The Second Part, or a Continuance of Poly-Olbion

The second part, or a continuance 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. By Michael Drayton, Esq.
Poly-Olbion. Part 2
Drayton, Michael, 1563-1631.
1622
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The second part, or a continuance 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. By Michael Drayton, Esq.
Poly-Olbion. Part 2
Drayton, Michael, 1563-1631.
[10], 168 p., [12] folded plates : maps
Printed by Augustine Mathewes for Iohn Marriott, Iohn Grismand, and Thomas Dewe,
London :
1622.
In verse.
A variant (STC 7230) lacks author's name on title.
Identified as part of STC 7228 on UMI microfilm.
Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library.
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England -- Description and travel -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
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THE SECOND PART, OR A CONTINVANCE OF POLYOLBION 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.
By MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esq.
LONDON, Printed by Augustine Mathewes for Iohn Marriott, Iohn Grismand, and Thomas Dewe.
1622.
TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTIE, CHARLES Prince of WALES.
THE first Part of this Poeme (most Jllustrious Prince) I dedicated to your deceased Brother of most famous Memorie, whose princely Bountie, and vsage of mee, gaue me much encouragement to goe on with this second Part, or Continuance thereof; which now as his Successor, J owe to your Highnesse. If meanes and time faile me not, being now ariued at Scotland, I trust you shall see mee crowne her with no worse Flowers, then J haue done her two Sisters, England, and Wales: and without any partialitie, as I dare bee bold, to make the Poets of that Kingdom my Iudges therin. If I ariue at the Orcades, without sinking in my flight, your Highnesse cannot but say, that I had no ill Perspectiue that gaue mee things so cleerely, when I stood so farre off.
To your Highnesse
most humbly deuoted. MICHAEL DRAYTON.
To any that will read it.
WHen I first vndertooke this Poeme, or as some very skilfull in this kind, haue pleased to tearme it, this Herculean labour. I was by some vertuous friends perswaded, that I should receiue much comfort and incouragement therein; and for these Reasons: First, that it was a new, cleere way, neuer before gone by any; then, that it contained all the Delicacies, Delights, and Rarities of this renowned Isle, interwouen with the Histories of the Britanes, Saxons, Normans, and the later English: And further that there is scarcely any of the Nobilitie, or Gentry of this land, but that he is some way or other, by his Blood interressed therein. But it hath fallen out otherwise; for instead of that comfort, which my noble friends (from the freedome of their Spirits) proposed as my due, I haue met with barbarous Ignorance, and base Detraction; such a cloud hath the Deuill drawne ouer the Worlds Iudgement, whose opinion is in few yeares fallen so farre below all Ballatry, that the Lethargy is incurable; nay some of the Stationers, that had the Selling of the first part of this Poeme, because it went not so fast away in the Sale, as some of their beastly and abominable Trash, (a shame both to our Language and Nation) haue either despightfully left out, or at least carelessely neglected the Epistles to the Readers, and so haue cousoned the Buyers with vnperfected Bookes; which these that haue vndertaken the second Part, haue beene forced to amend in the first, for the small number that are yet remaining in their hands. And some of our outlandish, vnnaturall English, (I know not how otherwise
to expresse them) sticke not to say, that there is nothing in this Island worthy studying for, and take a great pride to bee ignorant in any thing thereof; for these, since they delight in their folly, I wish it may be hereditary from them to their posteritie, that their children may bee beg'd for Fooles to the fift Generation, vntill it may be beyond the memory of man to know that there was euer any other of their Families: neither can this deterre mee from going on with Scotland, if Meanes and Time doe not hinder me, to performe as much as I haue promised in my first Song:
Till to the sleepy Maine, to Thuly I haue gone,
And seene the Frozen Isles, the cold Deucalidon,
Amongst whose Iron Rocks, grim Saturne yet remaines,
Bound in
〈◊〉
gloomy Caues with Adamantine Chaines.
And as for those Cattell whereof I spake before, Odi profanum vulgus & arceo, of which I account them, bee they neuer so great, and so I leaue them. To my friends, and the louers of my Labors, I wish all happinesse.
Michael Drayton.
To my Honor'd Friend Mr. DRAYTON.
ENglands braue Genius, raise thy head; and see,
We haue a Muse in this mortalitie
Of Vertue yet suruiues; 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 liues Drayton, when the Times refuse,
Both Meanes to liue, and Matter for a Muse?
Onely without Excuse to leaue vs quite,
And tell vs, Durst we act, he durst to write.
Now, as the people of a famish'd Towne,
Receiuing no Supply, seeke vp 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 Leaues 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 euer venture on a sole Translation;
Whilst our full language, Musicall, and hie,
Speakes as themselues their best of Poesie.
Drayton, amongst the worthi'st of all those,
The glorious Laurell, or the Cyprian Rose
Haue euer crown'd, doth claime in euery 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 Ouid, Virgil, Homer, to peruse.
They would confesse, that neuer happier Pen,
Sung of his Loues, his Countrey, and the Men.
WILLIAM BROWNE.
To his Noble Friend, MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esquire, vpon his Topo-chrono-graphicall POEME.
FRom CORNWAL'S Foreland to the Cliffs of DOVER,
O're hilly CAMBRIA, and all ENGLAND ouer,
Thy Muse hath borne me; and (in foure dayes) showne
More goodly Prospects, then I could haue knowne
In foure yeares Trauailes; If I had not thus
Beene mounted, on thy winged PEGASVS.
The famous Riuers, the delight some 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 Ciuill-rages;
The Woods, the Forrests, and the open Plaines,
With whatsoe're this spacious Land containes,
For Profit, or for Pleasure: Io'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 neuer finde, nor yet so cheape attaine
(With so much ease and profit) halfe that gaine.
Good-speed be fall Thee; who hast wag'd a Taske,
That better Censures, and Rewards doth aske,
Then these Times haue to giue. For, those that should
The honor of true POESY vphold,
Are (for the most part) such as doe preferre
The fawning Lynes of euery Pamphleter,
Before the best-writ POEMS. And their sight
Or cannot, or else dares not, eye the Flight
Of free-borne NVMBERS; least bright VIRTVE'S fame,
Which flies in those, reflect on Them, their shame.
Tis well; thy happy Iudgement, could deuise,
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 Riuers, trips thy MVSE,
As, will or loose, or drowne him, that pursues.
Had my Inuention (which I know too weake)
Enabled been, so braue a Flight to make;
(Should my vnlucky Penn haue ouer gone
So many a Prouince, 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 braue a PATRON, that thou canst not lose
By this Aduenture. For, in Him, suruiues
His Brother HENRIE'S Virtues: and hee liues
To be that Comfort to thy MVSE, which Hee
Had nobly (e're his death) begun to be.
Yet, ouer much 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 vnborne, 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.
Those that succeed vs, DRAYTONS Name shall loue,
And, so much this laborious PEECE approoue;
That such as write beereafter, shall to trim
Their new Inuentions, pluck it limbe from limbe.
And our great-Grandsonnes Childrens-children may,
(Yea shall) as in a Glasse, this ISLE suruay,
As wee now see it: And as those did to,
Who liued many hundred yeares agoe.
For, when the Seas shall eat away the Shore,
Great Woods spring vp, where Plaines were heretofore;
High Mountaines leueld with low Vallyes lye;
And Riuers 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 PRaeDICTION, liue with Thee.
George Wither.
To my Worthy Friend MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esquire. An Acrosticke Sonnet vpon his Name.
MVst Albion thus bee Stellified by thee,
In her full pompe, that her the world may praise,
Cheerefull, Braue Isle, yea shall I liue 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 Ioy, my Thankes to him;
Lesse (sure) then this I may not, will not doe.
Drayton,
〈◊〉
still Parnassus thou doest clime,
Right like thy selfe, whose Heauen-inspired Muse,
As doth the Phenix still her selfe renewing,
Yee into other the like life infuse;
Thou his rich Subiect, he thy Fame pursuing.
Ohadst thou lou'd him, as
〈◊〉
thee hath done,
No Land such Honor, (to all times) had wonne.
IOHN REYNOLDS.
POLY-OLBION.
The nineteenth Booke.
THE ARGVMENT.
The Muse, now ouer Thames makes forth,
Vpon her Progresse to the North,
From Cauney with a full carrere,
Shee vp against the streame doth beare;
Where Waltham Forrests pride exprest,
Shee poynts directly to the East,
And shewes how all those Riuers straine
Through Essex, to the German mayne;
When Stoure, with Orwels ayd prefers,
Our Brittish braue Sea-voyagers;
Halfe Suffolke in with them shee takes,
Where of this Song an end shee makes.
BEare brauely vp my Muse, the way thou went'st before,An Iland lying in the Thames, on Essex side.
And crosse the kingly Thames to the Essexian shore,
Stem vp his tyde-full streame, vpon that side to rise,
Albion fained to be the son of Neptune, going ouer into Frāce to fight with Hercules, by whom he was vanquished, is supposed to leaue his children, the Iles of Thanet,
〈◊〉
, Greane, and this Cauney, lying in the mouth of
〈◊〉
, to the
〈◊〉
of Neptune their grand father. See to the latter end of the 18. Song.
Where * Cauncy, Albions child in-Iled richly lyes,
Which, though her lower scite doth make her seeme but meane,
Of him as dearly lou'd as Shepey is or Greane,
And him as dearly lou'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
〈◊〉
euery tyde:
And since of worldly State, she neuer taketh keepe,
But onely giues her selfe, to tend, and milke her sheepe.
But Muse, from her so low, diuert 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 euer wonne,
Through Forrests, where cleere Rills in wild Meanders runne;
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 graues,
The Muses haue free leaue, to starue or liue in caues:
But Waltham Forrest still in prosperous estate,
The braue scituation of VValtham
〈◊〉
. As standing to this day (so strangely fortunate)
Aboue her neighbour Nymphs, and holds her head aloft;
A turfe beyond them all, so sleeke and wondrous soft,
Vpon her setting side, by goodly London grac'd,
Vpon the North by Lea, her South by Thames embrac'd.
Vpon her rising point, shee chaunced to espie,
A daintie Forrest-Nymph of her societie.
Faire Hatfield, which in height all other did surmount,
Hatfield Forest lying lower towards the East betweene Stortford and Dunmovv.
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 reprooueth 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 vp 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 hauing sold our woods, doe lastly sell our soyle;
Tis vertue to giue place to these vngodly times,
When as the fostred ill proceeds from others crimes;
Gainst Lunatiks, and fooles, what wife
〈◊〉
spend their force;
For folly headlong falls, when it hath had the course:
And when God giues men vp, to wayes abhor'd and vile,
Of vnderstanding hee depriues 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 vs to sing,
They shall at last forbeare to welcome in the Spring,
When wanting where to pearch, they sit vpon the ground,
And curse them in their Notes, who first did woods confound.
Deare Sister Hatfield, then hold vp thy drooping head,
We feele no such decay, nor is all succour fled:
For Essex is our dower, which greatly doth abound,
With euery simple good, that in the Ile is found:
And though we goe to wracke in this so generall waste,
This hope to vs remaines, we yet may be the last.
When Hatfield taking heart, where late she sadly stood,
Sends little Roding foorth, her best-beloued Flood; Many Townes that stand on this Riuer, haue
〈◊〉
name as an addition: as Kythorp Roding, LeadenKoding, with many other.
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 warry Marsh,
Where though the blady grasse vnwholesome be and harsh,
Those wreaths away she casts, which bounteous Waltham gaue,
With Bulrush, Flags, and Reed, to make her wondrous braue,
And her selues strength diuides, to sundry lesser streames,
So wantoning shee falls into her Soueraigne 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 Riuers 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. The fruitfulst Hundred of Essex.
On Anciently called
〈◊〉
where these ominous signes foreran that great ouerthrow giuen to the Roman Co. lony by the Britans. See the 8. Song.
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 vp 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 euery 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 Neptuns of her wrong.
But whilst these grieuous stirres thus hapned them among,
Choice Chelmer comes along, a Nymph most neatly cleere,
Which welneere through the midst doth cut the wealthy Sheere,
By Dunmow gliding downe to Chelmsford hold her chase,
Chelmsfoid (abruptly
〈◊〉
) as much to say, as the Ford vpon the Riuer Che'mer.
To which she giues the name, which as she doth imbrace
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
〈◊〉
where these ominous signes foreran that great ouerthrow giuen 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 ouerthrow;
Crown'd Victory reuerst, 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 arriues 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 haue the British Floods among.
When Northey neere at hand, and th'Ile of Ousey rung
With shouts the Sea-Nymphs gaue, for ioy of their arriue,
As either of those Iles in curtesie doe striue,
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)
Perceiuing 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, vnworthy of your praise?
Pure * Walfleet, which doe still the daintiest pallats please:
Walfleet Oysters As excellent as those, which are esteemed most.
The Cizic shels, or those on the Lucrinian coast;
Cizicum is a city of Bythinia. Lucrinia is a citie of Apulia vpon the Adriatick Sea; the Oysters of which places, were reckoned for great delicates with the Romans. Or Cheese, which our fat soyle to euery quarter sends;
Whose tacke the hungry Clowne, and Plow-man so commends.
If you esteeme not these, as things aboue the ground,
Looke vnder, where the Vrnes 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,
To tell the worlds full strength, what creatures liued then;
When in her height of youth, the lustie fruitfull earth
The bones of Gyantlike people found in those parts. Brought foorth her big-limb'd brood, euen Gyants in their birth.
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 euery way,
Prepar'd to sing a Song, that should precisely show,
That Medway for her life, their skill could not out-goe:
Medvvay in the 18. Song, reciteth the Catalogue of the English Warriors. For Stour, a daintie flood, that duly doth diuide
Faire Suffolke from this Shire, vpon her other side;
By Clare first comming in, to Sudbury doth show,
The euen 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
〈◊〉
, and lastly they agree,
That since the Britans hence their first Discoueries made,
And that into the East they first were taught to trade.
Besides, of all the Roads, and Hauens of the East,
This Harbor where they meet, is reckoned for the best.
Our Voyages by Sea, and braue discoueries knowne,
Their argument they make, and thus they sing their owne;
In Seuerns 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 inuade,
Who Groneland, Iseland next, then Lapland lastly made
His awfull Empires bounds, the Britans acts among,
This God-like Heroes deeds exactly haue beene sung:
His valiant people then, who to those Countries brought,
Which many an age since that, our great'st discoueries thought.
This worthiest then of ours, our * Argonauts shall lead. Sea-voyages.
Next Malgo, who againe that Conquerors steps to tread,
Succeeding him in Raigne, in conquests so no lesse,
Plow'd vp the frozen Sea, and with as faire successe,
By that great Conquerors claime, first Orkney ouerran;
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 euer toucht before.
And when the Britans Raigne came after to decline,
And to the Cambrian hils their fate did them confine,
The Saxon swaying all, in Alfred, 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 twelue dayes trauailing.
But leauing 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;
And great Duina downe from her first springing place, The great riuer of Russia.
Doth roule her swelling waues in churlish Neptunes face.
Then Woolstan after him discouering Dansig found,
Where Wixels mighty mouth is powrd into the Sound, The greatest riuer of Danske.
And towing vp his streame, first taught the English Oares,
The vsefull 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 euery seuerall height with his true Astrolobe;
The Whirlpooles of the seas, and came to vnderstand, The greatest wonder of Nature.
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 vndoubtedly to bee;
From which they haue supposd, Nature the winds doth raise,
And from them to proceed the flowing of the Seas.
And when our Ciuill warres began at last to cease,
And these late calmer times of Oliue-bearing Peace,
Gaue leasure to great Minds, farre Regions to descry;
That braue aduentrous Knight, our Sir Hugh Willoughby,
Ship'd for the Northren Seas, mongst those congealed Piles,
Fashioned by lasting Frosts, like Mountaines, and like Iles,
(In all her fearefulst shapes saw Horror, whose great mind,
In lesser bounds then these, that could not be confin'd,
Aduentured on those parts, where Winter still doth keepe;
When most the Icy cold had chaind vp 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 Ienkinson:
For Russia both imbarqu'd, the first ariuing there,
Entring Duina's mouth, vp her proud streame did steere
To Volgad, to behold her pompe, the Russian State,
Moscouia measuring then; the other with like Fate,
Both those vast Realmes suruay'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 vntyred Oares,
Aduentured to view rich Persias wealth and pride,
Whose true report thereof, the English since haue tride.
With Fitch, our Eldred next, deseru'dly placed is;
Both trauailing to see, the Syrian Tripolis.
The first of which (in this whose noble spirit was showne)
To view those parts, to vs that were the most vnknowne,
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 Sauiours seat, blest Bethlem did behold,
And Iourdan, of whose waues, much is in Scriptures told.
Then Macham, who (through loue to long aduentures led)
Mederas wealthy Iles, the first discouered,
Who hauing 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,
Vpon an Ile of those, at length by tempest cast;
And putting in, to giue his tender Loue some ease,
Which very ill had brook'd, the rough and boystrous Seas;
And lingring for her health, within the quict Bay,
The Mariners most false, fled with the Ship away,
When as it was not long, but shee gaue vp her breath;
When he whose teares in vaine bewayld her timelesse death:
That their deserued Rites her Funerall could not haue,
A homely Altar built vpon her honoured graue.
When with his folke but few, not passing two or three,
There making them a Boat, but rudely of one Tree, The wonderful Aduenture of Macham.
Put foorth againe to Sea, where after many a flaw,
Such as before themselues, scarce Mortall euer saw;
Nor miserable men could possibly sustaine,
Now swallowed with the waues, and then spu'd vp 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 vs and ours to trie,
For great Morrocco made, discouering Barbarie.
Lock, Towerson, Fenner next, vast Guiney forth that sought,
And of her Iuory, 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 Iune and Iuly met
With Snow, Frost, Haile, & Sleet, and found sterne Winter strong,
VVith mighty Iles of Ice, and Mountaines huge and long.
VVhere as it comes and goes, the great eternall Light,
Makes halfe the yeare still day, and halfe continuall night.
Then for those Bounds vnknown, he brauely set againe, Meta Incognita.
As he a Sea-god were, familiar with the Maine.
The Noble Fenton next, and lackman we preferre,
Both Voyagers, that were with famous Forbosher.
And Dauies, three times forth that for the Northwest made;
Still striuing by that course, t'inrich the English Trade:
And as he well deseru'd to his eternall fame.
There by a mightie Sea, Imortaliz'd his Name.
〈◊〉
Dauisium.
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 Hauens, where
Our neighbouring Nations since haue stor'd them euery yeare.
Then Globe-engirdling Drake, the Nauall Palme that wonne,
Who stroue in his long Course to emulate the Sunne:
Of whom the Spaniard vs'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 vpon Spaine.
This more then man (or what) this Demie-god at Sea,
Leauing behind his backe, the great America,
Vpon the surging Maine his wel-stretch't Tacklings flewd,
To fortie three Degrees of North'ly
〈◊〉
;
Vnto that Land before to th' Christian world vnknowne,
VVhich in his Countries right he nam'd New Albion;
And in the VVesterne Inde, spight of the power of Spaine,
Hee Saint Iago tooke, Domingo, Cartagene:
And leauing of his prowesse, a marke in euery Bay,
Saint Augustins surpriz'd, in Terra Florida.
Then those that foorth for Sea, Industrious Rawleigh wrought,
And them with euery thing, fit for discouery fraught;
That Amadas, (whose Name doth scarsely English sound)
With Barlow, who the first Virginia throughly found.
As Greenvile, whom he got to vndertake that Sea,
Three sundry times from hence, who touch'd Virginia.
(In his so rare a choyce, it well approou'd his wit;
That with so braue a Spirit, his turne so well could fit.
O Greenvile, thy great Name, for euer be renown'd,
And borne by Neptune still, about this mightie Round;
Whose Nauall 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 brauely bare, amongst our people there,
That him they onely lou'd, when others they did feare.
And from those Barbarous, brute, and wild Virginians wan
Such reuerence, as in him there had been more then man.
Then he which fauoured still, such high attempts as these,
Rawleigh, whose reading made him skil'd in all the Seas,
Imbarqu'd his worthy selfe, and his aduenturous crue,
And with a prosperous Sayle to those faire Countries flew,
Where O renoque, 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 vndertooke the Voyage to New-Spaine:
And Hawkins not behind, the best of these before,
Who hoysing sayle, to seeke the most remotest shore,
Vpon that new nam'd Spaine, and Guinny sought his prize,
As one whose mighty mind small things could not suffice,
The sonne of his braue 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 euery mouth, and tooke vp euery eare.
What man could in his time discourse of any Seas,
But of braue 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 brauely 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,
Aduentures in the parts vpon the Westerne-Inde;
Port Santo who surpriz'd, and Coches, with the Fort
Of Coro, and the Towne, when in submissiue sort,
Cumana ransome crau'd, Saint Iames of Le on sack'd;
Iamica went not free, but as the rest they wrack'd.
Then Sherley, (since whose name such high renowne hath won)
That Voyage vndertooke, as they before had done:
He Saint Iago saw, Domingo, Margarita,
By Terrafirma sayl'd to th'Ilands of Iamica,
Vp Rio Dolce row'd, and with a prosperous hand,
Returning to his home, touch'd at the New-found-land,
Where at Iamicas Iles, couragious Parker met
With Sherley, and along vp Rio Dolce set,
Where bidding him adue, on his owne course he ran,
And tooke Campeches Towne, the chief'st of Iucatan.
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,
VVhen as from Harwich all to Louing-land along,
Great claps and shouts were heard resounding to the shore,
Wherewith th'Essexian Nymphs applaud their loued 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 vpon 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 Waueney to the North, rich Suffolks onely meere,
As Stour vpon the North, from Essex parts this Sheere;
Suffolke bounded on the South and North.
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 Louing-land to keepe.
The twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
The Muse that part of Suffolke sings,
That lyes to Norfolke, and then brings
The bright Norfolcean Nymphes, to ghest
To Louing-land, to Neptunes Feast;
To Ouze the lesse then downe shee takes,
Where shee a Flight at Riuer 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 * Nymphall to be held A meeting, or Feast os Nymphs.
In honor of himselfe, in Louing-land, where he
The most selected Nymphes appointed had to be.
Those Seamayds that about his secret
〈◊〉
doe dwell,
Which tend his mightie heards of VVhales, and Fishes fell,
As of the Riuers those, amongst the Meadowes ranke,
That play in euery Foar'd, and sport on euery banke,
Were summon'd to be there, in paine of Neptunes hate:
For he would haue his Feast, obseru'd with god-like state,
When those Suffolcean Floods, that sided not with Stoure,
Their streames but of themselues into the Ocean powre,
As Or, through all the coast a Flood of wondrous fame,
Whose honored fall begets a * Hauen of her name.
〈◊〉
Hauen.
