Not Richmond nor her like, that doth to them belong,
Doth grace them more then this doth me, upon my coast,
And for their wondrous things, whereof so much they boast,
Upon my Easterne side, which jutts upon the Sea,
Amongst the white-scalp'd Cleeves, this wonder see they may,

Some wonders of the East-Riding.

The Mullet, and the Awke, (my Fowlers there doe finde)
Of all great Britain brood, Birds of the strangest kind,
That building in the Rocks, being taken with the hand,
And cast beyond the Cliffe, that poynteth to the land,

558

Fall instantly to ground, as though it were a stone,
But put out to the Sea, they instantly are gone,
And flye a league or two before they doe returne,
As onely by that ayre, they on their wings were borne.
Then my Prophetick Spring at Veipsey, I may show,
That some yeares is dry'd up, some yeares againe doth flow;
But when it breaketh out with an immoderate birth,
It tells the following yeare of a penurious dearth.

Here ended shee her speech, the Ridings all made friends,
And from my tyred hand, my labored Canto ends.

559

The nine and twentieth Song

The Argument.

The Muse the Bishopricke assayes,
And to her fall sings downe the Teis,
Then takes shee to the dainty Wer,
And with all braveries fitted her.
Tyne tells the Victories by us got,
In foughten Fields against the Scot.
Then through Northumberland shee goes,
The Floods and Mountaines doth dispose;
And with their glories doth proceed,
Not staying till shee come to Tweed.

The Muse this largest Shire of England having sung,
Yet seeing more then this did to her taske belong,
Looks still into the North, the Bishopricke and viewes,

The Bishoprick of Durham.

Which with an eager eye, whilst wistly she pursues,
Teis as a bordering Flood, (who thought her selfe divine)
Confining in her Course that Countie Palatine,
And Yorke the greatest Shire doth instantly begin,
To rouze her selfe; quoth shee, Doth every Rillet win
Applause for their small worth's, and I that am a Queene,
With those poore Brooks compar'd, shall I alone be seene

Thus silently to passe, and not be heard to sing,
When as two Countries are contending for my Spring:

Teis springeth out of Stanmore, which lyeth almost equally between Cumberland, & Northumberland.

For Cumberland, to which the Cumri gave the name,
Accounts it to be hers, Northumberland the same,
Will needsly hers should bee, for that my Spring doth rise,
So equally twixt both, that he were very wise,
Could tell which of these two, me for her owne may claime.
But as in all these Tracts, there's scarce a Flood of fame,
But shee some Vally hath, which her brave name doth beare:
My Teisdale, nam'd of me, so likewise have I heare,
At my first setting foorth, through which I nimbly slide;
Then Yorkshire which doth lye upon my Setting side,
Me Lune and Bauder lends, as in the Song before
Th'industrious Muse hath shew'd; my

The Bishoprick of Durham.

Dunelmenian shore,

560

Sends Huyd to helpe my course, with some few other Becks,
Which time (as it should seeme) so utterly neglects,
That they are namelesse yet; then doe I bid adiew,
To Bernards battelled Towers, and seriously pursue
My course to Neptunes Court, but as forthright I runne,
The Skern, a dainty Nymph, saluting Darlington,
Comes in to give me ayd, and being prowd and ranke,
Shee chanc'd to looke aside, and spieth neere her Banke,
Three blacke and horrid pits, which for their boyling heat,
(That from their lothsome brimms, doe breath a sulpherous swet
Hell-kettles rightly cald, that with the very sight,
This Water-Nymph, my Skern is put in such affright,
That with unusuall speed, she on her Course doth hast,
And rashly runnes her selfe into my widened waste.
In pompe I thus approch great Amphetrites state.

But whilst Teis undertooke her Story to relate,
Wer waxeth almost wood, that she so long should stand
Upon those loftie tearmes, as though both sea and land
Were tyde to heare her talke: quoth Wer, what wouldst thou say,
Vaine-glorious bragging Brooke, hadst thou so cleere a way
T'advance thee as I have, hadst thou such meanes and might,
How wouldst thou then exult? O then to what a height
Wouldst thou put up thy price? hadst thou but such a Trine
Of Rillets as I have, which naturally combine,
Their Springs thee to beget, as these of mine doe me,
In their consenting sounds, that doe so well agree?
As Kellop comming in from Kellop-Law her Syre,
A Mountaine much in fame, small Wellop doth require,
With her to walke along, which Burdop with her brings.
Thus from the full conflux of these three severall Springs
My greatnesse is begot, as Nature meant to show
My future strength and state; then forward doe I flow
Through my delicious Dale, with every pleasure rife,
And Wyresdale still may stand, with Teisdale for her life:
Comparing of their Scites, then casting on my Course,
So satiate with th'excesse of my first naturall source,
As petty Bournes and Becks, I scorne but once to call,
Wascrop a wearish Gyrle, of name the first of all,
That I vouchsafe for mine, untill that I arive
At Aukland, where with force me forward still to drive,