And Blyth a daintie Brooke, their speedy course doe cast,
For Neptune with the rest, to Louing-land to hast:
When Waueney in her way, on this Septentriall side,
That these two Easterne Shires doth equally diuide,
From * Laphamford leads on, her streame into the East, The place of her Spring.
By Bungey, then along by Beckles, when possest
Of Louing-land, 'bout which her limber Armes she throwes,
VVith Neptune taking hands, betwixt them who inclose,
And her an Iland make, fam'd for her scite so farre.
But leaue her Muse awhile, and let vs on with Yar,
VVhich Gariena some, some Hier, some Yar doe name; At Gatesend not far thence.
VVhorising from her spring not farre from Walsingham,
Through the Norfolcean fields seemes wantonly to play,
To Norwich comes at length, towards Yarmouth on her way,
VVhere Wentsum from the South, and Bariden doe beare
Vp with her, by whose wealth she much is honored there,
To intertaine her Yar, that in her state doth stand,
With Townes of high'st account, the fourth of all the land:
〈◊〉
, in place the 4. city of England.
That hospitable place to the Industrious Dutch,
Whose skill in making Stuffes, and workmanship is such,
(For refuge hither come) as they our ayd deserue, The Dutch a most industrious people.
By labour sore that liue, whilst oft the English starue;
On Roots, and Pulse that feed, on Beefe and Mutton spare,
So frugally they liue, not gluttons as we are.
But from my former Theame, since thus I haue digrest,
Ile borrow more of Time, vntill my Nymphs be drest:
And since these Foods fall out so fitly in my way,
A little while to them I will conuert my Lay.
The Colewort, Colifloure, and Cabidge in their season, Roots and Garden. fruits of this Iland.
The Rouncefall, great Beanes, and early ripening Peason;
The Onion, Scallion, Leeke, which Housewiues highly rate;
Their kinsman Garlicke then, the poore mans Mithridate;
The sauory Parsnip next, and Carret pleasing food;
The Skirret (which some say) in Sallats stirres the blood;
The Turnip, tasting well to Clownes in VVinter 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;
VVhich dainty pallats now, because they would not want,
Haue kindly learnt to set, as yearely to transplant:
The Radish somewhat hote, yet vrine doth prouoke;
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 triuiall things, Muse, wander not too long,
But now to nimble Yar, turne we our actiue Song,
Which in her winding course, from Norwich to the Mayne,
By many a stately seat lasciuiously doth straine,
To Yarmouth till she come, her onely christned Towne, So called by the falling of Yar into the Sea.
Whose fishing through the Realme, doth her so much renowne,
VVhere 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 selues Harbour here, when Yar doth hardly win,
But kindly she againe, saluted is by Thrin,
A faire Norsolcean Nymph, which gratifies her fall.
Now are the * Tritons heard, to Louing-land to call,
Which Neptunes great commaunds, before them brauely beare, Supposed to be Trumpeters to Neptune.
Commanding all the Nymphs of high account that were,
Which in fat Holland lurke amongst the queachy plashes,
Or play them on the sands, vpon the fomy washes,
As all the watry brood, which haunt the German deepes,
Vpon whose briny Curles, the dewy morning weepes,
To Louing-land to come, and in their bestattires,
That meeting to obserue, 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 Vnicorne.
Next Proto wondrous swift, led all the rest the way, The vertuall properties incident to waters, as well Seas, as Riuers, expressed by their name in the persons of Nymphs, as hath bin vsed by the Ancients.
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:
Analijs which the Sea doth salt, and seasoned keepe;
And Batheas, most supreame and soueraigne in the deepe,
Brings Cyane, to the waues which that greene colour giues;
Then Atmis, which in Fogs and mistie vapours liues:
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 Louing-land that came.
These Nymphs trick'd vp 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,
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 Ieat they did not misse;
Their lips they sweetned had with costly Ambergris.
Scarcely the * Neriad's thus arriued from the Seas, Sea-Nymphs.
But from the fresher streames the brighter * Niades,
Nymphs of Riuers.
To Louing-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 euery banke,
Phylodice, the boughs for Garlands fresh and ranke.
Which the cleare Naiades make them * Anadems withall,
When they are cald to daunse in Neptunes mightie hall. Coronets of Flowers.
Then Ligea, which maintaines the Birds harmonious layes,
Which fing on Riuers banks amongst the slender sprayes,
VVith Rhodia, which for them doth nurse the Roseat sets,
Ioida, which preserues the azure Violets.
Anthea, of the flowers, that hath the generall charge,
And Syrinx of the Reeds, that grow vpon the Marge.
Some of these louely Nymphes wore on their flaxen haire
Fine Chaplets made of Flaggs, that fully flowred were:
VVith Water-cans againe, some wantonly them dight,
VVhose larger leafe and flower, gaue wonderfull delight
To those that wistly view'd their Beauties: some againe,
That soueraigne places held amongst the watry traine,
Of Cat-tayles made them Crownes, which from the Sedge doth
Which neatly wouen were, and some to grace the show, (grow,
Of Lady-smocks most white, doe rob each neighbouring Mead,
VVherewith their looser locks most curiously they breyd.
Now thus together com'n, they friendly doe deuise,
Some of light toyes, and some of matters graue and wise.
But to breake off their speech, her reed when Syrinx sounds,
Some cast themselues in Rings, and fell to Hornepipe rounds:
They ceasing, as againe to others turnes it falls,
They lustie Galiards tread, some others Iiggs, and Braules.
This done, vpon the banke together being set,
Proceeding in the cause, for which they thus weremet,
In mightie Neptunes praise, these Sea-borne Virgins sing: The Song of the SeaNymphs 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 Ioue, the Diadem that wonne,
Whose ofspring wise and strong, deare Nymphes let vs relate,
On mountaines of vast waues, know he that sits in state,
And with his Trident rules, the vniuersall streame,
To be the onely syre of mightie Polypheme.
On fayre Thoofa got old
〈◊〉
loued child,
Who in a fained shape that god of Sea beguild.
Three thousand princely sonnes, and louely 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, Ioues Thunder-bolts that makes.
Great Neptune, Nelius got, (if you for wisedome seeke)
Who was old Nestors syre, the grau'st and wisest Greeke.
Or from this King of waues, of such thou lou'st to heare,
Of famous Nations first, that mightie Founders were;
Then Cadmus, who the plot of ancient Thebes contriu'd,
From Neptune God of Sea, his Pedigree deriu'd,
By Agenor his old Syer, who rul'd Phenicia long:
So Inachus, the chiefe of Argiues 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 neuer rise,
Aboue the lower South, are neuer from his eyes:
As those againe to him doe euery 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.
VVhere is there one to him that may compared be,
That both the Poles at once continually doth see;
And Gyant-like with heauen 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 euen shores, oft mountainous with Sands:
Whose creatures, which obserue 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 * Wauency sung before, and * Ouse the lesse, whose spring The fountaines of these riuers, not farre asunder, vet one running Northward, the other to the East.
Towards Ouse the greater poynts, and downe by Thetford glides,
VVhere shee cleere Thet receiues, her glory that diuides,
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: A description of a flight at Riuer.
What subiect can be found, that lies not faire to me.
Of simple Shepheards now, my Muse exactly sings,
And then of courtly Loues, 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 Riuer, Plash, or Mere, where store of Fowle doth lye:
Whence forced ouer land, by skilfull Falconers trade:
A faire conuenient flight, may easily be made.
He whistleth off his Hawkes, whose nimble pincons streight,
Doe worke themselues by turnes, into a stately height:
And if that after * check, the one or both doe goe, After Pigeons, Crowes, or such like.
Sometimes he them the Lure, sometimes doth water show;
The trembling Fowle that heare the Iigging Hawk-bels ring,
And find it is too late, to trust then to their wing,
Lye flat vpon the flood, whilst the high-mounted Hawks,
Then being lords alone, in their etheriall walkes,
Aloft so brauely stirre, their bells so thicke that shake;
Which when the Falkoner sees, that scarce one * plane they make: When they sore as Kites doo.
The gallant'st Birds saith he, that euer flew on wing,
And sweares there is a Flight, were worthy of a King.
Then making to the Flood, to force the Fowles to rise,
The fierce and eager Hawkes, downe thrilling from the Skies,
Make sundry * Canceleers e'r they the Fowle can reach, Crossing the ayre in their downe-come.
Which then to saue their liues, their wings doe liuely stretch.
But when the whizzing Bels the silent ayre doe cleaue,
And that their greatest speed, them vainly doe deceiue;
And the sharpe cruell Hawkes, they at their backs doe view,
Themselues for very feare they instantly * ineawe. Lay the Fowles againe into the water.
The Hawkes get vp 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 braue, them in againe they lay.
But when the Falkoners take their Hawking-poles in hand,
And crossing of the Brooke, doe put it ouer land:
The Hawke giues it a souse, that makes it to rebound,
Well neere the height of man, sometime aboue 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 iocond Lure againe,
When he his quarry makes vpon 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 Riuer 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 Riuer thus, shee gently doth debate.
Disdaine me not, deare Flood, in thy excessiue 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 receiue by me, so soueraigne in my place.
Though Rumney, as some say, for finenesse of her grasse,
And for her daintie scite, all other doth surpasse:
Yet are those Seas but poore, and Riuers 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 giues 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 * Washes stand, to watch and ward me still, The Washes, lying betweene Marsh-land, and the Sea.
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 haue 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 haue 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.
The one and twentieth Song.
The Argvment.
Now from New market comes the Muse,
Whose spacious Heath, shee wistly viewes,
Those Ancient Ditches and surueyes,
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 inuites.
And lastly, Elies praise shee sings,
An end which to this Canto brings.
BY this our little rest, thus hauing gotten breath,
And fairely in our way, vpon Newmarket-Heath:
That great and ancient * Ditch, which vs expected long, The Diuels Ditch.
Inspired by the Muse, at her arriuall song:
O Time, what earthly thing with thee it selfe can trust,
When thou in thine owne course, art to thy selfe vniust!
Dost thou contract with death, and to obliuion giue
Thy glories, after them, yet shamefully dar'st liue?
O Time, hadst thou preseru'd, what labouring man hath done,
Thou long before this day, mightst to thy selfe haue 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 themselues haue suffered by thy theft,
Yet with their Ruines, thou, to ages mightst haue left,
Those Monuments who rear'd, and not haue suffred thus The great ditch cutting Nevvmarket. Heath, beginneth at Rech, & endeth at Covvlidge.
Posteritie so much, t'abuse both thee and vs.
I, by th' East Angles first, who from this Heath arose,
The long'st and largest Ditch, to check their Mercian foes;
Because my depth, and breadth, so strangely doth exceed,
Mens low and wretched thoughts, they constantly decreed,
That by the Deuils helpe, I needs must raised be,
Wherefore the Deuils-Ditch they basely named me:
When ages long before, I bare Saint Edmonds name,
Because vp to my side, (some haue supposed) came
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 maruaile, though Obliuion doe you threat.
First, * Flemditch next my selfe, that art of greatest strength,
Alias, Seuen mile ditch, being so much in length from the East side of the riuer
〈◊〉
to Balsham. From Hinxston to Horsheath fiue miles. From Melburne to Fulmer, the shortest of the foure.
That doest extend thy course full seauen large mile in length:
And thou the * Fiuemile cald, yet not lesse deare to me;
With * Brenditch, that againe is shortest of the three,
Can you suppose your selues at all to be respected,
When you may see my truth's bely'd, and so neglected:
Therefore deare Heath, liue still in prosperous estate,
And let thy wel-fleec'd Flocks, from morne to euening late,
(By carefull Shepheards kept) reioyce thee with their praise;
And let the merry Larke, with her delicious layes,
Giue 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 loue 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 euery little space,
He saw bright Phoebus gaze vpon her Christall face,
And through th'exhaled Fogs, with anger looked red,
To leaue his loued Nymph, when he went downe to bed.
Wherefore this Hill with loue, being fouly ouergone:
And one day as he found the louely Nymph alone,
Thus wooes her; Sweeting mine, if thou mine owne wilt be,
C'haue many a pretty gaud, I keepe in store for thee.
A nest of broad-fac'd Owles, and goodly Vrchins too;
Nay Nymph take heed of me, when I begin to wooe:
And better yet then this, a Bulchin twa yeares old,
A curld-pate Calfe it is, and oft could haue beene sold:
And yet beside all this, c'haue goodly Beare-whelps twa,
Full daintie for my Ioy, 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 euery 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 vp his hayre,
As one that for her loue 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 hauing 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,
Iudge meanly of my state, when she ńo 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
〈◊〉
, 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 vpon the eares of Corne;
And catching drops of dew in their lasciuious chases,
Doe cast the liquid pearle in one anothers faces.
What they in largenesse haue, that beare themselues so hie,
In my most perfect forme, and delicacie, I,
For greatnesse of my graine, and finenesse of my grasse;
This Ilc scarce hath a Vale, that Ringdale doth surpasse.
When more she would haue said, but suddenly there sprung,
A confident report, that through the Countrey rung,
That Cam her daintiest Flood, long since entituled Grant,
Whose fountaine Ashwell crown'd, with many a vpright plant. A famous Village in the confines of Hartfordshire.
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 giues the name,
Takes in her second head, from Linton comming in,
By Shelford hauing slid, which straightway she doth win:
Then which, a purer Streame, a delicater Brooke,
Bright Phoebus in his course, doth scarcely ouerlooke.
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 conuerse:
Wherefore it her behooues, that something she reherse,
The Sisters that concern'd, who whispered in her eare,
Such things as onely shee, and they themselues 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 heauenly fire infused,
Oft by the worthlesse world, vnworthily abused:
With whom, in their behalfe, hap ill, or happen well,
Shee meant to haue a bout, euen in despight of Hell,
When humbly lowting low, her due obedience done,
Thus like a Satyre shee, deliberatly begun.
My Inuectiue, 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 aduance,
For euer be you damn'd in your dull ignorance.
Slaue, he whom thou dost thinke, so meane and poore to be,
Is more then halfe diuine, when he is set by thee.
Nay more, I will avow, and iustifie him then,
He is a god, compar'd with ordinary men.
His braue and noble heart, here in a heauen doth dwell,
Aboue those worldly cares, that sinks such sots to hell:
A caitife if there be more viler then thy selfe,
If he through basenesse light vpon this worldly pelfe,
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 vniuersall earth,
Except that gift from heauen, 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 leaue,
You scarcely buried are, but they your hopes deceiue.
Haue 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 vpon you all, from him your deuillish Sire,
Groueling vpon the earth, to creepe vpon your breast,
And licke the lothsome dust, like that abhorred beast.
But leaue these hatefull heards, and let me now declare,
In th'Helliconian
〈◊〉
, who rightly christned are:
Not such as basely sooth the Humour of the Time,
And slubberingly patch vp some slight and shallow Rime,
Vpon Pernassus top, that striue to be instal'd,
Yet neuer 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 disioynted bones,
And make a viler noyse, then carts vpon 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 vnfit,
Mere filthy stuffe, that breakes out of the sores of wit:
What Poet reckes the praise vpon such Anticks heap'd,
Or enuies that their lines, in Cabinets are kept?
Though some fantasticke foole promoue their ragged Rymes,
And doe transcribe them o'r a hundred seuerall times,
And some fond women winnes, to thinke them wondrous rare,
When they lewd beggery trash, nay very gibbrish are.
Giue 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 vtmost is, that Art doth striue 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 ciuill life, by his inticing Layes.
Had he compos'd his lines, like many of these dayes,
Which to be vnderstood, doe take in it disdaine:
Nay, Oedipus may fayle, to know what they would meane.
If Orpheus had so play'd, not to be vnderstood,
Well might those men haue thought the Harper had been wood;
Who might haue fit him downe, the trees and rockes among,
And been a veryer blocke, then those to whom he sung.
O noble Cambridge then, my most beloued Towne,
In glory flourish still, to heighten thy renowne:
In womans perfect shape, still be thy Embleme right, The Embleme of Cambridge.
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
〈◊〉
,
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 vpon 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,
Vpon whose by-clift top, the sacred company
About Apollo sit; and thou O Flood, with these
Pure Hellicon, belou'd of the Pierides.
With Tempe, let thy walks, and shades, be brought to her,
And all your glorious gifts vpon my Towne conferre.
This said, the louely 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 ouer 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 vse to blanch their Beauties rare.
Hath there a man beene borne in me, that neuer knew
Of Watersey the Leame, or th'other cal'd the New.
Famous Ditches, or Waterdraughts in the
〈◊〉
.
The Frithdike neer'st my midst, and of another sort,
Who euer fish'd, or fowl'd, that cannot make report
Of sundry Meres at hand, vpon my Westerne way,
As Ramsey mere, and Vg, 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
〈◊〉
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 soueraigne. Nor yet let that Islet Ramsey shame,
Although to
〈◊〉
. Mere shee onely giues the name; Though Ely be in part of Cambridge Shire, yet are these Meres for the most part in
〈◊〉
Shire.
* Nor Huntingdon,
〈◊〉
me though she extend her grounds,
Twit me that I at all vsurpe vpon her Bounds.
Those Meres may well be proud, that I will take them in,
Which otherwise perhaps forgotten might haue bin.
Besides my towred Phane, and my rich Citied seat,
With Villages, and Dorpes, to make me most compleat. The Towne and Church of Ely.
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.
The two and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
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 Ciuill warres should chant:
By Huntingdon shee Waybridge meetes,
And thence the German Ocean greetes.
INuention as before, thy high-pitcht pinions rouze,
Exactly to set downe how the far-wandring Ouze,
The Progresse of the Riuer of Ouze to the German Sea.
Through the Bedfordian fields deliciously doth strain,
As holding on her course, by Huntingdon againe,
How brauely 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 heauenly 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, conuerteth wood to stone.
That little Aspleyes earth we anciently instile, One of the wonders of this Iland.
Mongst sundry other things, A wonder of the Ile:
Of which the lesser Ouze oft boasteth in herway,
As shee her selfe with Flowers doth gorgeously aray. After this riuer hath entred Bedford Shire, there is scarce any Riuer in this Iland, that runneth with so many intricate Gyres and turnings as this Ouze.
Ouze hauing Ouleney past, as shee were waxed mad,
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 diuide,
Where shee her spacious breast in glorious bredth displayes;
And varying her cleere forme a thousand sundry wayes,
Streakes through the verdant Meads; but farre she hath not gone,
When I vell a cleare Nymph from Shefford sallying on,
Comes deftly dauncing in through many a daintie Slade,
Crown'd with a goodly Bridge, arriu'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 louingly at last hath hapt to ouertake;
Shee in her Chrystall Armes her soueraigne Ouze doth cling,
Which Flood in her Allie, as highly glorying,
Shoots forward to Saint Neots, into those nether grounds,
Towards Huntingdon, and leaues the lou'd Bedfordian bounds.
Scarce is she entred yet vpon this second Sheere,
Of which she soueraigne is, but that two Fountaines cleere, The holy Springs of Harlvveston.
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 prou'd,
The pleasures of the Woods, and faithfully belou'd
Of two such Syluan gods, by hap that found vs here;
For then their Syluan kind most highly honoured were,
When this whole Countries face was Forresty, and we
Liu'd loosely in the Weilds, which now thus peopled be.
Oft interchang'd we sighs, oft amorous lookes we sent,
Oft whispering our deare loues, our thoughts oft did we vent
Amongst the secret shades, oft in the groues did play,
And in our sports our ioyes, and sorrowes did bewray.
Oft cunningly we met, yet coyly then imbrac't,
Still languish'd in desire, yet liu'd we euer chast.
And quoth the saltish Spring, as one day mine and I,
Set to recount our loues, 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 depriu'd
Of former freshnesse quite, the cause from him deriu'd,
On me bestow'd this gift, my sweetnesse to requite,
That I should euer 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 loue he stood,
On me bestow'd this gift, that euer after I
Should cure the painfull Itch, and lothsome Leprosie.
Held on with this discourse, shee on not farre hath runne,
But that shee is ariu'd at goodly Huntingdon;
Where shee no sooner viewes her darling and delight,
Proud Portholme, but became so rauish'd with the sight, A little Iland made by this Riuer, lying neere Huntingdon.
That shee her limber armes lasciuously 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 braue 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'aduaunce this Flood, the Fates had brought to passe,
As shee of all the rest the onely Riuer was:
That but a little while before that fatall warre,
Twixt that diuided Blood of Yorke and Lancaster,
Neere Harleswood, aboue in her Bedfordian trace,
By keeping backe her streame, for neere three furlongs space, Prodigious signes fores running the wars betwixt the houses of Lancaster and Yorke in this Riuer of Ouze.
Laying her Bosome bare vnto the publique view,
Apparantly was prou'd by that which did ensue,
In her Prophetique selfe, those troubles to foresee:
Wherefore (euen as her due) the Destinies agree,
Shee should the glory haue our ciuill 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 * Hastings, where the valiant Harold slaine,
Resign'd his Crowne, whose soyle the colour doth retaine, In Sussex, neere the Sea.
Of th'English blood there shed, as th'earth still kept the skarre:
Which since not ours begot, but an inuasiue 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 vsurp'd his eld'st borne brothers right;
Which since it forraine was, not strucke within this land,
Amongst our ciuill fights here numbred shall not stand.
But Lincolne Battell now we as our first will lay, The Battell at Lincolne.
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 braue Duke of Britaine, whom he grac'd
VVith th'Earles of Norsolke, 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 ioyne, as when two aduerse Seas are dasht
Against each others waues, 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 Fitzvrse 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 vp 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, The Battell at Saint Edmunds Bury. Henry the second.
By our * Fitz-Empresse force, and Flemings hither brought
By th'Earle of Leister, bent to moue 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.
Gainst Bohun, Englands great high Constable that swayd
The Royall forces, ioyn'd with Lucy for his ayd
Chiefe Iustice, 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 vpon the Marshy ground,
Betwixt Saint Edmunds towne, and Fornham (fitly found)
The bellowing Drummes beat vp a thunder for the charge,
The Trumpets rend the ayre, the Ensignes let at large,
Like wauing 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 ioyning of whole forces,
The either part were seene to tumble from their horses,
Which emptie put to rout, are paunch'd with Gleaues and Pyles,
Lest else by running loose, they might disranke their
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The Bilmen come to blowes, that with the cruell thwacks,
The ground lay strew'd with Male, and shreds of tatterd Iacks:
The playnes like to a shop, lookt each where to behold.
VVhere limbes of mangled men on heaps lay to be sold;
Sterne discontented Warre did neuer 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,
VVhose ill requited loue did him much sorrow raise,
As Le'ster by this warre against King Henry show'd,
Vpon so bad a cause, O courage ill bestow'd;
VVho had thy quarrell beene, as thou thy selfe was skild
In braue and martiall feats, thou euermore 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
VVho sided with the French, by seeking to depose
Henry the sonne of Iohn, then young, and to aduaunce
The Daulphin Lewes, sonne to Philip King of France,
VVhich 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 Field at Lewes then, by our third Henry fought, The Battell of Levves.
VVho Edward his braue sonne vnto that Conflict brought;
VVith Richard then the King of Almaine, and his sonne
Young Henry, with such Lords as to his part he wonne,
VVith him their Soueraigne Liege, their liues 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 liues 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 vnto 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 vphold their pride,
There will we vent our spleenes, where swords shall it decide.
To whom they thus replide, Tell that braue man of Hope,
He shall the Mountfords find in t'head of all their Troupe,
To answere his proud braues; 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 diuide,
Of which his princely * sonne the Vaward had to guide:Prince Edvvard after called Edvvard the first.
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 seuerall Fights, the desperate Barons theirs.
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-Iohn:
The third wherein alone the Londoners were plac'd,
The stout Lord Segraue led; the greatest, and the last,
Braue Leicester himselfe, with courage vndertooke.
The day vpon the host affrightedly doth looke,
To see the dreadfull shocke, their first encounter gaue,
As though it with the rore, the Thunder would out-braue.
Prince Edward all in gold, as he great Ioue 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 wauing 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 ouerwhelme,
But I will breake my sword vpon his plumed helme.
The younger Bohun there, to high atchiuements bent,
With whom two other Lords, Lucy, and Hastings went,
Which charging but too home, all sorely wounded were,
VVhom liuing from the field, the Barons stroue to beare,
Being on their partie fixd; whilst still Prince Edward spurres;
To bring his Forces vp to charge the Londoners,
T'whom cruell hate he bare, and ioyning with their Force,
Of heauy-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 Iustice (as some say) with them fiue thousand men;
And Bohun that great Earle of Her'ford ouerthrowne,
With Bardolfe, Somery, Patshull, and Percie knowne.
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 aduanc'd
His Ensignes gainst the King, (contrary to his oath)
Vpon the Barons part, with the Lord Deuell, both
Surpriz'd by Henry Prince of Almain with his power,
By comming at so strange an vnexpected hower:
And taking them vnarmd; since meerely a defeat,
With our well-ordered fights, we will not here repeat.
The fatall Battell then at fertile Eusham struck,The Battell at Eusham.
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 vtterly 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 receiu'd, their Armes not downe to lay,
Vntill 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 deuoure
At Lewes Battell late, and durst his part partake.
The Prince excites againe, an Armie vp 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-Iohn, Lisle, Percie, Latimer,
All Barons, which to him their vtmost strengths doe lay,
VVith many a Knight for power their equall euery 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,
VVho for his Countries cause becomes his fathers foe.
Fitz-Iohn, Gray, Spencer, Strange, Rosse, Segraue, Vessey, Gifford,
Wake, Lucy, Vipount, Vaux, Clare, Marmion, Hastings, Clifford.
In that blacke night before his sad and dismall day,
VVere apparitions strange, as drad Heauen would bewray
The horrors to ensue, O most amazing fight!
Two Armies in the Ayre, discerned were to fight,
VVhich 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 ioyn'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 Gleaues, Swords, Bills, and Pykes, were murthering one another.
The full luxurious earth, seemes surfitted with blood,
VVhilst in his Vnckles gore th'vnnaturall Nephew stood;
VVhilst with their charged Staues, the desperate horsmen meet,
They heare their kinsmen groane vnder their Horses feet.
Dead men, and weapons broke, doe on the earth abound;
The Drummes bedash'd with braines, doe giue a dismall sound.
Great Le'ster there expir'd, with Henry his braue sonne,
VVhen 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:
Segraues, and Saint-Iohns seeke, vpon the end of all,
To giue 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 ciuill warres did cease,
Who stroue his Countries bounds by Conquest to increase. The Conflicts at Burton and Burrough Bridge in the second Barons warres
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 Eusham 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 Gauaston, whom they had put to death before.
Which vrg'd too farre, at length to open Armes they brake,
And for a speedy warre, they vp their powers doe make.
Vpon 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 Bobun, 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, Louell,
Tuchet, and Talbot stout, doe for the Barons stand,
Mandute, 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 vpon Trent who hauing gathered head,
Towards them with all his power the King in person sped;
Who at his neere approach (vpon 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 vpon 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.
VVhile 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,
VVhich quickly he performes, which draue the Barons force
From the defended Bridge, t'affront th'approching foe,
Imbattelling themselues, 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 driuen from their ground,
That when by their much losse, too weake themselues 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 euer saw,
Braue Bohun there was slaine, and Lancaster forsaken
Of Fortune, is surpriz'd; the Barons prisoners taken.
For those Rebellions, Stirres, Commotions, Vprores, here
In Richard Burdeaux raigne, that long so vsuall 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 the Iland to subdue:
* The first of which, the Maior of London brauely slew;
Jack Stravv, kild by the Maior of London with his dagger. John Litstar, 2 Dyer of Norvvich.
Walworth, which wonne his name much honour by the deed:
As they of Suffolke next, those Rascals that succeed,
By * Litster led about, their Captaine who enstil'd
Himselfe the Commons King, in hope to haue exil'd
The Gentry from those parts, by those that were his owne,
By that braue Bishop (then) of Norwitch ouerthrowne.
Henry Spencer, the warlike Bishop of Norvvich. At Hatfield.
By such vnruly Slaues, and that in Essex rais'd
By Thomas that stout Duke of Glo'ster, strongly * ceaz'd,
As that at Radcot bridge, where the last named Peere,
With foure braue * Earles his friends, encountred Robert Vere
Then Duke of Ireland cald, by Richard so created, VVarvvicke, Darby, Arnndell, & Nottingham.
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 ouerpasse.
I chuse the Battell next of Shrewsbury to chant, The Battell of Shrevv: bury.
Betwixt Henry the fourth, the sonne of Iohn of Gant,
And the stout Percies, Henry Hotspurre and his Eame
The Earle of Wor'ster, who the rightfull Diademe
Had from King Richard reft, and heau'd vp 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 haue Wales, along as Seuerne went,
The Percies all the North, that lay beyond the Trent;
And Mortimer from thence the South to be his share;
Which Henry hauing 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,
VVith Cockayne, Caluerly, 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'Eatle Dowglasse for this day doth with the Percies stand,
To whom they Berwicke gaue, 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 ouerthrowne,
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 vpon the other side,
Consisted most of Scots, which ioyning, made such spoyle,
As at the first constrain'd the English to recoyle,
And almost brake their Rankes, which when King Henry found,
Bringing his Battell vp, to reinforce the ground,
The Percies bring vp theirs, againe to make it good.
Thus whilst the either Host in opposition stood,
Braue Dowglasse with his spurres, his furious Courser strake, The high courage of Dovvglasse wan him that addition of Doughty Dovvglasse, which after grew to a Prouerbe.
His Lance set in his rest, when desperatly he brake
In, where his eye beheld th'Emperiall Ensigne pight,
Where soone it was his chance, vpon 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 neuer to aduance
His Battell in the Field, which neere from him was wonne,
Ayded by that braue Prince, his most couragious sonne,
Who brauely comming on, in hope to giue 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 neuer 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 ioyne, as doe two aduerse floods
Met in some narrow Arme, shouldring as they would shoue
Each other from their path, or would their bankes remoue.
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 vpon the cold earth lyes,
Stout Wor'ster taken was, and doughtie Douglasse flyes.
Fiue thousand from both parts left dead vpon the ground,
Mongst whō the kings fast friend, great Staffords coarse was found;
And all the Knights there dub'd the morning but before,
The euenings Suune 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 cleauing to his friend, euen to his vtmost houre:
In Flanders, France, and Wales, who hauing 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 brauely 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
Vpon 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 ouerthrowne:
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 (euen) fought it to the last:
Yet for it was atchieu'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,
VVho twice vpon Black heath, back'd with the Commons rude,
Incamp'd against the King: then goodly London tooke,
There ransoming some rich, and vp 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.
But brings that Battell on of that long dreadfull warre, The first Battell of Saint Albans.
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,
For that ill-gotten Crowne, which him his * Grandsire left,
Henry the fourth.
That likewise with his life, he from King Richard reft,
When vnderhand the Duke doth but promoue 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 gaue 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 Neuils nobler name, that haue 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 Deuonshire, Dorset, Wilt, and fierce Northumber land,
VVith Sidley, Bernes, and Rosse, three Barons with the rest,
VVhen Richard Duke of Yorke, then marching from the west;
Towards whom, whilst with his power King Henry forward set,
Vnluckily as't hapt, they at Saint Albans met;
Where taking vp 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 vnder his enemies hand,
Another thrusting in, his place doth still supply,
Betwixt them whilst on heaps the mangled bodies lie:
The Staules are ouerthrowne with the vnweldy thrust,
The windowes with the shot, are shiuered all to dust.
The Winters Sleet or Hayle was neuer 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 euer as he saw the slaughter of his men,
He with fresh forces fil'd the places vp agen.
The valiant * Marchmen thus the battell still maintaine, Men brought out of the Marches of VVales.
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 braue warlike Earles, the second of that name,
The Earle of Stafford, sonne to th' Duke of Buckingham,
And Iohn Lord Clifford then, which shed their noble gore
Vnder 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,
Vpon so little ground before was neuer spilt.
Proud Yorke hath got the gole, the King of all forfaken,
Into a cottage got, a wofull prisoner taken.
The Battell of Blore-heath, the place doth next supply, The Battell of
〈◊〉
heath.
Twixt Richard Neuill, that great Earle of Salisbury,
Who with the Duke of Yorke, had at Saint Albans late,
That glorious Battell got with vncontrouled Fate:
And Iames Lord Audley stir'd by that reuengefull Queene,
To stop him on his way, for the inueterate 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
Diuided were, th'one part made valiant Tuchet strong,
The other with the Earle rose as he came along,
Incamping both their powers, diuided by a Brooke,
Whereby the prudent Earle, this strong aduantage 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 ouer;
Their Friends then in the Reare, not able to recouer
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 reuenge, there made a rauenous spoyle:
There Dutton, Dutton kils; A Done doth kill a Done;
A Booth, a Booth; and Leigh by Leigh is ouerthrowne;
A Venables, against a Venables doth stand;
And Troutbeck fighteth with a Troutbeck hand to hand;
There Molineux doth make a Molineux to die,
And Egerton, the strength of Egerton doth trie.
O Chesshire wert thou mad, of thine owne natiue gore
So much vntill this day thou neuer shedst before!
Aboue two thousand men vpon 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, vpon 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 vnlike the other;
A Neuill nobly borne, his puisant fathers brother,
Who to the Yorkists claime, had euermore 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 giue full field-roomth to his Force,
Doth passe the Riuer Nen, neere where it downe doth runne
From his first fountaines head, is neere to Harsington,
Aduised of a place, by Nature strongly wrought,
Doth there encampe his power: the Earle of March who sought
To prooue 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 Iuly 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 vpon the field, it selfe more to enlarge.
Now English Bowes, and Bills, and Battle-axes walke,
Death vp 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,
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 vp with them againe: by Somerset opposd
At last King Henries host being on three parts enclosd,
Aud ayds still comming in vpon the Yorkists side,
The Summer being then at height of all her pride,
The Husbandman, then hard vpon his Haruest 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 euery where:
So that vpon the bancks, and in the streame of * Nen,
Ten thousand well resolu'd, stout, natiue English men The Riuer running by Northampton.
Left breathlesse, with the rest great Buckingham is slaine,
And Shrewsbury whose losse those times did much complaine,
Egremont, and Beaumont, both found dead vpon the Field,
The miserable King, inforc'd againe to yeeld.
Then VVakefield Battell next, we in our Bedroule bring, The Battell of VVakefield.
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 hauing 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 VVakefield, 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 mustring
His Tenants and such friends, as he that time could get,
Fiue thousand in fiue dayes, in his Battalion set
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 vs'd to winne, he neuer thought to lose.
The Prince, which still prouok'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 diuin'd,
Iust caught as he forecast; for scarse 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 vpon their backes, as from a mountaine throwne,
In number to the Dukes, by being foure to one.
Euen as a Rout of wolues, when they by chance haue caught
A Beast out of the Heard, which long time they haue sought;
Vpon him all at once couragiously doe set,
Him by the Dewlaps some, some by the flanke doe get:
Some climbing to his eares, doe neuer leaue their hold,
Till falling on the ground, they haue him as they would,
With many of his kind, which, when he vs'd to wend,
VVhat with their hornes & hoofes, could then themselues 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 vnnaturall 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 twelue yeares old) by Clifford there surpriz'd,
Who whilst he thought with teares his rage to haue suffiz'd,
By him was answered thus, Thy father hath slaine mine,
And for his blood (young Boy) Ile haue 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 MortimersCrosse
The great and ancient name of th'English Mortimer,
The next shall heare haue place, betwixt that Edward fought,
Entitled Earle of March, (reuengefully that sought
To wreake his fathers blood, at Wakefield lately shed
But then he Duke of Yorke, his father being dead)
And Iasper Tudor Earle of Pembroke, in this warre,
That stood to vnderprop the House of Lancaster,
Halfe brother to the King, that stroue to hold his Crowne,
With Wiltshire, whose high prowesse had brauely 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 aduantage found,
(For wisely they surueyd the fashion of the ground)
They into one maine sight their either Forces make,
When to the Duke of Yorke (his spirits as to awake)
Three sonnes at once appear'd, all seuerally that shone,
Which in a little space were ioyned 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 fauour there,
A Title to this Prince deriu'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 vntimely 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 diuine,
And thankfull to high heauen, which of his cause had care,
Three Sunnes for his deuice still in his Ensigne bare.
Thy second Battell now, Saint Albans I record,
Struck twixt Queene Margrets power, to ransome backe her Lord, The second Battell of Saint Albans.
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 euery bloody field (the Yorkists onely ayd)
When eithers power approch'd, and they themselues had fixt,
Vpon 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 camevp, they with such terror playd
Vpon them in the Front, as forc'd them to retreit.
The Northerne mad with rage vpon 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,
Adioyning to the towne, vnluckily they light,
Where presenly 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 themselues 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 fauour Yorke, and his iust cause, abide.
And Warwicke in the Front euen offred to haue stood,
Yet neither of them both, should they haue spent their blood,
Could make a man to stay, or looke vpon 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;
The King, which (for their ends) they to the field had brought,
Behind them there they leaue, but as a thing of naught,
Which seru'd them to no vse: who when his Queene and sonne,
There found in Norfolkes tent, the Battell being done,
With many a ioyfull 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.
Now followeth that blacke Sceane, borne vp so wondrous hie, The Battell of Tovvton.
That but a poore dumbe shew before a Tragedie,
The former Battels fought, haue 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,
Deliuer 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 liue againe,
To tell the manlike doeds, 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, VVenlock, Dinham, Knights approued Martialists.
And Henry the late King, to whom they still durst stand,
His true as powerfull friend, the great Northumberland,
VVith VVestmerland, his claime who euer 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 Deuonshire,
Th'Lord Dacres, and Lord VVels, both wise and warlike wights,
With him of great command, Neuill 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 seruice sends
A most selected troupe of his well-chosen friends,
To make that passage good, when instantly began
The dire and ominous signes, the slaughter that foreran.
For valiant Clifford there, himselfe so brauely 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 Fitzmater slew, and that braue Bastard sonne
Of Salsbury, themselues 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 misgouern'd troups, vnarmed 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 vtter ruine shall, or our sure rising be.
When soone before the Host, his glittering sword he drew,
And with relentlesse hands his springly Courser slew.
Then stand to me (quoth he) who meaneth not to flie;
This day shall Edward winne, or here shall VVarwicke die.
Which words by VVarwicke spoke, so deeply seem'd to sting
The much distempered breast of that couragious King,
That straight he made proclaim'd, that euery fainting heart,
From his resolued host had licence to depart:
And those that would abide the hazard of the fight,
Rewards and titles due to their deserued right:
And that no man, that day, a prisoner there should take;
For this the vpshot was, that all must marre or make.
A hundred thousand men in both the Armies stood,
That natiue English were: O worthy of your Blood
What conquest had there been? But Ensignes flie at large,
And trumpets euery way sound to the dreadfull charge.
Vpon the Yorkists part, there flew the irefull Beare:
On the Lancastrian side, the Cressant wauing there.
The Southerne on this side, for Yorke a Warwicke crie,
A Percy for the right, the Northerne men reply.
The two maine Battels ioyne, the foure large Wings doe meet;
What with the shouts of men, and noyse of horses feet,
Hell through the troubled earth, her horrour seem'd to breath;
A thunder heard aboue, an earth-quake felt beneath:
As when the Euening is with darknesse ouerspread,
Her Star-befreckled face with Clouds inuelloped,
You oftentimes behold, the trembling lightning flie,
VVhich 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 euery 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 hands,
Expecting the next morne, the weak'st vnconquered stands;
Which was no sooner come, but both begin againe
To wrecke their friends deare blood, the former euening slaine.
New Battels are begun, new fights that newly wound,
Till the Lancastrian part, by their much lesning found
Their long expected hopes were vtterly forlorne,
When lastly to the foe, their recreant backs they turne.
Thy Channell then, O * Cock, was fild vp with the dead, A little Riuilet neere to Tovvton, running into VVharfe.
Of the Lancastrian side, that from the Yorkists fled,
That those of Edwards part, that had the Reare in chase,
As though vpon 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 vp the number made,
Northumberland the great, and Westmerland there layd
Their bodies: valiant Wels, and Dacres there doe leaue
Their carkases, (whose hope too long) did them deceiue.
Trolop and Neuill found massacred in the field,
The Earle of VViltshire forc'd to the sterne foe to yeeld.
King Henry from fayre Yorke, vpon this sad mischance
To Scotland fled, the Queene sayld ouer into France,
The Duke of Somerset, and Excester doe flie,
The rest vpon the earth together breathlesse lie.
Muse, turne thee now to tell the Field at Hexam struck, The
〈◊〉
at Hexam.
Vpon the Yorkists part, with the most prosp'rous luck
Of any yet before, where to themselues they gain'd
Most safetie, yet their powers least damage there sustain'd,
Twixt Iohn Lord Mountacute, that Neuill, who to stand
For Edward, gathered had out of Northumber land
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 haue need, for that he durst not trust
The Northerne, which so oft to him had been vniust:
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 liuely daring French, and the light hardy Scot,
To enter with them here, and to their part doe get,
Their faithfull lou'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 euer true,
To whom by this reuolt, they many Northerne drew:
Sir William T aylboys, (cald of most) the Earle of Kime,
With Hungerford, and Rosse, and Mullins, of that time
Barons of high account, with Neuill, T unstall, Gray,
Hussy, and Finderne, Knights, men bearing mighty sway.
As forward with his force, braue Mountacute was set,
It hap'd vpon 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 vtmost force were quickly put to slight;
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 Liuells, a large Waste, which other plaines out-braues,
Whose Verge fresh * Dowell still is watring with her waues,
Whereas his posting Scouts, King Henries power discri'd, A little Riuer neere Hexam.
Tow'rds whom with speedy march, this valiant Generall hied,
Whose haste there likewise had such prosperous euent,
That lucklesse Henry yet, had scarcely cleer'd his Tent,
His Captaines hardly set his Battels, nor enlarg'd
Their Squadrons on the field, but this great Neuill 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 fauors 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 receau'd; King Henries power dismayd:
And giuing vp 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 saue themselues by flight, ne'r more did any striue,
And yet so many men ne'r taken were aliue.
Now Banbury we come thy Battell to report,
And show th'efficient cause, as in what wondrous sort The
〈◊〉
of Banbury.
Great VVarmicke 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 Sauoyan 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 reuenge doth but too quickly hast)
T'excite the Northerne men doth secretly begin,
(With whom he powerfull was) to rile, that comming in,
He might put in his hand, (which onely he desir'd)
Which rising before Yorke were likely to haue fierd The Citie of
〈◊〉
to haue bin
〈◊〉
by
〈◊〉
faction.
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 Iohn the Lord Fitz-Hugh,
With Coniers that braue Knight, whose valour they preferre,
With Henry Neuill, sonne to the Lord Latimer,
By whose Allies and friends, they euery 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 prouide,
To noble Pembroke sends, those Rebels to withstand.
Six thousand valiant We sh, who mustring out of hand,
By Richard
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
, 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 hauing Seuerne crost,
And vp 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 suipecting all their force
Had followed them againe, their armie bring about,
Both with such speed and skill, that
〈◊〉
the Welsh got out,
By hauing charg'd too farre, some of their Vaward lost,
Beat to their
〈◊〉
backe; thus as these Legions coast,
On Danemore they are met, indifferent for this warre,
Whereas three easie hils that stand Trianguler,
Small Edgcoat ouerlooke; on that vpon the West
The Welsh encampe themselues; the Northerne them possest
Of that vpon the South, whilst, (by warres strange euent)
Yong Neuill, who would braue the Harberts in their Tent,
Leading a troupe of Youth, (vpon that fatall plaine)
Was taken by the VVelsh, and miserably slaine,
Of whose vntimely death, his friends the next day tooke
A terrible reuenge, 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 back ward shapes his course, and leaues the Harberts there,
T'abide the brunt of all: with outcries euery where
The clamorous Drummes & Fifes to the rough charge do sound,
Together horse and man come tumbling to the ground:
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 VVelsh 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 vp, then floating light and free
O'th top of some high waue; 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'euent 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 fiue hundred men about Northampton raisd,
All discontented spirits, with Edwards rule displeasd,
Displaying in the field great
〈◊〉
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.
Fiue thousand valiant VVelsh 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 Neuill slaine.
Now Stamford in due course, the Muse doth come to tell, The Battell of Stamford, or Loose: coat feld.
Of thine owne named field, what in the fight befell,
Betwixt braue youthfull Wells, from Lincolnshire that led
Neere twentie thousand men, tow'rd London making head,
Against the Yorkists power, great VVarwicke to abet,
Who with a puisant force prepared forth to set,
To ioyne with him in Armes, and ioyntly take their chance.
And Edward with his friends, who likewise doe aduance
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 lou'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
Vpon the cruell King, doth euery 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 seuerall fights, which once in order set,
The loudly-brawling Drummes, which seemed to haue 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 reuenge, 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 ouerborne with prease,
By hazarding too farre into the boystrous throng,
Incouraging his men the aduerse 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 (euen) to this day.
Since needsly I must sticke vpon my former text, The Battell of Barnet.
The bloody Battell fought, at Barnet followeth next,
Twixt Edward, who before he setled was to raigne,
By VVarwicke hence expuls'd; but here ariu'd againe,
From Burgundy, brought in munition, men and pay,
And all things fit for warre, expecting yet a day.
Whose brother * George came in, with VVarwicke that had stood,
George Duke of clarence.