561

Cleere Gauntlesse gives her selfe, when I begin to gad,
And whirling in and out, as I were waxed mad,
I change my posture oft, to many a Snakie Gyre,
To my first fountaine now, as seeming to retyre:
Then suddenly againe I turne my watry trayle,
Now I endent the earth, and then I it engrayle
With many a turne and trace, thus wandring up and downe,
Brave Durham I behold, that stately seated Towne,
That Dunholme hight of yore (even) from a Desart wonne,
Whose first foundation Zeale, and Piety begun,
By them who thither first Saint Cutberts body brought,
To save it from the Danes, by fire and sword that sought
Subversion of those things, that good and holy were,
With which beloved place, I seeme so pleased here,
As that I clip it close, and sweetly hug it in
My cleare and amorous armes, as jealous time should win
Me further off from it, as our divorce to be.
Hence like a lustie Flood most absolutely free,
None mixing then with me, as I doe mix with none,
But scorning a Colleague, nor neere me any one,
To Neptunes Court I come; for note along the Strond,
From Hartlepoole (even) to the poynt of Sunderland,
As farre as

A Mountaine on that part of the Shire.

Wardenlaws can possibly survey;
There's not a Flood of note hath entrance to the sea.

Here ended shee her Speech, when as the goodly Tyne,
(Northumberland that parts from this Shire Palatine)
Which patiently had heard, looke as before the Wer
Had taken up the Teis, so Tyne now takes up her,
For her so tedious talke, Good Lord (quoth she) had I
No other thing wherein my labor to imply,
But to set out my selfe, how much (well) could I say,
In mine owne proper praise, in this kind every way
As skilfull as the best; I could if I did please,
Of my two Fountaines tell, which of their sundry wayes,
The South and North are nam'd, entitled both of Tyne,
As how the prosperous Springs of these two Floods of mine
Are distant thirty miles, how that the South-Tyne nam'd,
From Stanmore takes her Spring, for Mines of Brasse that's fam'd,
How that nam'd of the North, is out of Wheel-fell sprung,
Amongst these English Alpes, which as they runne along,

562

England, and Scotland here impartially divide.
How South-Tyne setting out from Cumberland is plide,
With Hartley which her hasts, and Tippall that doth strive,
By her more sturdy Streame, the Tyne along to drive;
How th'Allans, th'East, and West, their bounties to her bring,
Two faire and full-brim'd Floods, how also from her Spring,
My other North-nam'd Tyne, through Tyndale maketh in,
Which Shele her Hand-mayd hath, and as she hasts to twin
With th'other from the South, her sister, how cleere Rhead,
With Perop comes prepar'd, and Cherlop, me to lead,
Through Ridsdale on my way, as farre as Exham, then
Dowell me Homage doth, with blood of Englishmen,
Whose Streame was deeply dy'd in that most cruell warre
Of Lancaster and Yorke. Now having gone so farre,
Their strengths me their deare Tyne, doe wondrously enrich,
As how cleere Darwent drawes downe to Newcastle, which
The honour hath alone to entertaine me there,
As of those mighty ships, that in my mouth I beare,
Fraught with my country Coale, of this

Newcastle Coale.

Newcastle nam'd,
For which both farre and neere, that place no lesse is fam'd,
Then India for her Mynes; should I at large declare
My glories, in which Time commands me to bee spare,
And I but slightly touch, which stood I to report,
As freely as I might, yee both would fall too short
Of me; but know that Tyne hath greater things in hand:
For, to tricke up our selves, whilst trifling thus we stand,
Bewitch'd with our owne praise, at all we never note,
How the Albanian Floods now lately set afloat,
With th'honour to them done, take heart, and lowdly crie
Defiance to us all, on this side Tweed that lye;
And hearke the high-brow'd Hills alowd begin to ring,
With sound of things that Forth prepared is to sing:
When once the Muse arives on the Albanian shore;
And therefore to make up our forces here before
The on-set they begin, the Battels wee have got,
Both on our earth and theirs, against the valiant Scot,
I undertake to tell; then Muses I intreat
Your ayd, whilst I these Fights in order shall repeat.

When mighty Malcolme here had with a violent hand,
(As he had oft before) destroy'd Northumberland,

563

In Rufus troubled Raigne, the warlike Mowbray then,
This Earledome that possest, with halfe the power of men,
For conquest which that King from Scotland hither drew,
At Anwick in the field their Armies overthrew;

The Battell of Anwicke.

Where Malcolme and his sonne, brave Edward both were found,
Slaine on that bloody field: So on the English ground,
When David King of Scots, and Henry his sterne sonne,
Entitled by those times, the Earle of Huntingdon,
Had forradg'd all the North, beyond the River Teis,
In Stephens troubled raigne, in as tumultuous dayes
As England ever knew, the Archbishop of Yorke,
Stout Thurstan, and with him joynd in that warlike work,

See to the 18. Song.

Ralfe, (both for wit and Armes) of Durham Bishop then
Renownd, that called were the valiant Clergy men,
With th'Earle of Aubemarle, Especk, and Peverell, Knights,
And of the Lacies two, oft try'd in bloody fights,
Twixt Alverton and Yorke, the doubtfull battell got,

The Battell of Alverton.

On David and his sonne, whilst of th'invading Scot,
Ten thousand strew'd the earth, and whilst they lay to bleed,
Ours followed them that fled, beyond our sister Tweed.
And when

Henry the second.

Fitz-Empresse next in Normandy, and here,
And his rebellious sonnes in high combustions were,
William the Scottish King, taking advantage then,

The second Battell at Anwicke.

And entring with an Host of eighty thousand men,
As farre as Kendall came, where Captaines then of ours,
Which ayd in Yorkshire raisd, with the Northumbrian powers,
His forces overthrew, and him a prisoner led.

So Longshanks, Scotlands scourge, him to that Country sped,
Provoked by the Scots, that England did invade,
And on the Borders here such spoyle and havock made,
That all the land lay waste betwixt the Tweed and me.
This most coragious King, from them his owne to free,
Before proud Berwick set his puisant army downe,
And tooke it by strong siege, since when that warlike towne,
As Cautionary long the English after held.
But tell me all you Floods, when was there such a Field
By any Nation yet, as by the English wonne,

The Battell at Halidon.

Upon the Scottish power, as that of Halidon,
Seaven Earles, nine hundred Horse, and of Foot-souldiers more,
Neere twenty thousand slaine, so that the Scottish gore

564

Ranne downe the Hill in streames (even) in Albania's sight.
By our third Edwards prowesse, that most renowned Knight,
As famous was that Fight of his against the Scot,
As that against the French, which he at Cressy got.
And when that conquering King did afterward advance
His Title, and had past his warlike powers to France,
And David King of Scots heere entred to invade,
To which the King of France did that false Lord perswade,
Against his given Faith, from France to draw his Bands,
To keepe his owne at home, or to fill both his hands
With warre in both the Realmes: was ever such a losse,

The Battell at Nevils Crosse.

To Scotland yet befell, as that at Nevills Crosse,
Where fifteene thousand Scots their soules at once forsooke,
Where stout John Copland then, King David prisoner tooke,
I'th head of all his troups, that bravely there was seene.
When English Philip, that brave Amazonian Queene,
Encouraging her men, from troupe to troupe did ride,
And where our Cleargy had their ancient Valour tride:
Thus often comming in, they have gone out too short.

The Battell of Nesbit.

And next to this the fight of Nesbit I report,
When Hebborn that stout Scot, and his had all their hire,
Which in t'our Marches came, and with invasive fire,
Our Villages laid waste, for which defeat of ours,
When doughty Douglasse came with the Albanian powers,
At Holmdon doe but see, the blow our Hotspurre gave
To that bold daring Scot, before him how he drave
His Armie, and with shot of our brave English Bowes,
Did wound them on the backs, whose brests were hurt with blows,
Ten thousand put to sword, with many a Lord and Knight,
Some prisoners, wounded some, some others slaine outright,
And entring Scotland then, all Tividale o'r-ran.

The Battell of Flodden.

Or who a braver field then th'Earle of Surrey wan,
Where their King James the fourth himselfe so bravely bore,
That since that age wherein he liv'd, nor those before,
Yet never such a King in such a Battell saw,
Amongst his fighting friends, where whilst he breath could draw,
Hee bravely fought on foot, where Flodden Hill was strew'd
With bodies of his men, welneere to mammocks hew'd,
That on the Mountaines side, they covered neere a mile,
Where those two valiant Earles of Lenox and Arguyle,

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Were with their Soveraigne slaine, Abbots, and Bishops there,
Which had put Armor on, in hope away to beare
The Victory with them, before the English fell.

But now of other Fields, it fits the Muse to tell,

A Road into Scotland by the Duke of Norfolke.

As when the Noble Duke of Norfolke made a Road
To Scotland, and therein his hostile fire bestow'd
On welneere thirtie Townes, and staying there so long,
Till victuall waxed weake, the Winter waxing strong,
Returning over Tweed, his Booties home to bring,
Which to the very heart did vex the Scottish King,
The fortune of the Duke extreamely that did grutch,
Remaining there so long, and doing there so much,
Thinking to spoyle and waste, in England as before,
The English men had done on the Albanian shore,
And gathering up his force, before the English fled
To Scotlands utmost bounds, thence into England sped,
When that brave Bastard sonne of Dacres, and his friend,
John Musgrave, which had charge the Marches to attend,
With Wharton, a proud Knight, with scarce foure hundred Horse,
Encountring on the Plaine with all the Scottish force,
Thence from the Field with them, so many prisoners brought,
Which in that furious fight were by the English caught,
That there was scarce a Page or Lackey but had store,
Earles, Barrons, Knights, Esquires, two hundred there and more,
Of ordinary men, seven hundred made to yeeld,
There scarcely hath been heard, of such a foughten field,
That James the fifth to thinke, that but so very few,
His universall power so strangely should subdue,
So tooke the same to heart, that it abridg'd his life.
Such foyles by th'English given, amongst the Scots were rife.

These on the English earth, the English men did gaine;
But when their breach of faith did many times constraine
Our Nation to invade, and carry conquests in
To Scotland; then behold, what our successe hath bin,
Even in the latter end of our eight Henries dayes,
Who Seymor sent by Land, and Dudley sent by Seas,
With his full forces then, O Forth, then didst thou beare,
That Navy on thy Streame, whose Bulke was fraught with feare,
When Edenbrough and Leeth, into the ayre were blowne

The Siege of Leeth.