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 vtmost powers extend;
And VVarwick, whose great heart so mortall hatred bore
To Edward, that by all the Sacraments he swore,
Not to lay downe his Armes, vntill his sword had rac'd,
That proud King from his Seat, that so had him disgrac'd:
And Marquesse Mountacute, his brother, that braue stem
Of Neuils noble Stock, who ioyned 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
〈◊〉
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 approu'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 vse 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 ouershadowed quite with darknesse, which so cast
The armies on both sides, that they each other past,
Before they could perceiue aduantage, where to fight;
Besides the enuious mist so much deceiu'd their sight,
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 gaue 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 periury, and shame,
And what might make him vile; so VVarwicke heard that name
Of Yorke, which in the field he had so oft aduanc'd,
And to that glorious height, and greatnesse had inhanc'd,
Then cried against his power, by those which oft had sled,
Their swist pursuing foc, by him not brauely led,
Vpon the enemies backe, their swords bath'd in the gore
Of those from whom they
〈◊〉
, like heartlesse men before,
Which Warwicks nobler name iniuriously defide,
Euen as the irefull host then ioyned side to side.
Where cruell Richard charg'd the Earles maine battell, when
Proud Somerset therein, with his approoued men
Stood stoutly to the shocke, and flang out such a flight
Of shafts, as welneere seem'dt'eclipse the welcom'd light,
Which forc'd them to fall off, on whose retreit againe,
That great Battalion next approcheth the fayre plaine,
Where in the King himselfe in person was to trie,
Proud VVarwicks vtmost strength: when Warwicke by and by,
With his left wing came vp, and charg'd so home and round,
That had not his light horse by disuantagious 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 brauely vp doe beare;
But Hastings that before raught thither with his Reare,
And with King Edward ioynd, the host too strongly arm'd.
When euery part with spoyle, with rape, with fury charm'd,
Are prodigall of blood, that slaughter seemes to swill
It selfe in humane gore, and euery one cries kill.
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,
Vntill great VVarwicke 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 (preuailing still with an vnusuall strength)
His cleerenesse quite doth close, and shut him vp in night:
So mightie Warwicke fares in this outragious fight.
The cruell Lyons thus inclose the dreaded Beare,
Whilst Montacute, who striues (if any helpe there were)
To rescue his belou'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 recouering life, by night escap'd away,
Yorke neuer safely sat, till this victorious day.
Thus Fortune to his end this mightie Warwicke brings
This puisant setter vp, 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.
Now Tewksbury it rests, thy storry to relate,
Thy sad and dreadfull fight, and that most direfull Fate The Battell at Tevvxbury.
Of the Lancastrian Line, which hapned on that day,
Fourth of that fatall Month, that still-remembred May:
Twixt Edmund that braue 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 Deuonshire:
With whom King Henries sonne, young Edward there was seene,
To claime his doubtlesse right, with that vndaunted Queene
His mother, who from France with succours came on land
That day, when VVarwicke
〈◊〉
at
〈◊〉
, which now stand,
Their fortune yet to trie, vpon a second fight.
And Edward who imploy'd the vtmost of his might,
The poore Lancastrian part (which he doth eas'ly feele,
By VVarwicks mightie fall, already faintly reele)
By Battell to subuert, 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 Iohn doe happily dispose;
The second, which the Prince for his owne safety chose
The Barons of Saint Iohn, and Wenlocke; and the third,
To Courtney that braue Earle of Deuonshire 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 prooue
By thundring Cannonshot, and Culuering to remooue
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 stroue 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 vnderstood,
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 aduenturous then wise)
Supposing from the field for safetie he had fled,
Straight giueth him the chase; when Richard turning head,
By his incounter let the desperate Duke to know,
Twas done to traine him out, when soone began the show
Of slaughter euery 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,
Vpon the equall earth, and comming brauely in
Vpon the aduerse power, there likewise doth begin
A fierce and deadly fight, that the Lancastrian side,
The first and furious shocke not able to abide
The vtmost 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, euen as a man dismaid,
Scarce shifts to saue himselfe his Battell ouerthrowne;
But faring as a man that frantique had beene growne,
With Wenlock hap'd to meet (preparing for his flight)
Vpbraiding 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 vp the raines)
With his too pondrous Axe pasht out the Barons braines.
The partie of the Queene in euery place are kild,
The Ditches with the dead, confusedly are fild,
And many in the flight, i'th neighbouring Riuers 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.
Iohn Marquesse Dorset dead, and Deuonshire that day
Drew his last vitall breath, as in that bloody fray,
Delues, Hamden, Whittingham, and Leuknor, who had there,
Their seuerall braue commands, all valiant men that were,
Found dead vpon 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
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 iot dismay'd,
With confidence replies, To claime his ancient right,
Him from his Grandsires left; by tyranny and might,
By him his foe vsurp'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 Ed. vvard.
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 liues: Queene Margaret being fled
To a religious Cell, (to Tewksbury, too neere)
Discouerd to the King, with sad and heauy cheere,
A prisoner was conuey'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 sonne
Of Thomas Neuill, nam'd Lord Falkonbridge, which wonne A briefe passage of the Bastard Falkonhridge his Rebellion.
A rude rebellious Rout in Kent and Essex rais'd,
Who London here besieg'd, and Southwarke hauing seas'd,
Set fire vpon the Bridge: but when he not preuaild,
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,
Thy Battell to describe, the last of that long warre, The Battell of
〈◊〉
.
Entit'led by the name of Yorke and Lancaster;
Twixt Henry Tudor Earle of Richmond onely left
Of the Lancastian Line, who by the Yorkists reft
Of libertie at home, a banish'd man abroad,
In Britany had liu'd; but late at Milford Road,
Being prosperously ariu'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 seuerall powers, as offi ing at his feet
To lay their Lands, and liues; Sir Rice ap Thomas then,
With his braue Band of Welsh, most choyce and expert men,
Comes lastly to his ayd; at Shrewsbury ariu'd,
(His hopes so faint before, so happily reuiu'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 (vnder 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,
Braue 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 resolue, most strangely seem'd to cheere,
His oft-appauled heart, but yet the man which most,
Gaue 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 haue, 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 Chesshire Bow-men came,
By Sir Iohn Sauage led, besides two men of name:
Sir Brian Sanford, and Sir Simon Digby, who
Leauing the tyrant King, themselues 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,
Appeare the dreadfull ghosts of Henry and his sonne,
Richards fearefull Dreames the night before the Battell.
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,
But Drummes and Trumpets chide, the Souldiers to their Armes,
And all the neighboring fields are couered 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 Iohn Sauage, with the power of Lancashire,
And Chesshire (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 VVelsh, (of whom it mainly stands,
For their great numbers found to be of greatest force)
Which but his guard of Gleaues, consisted all of Horse.
Into two seuerall fights the King contriu'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 Iohn the noble Duke of Norfolke, and his sonne
Braue 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 aduerse seem'd to threat, with an vnequall power.
The vtmost poynt ariu'd of this expected hower,
He to Lord Stanley sends, to bring away his ayd;
And
〈◊〉
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 loue the Boy, but yet I haue 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 vnderpropt,
When as the Timber fayles, by the vnweldy fall,
Euen 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,
By Shot and Ordnance made, a thundring noyse was heard.
VVhen Stanley that this while his succours had deferd,
Both to the cruell King, and to the Earle his sonne,
When once he doth perceiue 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:
VVhen Richard (that th'euent 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) euen 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 perceiu'd the Earle in person drew,
Whose Standard-
〈◊〉
he, Sir William Brandon slew,
The pile of his strong staffe into his arme-pit sent;
VVhen at a second shocke, downe Sir Iohn Cheney went,
Which scarce a Launces length before the Earle was plac'd,
Vntill by Richmonds Guard, inuironed at last,
VVith many a cruell wound, was through the body gride.
Vpon this fatall field, Iohn 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 then at Stoke, so fortunatly strucke, The Battell of Stoke.
(Vpon King Henries part, with so successefull lucke,
As neuer till that day he felt his Crowne to cleaue
Vnto his temples close, when Mars began to leaue
His fury, and at last to sit him downe was brought)
I come at last to sing, twixt that seuenth Henry fought;
With whom, to this braue Field the Duke of Bedford came,
With Oxford his great friend, whose praise did him inflame
To all Atchieuements great, that fortunate had bin
In euery doubtfull fight, since Henries comming in,
With th'Earle of Shresbury, a man of great command,
And his braue sonne Lord George, for him that firmly stand.
And on the other side, Iohn Duke of Suffolks sonne,
(Iohn 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;
Vpon him tooke the name of th'Earle of Warwicke, heire
To George the murthered Duke of Clarence, who (for feare
Lest some that fauoured Yorke, might vnder hand maintaine)
King Henry in the Tower, did at that time detaine.
* Which practise set on foot, this Earle of Lincolne sayld
To Burgundy, where he with Margaret preuayld, The Dutchesse of Burgundy was sister to Edvvard the 4, and so was this Earles mother.
Wife to that warlike Charles, and his most loued Aunt,
Who vexed that a proud Lancastrian should supplant
The lawfull Line of Yorke, whence she her blood deriu'd;
Wherefore for Lincolnes sake shee speedily contriu'd,
And Louell, that braue Lord, before him sent to land The Lord Francis Louell.
Vpon the same pretence, to furnish them a Band
Of Almanes, and to them for their stout Captaine gaue
The valiant Martin Swart, the man thought scarce to haue
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 euery where
His title to the Crowne, in Diuelin, and proclaime
Him Englands lawfull King, by the fift Edwards name:
Then ioyning with the Lord Fitz-Gerald, to their ayd The Lord Thomas Geraldine
Who many Irish brought, they vp their Ankres wayd,
And at the rocky Pyle of * Fowdray put to shore On the coast of
〈◊〉
.
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 to farre in dangers mouth,
From Couentry he came, still gathering vp his Host,
Made greater on his way, and doth the Countrey coast,
Which way he vnderstood his enemies must passe:
When after some few dayes (as if their Fortunes was)
At Stoke, a village neere to Newarke vpon Trent,
Each in the others sight pitcht downe their warlike Tent.
Into one Battell soone, the Almans had disposd
Their Army, in a place vpon 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 seuerall fights came equally deuided;
The first of which, and fitst, was giuen to be guided
By Shrewsbury, which most of Souldiers choice consisted:
The others plac'd as Wings, which euer as they listed,
Came vp as need requir'd, or fell backe as they found
Iust 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 haue seene
Two thousand Almains stand, of which each might haue 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 vnvsuall 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 Louell that braue Lord, behind him not a whit,
For martiall deeds that day: stout Broughton that had stood
With Yorke (euen) from the first, there lastly gaue 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 resolued hearts,
Giue not an inch of ground, but all in pieces hewen,
Where first they fought, they fell; with them was ouerthrowne
The Leader Geralds hope, amidst his men that fought,
And tooke such part as they, whom he had thither brought.
This of that field be told, There was not one that fled, A Field brauely fought.
But where he first was plac'd, there found aliue or dead.
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,
Encamping on Blackheath, t'annull the Subsidies
Michael Joseph with the Cornisb Rebels.
By Parliment then giuen, or that of Cornwall call'd,
Inclosures to cast downe, which ouermuch enthrald The Rebellion of Cornvvall, in the third yeere of Edvvard the sixt.
The Subiect: 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 preuent,
That Mary did intend with Philip King of Spaine:
Sir Thomas VVyat.
Since these but Ryots were, nor fit the others straine,
Shee here her Battels ends: and as Shee did before,
So trauelling along vpon her silent shore,
Waybridge a neighbouring Nymph, the onely remnant left
Of all that Forrest kind, by Times iniurious theft
Of all that tract destroy'd, with wood which did abound,
And former times had seene the goodliest Forrest ground,
This Iland euer 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;
Reuiue 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 vmbragious Wyld,
Whence euery liuing thing saue onely they exild,
In this their world of wast, the soueraigne Empire swayd.
O who would ere haue thought, that time could haue 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,
With long and mightie spurnes to grapple with the land,
As Nature would haue sayd, that they should euer 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 ariues
At Elies Iled Marge, by hauing past Saint Ives,
Vnto the German Sea shee hasteth her along,
And here shee shutteth vp her two and twentieth Song,
In which shee quite hath spent her vigor, and must now,
As Workmen often vse, a while sit downe and blow;
And after this short pause, though lesning of her height,
Come in another Key, yet not without delight.
The three and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
From
〈◊〉
Fights Inuention comes,
Deafned with noyse of ratling Drummes,
And in the Northamptonian bounds,
Shews Whittlewoods, and Sacies grounds;
Then to Mount Hellidon doth goe,
(Whence Charwell, Leame, and Nen doe
〈◊〉
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 for sakes.
ON tow'ds the Mid-lands now, th'industrious Muse doth make,
The Northamptonian earth, and in her way doth take;
As fruitfull euery 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'vnwearied Muse doth win
To talke with her awhile; at her first comming in,
The Forrest thus that greets: With more successefull Fate,
Thriue then thy fellow Nymphs, whose sad and ruinous state
We euery 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 Vnder wood, and Brake, then Oke for greater vse:
But when this rauenous Age, of those hath vs bereft,
Time wanting this our store, shall sease what thee is left.
For what base Auerice now inticeth men to doe,
Necessitie in time shall strongly vrge them too;
Which each diuining Spirit most cleerely doth foresee.
Whilst at this speech perplext, the Forrest seem'd to be,
A Water-nymph, neere to this goodly Wood-nymphs side,
(As tow'rds her soueraigne 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 Syluan 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 lou'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
Vpon that side which sits the West of VVatling-street,
With * Helidon a Hill, which though it bee but small, A hill not farre From Dauentry
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 seuerall Seas, by their assistants goe;
Of which the noblest, Nen, to fayre Northampton hies,
By Owndle sallying on, then Peterborough plyes
Old * Medhamsted: where her the Sea-mayds intertaine, The anclent name of Peterborough.
To lead her through the Fen into the German Maine,
The second, Charwell is, at Oxford meeting Thames,
Is by his King conuayd into the * Celtick streames.
Then Leame as least, the last, to mid-land Auon hasts, The French Sea.
Which Flood againe it selfe, into proud Seuerne casts:
As on * th'Iberian Sea, her selfe great Seuerne spends; The Spanish Sea.
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
〈◊〉
soyles, his style so altring oft,
As full expressions fit, or Verses smooth and soft,
Vpon their seuerall Scites, as naturally to straine,
And wisheth that these Floods, his tunes to entertaine,
The ayre with Halcion calmes, may wholly haue possest,
As though the rough winds tyerd, were eas'ly layd to rest.
Then on the worth'est tract vp tow'rds the mid-dayes Sun,
His vndertaken 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 Deuonshire, where the land her bosome doth inlarge;
And with the In-land ayre, her beauties doth releeue,
Along the Celtick Sea, cald oftentimes the Sleeue:
Although vpon 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 Seuerne 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, vp Seuerns streame againe,
The Vale of Eusham 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 VVarwickshire doe show.
Hence somewhat South by East, let vs our course incline,
And from these setting shores so meerely Maratine,
The Iles rich In-land parts, lets take with vs 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 desery,
Through VViltshire, poynting how the Plaine of Salisbury
Shootes foorth her selfe in length, and layes abroad a traine
So large, as though the land seru'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 VVhite-horse, and by her,
So Buckingham againe doth Alsbury preferre,
With any English Earth, along vpon 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 euery little flow.
So on into the East, vpon the In-land ground,
From where that Christall Colne most properly doth bound, The Riuer running by Vxbridge, falling into the Thames at Colebrooke.
Rough Chilterne, from the soyle, where in rich London sits,
As being faire and flat it naturally befits
Her greatnesse euery 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 seuerall Shires, by sundry soyles doe make
It different in degrees, for Middlesex of Sands
Her soyle composeth hath; so are th' Fssexian lands,
Adioyning to the same, that sit by Isis side,
Which London ouer-lookes: but as she waxeth wide,
So Essex in her Tydes, her deepe-growne Marshes drownds,
And to Inclosures cuts her drier vpland grounds,
Which lately woody were, whilst men those woods did prize;
Whence those fayre Countries lie, vpon the pleasant rise,
(Betwixt the mouth of Thames, and where Ouze roughly dashes
Her rude vnweildy waues, against the queachy Washes)
Suffolke and Norfolke neere, so named of their Scites,
Adorned euery way with wonderfull delights,
To the beholding eye, that euery where are seene,
Abounding with rich fields, and pastures fresh and greene,
Faire Hauens to their shores, large Heaths within them lie,
As Nature in them
〈◊〉
to shew varietie.
From Ely all along vpon that Easterne Sea,
Then Lincolneshire her selfe, in state at length doth lay,
Which for her fatning Fennes, her Fish, and Fowle may haue
Preheminence, as she that seemeth to out-braue
All other Southerne Shires, whose head the Washes feeles,
Till wantonly she kicke proud Humber with her heeles.
Vp tow'rds the Nauell then, of England from her Flanke,
Which Lincolneshire we call, so leuelled 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 Beuers batning Vale, along the banks of Trent.
So on the other side, into the Set againe,
Where Seuerne tow'rds the Sea from Shrewsbury doth straine,
Twixt which and Auons banks (where Arden when of old,
Her bushy curled front, she brauely did vphold, See to the 13. Song.
In state and glory stood) now of three seuerall Shires,
The greatest portions lie, vpon whose earth appeares
That mightie Forrests foot, of Worftershire a part,
Of Warwickeshire the like, which sometime was the heart
Of Arden that braue Nymph, yet woody here and there,
Oft intermixt with Heaths, whose Sand and Grauell beare,
A Turfe more harsh and hard, where Stafford doth partake,
In qualitie with those, as Nature stroue 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 seuerall scite, in eithers mightie waste,
A sterner lowring eye, that euery 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 liuery still, in Summer seemes to weare;
As likewise doth the Peake, whose dreadfull Cauerns found,
And Lead-mines, that in her, doe naturally abound,
Her superficies makes more terrible to show:
So from her naturall fount, as Seuerne downe doth flow,
The high Sallopian hills lift vp 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 vs strike,
Where Cheshire, (as her choyce) with Lancashire doth lie
Along th'vnleuel'd shores; this former to the eye,
In her complexion showes blacke earth with grauell 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 vpper parts abound;
As likewise to the Sea, vpon 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 aboue,
Where Sherwood her curld front, into the cold doth shoue,
Light Forrest land is found, to where the floting Don,
In making tow'rds the Maine, her Doncaster hath won,
Where Torkshire's layd abroad, so many a mile extent,
To whom preceding times, the greatest circuit lent,
A Prouince, then a Shire, which rather seemeth: so
It incidently most varietie doth show.
Heere stony
〈◊〉
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, vpon that Sea againe,
The rough Virgiuian cald, that tract which doth containe
Cold Cumberland, which yet wild VVestmerland 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-cleeu'd Hils, whose threatning fronts doe dare
Each other with their looks, as though they would out-stare
The Starry eyes of heauen, which to out-face they stand.
From these into the East, vpon 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 louely face
Vpon the Ocean looke; which kindly doth imbrace
Those Countries all along, vpon the Rising side,
Which for the Batfull Gleabe, by nature them denide,
With mightie Mynes of Cole, abundantly are blest,
By which this Tract remaines renown'd aboue the rest:
For what from her rich wombe, each habourous Road receiues.
Yet Hellidon not here, his lou'd description leaues,
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 vnlettered times, with blind deuotion 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,
(Quoth he) this Blazon first, Long Tayles and Libertie.
Here follow the Blazons of the Shires.
Suffex with Surrey say, Then let vs lead home Logs.
As Hamfhire long for her, hath had the tearme of Hogs.
So Dorsetshire of long, they Dorsers vsd to call.
Cornwall and Deuonshire cric, Weele wrastle for a Fall.
Then Somerset sayes, Set the Bandog on the Bull.
And Glostershire againe is blazon'd, Weigh thy VVooll.
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,
VVhere 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, Vp to London let vs goe,
And when our Markets done, weele haue a pot or two.
As Essex hath of old beene named, Calues and Styles,
Fayre Suffolke, Mayds and Milke, and Norfolke, Many Wyles.
So Cambridge hath been call'd, Hold Nets, and let vs winne;
And Huntingdon, With
〈◊〉
weele stalke through thick and thinne.
Northamptonshire of long hath had this Blazon, Loue,
Below the girdle all, but little else aboue.
An outcrie Oxford makes, The Schollers haue been heere,
And little though they payd, yet haue they had good cheere.
Quoth warlike Warwickshire, Ile binde the sturdy Beare.
Quoth Worstershire againe, And I will squirt the Peare.
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, Giue me Woofe and Warpe.
And Shropshire saith in her, That Shinnes be euer sharpe,
Lay wood vpon 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 ouer Ouze to Berwicke foorth doe beare,
Haue for their Blazon had the Snaffle, Spurre, and Speare.
Now Nen extreamely grieu'd those barbarous things to heare,
By Helidon her sire, that thus deliuered 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 deriu'd of Auon, which of long,
The Britans cald her by, expressing in their tongue
The full and generall name of waters; wherefore shee
Stood much vpon her worth, and iealous 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 VVerburge princely borne, a most religious Mayd,
From those peculier fields, by prayer the Wild-geese droue,
Thence through the Champaine shee lasciuiously doth roue
Tow'rds faire Northampton, which, whilst Nen was Auon cald,
Resum'd that happy name, as happily instald
Vpon her * Northerne side, where taking in a Rill,
Northimpton, for North
〈◊〉
avonton, the towne vpon the North of Auon.
Her long impouerish'd banks more plenteously to fill,
She flourishes in state, along the fruitfull fields;
Where whilst her waters shee with wondrous pleasure yeelds,
To * Wellingborough comes, whose Fountaines in shee takes, So called of his many wells or Fonntaines.
Which quickening her againe, imediately shee makes
To Owndle, which receiues contractedly the sound
From Auondale, t'expresse that Riuers 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 Syluan, 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 ioying 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 cleaue,
Which beares a grasse as soft, as is the daintie sleaue,
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 euery thing so fit
This Iland hardly hath, so neere allide that be,
Braue 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 * Kelmarsh there is caught, for coursing of the Hare, A place in the North part of Northomtonshire, excellent for coursing with Greyhonnds.
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 * Finder sendeth out, to seeke out nimble Wat,
Which crosseth in the field, each furlong, euery Flat, The Harefinder.
Till he this pretty Beast vpon 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 vp, and giues her Coursers law.
And whilst the eager dogs vpon the Start doe draw,
Shee riseth from her seat, as though on earth she flew,
Forc'd by some yelping * Cute to giue the Greyhounds view, A Curre.
Which are at length let slip, when gunning out they goe,
As in respect of them the swiftest wind were slow,
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 striue to put her off, but when hee cannot reach her,
This giuing 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 leaue I whilst the Muse more serious things attends,
And with my Course at Hare, my Canto likewise ends.