With Powders sulphurous smoke, & twenty townes were throwne

566

Upon the trampled earth, and into ashes trod;
As int' Albania when we made a second Road,
In our sixt Edwards dayes, when those two Martiall men,
Which conquered there before, were thither sent agen:
But for their high desarts, with greater Titles grac'd,
The first created Duke of Somerset, the last
The Earle of Warwicke made, at Muscleborough Field,
Where many a doughty Scot that did disdaine to yeeld,
Was on the earth layd dead, where as for five miles space
In length, and foure in bredth, the English in the chase,
With carkeises of Scots, strew'd all their naturall ground,
The number of the slaine were fourteene thousand found,
And fifteene hundred more ta'n Prisoners by our men.

The Road into Scotland by the Earle of Sussex.

So th'Earle of Sussex next to Scotland sent agen,
To punish them by warre, which on the Borders here,
Not onely rob'd and spoyl'd, but that assistants were
To those two puisant Earles, Northumberland, who rose
With Westmerland his Peere, suggested by the foes
To great Eliza's raigne, and peacefull government;
Wherefore that puisant Queene him to Albania sent,
Who fiftie Rock-reard Pyles and Castles having cast
Farre lower then their Scites, and with strong fires defac'd
Three hundred townes, their wealth, with him worth carrying brought
To England over Tweed, when now the floods besought
The Tyne to hold her tongue, when presently began
A rumour which each where through all the Country ran,
Of this proud Rivers speech, the Hills and Floods among,
And Lowes, a Forrest-Nymph, the same so lowdly sung,
That it through Tindale straight, and quite through Ridsdale ran,
And sounded shriller there, then when it first began,

A repetition of the Hils parting Northumberland and Scotland, as they lye from South to North.

That those high Alpine Hills, as in a row they stand,
Receiv'd the sounds, which thus went on from hand to hand.

The high-rear'd Red-Squire first, to Aumond Hill it told,
When Aumond great therewith, nor for his life could hold,
To Kembelspeth againe, the businesse but relate,
To Black-Brea he againe, a Mountaine holding state
With any of them all, to Cocklaw he it gave;
And Cocklaw it againe, to Cheviot, who did rave
With the report thereof, hee from his mighty stand,
Resounded it againe through all Northumberland,

567

That White-Squire lastly caught, and it to Berwick sent,
That brave and warlike Towne, from thence incontinent,
The sound from out the South, into Albania came,
And many a lustie Flood, did with her praise inflame,
Affrighting much the Forth, who from her trance awooke,
And to her native strength her presently betooke,
Against the Muse should come to the Albanian Coast.

But Pictswall all this while, as though he had been lost,

Picts wall.

Not mention'd by the Muse, began to fret and fume,
That every petty Brooke thus proudly should presume
To talke; and he whom first the Romans did invent,
And of their greatnesse yet, the longst-liv'd monument,
Should this be over-trod; wherefore his wrong to wreake,
In their proud presence thus, doth aged Pictswall speake.

Me thinks that Offa's ditch in Cambria should not dare
To thinke himselfe my match, who with such cost and care
The Romans did erect, and for my safeguard set
Their Legions, from my spoyle the proling Pict to let,
That often In-roads made, our earth from them to win,
By Adrian beaten back, so he to keepe them in,
To Sea from East to West, begun me first a wall
Of eightie myles in length, twixt Tyne and Edens fall:
Long making mee they were, and long did me maintaine.
Nor yet that Trench which tracts the Westerne Wiltshire Plaine,
Of Woden, Wansdyke cal'd, should paralell with me,
Comparing our descents, which shall appeare to be
Mere upstarts, basely borne; for when I was in hand,
The Saxon had not then set foot upon this land,
Till my declining age, and after many a yeare,
Of whose poore petty Kings, those the small labors were.
That on Newmarket-Heath, made up as though but now,

See to the 21. Song.

Who for the Devils worke the vulgar dare avow,
Tradition telling none, who truly it began,
Where many a reverent Booke can tell you of my Man,
And when I first decayd, Severus going on,
What Adrian built of turfe, he builded new of stone;
And after many a time, the Britans me repayr'd,
To keepe me still in plight, nor cost they ever spar'd.
Townes stood upon my length, where Garrisons were laid,
Their limits to defend; and for my greater ayd,

568

With Turrets I was built, where Sentinels were plac'd,
To watch upon the Pict; so me my Makers grac'd,
With hollow Pipes of Brasse, along me still that went,
By which they in one Fort still to another sent,
By speaking in the same, to tell them what to doe,
And so from Sea to Sea could I be whispered through:
Upon my thicknesse, three march'd eas'ly breast to breast,
Twelve foot was I in height, such glory I possest.

Old Pictswall with much pride thus finishing his plea,
Had in his utmost course attain'd the Easterne Sea,
Yet there was Hill nor Flood once heard to clap a hand;
For the Northumbrian Nymphs had come to understand,
That Tyne exulting late o'r Scotland in her Song,
(Which over all that Realme report had loudly rung)
The Calidonian

The great River on which Edenborough standeth.

Forth so highly had displeas'd,
And many an other Flood, (which could not be appeas'd)
That they had vow'd revenge, and Proclamation made,
That in a learned warre the foe they would invade,
And like stout Floods stand free from this supputed shame,
Or conquered give themselves up to the English name:
Which these Northumbrian Nymphs, with doubt & terror strook,
Which knew they from the foe, for nothing were to looke,
But what by skill they got, and with much care should keepe,
And therefore they consult by meeting in the Deepe,
To be delivered from the ancient enemies rage,
That they would all upon a solemne Pilgrimage

The Holy Island.

Unto the Holy-Isle, the vertue of which place,
They knew could very much availe them in this case:
For many a blessed Saint in former ages there,
Secluded from the world, to Abstinence and Prayer,
Had given up themselves, which in the German Maine,
And from the shore not farre, did in it selfe conteine

A Catalogue of the Rivers of Northumberland, as they run into the German sea, upon the East part of the countrey betwixt the Fals of Tyne and Tweed.

Sufficient things for food, which from those holy men,
That to devotion liv'd, and sanctimony then,
It Holy-Isle was call'd, for which they all prepare,
As I shall tell you how, and what their number are.
With those the farthest off, the first I will begin,
As Pont a pearlesse Brook, brings Blyth which putteth in
With her, then Wansbeck next in wading to the Maine,
Neere Morpet meet with Font, which followeth in her traine;

569

Next them the little Lyne alone doth goe along,
When Cocket commeth downe, and with her such a throng,
As that they seeme to threat the Ocean; for with her
Comes Ridley, Ridland next, with Usway, which preferre
Their Fountaines to her Flood, who for her greater fame,
Hath at her fall an Isle, call'd Cocket, of her name,
As that great Neptune should take notice of her state;
Then Alne by Anwicke comes, and with as proud a gate,
As Cocket came before, for whom at her faire fall,
(In bravery as to show, that she surpast them all)
The famous Isle of Ferne, and Staples aptly stand,
And at her comming foorth, doe kisse her Christall hand.

Whilst these resolv'd upon their Pilgrimage, proceed,
Till for the love shee beares to her deare Mistris Tweed,
Of Bramish leaves the name, by which shee hath her birth;
And though shee keepe her course upon the English earth,
Yet Bowbent, a bright Nymph, from Scotland comming in,
To goe with her to Tweed, the wanton Flood doth winne.
Though at this headstrong Stream, proud Flodden from his height,
Doth daily seeme to fret, yet takes he much delight
Her lovelinesse to view, as on to Tweed she straines,
Where whilst this Mountaine much for her sweet sake sustaines,
This Canto we conclude, and fresh about must cast,
Of all the English Tracts, to consummate the last.

571

The thirtieth Song

The Argument.

Of Westmerland the Muse now sings,
And fetching Eden from her Springs,
Sets her along, and Kendall then
Surveying, beareth backe agen;
And climing Skidows loftie Hill,
By many a River, many a Rill,
To Cumberland, where in her way,
Shee Copland calls, and doth display
Her Beauties, backe to Eden goes,
Whose Floods, and Fall shee aptly showes.

Yet cheerely on my Muse, no whit at all dismay'd,
But look aloft tow'rds heaven, to him whose powerfull ayd;
Hath led thee on thus long, & through so sundry soiles,
Steep Mountains, Forrests rough, deepe Rivers, that thy toyles
Most sweet refreshings seeme, and still thee comfort sent,
Against the Bestiall Rout, and Boorish rabblement
Of those rude vulgar sots, whose braines are onely Slime,
Borne to the doting world, in this last yron Time,
So stony, and so dull, that Orpheus which (men say)
By the inticing Straines of his melodious Lay,
Drew Rocks and aged Trees, to whether he would please;
He might as well have moov'd the Universe as these;
But leave this Frie of Hell in their owne filth defilde,
And seriously pursue the sterne Westmerian Wilde,
First ceazing in our Song, the South part of the Shire,

See to the latter end of the 27. Song.

Where Westmerland to West, by wide Wynander Mere,
The Eboracean fields her to the Rising bound,
Where Can first creeping forth, her feet hath scarcely found,
But gives that Dale her name, where Kendale towne doth stand,
For making of our Cloth scarce match'd in all the land.
Then keeping on her course, though having in her traine,
But Sput, a little Brooke, then Winster doth retaine,
Tow'rds the Vergivian Sea, by her two mighty Falls,
(Which the brave Roman tongue, her Catadupæ calls)

572

This eager River seemes outragiously to rore,
And counterfetting Nyle, to deafe the neighboring shore,
To which she by the sound apparantly doth show,
The season foule or faire, as then the wind doth blow:
For when they to the North, the noyse doe easliest heare,
They constantly affirme the weather will be cleere;
And when they to the South, againe they boldly say,
It will be clouds or raine the next approaching day.
To the Hibernick Gulfe, when soone the River hasts,
And to those queachy Sands, from whence her selfe she casts,
She likewise leaves her name as every place where she,
In her cleare course doth come, by her should honored be.
But backe into the North from hence our course doth lye,
As from this fall of Can, still keeping in our eye,

See to the 27. Song.

The source of long-liv'd Lun, I long-liv'd doe her call;
For of the British Floods, scarce one amongst them all,
Such state as to her selfe, the Destinies assigne,
By christning in her Course a Countie Palatine,
For Luncaster so nam'd, the Fort upon the Lun,
And Lancashire the name from Lancaster begun:
Yet though shee be a Flood, such glory that doth gaine,
In that the British Crowne doth to her state pertaine,
Yet Westmerland alone, not onely boasts her birth,
But for her greater good the kind Westmerian earth,
Cleere Burbeck her bequeaths, and Barrow to attend
Her grace, till shee her name to Lancaster doe lend.
With all the speed we can, to Cumberland we hye,
(Still longing to salute the utmost Albany)
By Eden, issuing out of Husseat-Morvill Hill,
And pointing to the North, as then a little Rill,
There simply takes her leave of her sweet sister Swale,
Borne to the selfe same Sire, but with a stronger gale,

The first place of note which shee runnes through.