The foure and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
The fatall Welland from her Springs,
This Song to th'Ile of Ely brings:
Our ancient English Saints reuiues,
Then in an oblique course contriues,
The Rarities that Rutland showes,
Which with this Canto shee doth close.
THis way, to that faire Fount of Welland hath vs led,
At * Nasby to the North, where from a second head The Fountaine of VVelland.
Runs Auon, which along to Seuerne 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 reuerance wan)
That she alone should drowne all Holland, and should see An ancient Prophecie of the
〈◊〉
of VVelland.
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 euer 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 grieud, to haue them now neglected,
Whose pietie so much those zealous times respected.
Wherefore she with her selfe resolued, when that shee
To Peterborough came, where much shee long'd to be,
That in the wished view of Mcdhamsted, 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 leaues vpon the Northward side,
At Rutland then ariu'd, where Stamford her sustaines,
The conrse of VVellana to the Sea. By Deeping drawing out, to Lincolneshire she leanes,
Vpon 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 liues so palbably belye,
To times haue much impeach'd their holinesse thereby:
Though fooles (I say) on them, such poore impostures lay,
Haue scandal'd them to ours, farre foolisher then they,
Which thinke they haue by this so great aduantage 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 haue 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 loue, nor by the worlds despight,
I can not be remoou'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.
The first that euer told Christ crucified to vs,
(By Paul and Peter sent) iust Aristobulus,
Saints in the Primitiue British Church. 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 vnbeleeuing then.
Next holy Ioseph came, the mercifulst of men,
The Sauiour 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'aduaunce the Christian state,
At Glastenbury long that were commemorate.
When Amphtball againe our Martyrdome began
In that most bloody raigne of Dioclesian:
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 Festiuall 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 liues 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, brauely seald their Doctrine with their blood:
Saint Ialius, and with him Saint Aron, haue their roome,
At Carleon suffring death by Dioclesians doome;
Whose persecuting raigne tempestuously that rag'd,
Gainst those here for the Faith, their vtmost 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 reprou'd
Proud Vortiger his King, vnlawfully that lou'd
Anothers wanton wife, and wrong'd his Nuptiall bed;
For which by that sterne Prince vniustly murthered,
As he a Martyr dy'd, is Sainted with the rest.
The third Saint of that See (though onely he confest)
Was Guithelme, vnto whom those times that reuerence gaue,
As he a place with them eternally shall haue.
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 iustly 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, haue their remembrance here:
As two more (neere that time, Christ Iesus that confest,
And that most liuely faith, by their good works exprest)
Saint Eluan with his pheere Saint Midwin, who to win
The Britans, (com'n from Rome, where Christned they had bin)
Conuerted to the Faith then thousands, whose deare graue,
That Glastenbury grac'd, there their memoriall haue.
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 iust man, who hauing gathered in
The scattered Christian Flocke, instructed that had bin
By holy Ioseph here; to congregate he wan
This iustly named Saint, this neuer-wearied man,
Next to the Germans preach'd, till (voyd of earthly feare)
By his couragious death, he much renown'd Treuere.
Then of our Natiue 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 vs) 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 Heluetia hied,
Where he a Bishop liu'd, a Martyr lastly died.
As Constantine the Great, that godly Emperour,
Here first the Christian Church that did to peace restore,
Whose euer blessed birth, (as by the power diuine)
The Roman Empire brought into the British Line,
Constantinoples Crowne, and th'ancient Britans glory.
So other here we haue to furnish vp our Story,
Saint Melon welneere, when the British Church began,
(Euen early in the raigne of Romes Valerian)
Here leuing vs for Rome, from thence to Roan was cald,
To preach vnto 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
〈◊〉
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 Goluin gaue we thither,
Who sainted being there, we set them here together.
As of the weaker Sex, that ages haue enshrin'd
Amongst the British Dames, and worthily diuin'd:
The finder of the Crosse Queene Helena doth lead,
Who tough Rome set a Crowne on her Emperiall head,
Yet in our Britaine borne, and bred vp choicely here.
Emerita the next, King Lucius sister deare,
Who in Heluetia with her martyred brother di'd;
Bright Vrsula the third, who vndertooke to guide
Th'eleuen thousand Mayds to little Britaine sent,
By Seas and bloody men deuoured as they went:
Of which we find these foure haue been for Saints preferd,
(And with their Leader still doe liue incalenderd)
Saint Agnes, Cordula, Odillia, Florence, which
With wondrous sumptuous shrines those ages did inrich
At Cullen, where their Liues most clearely are exprest,
And yearely Feasts obseru'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 Seuerne shut, The Cambro British Saints.
The Christian Faith with her, then Cambria had alone,
With those that it receiu'd (from this now England) gone,
Whose Cambrobritans so their Saints as duely brought,
T'aduance the Christian Faith, effectually that wrought,
Their Dauid, (one deriu'd of th'royall British blood)
Who gainst Palagius false and damn'd opinions stood,
And turn'd Menenias name to Dauids sacred See,
Th Patron of the Welsh deseruing well to be:
With Cadock, next to whom comes Canock, both which were
Prince Brechans sonnes, who gaue 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 vpon that sear, 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 gaue that name vnto that See;
Of Bangor, and may boast Saint Dauid which her wan
Much reuerence, and with these Owdock and Telean,
Both Bishops of Landaff, and Saints in their Succession;
Two other following these, both in the
〈◊〉
profession,
Saint Dubric whose report old Carleon yet doth carry,
And Elery in Northwales, who built a Monastery,
In which himselfe became the Abot, to his praise,
And spent in Almes and Prayer the remnant of his dayes.
But leauing these Diuin'd, to Decuman we come,
In Northwales who was crown'd with glorious Martyrdome.
Iustinian, as that man a Sainted place deseru'd,
Who still to feed his soule, his sinfull body steru'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 iust pen,
Shall liue for euer fresh, with all truth-searching men:
Then other, which for hers old Cambria doth auerre,
Saint Senan, and with him wee set Saint Deiferre,
Then Tather will we take, and Chyned to the rest,
With Brauk, who so much the Ile of Bardsey blest
By his most powerfull prayer, to solitude that liu'd,
And of all worldly care his zealous Soule depriu'd.
Of these, some liu'd not long, some wondrous aged were,
But in the Mountaines liu'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 heauen, and God so clearely saw,
As this vaine earthly pompe had not the power to draw
Your eleuated 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 vnto 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, seuen times had beene
On Pilgrimage at Rome, of Beniuentum there
The painfull Bishop made; by him so place we here,
Saint Mackloue, from Northwales to little Britaine sent,
That people to conuert, 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,
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 VVinifrid, 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, ariuing first in Kent,
Conuerted to the faith King Ethelbert, till then
Vnchristened that had liu'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 conuersion came,
Lawrence, Melitus then, with Iustus, 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 gaue the See of Rochester;
All canoniz'd for Saints, as worthy sure they were,
For establishing the Faith, which was receiued 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 Iue this Iland sought,
And neere our Easterne Fennes a fit place finding, taught
The Faith: which place from him the name alone deriues,
And of that sainted man since called is Saint-Iues;
Such reuerence to her selfe that time Deuotion wan.
So Sun-burnt Affrick sent vs holy Adrian,
Who preacht the Christian Faith here nine and thirtie yeere,
An Abbot in this Isle, and to this Nation deare,
That in our Countrey two Prouinciall 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 vpon our Northerne shore
In th'Isle of * Cochet liu'd, neere to the mouth of Tyne,
An Islet vpon the coast of Scotland, in the German Sea.
In Fasting as in Prayer, a man so much diuine,
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,
Vpon his blessed death the English men began,
By him to name their Babes, which it so frequent brings, How the name of Henry came so frequent among the English.
Which name hath honoured been by many English Kings.
So Burgundy to vs three men most reuerent bare,
Amongst our other Saints, that claime to haue their share,
Of which was Felix first, who in th'East-Saxon raigne,
Conuerted to the faith King Sigbert: him againe
Ensueth Anselme, whom Augusta sent vs in,
And Hugh, whose holy life, to Christ did many win,
By * Henry th'Empresse sonne holpe hither, and to haue
Henry the second.
Him wholly to be ours, the See of Lincolne gaue.
So Lumbardy to vs, our reuerent 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 vs gaue (as Peter long before,
Who with Saint Austen came, to preach vpon this shore)
By Alsred hither cald, who him an Abbot made,
Who by his godly life, and preaching did perswade,
The Saxons to beleeue the true and quickning word:
So after long againe she likewise did afford,
Saint O smond, 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,
Natiue English
〈◊〉
into
〈◊〉
parts, canonized. With Stephen Earle of Bloys his brother, after King,
In VVinchesters rich See, who him establishing,
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,
And into neighbouring France, our most religious went,
Saint Clare that natiue 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 reuerent man.
Our Iudock, 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 vp, 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 euen yet,
Vpon his reuerent graue, 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 liuely zeale, perswading him vnto 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 vnbeleeuing 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
〈◊〉
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 Iudock did the like) whose honour to restore,
Religious Lewes there interr'd with wondrous cost,
Of whose rich Funerall France deseruedly may boast.
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 euer 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 Anniuersaries there did after long remaine.
So Wigbert full of faith, and heauenly wisedome went
Vnto 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
〈◊〉
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 liues depart, their bodies gathered,
Were at old-Seell enshrin'd, their Obijts yearely kept:
Such as on them haue had as many praises heap'd,
That in their liues the truth as constantly confest,
As th'other that their Faith by Martyrdome exprest.
In Freeze, as these of ours, their names did famous leaue,
Againe so had we those as much renown'd in Cleaue;
Saint Swibert, and with him Saint Willick, which from hence,
To Cleeue-land held their way, and in the Truths defence
Pawn'd their religious liues, and as they went together,
So one and selfe same place allotted was to either:
For both of them at Wert in Cleaueland 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 vnto their period brought,
Vnto his reuerent Corpse, old Haerlem harbour gaue;
So Werensrid againe, and Otger both we haue,
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 reueale,
Of our deare Sauiours death, and last of all to seale
His doctrine with his blood: In Belgia so abroad,
Saint
〈◊〉
in like sort, his blessed time bestow'd,
Whose reliques Wormshault (yet) in Flanders hath reseru'd,
Of these, th'rebellious
〈◊〉
(to winne them heauen) that staru'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 saue,
To whom good Arnulph, that most godly Emperour gaue
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 vpon the same was slaine:
So did th' Erwaldi there most worthily attaine
Their Martyrs glorious Types, to Ireland first approou'd,
But after (in their
〈◊〉
) as need requir'd remoou'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 braue Cullen still doth keepe.
So Adler one of ours, by England set apart
For Germany, and sent that people to conuert,
Of Erford Bishop made, there also had his end.
Saint Liphard like wise to our Martyraloge shall lend,
Who hauing 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 reuerently imbrac'd.
Saint Iohn 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,
Of Witzburg Bishop was, at Hohemburg that reard
The Monastery, wherein he richly was interd.
So Mastreight vnto her Saint Willibord did call,
And seated him vpon her See Episcopall,
As two Saint Lebwins there amongst the rest are brought;
Th'one o'r Isells banks the ancient Saxons taught:
At ouer Isell rests, the other did apply,
The Gueldres, and by them interd at Deuentry.
Saint Wynibald againe, at Hidlemayne enioy'd
The Abbacy, in which his godly time employ'd
In their Conuersion there, which long time him withstood.
Saint Gregory then, with vs 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 receau'd, where he at Myniard led
A strict Monastick life, a Saint aliue and dead.
So had we some of ours for Italy were prest,
As well as these before, sent out into the East.
King Inas hauing 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 haue not since beene able to repaire,
Of many that he built, the least, in time when they
Haue (by weake mens neglect) been falne into decay:
This Realme by him enrich'd, he pouertie 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 Thusoany in thee,
At faire Mount-flascon still the memory shall bee
Of holy Thomas there most reuerently interd,
Who sometime to the See of Hereford preferd;
Thence trauailing to Rome, in his returne bereft
His life by sicknesse, there to thee his body left.
Yet Italy gaue not these honors all to them
That visited her Rome, but from Ierusalem,
Some comming back through thee, and yeelding vp their spirits,
On thy rich earth receiu'd their most deserued merits.
O Naples, as thine owne, in thy large Territory,
Though to our Countries praise, yet to thy greater glory,
Euen 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,
Thougau'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, (aboue the former grac'd)
In such a sumptuous Shrine at Galinaro plac'd;
At Sancto Padre so, Saint Fulke hath euer fame,
Which from that reuerent man't should seeme deriu'd the name,
His Reliques there reseru'd; so holy Ardwins Shrine
Is at Ceprano kept, and honoured as diuine,
For Myracles, that there by his strong faith were wrought.
Mongst these selected men, the Sepulchre that sought,
And in thy Realme arriu'd, their blessed soules resign'd:
Our Bernards body yet at Arpine we may find,
Vntill 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 natiue home into Calabria cald,
And of Saint Andrewes there the Bishop was instauld,
For whom shee hath profest much reuerence to this land:
Saint William with this man, a paralell may stand,
Through all the Christian world accounted so diuine,
That trauelling from hence to holy Pálestine,
Desirous that most blest Ierusalem to see,
(In which the Sauiours 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 remou'd in little space,
And in lesse time ordain'd Archbishop of that place;
That God inspired man, with heauenly goodnesse fild,
A Saint amongst the rest deseruedly is held.
Yet Italy, nor France, nor Germany, those times
Imployd not all our men, but into colder Clymes,
They wandred through the world, their Countries that forsooke.
So Sigfrid sent fromhence, deuoutly vndertooke
Those Pagans wild and rude, of Gothia to conuert,
Who hauing laboured long, with danger oft ingirt,
Was in his reuerent age for his deserued fee,
By Olaus King of Goths, set on Vexouia's See.
To Norway, and to those great North-East Countries farre;
So Gotebald gaue himselfe holding a Christian warre
With Paynims, nothing else but Heathenish Rites that knew.
As Suethia to her selfe these men most reuerent drew,
Saint Vlfrid of our Saints, as famous there as any,
Nor scarcely find we one conuerting there so many.
And Henry in those dayes of Oxsto Bishop made,
The first that Swethen King, which cuer did perswade,
On Finland to make warre, to force them by the sword,
When nothing else could serue 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 Sauiours loue to mankind, taking paine,
By cruell Paynims hands was in the Pulpit slaine,
Vpon that blessed day Christ dyed for sinfull man,
Vpon that day for Christ, his Martyrs Crowne he wan.
So Dauid drawne from hence into those farther parts,
By preaching, who to pearce those Paynims hardned hearts,
Incessantly proclaim'd Christ Iesus, 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 liues and deaths, a likelinesse might show,
As Vnaman 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 vs 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 reueale,
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 deuout, as rais'd that Church so high,
Much reuerence, and haue wonne their holy Hierarchy:
Of which he first that did with goodnesse so inflame
The hearts of the deuout (that from his proper name)
As one (euen) sent from God, the soules of men to saue
The title vnto him, of Deodat they gaue.
The Bishops Brightwald next, and Tatwin in we take,
Whom time may say, that Saints it worthily did make
Succeeding in that See directly euen 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 Seuere, who highly did adorne
That See, (yet being of vnchristened parents borne,
Whose Country Denmarke was, but in East England dwelt)
He being but a child, in his cleere bosome felt
The most vndoubted truth, and yet vnbaptiz'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 bartels 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 Deuill 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 neuer was suffic'd.
These men before exprest; so Eadsine next ensues,
To propagate the truth, no toyle that did refuse;
In Haralds time who liu'd, when William Conqueror came,
For holinesse of life, attain'd vnto that fame,
That Souldiers fierce and rude, that pitty neuer 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 iust, he hath his right; if no,
Those times were much to blame, that haue him reckond so.
Then these from Yorke ensue, whose liues as much haue 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 vpon him came.
And next him followeth Iohn, who like wise bare the name,
Of Beuerley, where he most happily was borne,
Whose holinesse did much his natiue place adorne,
Whose Vigils had by those deuouter times bequests
The Ceremonies due to great and solemne Feasts.
So Oswald of that seat, and Cedwall sainted were,
Both reuerenc'd and renown'd Archbishops, liuing 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
〈◊〉
ruling here did in his time ordaine
Archbishop of that See, among our Saints doth fall,
Deria'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.
As Ceda, (brother to that reuerent Bishop Chad,
At Lichfield in those times, his famous seat that had)
Is Sainted for that See amongst our reuerent men,
From London though at length remoou'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 sled,
Whose works such fame him wonne for ho linesse, that dead,
Time him enshrin'd in Pauls, (the mother of that See)
Which with Reuenues large, and Priuiledges 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 heauen,
As that great name to him sure was not vainely giuen.
With Winchester againe proceed we, which shall store
Vs with as many Saints, as any See (or more)
Of whom we yet haue sung, (as Hcada there we haue)
Who by his godly life, so good instructions gaue,
As teaching that the way to make men to liue well,
Example vs assur'd, did Preaching farre excell.
Our Swithen then ensues, of him why ours I say,
Is that vpon his Feast, his dedicated day,
As it in Haruest haps, so Plow-men note thereby,
Th'ensuing fortie dayes be either wet or dry,
As that day falleth out, whose Myracles may wee
Beleeue 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 vpon 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'releeue the needy poore; the Churches wealth (quoth he)
May be againe repayr'd, but so these cannot be.
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, haue lastly been conuerted.
This man, when as our Kings so much decayed were,
As'twas suppos d their Line would be extinguisht here,
Had in his Dreame reueald, to whom All-doing heauen,
The Scepter of this land in after-times had giuen;
Which in Prophettick sort by him deliuered was,
And as he stoutly spake, it truly came to passe.
So other Southerne Sees, here either lesse or more,
Haue likewise had their Saints, though not alike in store.
Of Rochester, we haue Saint Ithamar, being then
In those first times, first of our natiue English men
Residing on that Seat; so as an ayd to her,
But singly Sainted thus, we haue 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 deliuered are,
As now may seeme to stretch
〈◊〉
strait beleefe too farre.
And Cimbert, of a Saint had the deserued right,
His yearely Obijts long, done in the Isle of Wight;
A Bishop, as some say, but certaine of what See,
It scarcely can be proou'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, deriued 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 vs but to examine now
Those former times, these men for Saints that did allow,
And from our reading vrge, that others might as well
Related be for Saints, as worthy euery 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 liues by death had triall many a yeere.
That See at Norwich now establisht (long not stird)
At Eltham planted first, to Norwich then transferd
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 sowne which did subdue,
(O most vnhallowed deed) vnmercifully slue.
So Worster, (as those Sees here sung by vs before)
Hath likewise with her Saints renown'd our natiue 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 reuerent Bishop Chad,
In those religious times for holinesse that had,
The name aboue the best that liued in those dayes,
That Stories haue 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 Sexvlfe after him, then Owen did supply,
Her Trine of reuerent 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 vpright wayes,
Who durst reprooue proud Rome, in her most prosperous dayes,
Whose life, of that next age the Iustice 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 haue been Canonized.
Her sainted Bishop Iohn, so Ely addes to these,
Yet neuer any one of all
〈◊〉
seuerall Sees
Northumber land like thine, haue 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 vs 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.
Aidan, and Finan both, most happily were found
Northumber land in thee, euen whilst thou didst abound
With Paganisme, which them thy Oswin that good King,
His people to conuert 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 swerue,
And till I thither come, their holinesse reserue,
Proceeding with the rest that on those Sees haue 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 vp of stone, and couered sayre with Lead,
Who in Saint Cuthberts Graue 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 ouerrun
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 * Lindisferne translated,
An Isle neere to Scotland, lying into the German Ocean, since that called Holy Iland, as you may read in the next page following. Which his Cathedrall Church by him was consecrated.
So Acca we account mongst those which haue been cald
The Saints of this our See, which sate at Hagenstald,
Of which he Bishop was, in that good age respected,
In Calenders preseru'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 iustifide,
The first which rul'd that See, which * Beauclerke did preferre,
Much gracing him, who was his only Confessor.
Henry the first. 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 Ine a godly Priest, supposd to haue 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 vnderstand, impartially which he
Deliuered hath to time, in his Records that we,
Things left so farre behind, before vs 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 liu'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 reuerent Cell, as Godrick thou canst show;
His head and beard as white as Swan or driuen 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,
In Verse his Legend writ, who of our holy men,
He him the subiect 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 gaue,
Whose Reliques that great house of Lesting long did saue,
To sinders till it sanke: so Benedict by thee,
We haue 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 vs Northumberland thou lent'st,
Whom vp 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 vnderstand,
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 vs in Saint Robert to our store,
At Knarsborough most knowne, whereas he long before
His blessed time bestowd; then one as iust as he,
(If credit to those times attributed may be)
Saint Richard with the rest deseruing well a roome,
Which in that Country once, at Hampoole had a toombe.
Religious Alred so, from Rydall we receiue,
The Abbot, who to all posteritie did leaue,
The fruits of his staid faith, deliuered 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 haue we found three Iohns, of sundry places here,
Of which (three reuerent men) two famous Abbots were.
The first Saint Albans shew'd, the second Lewes had,
Another godly Iohn we to these former add,
To make them vp a Trine, (the name of Saints that wonn)
Who was a Yorkshire man, and Prior of Berlington.
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 diuersly dare say,
As they of Gilbert doe, who founded those Diuines,
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 haue,
To whom deuouter times this veneration gaue:
As Gwir in Cornwall kept his solitary Cage,
And Neoth by Hunstock there, his holy Hermitage,
As Guthlake, from his youth, who liu'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 enioying 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 liue,
And did to it the name of Arnulphsbury giue.
These men, this wicked world respected not a hayre,
But true Professors were of pouertie and prayer.
Amongst these men which times haue honoured with the Stile
Of Confessors, (made Saints) so euery little while,
Our Martyrs haue com'n in, who sealed with their blood,
That faith which th'other preach'd, gainst them that it withstood;
As
〈◊〉
, who had liu'd a Herdsman, left his Seat,
Though in the quiet fields, whereas he kept his Neat,
And leauing that his Charge, he left the world withall,
An Anchorite and became, within a Cloystred wall,
Inclosing vp 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 Eusham, for that he did zealously maintaine
The veritie of Christ. As Thomas, whom we call
Of Douer, adding Monke, and
〈◊〉
therewithall;
For that the barbarous Danes he brauely 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
〈◊〉
Iewes (rebellious that abide)
In mockery of our Christ at Easter ciucifi'd,
Those times
〈◊〉
euery one should their due honour haue,
His freedome or his life, for Iesus Christ that gaue.
So Wiltshire with the rest her Hermit Vlfrick hath
Related for a Saint, so famous in the Faith,
That
〈◊〉
ages since, his Cell haue sought to find,
At Hasselburg, who had his Obijts him assign'd.