Tow'rds Humber hyes her course, but Eden making on,
Through Malerstrang hard by, a Forrest woe begone
In love with Edens eyes, of the cleere Naiades kind,
Whom thus the Wood-Nymph greets: What passage shalt thou find
My most beloved Brook, in making to thy Bay,
That wandring art to wend through many a crooked way,
Farre under hanging Hills, through many a cragged strait,
And few the watry kind, upon thee to await,

573

Opposed in thy course with many a rugged Cliffe,
Besides the Northern winds against thy streame so stiffe,
As by maine strength they meant to stop thee in thy course,
And send thee easly back to Morvill to thy source.
O my bright lovely Brooke, whose name doth beare the sound
Of Gods first Garden-plot, th'imparadized ground,
Wherein he placed Man, from whence by sinne he fell.
O little blessed Brooke, how doth my bosome swell,
With love I beare to thee, the day cannot suffice
For Malerstang to gaze upon thy beautious eyes.

This sayd, the Forrest rubd her rugged front the while,
Cleere Eden looking back, regreets her with a smile,
And simply takes her leave, to get into the Maine;
When Below a bright Nymph, from Stanmore downe doth straine
To Eden, as along to Appleby shee makes,
Which passing, to her traine, next Troutbeck in shee takes,
And Levenant, then these, a somewhat lesser Rill,
When Glenkwin greets her well, and happily to fill,
Her more abundant Banks, from Ulls, a mightie Mere
On Cumberlands confines, comes Eymot neat and cleere,
And Loder doth allure, with whom she haps to meet,
Which at her comming in, doth thus her Mistris greet.

Quoth shee, thus for my selfe I say, that where I swell
Up from my Fountaine first, there is a Tyding-well,
That daily ebbs and flowes, (as Writers doe report)
The old Euripus doth, or in the selfe same sort,
The

Two fountains the one in the South, th'other in Northwales.

Venedocian Fount, or the

Two fountains the one in the South, th'other in Northwales.

Demetian Spring,
Or that which the cold Peake doth with her wonders bring,
Why should not Loder then, her Mistris Eden please,
With this, as other Floods delighted are with these.

See to the 5. 10. and 27. Song.

When Eden, though shee seem'd to make unusuall haste,
About cleere Loders neck, yet lovingly doth cast
Her oft infolding Armes, as Westmerland shee leaves,
Where Cumberland againe as kindly her receives.
Yet up her watry hands, to Winfield Forrest holds
In her rough wooddy armes, which amorously infolds
Cleere Eden comming by, with all her watry store,
In her darke shades, and seemes her parting to deplore.

But Southward sallying hence, to those Sea-bordring sands,
Where Dudden driving downe to the Lancastrian lands,

574

This Cumberland cuts out, and strongly doth confine,
This meeting there with that, both meerly Maratine,
Where many a daintie Rill out of her native Dale,
To the Virgivian makes, with many a pleasant gale;
As Eske her farth'st, so first, a coy bred Cumbrian Lasse,
Who commeth to her Road, renowned Ravenglasse,
By Devock driven along, (which from a large-brim'd Lake,
To hye her to the Sea, with greater haste doth make)
Meets Nyte, a nimble Brooke, their Rendevous that keepe
In Ravenglasse, when soone into the blewish Deepe
Comes Irt, of all the rest, though small, the richest Girle,
Her costly bosome strew'd with precious Orient Pearle,
Bred in her shining Shels, which to the deaw doth yawne,
Which deaw they sucking in, conceave that lusty Spawne,
Of which when they grow great, and to their fulnesse swell,
They cast, which those at hand there gathering, dearly sell.
This cleare pearle-paved Irt, Bleng to her harbor brings,
From Copland comming downe, a Forrest-Nymph, which sings
Her owne praise, and those Floods, their Fountains that derive
From her, which to extoll, the Forrest thus doth strive.

Yee Northerne

Nymphes of the Forrest.

Dryades all adorn'd with Mountaines steepe,
Upon whose hoary heads cold Winter long doth keepe,
Where often rising Hils, deepe Dales and many make,
Where many a pleasant Spring, and many a large-spread Lake,
Their cleere beginnings keepe, and doe their names bestow
Upon those humble Vales, through which they eas'ly flow;
Whereas the Mountaine Nymphs, and those that doe frequent
The Fountaines, Fields, and Groves, with wondrous meriment,
By Moone-shine many a night, doe give each other chase,
At Hood-winke, Barley-breake, at Tick, or Prison-base,
With tricks, and antique toyes, that one another mocke,
That skip from Crag to Crag, and leape from Rocke to Rocke.
Then Copland, of this Tract a corner, I would know,
What place can there be found in Britan, that doth show
A Surface more austere, more sterne from every way,
That who doth it behold, he cannot chuse but say,
Th'aspect of these grim Hills, these darke and mistie Dales,
From clouds scarce ever cleer'd, with the strongst Northern gales
Tell in their mighty Roots, some Minerall there doth lye,
The Islands generall want, whose plenty might supply:

575

Wherefore as some suppose of Copper Mynes in me,
I Copper-land was cald, but some will have't to be
From the old Britans brought, for Cop they use to call
The tops of many Hils, which I am stor'd withall.
Then Eskdale mine Ally, and Niterdale so nam'd,
Of Floods from you that flow, as Borowdale most fam'd,
With Wasdale walled in, with Hills on every side,
Hows'ever ye extend within your wasts so wide,
For th'surface of a soyle, a Copland, Copland cry,
Till to your shouts the Hills with Ecchoes all reply.

Which Copland scarce had spoke, but quickly every hill,
Upon her Verge that stands, the neigbouring Vallies fill;
Helvillon from his height, it through the Mountaines threw,
From whom as soone againe, the sound Dunbalrase drew,
From whose stone-trophied head, it on to Wendrosse went,
Which tow'rds the Sea againe, resounded it to Dent,
That Brodwater therewith within her Banks astound,
In sayling to the Sea, told it in Egremound,
Whose Buildings, walks, and streets, with Ecchoes loud and long,
Did mightily commend old Copland for her Song.

Whence soone the Muse proceeds, to find out fresher Springs,
Where Darwent her cleere Fount from Borowdale that brings,
Doth quickly cast her selfe into an ample Lake,
And with Thurls mighty Mere, betweene them two doe make
An

The Isle of Darwent.

Island, which the name from Darwent doth derive,
Within whose secret breast nice Nature doth contrive,
That mighty Copper Myne, which not without its Vaines,
Of Gold and Silver found, it happily obtaines
Of Royaltie the name, the richest of them all
That Britan bringeth forth, which Royall she doth call.

The Mynes Royall.

Of Borowdale her Dam, of her owne named Isle,
As of her Royall Mynes, this River proud the while,
Keepes on her Course to Sea, and in her way doth win
Cleere Coker her compeere, which at her comming in,
Gives Coker-mouth the name, by standing at her fall,
Into faire Darwents Banks, when Darwent therewithall,
Runnes on her watry Race, and for her greater fame,
Of Neptune doth obtaine a Haven of her name,

When of the Cambrian Hills, proud Skiddo that doth show
The high'st, respecting whom, the other be but low,

576

Perceiving with the Floods, and Forrests, how it far'd,
And all their severall tales substantially had heard,
And of the Mountaine kind, as of all other he,
Most like Pernassus selfe that is suppos'd to be,
Having a double head, as hath that sacred Mount,
Which those nine sacred Nymphs held in so hie account,
Bethinketh of himselfe what he might justly say,
When to them all he thus his beauties doth display.

The rough Hibernian sea, I proudly overlooke,
Amongst the scattered Rocks, and there is not a nooke,
But from my glorious height into its depth I pry,
Great Hills farre under me, but as my Pages lye;
And when my Helme of Clouds upon my head I take,
At very sight thereof, immediatly I make
Th'Inhabitants about, tempestuous stormes to feare,
And for faire weather looke, when as my top is cleere;
Great Fournesse mighty Fells, I on my South survay:
So likewise on the North, Albania makes me way,
Her Countries to behold, when

A Hill in Scotland.

Scurfell from the skie,
That Anadale doth crowne, with a most amorous eye,
Salutes me every day, or at my pride lookes grim,
Oft threatning me with Clouds, as I oft threatning him:
So likewise to the East, that rew of Mountaines tall,
Which we our English Alpes may very aptly call,
That Scotland here with us, and England doe divide,
As those, whence we them name upon the other side,
Doe Italy, and France, these Mountaines heere of ours,
That looke farre off like clouds, shap't with embattelled towers,
Much envy my estate, and somewhat higher be,
By lifting up their heads, to stare and gaze at me.
Cleere Darwent dancing on, I looke at from above,
As some enamoured Youth, being deeply struck in love,
His Mistris doth behold, and every beauty notes;
Who as shee to her fall, through Fells and Vallies flotes,
Oft lifts her limber selfe above her Banks to view,
How my brave by-clift top, doth still her Course pursue.
O all yee Topick Gods, that doe inhabite here,
To whom the Romans did, those ancient Altars reare,
Oft found upon those Hills, now sunke into the Soyles,
Which they for Trophies left of their victorious spoyles,

577

Ye Genii of these Floods, these Mountaines, and these Dales,
That with poore Shepheards Pipes, & harmlesse Heardsmans tales
Have often pleased been, still guard me day and night,
And hold me Skidow still, the place of your delight.

This Speech by Skidow spoke, the Muse makes forth againe,
Tow'rds where the in-borne Floods, cleere Eden intertaine,
To Cumberland com'n in, from the Westmerian wasts,
Where as the readyest way to Carlill, as shee casts,
Shee with two Wood-Nymphs meet, the first is great and wilde,
And Westward Forrest hight; the other but a childe,
Compared with her Phere, and Inglewood is cald,
Both in their pleasant Scites, most happily instald.