So
〈◊〉
we many Kings most holy here at home,
Saxon Kings canonized for Saints.
As
〈◊〉
of meaner ranke, which haue attaind that roome:
Northumberland, thy seat with Saints did vs supply
Of thy
〈◊〉
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,
Iust Oswald likewise slew, at Oswaldstree, who gaue
That name vnto that place, as though time meant to saue
His memory thereby, there suffring for the Faith,
As one whose life deseru'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 conuince,
(Their Paganisme a pace declining to the wane)
At Darby put to death, whom in a goodly Phane,
Cald by his glorious name, his corpse the Christians layd.
What fame deseru'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
〈◊〉
her King, Northumbria notes againe,
In
〈◊〉
the next, though not the next in raigne,
Whom his false Subiects slue, for that he did deface
The Heathenish Saxon gods, and bound them to embrace
The liuely quickning Faith, which then began to spread.
So for our Sauiour Christ, as these were martyred:
There other holy Kings were likewise, who confest,
Which those most zealous times haue 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 seuen-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 reuerence which did add
Our Martyrologe to helpe: so happily shee had
Rufin, and Vlfad, 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 * Stone.
A Towne in
〈◊〉
.
So Kenelme, that the King of Mercia should haue beene,
Before his first seuen yeares he fully out had seene,
Was slaine by his owne Guard, for feare lest waxing old,
That he the Christian Faith vndoubtedly 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
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 inueterate 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 Bardncy, where his life religiously he spent,
And meditating Christ, thence to his Sauiour 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 haue heapt,
That from a Heathen Prince, a holy Pilgrim turn'd,
Repenting in his heart against the truth t'haue 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 deuin'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 loued sonne young Ethelbert might raigne:
The other in a storme, and deluge of the Dane,
For that he Christned was, receau'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 deserues 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 * Island with their name, of whose most holy Kings, A people of the Saxons, who gaue the name to England, of Angles land.
Which iustly haue deseru'd their high Canonizings,
Are Sigfrid, whose deare death him worthily hath crownd,
And Edmund in his end, so wondrously renownd,
For Christs sake suffring death, by that blood-drowning Dane,
To whom those times first built that Citie and that Phane, Saint Edmunsbury.
Whose ruines Suffolke yet can to her glory show,
When shee will haue 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'inueterate spleene
Shee bare vnto the Faith, whom we a Saint adore.
So Edwald brother to Saint Edmund, sang 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 hauing 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
〈◊〉
straine:
Arwaldi of one name, whom ere King Cedwall knew
The true and liuely Faith, he tyranously slew:
Who still amongst the Saints haue their deserued right,
Whose Vigils were obseru'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 aliue and dead.
Related for the like, so Edgar we admit,
That King, who ouer eight did soly Monarch sit,
And with our holyest Saints for his endowments great,
Bestow'd vpon 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,
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 gaue,
For holy charges there; but here first let vs haue
Our Mayd-made-Saints at home, as Hilderlie, with her
We Theorid thinke most fit, for whom those times auerre,
A Virgin strictlyer vow'd, hath hardly liued 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)
〈◊〉
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 reueale
The glory of those times, by liberties she gaue,
By which those Easterne Shires their Priuiledges haue. Saint Audries Liberties.
Of holy Audries too, a sister here we haue,
Saint VVithburg, who her selfe to Contemplation gaue,
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
〈◊〉
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 Meruald, who did then the Mercian Scepter beare.
At VVenlock, Milburg dy'd, (a most religious mayd)
Of which great Abbay shee the first foundation layd:
And Thanet as her Saint (euen to this age) doth herye
Her Mildred. Milwid was the like at Canterbury.
Nor in this vtmost 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 first we with the former bring,
Translated (as some say) to Flanders: but that I,
As doubtfull of the truth, here dare not iustifie.
King Edgars sister so, Saint Edith, place may haue
With these our Maiden-Saints, who to her Powlsworth gaue
Immunities most large, and goodly liuings layd.
Which Modwen, long before, a holy Irish mayd,
Had founded in that place, with most deuout intent.
As Eanswine, Eadwalds child, one of the Kings of Kent,
At Foulkston found a place (giuen by her father there)
In which she gaue her selfe to abstinence and prayer.
Of the West-Saxon rule, borne to three seuerall Kings,
Foure holy Virgins more the Muse in order brings:
Saint Ethelgiue the child to Alfred, which we find,
Those more deuouter 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 VVilton, which we gather,
Our Virgin-Band to grace, both hauing 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 fiue related Saints of that blest name there be)
Of VVilton Abbasse was, they her of VVilton styl'd:
Was euer 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 vs 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 neuer any one more grac'd the
〈◊〉
then she.
Deriu'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 liu'd to see
The Conquerour enter here, Saint Christian (to vs knowne)
Whose life by her cleere name diuinely 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 Effexian 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 natiue 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 haue, both to deuotion 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 receiu'd their liuing breath.
Then those Northumbrian Nymphs, all vayld, as full of Faith,
That Country sent vs 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 neuer 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 rauish, which possest
This Isle; first of thy selfe and then of all the rest,
The Nose and vpper Lip from your fayre faces keru'd,
And from pollution so your hallowed house preseru'd.
Which when the Danes perceiu'd, their hopes so farre deluded,
Setting the house on fire, their Martyrdome concluded.
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,
By which their grasse and graine was many times destroy'd,
Which fall from off their wings, nor to the ayre can get Wild. geese falling downe, if they fly ouer the place.
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
〈◊〉
of Kent)
A Prioresse of that place; Burgundosora bare,
At Eureux 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 natiue 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 euerliuing name
For Martyrdome, which shee at
〈◊〉
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 liues, and gladly them betooke
To Abstinence and Prayer, and as sincerely liu'd,
As when the Fates of life King Ethelwold depriu'd,
That o'r the East-Angles raign'd, bright Heriswid his wife,
Betaking her to lead a strait Monasticke life,
Departing hence to France, receau'd the holy Vayle,
And liued many a day incloystred there at Kale.
Then Keneburg in this our Sainted front shall stand,
To Alfred the lou'd wife, King of Northumberland,
Daughter to Penda King of Mercia, who though he
Himselfe most Heathenish were, yet liu'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 vs store,
Of the Northumbrian Line so haue 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 inuest
At Lymming farre in Kent, which Country gaue her breath.
So Edeth as the rest after King Sethricks death,
Which had the selfe same rule of VVilton Abbesse was,
Where two VVest-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 VVestsex; so againe
Did VVilfrid, Edgars Queene, (so famous in his raigne)
Then Eadburg, Ana's wife, receiued as the other,
Who as a Saint her selfe, so likewise was she mother
To two most holy Mayds, as we before haue show'd
At VVilton, (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 vs lent,
As Sexburg sometime Queene to Ercombert of Kent,
Though Ina's loued child, and Audryes sister knowne,
Which Ely in those dayes did for her Abbesse owne.
Nor to Saint O sith we lesse honour ought to giue,
King Sethreds widdowed Queene, who (when death did depriue
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 vnlike in name.
King Wulpheres widdowed Pheere, Queene Ermineld, whose life
At Ely is renown'd, and Ermenburg, the wife
To Meruald 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 Algyue, 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,
Depriu'd his rightfull crowne, no hope it to recouer,
A Vestall habite tooke, and gaue the false world ouer.
Saint Maud here not the least, though shee be set the last,
And scarcely ouer-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 vpon her life, when shee her Cloyster fled,
And chastly gaue her selfe to her lou'd husbands bed,
Whom likewise for a Saint those reuerend ages chose,
With whom we at this time our Catalogue will close.
Now Rutland all this time, who held her highly wron'g,
That shee should for the Saints thus strangely be prolong'd,
As that the Muse such time vpon their praise should spend,
Sent in her ambling Wash, faire VVelland to attend
At Stamford, which her Streame doth eas'ly ouertake,
Of whom her Mistresse Flood seemes wondrous much to make;
For that she was alone the darling and delight
Of Rutland, rauisht so with her beloued 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 euer-labouring Muse her Beauties thus exprest.
Loue 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,
Suruaying 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 braue so ere she be,
But Lyfield shewes her selfe as braue a Nymph as shee?
What Riuer euer rose from Banke, or swelling Hill,
Then Rutlands wandring VVash, 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 Come;
That Beuer ne'r be sayd thy sister-hood to scorne,
And let thy Ocham boast, to haue no litle grace,
That her they pleased Fates, did in thy bosome place,
And Lyfield, as thou art a Forrest, liue so free,
That euery Forrest-Nymph may praise the sports in thee.
And downe to Wellands course, O Wash, runne euer 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.
The fiue and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
Tow'rds Lincolnshire our Progresse layd,
VVee through deepe Hollands Ditches wade,
Fowling, and Fishing in the Fen;
Then come wee next to Kestiuen,
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 vpon thy earth, rich Lincolnshire I straine, (draine,
At Deeping, from whose Street, the plentious Ditches
Hemp bearing Hollands Fen, at Spalding that doe fall
Together in their Course, themselues as emptying all
Into one generall Sewer, which seemeth to diuide,
Holland diuided 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 * Wainfleet drifted stands, The iength of Holland by the Sea shore from the coast of Norsolke to VVainfleet.
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 * Quicksands, Beach, and Ouze, the Washes she must wade, The Description of the VVashes.
Where Neptune euery day doth powerfully inuade
The vast and queachy soyle, with Hosts of wallowing waues,
From whose impetuous force, that who himselfe not saues,
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 heauen 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 reueale
Her sundry sorts of Fowle, from whose abundance she
Aboue all other Tracts, may boast her selfe to be
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 iust proper praise, thus Holland doth proceed.
Yee Acherusian Fens, to mine resigne your glory,
Hollands Orztion Both that which lies within the goodly Territory
Of Naples, as that Fen Thesposia's earth vpon,
Whence that infernall Flood, the smutted Acheron
Shoues 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 couered all with Snow continually doth stand.
I stinking Lerna hate, and the poore Libian Sand.
* Marica that wise Nymph, to whom great Neptune gaue
A Nymph supposed to haue the charge of the Shore.The charge of all his Shores, from drowning them to saue,
Abideth with me still vpon my seruice prest,
And leaues the looser Nymphs to wayt vpon the rest:
In Summer giuing earth, from which I sqare my * Peat,
Fuell cut out of the Marsh.And faster feedings by, for Deere, for Horse, and Neat.
My various * Fleets for Fowle, O who is he can tell,
Brookes and Pooles worne by the water, into which the rising floods haue recourse.The species that in me for multitudes excell!
The Duck, and Mallard first, the Falconers onely sport,
(Of Riuer-flights the chiefe, so that all other sort,
They onely Greene-Fowle tearme) in euery Mere abound,
That you would thinke they sate vpon the very ground,
Their numbers be so great, the waters couering quite,
That rais'd, the spacious ayre is darkened with their flight;
Yet still the dangerous Dykes, from shot doe them secure,
VVhere they from Flash to Flash, like the full Epicure
Waft, as they lou'd to change their Diet euery meale;
And neere to them ye see the lesser dibling Teale
In * Bunehes, with the first that flie from Mere to Mere,
The word in Palconry, for a company of Teale.
As they aboue 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,
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
Vpon the forehead star'd, the Water-Hen doth weare
Vpon her little tayle, in one small feather set.
The VVater-woosell next, all ouer black as Ieat,
With various colours, black, greene, blew, red, russet, white,
Doe yeeld the gazing eye as variable delight,
As doe those sundry Fowles, whose seuerall plumes they be.
The diuing Dob-chick, here among the rest you see,
Now vp, now downe againe, that hard it is to prooue,
Whether vnder water most it liueth, or aboue:
With which last little Fowle, (that water may not lacke;
More then the Dob-chick doth, and more doth loue the * brack)Salt water.
The Puffin we compare, which comming to the dish,
Nice pallats hardly iudge, if it be flesh or fish.
But wherefore should I stand vpon such to yes as these,
That haue 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 clouen-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 vnder them againe, (that water neuer 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 haue I yet recited halfe my store:
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 ouerflow'd,
And want of sollid sward inforceth them abroad,
Th'abundance then is seene, that my full Fennes doe yeeld,
That almost through the Ifle, doe pester euery 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 auerre, is elsewhere hardly knowne.
For sure vnlesse in me, no one yet euer 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 euery Shole, and watching euery 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 deuouring 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 vnder water goes, and so the Shoale purfues,
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 ouer them the Fish no sooner doe espie,
But (betwixt him and them, by an antipathy)
Turning their bellies vp, as though their death they saw,
They at his pleasure lye, to ftuffe his glutt'nous maw.
The toyling Fisher here is tewing of his Net:
The Fowler is imployd his lymed twigs to set. The pleasures of the Fennes.
One vnderneath his Horse, to get a shoot doth stalke;
Another ouer Dykes vpon 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 Stouer fit,
That whosoeuer would a Landskip rightly hit,
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 inuironing 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 vpon the same with most aduantage lye.
What Fish can any shore, or British Sea-towne show,
That's eatable to vs, 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, prouocatiue among:
The Weauer, 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)
Giues many a dainty bit out of his lusty Iole.
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 vp the sand;
But on the English coast, those most that vsuall are,
Wherewith the staules from thence doe furnish vs 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
With Orient Pearle within, as thereby nature show'd,
That she some secret good had on that Shell bestow'd:
The Scallop cordiall iudgd, 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,
Her tongue would ne'r haue stopt, quoth shee, O how I hate,
Kestiuens Oration.
Thus of her foggy Fennes, to heare rude Holland prate,
That with her Fish and Fowle, here keepeth such a coyle,
As her vnwholesome ayre, and more vnwholesome foyle,
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)
Haue 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 vnsauory 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 Clouer show,
Compared with her best: and for her sundry Fish,
Of which she freely boasts, to furnish euery 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 Rauenous Crow
Will rather starue, 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 doth hold?
Ancaster Heath Through all the neighboring Shires, whose praise shall still be told,
Which Flora in the Spring doth with such wealth adorne,
That Beuer needs not much her company to scorne,
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
Giues 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 Pauements found, and Armes of perfect gold.
They neere the Saxons raigne, that in this tract did dwell,
No Tract can
〈◊〉
so braue Churches. All other of this Isle, for that they would excell
For Churches euery where, so rich and goodly rear'd
In euery little Dorpe, that after-times haue fear'd
T'attempt so mighty workes; yet one aboue the rest,
In which it may be thought, they stroue to doe their best,
Of pleasant Grantham is, that Piramis so hye,
Rear'd (as it might be thought) to ouertop the skie,
The Traueller that strikes into a wondrous maze,
As on his Horse he fits, on that proud height to gaze.
When VVytham that this while a listning eare had laid,
To hearken (for her selfe) what Kestiuen had said,
Much pleasd with this report, for that she was the earth
From whom she onely had her sweet and seasoned birth,
From VVytham which that name deriued from her Springs,
A Towne so called. Thus as she trips along, this dainty Riuelet 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 vse that haue 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 Riuer 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?
Lincolne anciently dyed the best greene of England.
Whilst some the rings of Bells, and some the Bag-pipes ply,
Dance many a merry Round, and many a Hydegy.
I enuy, any Brooke should in my pleasure share,
Yet for my daintie Pykes, I am without compare.
No Land-floods can mee force to ouer-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, vpon 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,
Leauing her former Course, in which she first set forth,
Which seemed to haue been directly to the North:
Shee runnes her siluer front into the muddy Fen,
Which lyes into the East, in her deepe iourney, when
Cleare Ban a pretty Brooke, from Lyndsey comming downe,
Delicious Wytham leads to holy Botulphs Towne,
Botulphs towne contractedly Boston.
VVhere 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 Riuals thus had fully made an end
Of their so tedious talke, when lastly shee replyes;
Lyndsies oration
Loe, brauely here she sits, that both your states defies.
Faire Lincolne is mine owne, which lies vpon my South,
As likewise to the North, great Humbers swelling mouth
Encircles me, twixt which in length I brauely 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 euery where so thicke,
The Villages and Dorps vpon my Bosome sticke,
That it is very hard for any to define,
Whether Vp-land most I be,
〈◊〉
am Maratine.
What is there that compleat can any Country make,
That in large measure I, (faire Linasey) 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,
Giue nourishment to beast, or benefit to man,
As Kestiuen doth boast, her VVytham so haue I,
My Ancum (onely mine) whose fame as farre doth flie,
VVytham Eele, and Ancum Pyke, In all the world there is none syke. For fat and daintie Eeles, as hers doth for her Pyke,
Which makes the Prouerbe vp; the world hath not the like.
From Razin her cleere Springs, where first she doth ariue,
As in an euen course, to Humber foorth doth driue,
Faire Barton shee salutes, which from her Scite out-braues
Rough Humber, when he striues to shew his sternest waues.
Now for my Bounds to speake, few
〈◊〉
(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 haue said before)
From whom (euen) all along, vpon the Easterne shore,
The German Oceanlyes; and on my Southerne side,
Cleere Wytham in her course, me fairely doth diuide
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 conuay:
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 ouermatcht; 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 Plouer gray, and greene,
The Corne-land-louing Quayle, the daintiest of our bits,
The Rayle, which seldome comes, but vpon 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 haue 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;
For as you creepe, or cowre, or lye, or stoupe, or goe,
So marking you (with care) the Apish Bird doth doe,
And acting euery thing, doth neuer marke the Net,
Till he be in the Snare, which men for him haue 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 euer 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.
The sixe and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
Three Shires at once this Song assayes,
By various and vnvsuall wayes.
At Nottingham first comming in,
The Vale of Beuer 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 Braueries of that Flood,
Makes Sherwood sing her Robin Hood;
Then rouzes vp 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 Beuers batning Slade
Receiueth 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,
Large Lincolne, Rutland Rich, and th'Norths Eye Nottingham.
The Vale of Beuer bordreth vpon 3. Shires.
But in the last of these since most of me doth lye,
To that my most-lou'd Shire my selfe I must apply.
Not Eusham that proud Nymph, although she still pretend
Her selfe the first of Vales, and though abroad she send Not a more pleasant Vale in all great Britaine, then Beuer.
Her awfull dread Command, that all should tribute pay
To her as our great Queene; nor White-horse, though her Clay
Of siluer seeme to be, new melted, nor the Vale
Of Alsbury, whose grasse seemes giuen out by tale,
For it so Silken is, nor any of our kind,
Or what, or where they be, or howsoere inclind,
Me Beuer shall out braue, that in my state doe scorne,
By any of them all (once) to be ouerborne,
With theirs, doe but compare the Country where I lye,
My Hill, and Oulds will say, they are the Islands eye.
Consider next my Scite, and say it doth excell;
Then come vnto my Soyle, and you shall see it swell,
With euery 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 diuine:
Nor barren am of Brookes, for that I still reteine
Two neat and daintie Rills, the little Snyte, and Deane,
That from the louely 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
〈◊〉
old Lecester, and flyes,
Vntill the fertile earth glut her insatiate eyes,
From Rich to Richer still, that
〈◊〉
her before,
Vntill shee come to cease vpon the head of Soare,
Where * Fosse, and Watling cut each other in their course
The 2. famous Wayes of England. See to the 13. Song. At * 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;
A little Village at the rising of Soare.
Whence softly sallying out, as loath the place to leaue,
Shee Sence a pretty Rill doth courteously receiue:
For Swift, a little Brooke, which certainly shee thought
Downe to the Banks of Trent, would safely her haue brought,
Because their natiue Springs so neerely were allyde,
Her sister Soare forsooke, and wholly her applide
To Auon, 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:
Where whilst the louely Soare, with many a deare imbrace,
Is solacing her selfe with this delightfull place,
The Forrest, which the name of that braue Towne doth beare,
Lecester Forrest.
With many a goodly wreath, crownes her disheueld hayre,
And in her gallant Greene, her lusty Liuery 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 hauing in her selfe to furnish euery 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 vpon so low a Flat,
Where nature most of all befriended her in that,
The longer to enioy 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 themselues 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,
Who led from roome to roome amazed is to see A Simily of Soare.
The furnitures and states, which all Imbroyderies be,
The rich and sumptuous Beds, with Tester-couering plumes,
And various as the Sutes, so various the persumes,
Large Galleries, where piece with piece doth seeme to striue,
Of Pictures done to life, Landskip, and Perspectiue,
Thence goodly Gardens sees, where Antique Statues stand
In Stone and Copper, cut by many a skilfull hand,
Where euery 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,
Brings Eye, a pretty Brooke, to beare her siluer 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 inuite
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 Syluan 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 roue,
To trip from Wood to Wood, and scud from Groue to Groue,
On * Sharpley that were seene, and * Cadmans aged rocks,
Two mightie Rocks in the Forrest. Against the rising Sunne, to brayd their siluer locks;
And with the harmelesse Elues, on Heathy * Bardons height,
By Cynthia's colder beames to play them night by night,
A Hill in the Forrest. Exil'd their sweet aboad, to poore bare Commons fled,
They with the Okes that liu'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 reuerently 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;
Vpon whose other part, on some descending Brow,
Huge stones are hanging out, as though they downe would drop,
Where vnder-growing Okes, on their old shoulders prop
The others hory heads, which still seeme to decline,
And in a Dimble neere, (euen as a place diuine,
For Contemplation fit) an Iuy-seeled Bower,
As Nature had therein ordayn'd some Syluan power;
As men may very oft at great Assemblies see,
A Simily of Charnvvood Forrest. 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;
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,
Adiudg'd by all to bee, so perfect Paragon,
That all those parts in her together simply dwell,
For which the other doe so seuerally 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 Soueraigne Trent,
Who hauing wandred long, at length began to leaue
Her natiue Countries bounds, and kindly doth receiue
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'aue past
The other Sence, whose source doth rise not farre from hers,
By Ancor, that her selfe to famous Trent prefers,
The second of that name, allotted to this Shire, Two Riuers of one name in one 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 Doue, and Darwin cleere,
Darwin, whose fount and fall are both in Darbysheere;
And of those thirtie Floods, that wayt the Trent vpon,
Doth stand without compare, the very Paragon.
Thus wandring at her will, as vncontrould 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,
That braue exalted seat, beholdeth her in pride,
As how the large-spread Meads vpon the other side,
All flourishing in Flowers, and rich embroyderies drest,
In which she sees her selfe aboue her neighbours blest.
As rap'd with the delights, that her this Prospect brings,
In her peculiar praise, loe thus the Riuer sings.
What should I care at all, from what my name I take,
That Thirtie doth import, that thirty Riuers make; Whence Trent is supposed to deriue her name. See to the 12. Song.
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 liue,
To me this name of Trent did from that number giue.
What reack I: let great Thames, since by his fortune he
Is Soueraigne of vs all that here in Britaine be;
From Isis, and Old Tame, his Pedigree deriue:
And for the second place, proud Seuerne that doth striue,
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 vndoubted 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 Seuerne both in this come short of me,
For that I am the Mere of England, that diuides
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 giue me leaue to play, whilst they doe Court my Streame,
And crowne my winding banks with many an Anademe:
My Siluer-scaled Skuls about my Streames doe sweepe,
Now in the shallow foords, now in the falling Deepe:
So that of euery 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 brauer 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 there on bestow'd this stronger guard,
His daintinesse to keepe, (each curious pallats proofe)
From his vile rauenous 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 Phebus lookes his face,
Oft swiftly as he swimmes, his siluer 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 aboue the rest,
And of fresh-water Fish, did note him for the best;
The Roche, whose common kind to euery Flood doth fall;
The Chub, (whose neater name) which some a Cheuin call,
Food to the Tyrant Pyke, (most being in his power)
Who for their numerous store he most doth them deuoure;
The lustie Salmon then, from Neptunes watry Realme,
When as his season serues, 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,
Aboue 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 haue my beauties grac'd, with some thing from him sent:
Not Ancums siluered Eele exceedeth that of Trent;
Though the sweet-smelling Smelt be more in Thames then me,
The Lamprey, and his * Lesse, in Seuerne generall be; The
〈◊〉
.
The Flounder smooth and flat, in other Riuers caught,
Perhaps in greater store, yet better are not thought:
The daintie Gudgcon, 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,
VVhich euery where are found in euery 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 Riuer first begun,
This Song, she the meane while, by Newarke hauing run,
Receiuing little Snyte, from Beuers batning grounds,
At Gaynsborough goes out, where the Lincolnian bounds.
Yet Sherwood all this while not satisfi'd to show
Her loue 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 loue to that braue Queene of waters, her to meet,
VVhen 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 Riuers that along,
Amongst the neighbouring Nymphs, there was no other Layes,
But those which seem'd to sound of Charnwood, and her praise:
VVhich 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 brauest 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 loue or hate,
VVith 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
Within her compasse liu'd, and when he lift 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,
And the aduentures strange that Robin Hood befell,
Robin Hoods Story.
When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath bin layd,
How he hath cosned them, that him would haue 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 Iohn;
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 braue 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 euery Dale and Hill:
Their Bauldricks set with Studs, athwart their shoulders cast,
To which vnder 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 Rouing Shaft,
At Markes full fortie score, they vs'd to Prick, and Roue,
Yet higher then the breast, for Compasse neuer stroue;
Yet at the farthest marke a foot could hardly win:
At Long-buts, short, and Hoyles, each one could cleaue 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 gaue such a twang, as might be heard a myle.
And of these Archers braue, there was not any one,
But he could kill a Deere his
〈◊〉
speed vpon,
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
〈◊〉
night vnder the
〈◊〉
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
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
way,
To him before he went, but for his Passe must pay:
The Widdow in distresse he graciously relieu'd,
And remedied the wrongs of many a Virgin grieu'd:
He from the husbands bed no married woman wan,
But to his Mistris deare, his loued Marian
Was euer constant knowne, which wheresoere shee came,
Was soueraigne of the Woods, chiefe Lady of the Game:
Her Clothes tuck'd to the knee, and daintie braided haire,
VVith Bow and Quiuer arm'd, shee wandred here and there,
Amongst the Forrests wild; Diana neuer knew
Such pleasures, nor such Harts as Mariana slew.
Of merry Robin Hood, and of his merrier men,
The Song had
〈◊〉
ceas'd, when as the Muse agen
VVades * Erwash, (that at hand) on Sherwoods setting side, A Riueret parting the two Shires.
The Nottinghamian Fields, and Derbian doth diuide,
And Northward from her Springs, haps Scardale forth to find,
Which like her Mistris Peake, is naturally enclind
To thrust forth ragged Cleeues, 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
〈◊〉
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 louely
〈◊〉
sends,
That helps the fertile Seat of Axholme to in-Isle:
But to th'vnwearied 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
Shee cast, and oft toth' 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
〈◊〉
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 vnfold.
My dreadfull daughters borne, your mothers deare delight,
Great Natures chiefest worke, wherein shee shew'd her might;
The Peakes Wonders. Yee darke and hollow Caues, the pourtratures of Hell,
Where Fogs, and misty Damps continually doe dwell;
O yee my onely loyes, 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 Diuels-Arse, in me, O be thou not asham'd,
The Diuels-arse in the
〈◊〉
Nor thinke thy selfe difgrac'd, or hurt thereby at all,
Since from thy horror first men vs'd thee so to call:
For as amongst the Moores, the Iettiest 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 iawes,
In midst of Summer meets with Winters stormy flawes,
Cold Dewes, that ouer head from thy foule roofe distill,
And meeteth vnder 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;
Thy Flore drad Caue, yet flat, though very rough it be,
With often winding turnes: then come thou next to me,
My prettie daughter Poole, my second loued child,
〈◊〉
Hole. 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 vncouth place,
An heyre-loome euer 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 selse aloft, and who
〈◊〉
doth intend
The length thereof to seo, 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.
For Elden thou my third, a Wonder I preferre
Elden Hole.
Before the other two, which perpendicular
Diue'st downe into the ground, as if an entrance were
Through earth to lead to hell, ye well might iudge it here,
Whose depth is so immense, and wondrously profound,
As that long line which serues the deepest Sea to sound,
Her bottome neuer wrought, as though the vast descent,
Through this Terrestriall Globe directly poynting went
Our Antipods to see, and with her gloomy eyes,
To glote vpon those Starres, to vs that neuer 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 Caues, and Holes, Peake onely not excells,
But that I can againe produce those wondrous Wells
Of Buckston, as I haue, that most delicious Fount,
Which men the second Bath of England doe account,
Which in the primer raignes, when first this well began
To haue her vertues knowne vnto the blest Saint Anne,
Saint Anne of Buskston.
Was consecrated then, which the same temper hath,
As that most daintie Spring, which at the famous Bath,
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 preuent,
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,
〈◊〉
.
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 Caues, and Fountaines thus deliuered you, for change.
A little Hill I haue, a wonder yet more strange,
Which though it be of light, and almost dusty sand, Sandy Hill.
Vnaltred with the wind, yet firmly doth it stand;
And running from the top, although it neuer 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 itselfe ascend,
To feed the falling backe; with this
〈◊〉
doe not end
The wonders of the Peake, for nothing that I haue,
But it a wonders name doth very iustly craue:
〈◊〉
A Forrest
〈◊〉
haue I, (of which when any speake,
Of me they it enstile, The Forrest, of the Peake)
The Peake Forrest. Whose Hills doe serue for Brakes, the Rocks
〈◊〉
shrubs and trees,
To which the Stag pursu'd, as to the
〈◊〉
flees;
Like it in all this Isle, for sternnesse there is none,
Where Nature may be said to show you groues of stone,
As she in little there, had
〈◊〉
compyld
The modell of the vast Arabian stony Wyld.
Then as it is suppos'd, in England that there be
Seuen wonders: to my selfe so haue I here in me,
My seauen before rehearc'd, allotted me by Fate,
Her greatnesse, as therein ordain'd to imitate.
No sooner had the Peake her seuen proud wonders sung,
But Darwin from her
〈◊〉
, her mothers Hills among,
Through many a crooked way, opposd with enuious Rocks,
Comes tripping downe tow'rds Trent; and sees the goodly Flocks
Fed by her mother Peake; and Heards, (for
〈◊〉
and haire,
That hardly are put downe by those of Lancashire,)
Which on her Mountaiues sides, and in her Bottoms graze,
On whose delightfull Course, whilst Vnknidge 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 Heauen-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 giu'st the eye such wonderfull delight,
From any Mountaine neere, that glorious name of Heauen,
Thy brauery to expresse, was to thy greatnesse giuen:
Nor cast thine eye so much on things that be aboue:
For sawest thou as we doe, our Darwin, thou wouldst loue
Her more then any thing, that so doth thee allure;
When Darwin that by this her trauell 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 Riuerets 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 lou'd the best,
(A delicater Flood from fountaine neuer flow'd)
Then comming to the Towne, on which she first bestow'd
Her naturall * British name, her Darby, so againe,
Darvvin, of the British Doure Guin, which is White water. Darby from thence, as the place by the water.
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 trauailing to Trent,
Backe goes the actiue 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 subiect of my Song.
The seauen and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
The circuit of this Shire exprest,
〈◊〉
, 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 liuely Shire,
But strait such shouts arose from euery Mosse and Mere,
And Riuers rushing downe, with such vnvsuall noyse,
Vpon their peably sholes, seem'd to expresse their ioyes,
That Mersey (in her course which happily confines
Braue Chesshire from this Tract, two County Palatines)
As rauish'd with the newes, along to Lerpoole ran,
That all the Shores which lye to the * Vergiuian,
The Irish Sea.
Resounded with the shouts, so that from Creeke to Creeke,
So Iowd the Ecchoes cry'd, that they were heard to shreeke
To Fournesse ridged Front, whereas the rocky Pile
Of Foudra is at hand, to guard the out-layd Isle The circuit and true demension of
〈◊〉
Of Walney, and those grosse
〈◊〉
foggy
〈◊〉
awooke;
Thence flying to the East, with their reuerberance 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 actiue Muse thus nimbly goes about,
Of this large Tract to lay the true Demensions out,
The neat Lancastrain Nymphes, for beauty that excell,
That for the * Hornpipe round doe beare away the bell;
The Lancashire Horne-pipe. Some that about the Banks of Erwell make abode,
With some that haue their seat by Ribbles siluer road,
In great contention fell, (that mighty difference grew)
Which of those Floods deseru'd to haue the soueraigne due;
So that all future spleene, and quarrels to preuent,
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 louely Erwell sayd.
Yee Lasses, quoth this Flood, haue long and blindly cr'd,
That Ribble before me, so falsely haue prefer'd,
Ervvels oration That am a Natiue 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
Vpon 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 Blackstonedze 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 Riuelet,
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 braue 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 vnctuous 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 siluer load in Lerpoole downe doth lay,
A Road none more renownd in the Vergiuian Sea.
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 loue, and Apple Cherry-red; He that wilfish for a Lancashire man, at any time or tide, Must
〈◊〉
his booke with a good
〈◊〉
, or an Apple with a red side.
In all your mirthfull Songs, and merry meetings tell,
That Erwell euery way doth Ribble farre excell.
Her well-disposed speech had Erwell scarcely done,
But swift report there with imediatly doth runne
To the Virgiuian Shores, among the Mosses deepe,
Where Alt a neighboring Nymph for very ioy doth weepe,
That Symonds-wood, from whence the Flood assumes her Spring,
Excited with the same, was lowdly heard to ring;
And ouer all the Moores, with shrill re-ecchoing sounds,
The drooping Fogs to driue from those grosse wat'y grounds,
Where those that toyle for Turffe, with peating Spades doc find
Fish liuing 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 haue been thought
But Ribbell that this while for her aduantage wrought,
Of what shee had to say, doth well her selfe aduise,
And to braue 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 deserues (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,
These Mountaines make me proud, to gaze on me that stand:
So Long-ridge, once ariu'd on the Lancastrian Land,
Salutes me, and with smiles, me to his soyle inuites,
So haue I many a Flood, that forward me excites,
As Hodder, that from home attends me from my Spring;
Then Caldor comming downe, from Blackstonedze doth bring
Me eas'ly on my way, to Preston the greatst Towne,
Where with my Banks are blest; where at my going downe,
Cleere Darwen on along me to the Sea doth driue,
And in my spacious fall no sooner I arriue,
But Sauock 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, euen through the very heart
Of this renowned Shire, so equally it part,
As Nature should haue said, Loe thus I meant to doe;
This Flood diuides this Shire thus equally in two.
Ye Mayds, the Horne-pipe then, so minsingly that tread,
As yee the Egg-pye loue, and Apple Cherry-red;
In all your mirthfull Songs, and merry meetings tell,
That Ribbell euery way, your Erwell doth excell.
Heere ended shee againe, when Mertons Mosse and Mere,
VVith Ribbels sole reply so much reuiued were,
That all the Shores resound the Riuers good successe,
And wondrous ioy there was all ouer * Andernesse,
A part of Lancashire so called VVhich straight conuayd the newes into the vpper land,
Where Pendle, Penigent, and Ingleborow stand
Jngleborovv, Pendle, and Penigent, The highest Hils betwixt Barvvick and Trent. See to the 28. Song. Like Gyants, and the rest doe proudly ouerlooke;
Or Atlas-like as though they onely vndertooke
To vnder-prop high Heauen, 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 braue in state, and Wyersdale, which as well,
As any Syluan Nymphes, their beautious Scites may boast,
Whose Eccho's sent the same all round about the Coast,
That there was not a Nymph to Iollity inclind,
Or of the wooddy brood, or of the watry kind,
But at their fingers ends, they Ribbels Song could say,
And perfectly the Note vpon the Bag-pipe play.
That Wyre, when once she knew how well these Floods had sped,
(When their reports abroad in euery 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 receiuing 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 VVyre to wayt,
With her assisting Rills, when VVyre 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 VVyer, attained to her fall:
When whilst each wandring flood seem'd setled to admire,
First Erwell, Ribbell then, and last of all this VVyre,
That mighty wagers would haue 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 vndisturbd, 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,
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 aduisement 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,
Ariuing in her Course in Lancashire at length,
To Lonsdale showes her selfe, and louingly doth play
With her deare daughter Dale, which her frim Cheeke doth lay Lunesdale.
To her cleere mothers Breast, as minsingly she traces,
And oft imbracing her, she oft againe imbraces,
And on her Darling smiles, with euery little gale.
When Lac the most lou'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 Soueraigne title lends, and eminency, where
To giue to this her Towne, what rightly doth belong,
Of this most famous Shire, our Lun thus frames her Song.
First, that most precious thing, and pleasing most to man,
Who from him (made of earth) imediatly began,
Lancashire, Faire women. 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 gaue to euery seuerall Shire,
Fayre women as mine owne, haue titled due to me?
Besides in all this Isle, there no such Cattell be,
For largenesse, Horne, and Haire, as these of Lancashire;
Lancashire Breed of cattel the best. So that from euery 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,
Be those great race of Hounds, the deepest mouth'd of all
The other of this kind, which we our Hunters call,
Lancashire, Deepe mouthd Hounds. Which from their bellowing throats vpon 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.
Besides, her Natiues haue been anciently esteem'd,
For Bow-men neere our best, and euer haue been deem'd
Lancashire Bowmen. So loyall, that the Guard of our preceding Kings,
Of them did most consist; but yet mongst all these things,
Euen almost euer since the English Crowne was set
Vpon the lawfull head, of our Plantaginet,
In Honor, next the first, our Dukedome was allow'd,
And alwayes with the greatst, reuenewes was endow'd:
And after when it hapt, France-conquering Edwards blood
Diuided in it selfe, here for the Garland
〈◊〉
;
The right Lancastrian Line, it from Yorks Issue bare;
The Red-rose, our braue Badge, which in their Helmets ware,
The White and Red
〈◊〉
. 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 Tiuy, nor the VVye,
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, sulnesse. 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 * Sunderland,
A part of Lancashire iutting out into the Jrish Sea. And leaues our dainty Lun to Amphitrites care.
So blyth and bonny now the Lads and Lasses are,
That euer as anon the Bag-pipe vp doth blow,
Cast in a gallant Round about the Harth they goe,
And at each pause they kisse, was neuer seene such rule
In any place but heere, at Boon-fire, or at Yeule;
And euery 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 ouer all the Deepe,
And acted it each day before the Isle of Man,
Who like an Empresse sits in the Virgiuian,
By her that hath the Calse, long Walney, and the Pyle,
The Calfe of Man, a little Island.
As Hand-may ds to attend on her their Soueraigne Isle,
To whom, so many though the Hebrides doe show,
Acknowlege, that to her they due subiection 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 * Sceafels height, A mountaine in the Isle of Man.
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 Pedigrecs to show, her right successiue Kings,
Her Chronicles and can as easily rehearce,
And with all forraine parts to haue 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 vnder earth, (by daily digging found,
As for the store of Oats, which her blacke Gleabe doth beare,
In euery one of these resembling Lancashire,
To her shee'l stoutly stick, as to her neerest kin,
And cries the day is ours, braue Lancashire doth win.
But yet this Isle of Man more seemes not to reioyce
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 vpon 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,
VVhereas 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,
Call'd Barnactes by vs, which like a Ielly first
Barnacles one of the
〈◊〉
Wonders. To the beholder seeme, then by the fluxure nurst,
Still great and greater thriue, vntill you well may see
Them turn'd to perfect Fowles, when dropping from the tree
Into the Meery Pond, which vnder them doth lye,
VVaxe ripe, and taking wing, away in flockes doe flye,
VVhich well our Ancients did among our Wonders place:
Besides by her strong Scite, she doth receaue 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 draue,
To their distrest estate it no lesse succour gaue,
Then the trans Seuern'd Hills, which their old stocke yet stores,
Which now we call the Welsh, or the Cornubian Shores.
VVhat 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
〈◊〉
when his waues, on Furnesse seeme to warre,
VVhose crooked back is arm'd with many a rugged * scarre
A scarre is a Rock. Against his boystrous shocks, which this defensiue Isle
Of Walney still assayle, that shee doth scorne the while,
VVhich 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, diuert 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 desery,
By her how those great Seas Mediserranean lye.
To Sea-ward then shee hath her sundry Sands agen,
As that of Dudden first, then Leain, lastly Ken,
Of three bright Naiades nam'd, as Dudden on the West,
That Cumberland cuts off from this Shire, doth inuest
Those Sands with her proud Style, when Leuin from the Fells,
Besides her naturall source, with the abundance swells,
Which those two mighty Meres, vpon her either side
Contrribute by recourse, that out of very pride,
Shee leaues her ancient name, and Fosse her selfe doth call,
Till comming to the Sands, euen almost at her fall,
On them her ancient Style shee liberally bestowes.
Vpon 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 vpon those Sands doth liberally bequeath,
Whereas the Muse a while may sit her downe to breath,
And after walke along tow'rds Torkshire on her way,
On which shee strongly hopes to get a noble day.
The eight and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
Inuention hence her Compasse steeres,
Towards Yorke the most renown'd of Shires,
Makes the three Ridings in their Stories,
Each seuerally to shew their glories.
Ouse for her most-lou'd Cities sake,
Doth her Dukes Title vndertake;
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 ariue
From Lancashire, that lookt her Beauties to contriue)
Doth set her selfe to sing, of that aboue the rest
A Kingdome that doth seeme, a Prouince at the least,
To them that thinke themselues 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 diuide,
And those are onely found vpon her Setting side.
Else be it noted well, remarkeable to all, A great brauery of Yorkshire.
That those from her that flow, in her together fall.
Nor can small praise beseeme so beaurious 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 VVest-riding first, desires that shee may plead
The right that her belongs, which of the Muse she winnes,
When with the course of Don, thus she her Tract begins.
Thou first of all my Floods, whose Banks doe bound my South,
The VVest Ridings oration. And offrest vp thy Streame to mightie Humbers mouth,
Of Ewe, and climing Elme, that crown'd with many a spray,
Much Ewe and Elme vpon the Bank of Don.
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 driue,
Her greatst and chiefest towne, the name that doth deriue
From Don's neere bordering Banks, when holding on her race,
Shee dancing in and out, indenteth
〈◊〉
' Chase,
Whose brauery
〈◊〉
adds, new honors to her Banke:
When Sherwood sends her in slow Iddie, 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 lauish waste then oft the Grasier needs:
Whose soyle, as some report that be her Borderers note,
With th'water vnder earth vndoubtedly doth flote:
For when the waters rise, it risen doth remaine
High whilst the Floods are high, and when they fall againe,
A strange opinion held by those of the neighboring Villages. It falleth: but at last, when as my linely 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,
And trauelling along by Heading Halifax,
Beheading, which we call Halifax Law. Which Horton once was cald, but of a Virgins haire,
(A Martyr that was made, for Chastity, that there
was by her Louer 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,
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 sames so farre are blowne,
For their so valiant fight, that euery 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 VVest-riding thus, with Riuers am I stor'd.
Next guide I on my VVharfe, the great'st in her degree,
And that I well may call the worthicst of the three,
Who her full fountaine takes from my wast Westerne wild,
(VVhence all but Mountaineers, by Nature are exild)
On Langstrethdale, and lights at th'entrance of her race,
VVhen 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,
VVhen VVashbrooke with her wealth her Mistris doth supply;
Thus VVharfe in her braue course imbracing VVetherby,
Small Cock, a sullen Brooke comes to her succour then, See to the 22. Song.
Whose Banks receau'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 VVharfe 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
〈◊〉
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 VVhafe where that braue * Forrest stands,
〈◊〉
Forrest.
Entitled by the Towne, who with vpreared hands
Makes signes to her of ioy, and doth with Garlands crowne
The Riuer passing by; but Wharfe that hasteth downe
To meet her Mistris Ouse, her speedy course doth hie;
Dent, Rother, Riuell, Gret, so on my Set haue 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,
That Ingleborow Hill, Pendle, and Penigent,
Pendle Hill is neere vpon the verge of this Tract, but standeth in. Lancashire.
Should named be the high'st betwixt our Tweed and Trent.
My Hills, braue Whelpston then, thou Wharnside, and thou Cam,
Since I West-Riding still your onely mother am;
All that Report can giue, and iustly 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 Cheuiot, of whose height Northumberland doth boast
* Albania to suruey; nor those from Coast to Coast
Scotland. 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 remoue out of their place,
As by their lofty lookes, my Penigent out face:
Yee thus behold my Hills: my Forrests, Dales, and Chases
Vpon my spacious breast note too how Nature places,
Farre vp 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 braue Knarsborough doth stand,
As higher to my North, my Niddersdale by Nyde,
And Bishopsdale aboue vpon 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 obiect
That I no wonder haue that's worthy of respect
In all my spacious Tract, let them (so wise) suruey
My Ribbles rising Banks, their worst, and let them say;
At Giggleswick where I a Fountaine can you show,
That eight times in a day is sayd to ebbe and flow,
Who sometime was a Nymph, and in the Mountaines hye
The Metamorphosis of that Fountaine. Nymphs of the Mountaines. Of Crauen, whose blew heads for Caps put on the Skye,
Amongst * th'Oread's there, and Syluans made abode,
(It was e'r humane foot vpon those Hills had trod)
Of all the Mountaine kind and since she was most faire,
It was a Satyrs chance to see her siluer haire
Flow loosely at her backe, as vp 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 driue;
To take her he doth straine, t'outstrip him shee doth striue,
Like one his kind that knew, and greatly fear'd his Rape,
The supposed Genius of the place. And to the * 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:
Euen 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 haue 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 conuerteth Wood to Stone,
Cheuin, 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 hauing heard the Genius of this Tract,
Your, the chiefest Riuer of Yorkshire, who alter her long course, by the confluence of other floods, gets the name of Ouse.