What Sylvan is there seene, and be she nere so coy,
Whose pleasures to the full, these Nymphs doe not enjoy,
And like Dianas selfe, so truly living chast?
For seldome any Tract, doth crosse their waylesse waste,
With many a lustie leape, the shagged Satyrs show
Them pastime every day, both from the Meres below,
And Hils on every side, that neatly hemme them in;
The blushing morne to breake, but hardly doth begin,
But that the ramping Goats, swift Deere, and harmelesse Sheepe,
Which there their owners know, but no man hath to keepe,
The Dales doe over-spread, by them like Motley made;
But Westward of the two, by her more widened Slade,
Of more abundance boasts, as of those mighty Mynes,
Which in her Verge she hath: but that whereby she shines,
Is her two daintie Floods, which from two Hils doe flow,
Which in her selfe she hath, whose Banks doe bound her so
Upon the North and South, as that she seemes to be
Much pleased with their course, and takes delight to see
How Elne upon the South, in sallying to the Sea
Confines her: on the North how Wampull on her way,
Her purlews wondrous large, yet limitteth againe,
Both falling from her earth into the Irish Maine.
No lesse is Westward proud of Waver, nor doth win
Lesse praise by her cleere Spring, which in her course doth twin
With Wiz, a neater Nymph scarce of the watry kind;
And though shee be but small, so pleasing Wavers mind,
That they entirely mix'd, the Irish Seas imbrace,
But earnestly proceed in our intended Race.

578

At Eden now arriv'd, whom we have left too long,
Which being com'n at length, the Cumbrian hils among,
As shee for Carlill coasts, the Floods from every where,
Prepare each in their course, to entertaine her there,
From Skidow her tall Sire, first Cauda cleerely brings
In Eden all her wealth; so Petterell from her Springs,
(Not farre from Skidows foot, whence dainty Cauda creeps)
Along to overtake her Soveraigne Eden sweeps,
To meet that great concourse, which seriously attend
That dainty Cumbrian Queene; when Gilsland downe doth send
Her Riverets to receive Queene Eden in her course,
As Irthing comming in from her most plenteous source,
Through many a cruell Crag, though she be forc'd to crawle,
Yet working forth her way to grace her selfe with all,
First Pultrosse is her Page, then Gelt shee gets her guide,
Which springeth on her South, on her Septentrion side,
Shee crooked Cambeck calls, to wait on her along,
And Eden overtakes amongst the watry throng.
To Carlill being come, cleere Bruscath beareth in,
To greet her with the rest, when Eden as to win
Her grace in Carlils sight, the Court of all her state,
And Cumberlands chiefe towne, loe thus shee doth dilate.

What giveth more delight, (brave Citie) to thy Seat,
Then my sweet lovely selfe? a River so compleat,
With all that Nature can a dainty Flood endow,
That all the Northerne Nymphs me worthily allow,
Of all their Nyades kind the neatest, and so farre
Transcending, that oft times they in their amorous warre,

See to the 29. Song.

Have offered by my course, and Beauties to decide
The mastery, with her most vaunting in her pride,
That mighty Roman Fort, which of the Picts we call,
But by them neere those times was stil'd Severus wall,
Of that great Emperour nam'd, which first that worke began,
Betwixt the Irish Sea, and German Ocean,

The West end of the Picts wall.

Doth cut me in his course neere Carlill, and doth end
At Boulnesse, where my selfe I on the Ocean spend.
And for my Country here, (of which I am the chiefe
Of all her watry kind) know that shee lent reliefe,
To those old Britains once, when from the Saxons they,
For succour hither fled, as farre out of their way,

579

Amongst her mighty Wylds, and Mountains freed from feare,
And from the British race, residing long time here,
Which in their Genuine tongue, themselves did Kimbri name,

Why Cumberland so called.

Of Kimbri-land, the name of Cumberland first came;
And in her praise bee't spoke, this soyle whose best is mine,
That Fountaine bringeth forth, from which the Southern Tyne,
(So nam'd for that of North, another hath that stile)
This to the Easterne Sea, that makes forth many a mile,
Her first beginning takes, and Vent, and Alne doth lend,
To wait upon her foorth; but further to transcend
To these great things of note, which many Countries call
Their wonders, there is not a Tract amongst them all,
Can shew the like to mine, at the lesse Sakeld, neere
To Edens Bank, the like is scarcely any where,
Stones seventie seven stand, in manner of a Ring,
Each full ten foot in height, but yet the strangest thing,
Their equall distance is, the circle that compose,
Within which other stones lye flat, which doe inclose
The bones of men long dead, (as there the people say;)
So neere to Loders Spring, from thence not farre away,
Be others nine foot high, a myle in length that runne,
The victories for which these Trophies were begun,
From darke oblivion thou, O Time shouldst have protected;
For mighty were their minds, them thus that first erected:
And neere to this againe, there is a piece of ground,
A little rising Bank, which of the Table round,
Men in remembrance keepe, and Arthurs Table name.
But whilst these more and more, with glory her inflame,
Supposing of her selfe in these her wonders great,
All her attending Floods, faire Eden doe entreat,
To lead them downe to Sea, when Leven comes along,
And by her double Spring, being mightie them among,
There overtaketh Eske, from Scotland that doth hye,
Faire Eden to behold, who meeting by and by,
Downe from these Westerne Sands into the Sea doe fall,
Where I this Canto end, as also therewithall
My England doe conclude, for which I undertooke,
This strange Herculean toyle, to this my thirtieth Booke.

FINIS.