Her well-deserued praise so happily to act,
This Riuer 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 hauing 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 soueraigne 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,
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;
So as you oftentimes these wretched worldlings see,
That whilst a man is poore, although some hopes depend The Simily.
Vpon his future age, yet ther's not one will lend
A farthing to releeue his sad distressed state,
Not knowing what may yet befall him; but when Fate
Doth poure vpon his head his long expected good,
Then shall you see those Slaues, aloofe before that stood,
And would haue let him starue, like Spaniels to him crouch,
And with their glauering lips, his very feet to touch:
So doe they by thee Your; whereas the Floods in me,
That spring and haue their Course, (euen) giue 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 Moruils mightie foot which rising, with the power
That Bant from Sea-mere brings, her somewhat more doth fill,
Neere Bishops-dale at hand, when Couer a cleere Rill,
Next commeth into Your, whereas that lustie Chace
For her lou'd Couers sake, doth louingly embrace
Your as shee yeelds along, amongst the Parks and Groues,
In Middlehams amorous eye, as wandringly shee roues,
At Rippon meets with Skell, which makes to her amaine,
Whom when she hath receau'd into her Nymphish traine,
(Neere to that towne so fam'd, for Colts there to be bought,
Rippon Fayre. For goodnesse farre and neere, by Horsemen that are sought)
Fore-right vpon her way shee with a merryer gale,
To Borough Bridge makes on, to meet her sister Swale,
(A wondrous holy Flood (which name she euer hath)
The reason why Svvale is called Holy. For when the Saxons first receau'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,
Vpon one happy day, whereof shee boasts with pride)
Which springs not farre from whence Your hath her siluer head;
And in her winding Banks along my bosome led,
As shee goes swooping by, to Swaledale whence shee springs,
That louely name shee leaues, which foorth a Forrest brings,
The Vallies Style that beares, a brauer Syluan Mayd,
Scarce any Shire can show; when to my Riuers ayd,
Come Barney, Arske, and Marske, their soueraigne 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 thé there,
But they will serue 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 ariue, 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 pau'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 maruell should amaze, and comming doth imbrace
* North-Alerton, by whom her honour is increast,
A Countie within YorkeShire.
VVhose Liberties include a County at the least,
To grace the wandring Wiske, then well vpon her way,
Which by her count'nance thinks to carry all the sway;
When hauing her receau'd, Swale bonny Codbeck brings,
And Willowbeck with her, two pretty Riuellings,
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 vp Ouze, before her selfe to Yorke she show,
So out of my full wombe the Fosse doth likewise flow,
That meeting thee at Yorke, vnder the Cities side,
Her glories with thy selfe doth equally diuide,
The East part watring still, as thou dost wash the West,
By whose Imbraces Yorke aboundantly is blest.
So many Riuers 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 diuides
The East-riding and me, vpon her either sides,
Although that to vs both, she most indifferent bee,
And seemeth to affect her equally with me,
From my Diuision yet her Fountaine doth deriue,
And from my Blackmore here her Course doth first contriue.
Let my Demensions then be seriously pursude,
And let great Britaine see in my braue Latitude,
How in the high'st degree, by nature I am grac'd;
For tow'rds the Crauen Hills, vpon my West are plac'd
New-Forrest, Applegarth, and Swaledale, * Dryades all, Nymphs of the Woods.
And lower towards the Ouze, if with my Floods ye fall,
The goodly Gautresse keeps chiefe of my Syluan kind,
There stony Stanmore view, bleake with the Sleet and Wind,
Vpon this Easterne side, so Ryedale darke and deepe,
Amongst whose Groues of yore, some say that Elues did keepe;
Then Pickering, whom the Fawnes beyond them all adore,
By whom not farre away lyes large-spred Blackimore,
The Cleeueland 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 euen 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 iustly call'd, that them accommodate;
So I North-Riding am, for spaciousnesse renown'd,
Our mother Yorkshires eldst, who worthily is crown'd
The Queene of all the Shires, on this side Trent, for we
The Ridings seuerall parts of her vaste greatnesse be,
In vs, so we againe haue seuerall seats, whose bounds
Doe measure from their sides so many miles of grounds,
That they are called Shires; like to some mightie King,
May Yorkshire be compar'd, (the lik'st of any thing)
A Simily of Yorkshire.
Who hath Kings that attend, and to his State retaine,
And yet so great, that they haue vnder them againe
Great Princes, that to them be subiect, so haue we
Shires subiect vnto vs, yet wee her subiects be;
Although these be ynough sufficiently to show,
That I the other two for brauery quite out-goe:
Yet looke yee vp along into my Setting side,
Where Teis first from my bounds, rich * Dunelme doth diuide,
The Bishoprick of
〈◊〉
.
And you shall see those Rills, that with their watry prease,
Their most beloued 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, vpon the German Maine,
Those Rarities, and see, that I in me containe;
My Scarborough, which looks as though in heauen it stood,
To those that lye below, from th' Bay of Robin Hood,
A Catalogue of the wonders of the North-Riding
Euen 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 attractiue 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 vp together rold.
The Rocks by
〈◊〉
too, my glories forth to set,
Out of their cranied Cleeues, can giue you perfect
〈◊〉
,
And vpon Huntclipnab, you euery where may find,
(As though nice Nature lou'd to vary in this kind)
Stones of a Spherick forme of sundry
〈◊〉
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 vp all the yeare, her ayre for health refin'd,
Her earth with Allome veines most richly intermin'd.
In other places these might
〈◊〉
be thought,
So common but in me, that I esteeme as nought.
Then could I reckon vp my Ricall, making on
By Rydale, towards her dear-lou'd Darwent, who's not gone
Farre from her pearly Springs, but vnder-ground she goes;
As vp towards Crauen Hills, I many haue of those,
Amongst the cranied Cleeues, that through the
〈◊〉
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 maruell 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 haue
That priuiledge, which time to both the former gaue,
And wills th'East-Riding then, in her owne cause to speake,
Who mildly thus begins; Although I be but weake, The East-Ridings
〈◊〉
.
To those two former parts, yet what I seeme to want
In largenesse, for that I am in my Compasle scant,
Yet for my Scite I know, that I them both excell;
For marke me how I lye, ye a note me very well,
How in the East I raigne, (of which my name I take)
And my broad side doe beare vp to the German Lake,
Which brauely I suruey; then turne ye and behold
Vpon my pleasant breast, that large and spacious Ould
Of Torke that takes the name, that with delighted eyes, Yorks
〈◊〉
When he beholds the Sunne out of the Seas to rise,
With pleasure feeds his Flocks, for which he scarse giues place
To Cotswold, and for what becomes a Pastorall grace,
Doth goe beyond him quite; then note vpon my South,
How all along the Shore, to mighty Humbers mouth,
Rich Holdernesse I haue, excelling for her graine,
By whose much plentie I, not onely doe maintaine
My selfe in good estate, but Shires farre off that lye,
Vp Humber that to Hull, come euery day to buy,
To me beholding are; besides, the neighbouring Townes,
Vpon the Verge whereof, to part her, and the Downes,
Hull downe to Humber hasts, and takes into her Banke
Some lesse but liuely Rills, with waters waxing ranke,
Shee Beuerley salutes, whose beauties so delight
The fayre-enamoured Flood, as rauisht with the sight,
That shee could euer stay, that gorgeous Phane to view,
But that the Brooks, and Bournes, so hotly her pursue, The Church of
〈◊〉
.
To Kingston and conuey, 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
〈◊〉
first, and Sheifleet 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 Number.
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 iutt foorth into the German Sea.
The length of the East Riding vpon 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
〈◊〉
, and in her wandring race,
By that faire Cities scite, receiued 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 vphold their claime, thus to the Floods she spake.
They very idly erre, who thinke that blood then spilt,
Quzes Oration. In that long-lasting warre, proceeded from the guilt,
Of the proud Yorkist,
〈◊〉
; for let them vnderstand,
That Richard Duke of Yorke, whose braue and martiall hand
The Title vndertooke, by tyranny and might,
Sought not t'attaine the Crowne, but from succesfull right,
The title of the house of Yorke to the Crowne. Which still vpheld 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
〈◊〉
Henries raigne,
From Edmond a fift sonne of Edward did descend,
That iustly 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
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 deriu'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, braue 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 Armès did worthily supplant.
By this the Ouze perceau'd great Humber to looke grim;
(For euermore shee hath a speciall eye to him)
As though he much disdain'd each one should thus be heard,
And he their onely King, vntill the last defer'd,
At which hee seem'd to frowne; wherefore the Ouze off breaks,
And to his confluent Floods, thus mighty Humber speaks.
Let Trent her tribute pay, which from their seuerall founts,
For thirtie Floods of name, to me her King that counts, The Oration of Humber.
Be much of me belou'd, braue Riuer; and from me,
Receiue those glorious Rites that
〈◊〉
can giue to thee.
And thou Marsh-drowning Don, and all those that repaire
With thee, that bringst to me thy easie
〈◊〉
Aire,
Embodying in one Banke: and Wharfe, which by thy fall
Dost much augment my Ouze, let me embrace you all,
My braue West-Riding Brooks, your King you need not
〈◊〉
,
Proud Nyades neither yee, North-Riders that are borne;
My yellow-sanded Your, and thou my sister Swale,
That dauncing come to
〈◊〉
, through many a daintie Dale,
Doe greatly me inrich, cleare Darwent driuing downe
From Cleeueland; 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
〈◊〉
Humber sing;
That full an hundred Floods my
〈◊〉
Court maintaine,
Which either of themselues, or in their greaters traine,
Their Tribute pay to me; and for my princely name,
From Humber King of
〈◊〉
, 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 receiues no preiudice 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 * Cateract a noyse so horrible
〈◊〉
keepe, A fall of water
That it euen Neptune frights; what Flood comes to the Deepe,
Then Humber that is heard more horribly to rore? The roring of the waters, at the comming in of the Tyde.
For when my * Higre comes, I make my either shore
Euen 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,
Aboue the Beachy Brack, amongst the Marshes rude,
When the East-Riding her Oration to conclude,
Goes on; My Sisters boast that they haue little Shires
Their subiects, I can shew the like of mine for theirs;
My Howdon hath as large a Circuit, and as free,
A Liberty in the
〈◊〉
.
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, vpon my coast,
And for their wondrous things, whereof so much they boast,
Vpon my Easterne side, which iutts vpon the Sea,
Amongst the white-scalp'd Cleeues, this wonder see they may,
The Mullet, and the Awke, (my Fowlers there doe finde)
Some wonders of the East. Riding.
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,
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 vp, 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.
The nine and twentieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
The Muse the Bishopricke assayes,
And to her fall sings downe the Teis,
Then takes shee to the dainty Wer,
And with all braueries fitted her.
Tyne tells the Victories by vs got,
In soughten Fields against the Scot.
Then through Northumberland shee goes,
The Floods and Mountaines dotb dispose;
And with their glories doth proceed,
Not staying till shee come to Tweed.
THe Muse this largest Shire of England hauing 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 diuine)
Confining in her Course that Countie Palatine,
And Yorke the greatest Shire doth instantly begin,
To rouze her selfe; quoth shee, Doth euery 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:
For Cumberland, to which the Cumri gaue the name,
〈◊〉
springeth out of Stanmore, which lyeth almost equally between Cumberland, &
〈◊〉
.
Accounts it to be hers, Northumberland the same,
Will needsly hers should bee, for that my Spring doth rise,
So equallytwixt 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 braue name doth beare:
My Teisdale, nam'd of me, so likewise haue I heare,
At my first setting foorth, through which I nimbly slide;
Then Yorkshire which doth lye vpon my Setting side,
Me Lune and Bauder lends, as in the Song before
Th'industrious Muse hath shew'd; my * Dunelmenian shore,
The Bishoprick of Durham.
Sends
〈◊〉
to helpe my course, with some few other Becks,
Which
〈◊〉
(as it should seeme) so vtterly neglects,
That they are namelesse yet; then doe I bid adiew,
To
〈◊〉
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 giue 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 sweat)
Hell-kettles rightly cald, that with the very sight,
This Water-Nymph, my Skern is put in such
〈◊〉
,
That with vnusuall 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 vndertooke her Story to relate,
Wer waxeth almost wood, that she so long should stand
Vpon 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'aduance thee as I haue, hadst thou such meanes and might,
How wouldst thou then exult? O then to what a height
Wouldst thou put vp thy price? hadst thou but such a Trine
Of Rillets as I haue, 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 seuerall 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 euery 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, vntill that I ariue
At Aukland, where with force me forward still to driue,
Cleere Gauntlesse giues 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 vp and downe,
Braue Durham I behold, that stately seated Towne,
That Dunholme hight of yore (euen) from a Desart wonne,
Whose first foundation Zeale, and Piety begun,
By them who thither first Saint Cutberts body brought,
To saue it from the Danes, by fire and sword that sought
Subuersion of those things, that good and holy were,
With which beloued place, I seeme so pleased here,
As that I clip it close, and sweetly hug it in
My cleare and amorous armes, as iealous time should win
Me further off from it, as our diuorce 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 (euen) to the poynt of Sunder land,
As farre as * Wardenlaws can possibly suruey; A Mountaine on that part of the Shire.
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 vp the Teis, so Tyne now takes vp 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 euery 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,
England, and Scotland here impartially diuide.
How South-Tyne setting out from Cumberland is plide,
With Hartley which her hasts, and Tippall that doth striue,
By her more sturdy Streame, the Tyne along to driue;
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,
VVhose Streame was deeply dy'd in that most cruell warre
Of Lancaster and Yorke. Now hauing 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
〈◊〉
,
As of those mighty ships, that in my mouth I beare,
Fraught with my country Coale, of this * Newcastle nam'd,
Nevvcastle Coale. 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 vp our selues, whilst trifling thus we stand,
Bewitch'd with our owne praise, at all we neuer note,
How the Albanian Floods now lately set afloat,
With th'honour to them done, take heart, and lowdly crie
Defiance to vs all, on this side Tweed that lye;
And hearke the high-brow'd Hills alowd begin to
〈◊〉
,
With sound of things that Forth prepared is to sing:
When once the Muse ariues on the Albanian shore;
And therefore to make vp our forces here before
The on-set they begin, the Battels wee haue got,
Both on our earth and theirs, against the valiant Scot,
I vndertake 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,
In Rufus troubled Raigne, the warlike Mowbray then,
This Earledome that
〈◊〉
, with halfe the power of men,
For conquest which that King from Scotland hither drew,
At Anwick in the field their Armies ouerthrew;
Where Malcolme and his sonne, braue Edward both were found,
The
〈◊〉
of Anvvicke.
Slaine on that bloody field: So on the English ground,
When Dauid King of Scots, and Henry his sterne sonne,
Entitled by those times, the Earle of Huntingdon,
Had forradg'd all the North, beyond the Riuer Teis,
In Stephens troubled raigne, in as tumultuous dayes
As England euer knew, the Archbishop of Yorke,
Stout Thurstan, and with him ioynd 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 Peuerell, Knights,
And of the Lacies two, oft try'd in bloody fights,
Twixt Aluerton and Yorke, the doubtfull battell got, The Battell of
〈◊〉
.
On Dauid and his sonne, whilst of th'inuading Scot,
Ten thousand strew'd the earth, and whilst they lay to bleed,
Ours followed them that fled, beyond our sister Tweed.
And when * Fitz-Empresse next in Normandy, and here,
Henry the second.
And his rebellious sonnes in high combustions were,
William the Scottish King, taking aduantage then, The second Battell at Anvvicke.
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 ouerthrew, and him a prisoner led.
So Long shanks, Scolands scourge, him to that Country sped,
Prouoked by the Scots, that England did inuade,
And on the Borders here such spoyle and hauock 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.
Vpon the Scottish power, as that of Halidon,
Seauen Earles, nine hundred Horse, and of Foot-souldiers more,
Neere twenty thousand slaine, so that the Scottish gore
Ranne downe the Hill in streames (euen) 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 aduance
His Title, and had past his warlike powers to France,
And Dauid King of Scots heere entred to inuade,
To which the King of France did that false Lord perswade,
Against his giuen 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 euer such a losse,
To Scotland yet befell, as that at Neuills Crosse,
The Battell at Neuils Crosse.
Where fifteene thousand Scots their soules at once forsooke,
Where stout Iohn Copland then, King Dauid prisoner tooke,
I'th head of all his troups, that brauely there was seene.
VVhen English Philip, that braue Amazonian Queene,
Encouraging her men, from troupe to troupe did ride,
And where our Cleargy had their ancient Valourtride:
Thus often comming in, they haue gone out too short.
And next to this the fight of Nesbit I report,
VVhen Hebborn that stout Scot, and his had all their hire, The Battell of
〈◊〉
.
VVhich in t'our Marches came, and with inuasiue 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
〈◊〉
gaue
To that bold daring Scot, before him how he draue
His Armie, and with shot of our braue 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
〈◊〉
outright,
And entring Scotl'and then, all
〈◊〉
o'r-ran.
Or who a brauer field then th'Earle of Surrey wan,
Where their King Iames the fourth himselfe so brauely bore,
The Battell of Flodden.
That since that age wherein he liu'd, nor those before,
Yet neuer such a King in such a Battell saw,
Amongst his fighting friends, where whilst he breath could draw,
Hee brauely fought on foot, where Flodden Hill was
〈◊〉
With bodies of his men, welneere to mammocks hew'd,
That on the Mountaines side, they couered neere a mile,
Where those two valiant Earles of Lenox and Arguyle,
Were with their Soueraigne 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
〈◊〉
the Muse to tell,
As when the Noble Duke of Norfolke made a Road
A Road into Scotland by the Duke of Norfolke. To Scotland, and therein his hostile
〈◊〉
bestow'd
On welneere thirtie Townes, and staying there so long,
Till victuall waxed weake, the Winter waxing strong,
Returning ouer Tweed, his Booties home to
〈◊〉
,
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 vp his force, before the English fled
To Scotlands vtmost bounds, thence into England sped,
When that braue Bastard sonne of
〈◊〉
, and his friend,
Iohn Musgraue, 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, seuen hundred made to yeeld,
There scarcely hath been heard, of such a foughten field,
That Iames the fifth to thinke, that but
〈◊〉
very few,
His vniuersall power so strangely should subdue,
So tooke the same to heart, that it abridg'd his life.
Such foyles by th'English giuen, 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 inuade, and carry conquests in
To Scotland; then behold, what our successe hath bin,
Euen 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 Nany 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
Vpon 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,
VVas on the earth layd dead, where as for fiue 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.
So th'Earle of Sussex next to Scotland sent agen,
To punish them by warre, which on the Borders here, The Road into Scotland by the Earle of Sussex.
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 gouernment;
Wherefore that puisant Queene him to Albania sent,
Who fiftie Rock-reard Pyles and Castles hauing cast
Farre lower then their Scites, and with strong fires
〈◊〉
Three hundred townes, their wealth, with him worth carrying
To England ouer Tweed, when now the floods besought (brought
The Tyne to hold her tongue, when presently began
A rumour which each where through all the Country ran,
Of this proud Riuers speech, the Hills and Floods among,
And Lowes, a Forrest-Nymph, the same so lowdly sung,
That it through Tindale straight, and quite through
〈◊〉
ran,
And sounded shriller there, then when it first began, A repetition of the Hils parting Northumberland and Scotlād, as they lye from South to North.
That those high Alpine Hills, as in a row they stand,
Receiu'd the sounds, which thus went on from hand to hand.
The high-rcar'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 gaue;
And Cocklaw it againe, to Cheuiot, who did raue
With the report thereof, hee from his mighty stand,
Resounded it againe through all Northumberland,
That White-Squire lastly caught, and it to Berwick sent,
That braue 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 natiue strength her presently betooke,
Against the Muse should come to the Albanian Coast.
But Pictswall all this while, as though he had been lost,
Not mention'd by the Muse, began to fret and fume,
〈◊〉
vvall. That euery petty Brooke thus proudly should presume
To talke; and he whom first the Romans did inuent,
And of their greatnesse yet, the longst-liu'd monument,
Should this be ouer-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 vpstarts, basely borne; for when I was in hand,
The Saxon had not then set foot vpon 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 vp as though but now,
Who for the Deuils worke the vulgar dare auow,
See to the
〈◊〉
. Song. Tradition telling none, who truly it began,
Where many a reuerent Booke can tell you of my Man,
And when I first decayd, Seuerus 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 euer spar'd.
Townes stood vpon my length, where Garrisons were laid,
Their limits to defend; and for my greater ayd,
VVith turrets I was built-where Sentinels were plac'd,
To watch vpon 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:
Vpon my thicknesse, three march'd eas'ly breast to breast,
Twelue foot was I in height, such glory I possest.
Old Pictswall with much pride thus finishing his plea,
Had in his vtmost 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 vnderstand,
That Tyne exulting late o'r Scotland in her Song,
(Which ouer all that Realme report had loudly rung)
The Calidonian * Forth so highly had displeas'd, The great Riuer on which Edenborough standeth.
And many an other Flood, (which could not be appeas'd)
That they had vow'd reuenge, and Proclamation made,
That in a learned warre the foe they would inuade,
And like stout Floods stand free from this supputed shame,
Or conquered giue themselues vp 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 deliuered from the ancient enemies tage,
That they would all vpon a solemne Pilgrimage
Vnto the Holy-Isle, the vertue of which place,
They knew could very much auaile them in this case:
For many a blessed Saint in former ages there,
Secluded from the world, to Abstinence and Prayer,
Had giuen vp themselues, which in the German Maine,
And from the shore not farre, did in it selfe conteine The Holy Island
Sufficient things for food, which from those holy men,
That to deuotion liu'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. A Catalogue of the Riuers of Northumberlād, as they run into the German sea, vpon the East part of the countrey betwixt the Fals of Tine and
〈◊〉
.
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 meets with Font, which followeth in her traine;
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 Vsway, 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 brauery as to show, that she
〈◊〉
past them all)
The famous Isle of Ferne, and Staples aptly stand,
And at her comming foorth, doe kisse her Christall hand.
Whilst these resolu'd vpon their Pilgrimage, proceed,
Till for the loue shee beares to her deare Mistris Tweed,
Of Bramish leaues the name, by which shee hath her birth;
And though shee keepe her course vpon 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 louelinesse 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.
The thirtieth Song.
THE ARGVMENT.
Of Westmerland the Muse now sings,
And fetching Eden from her Springs,
Sets her along, and Kendall then
Surueying, beareth backe agen;
And climing Skidows loftie Hill,
By many a Riuer, 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 alost tow'rds heauen, to him whose powerfull ayd;
Hath led thee on thus long, & through so sundry soiles,
Steep Mountains, Forrests rough, deepe Riuers, 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 haue moou'd the Vniuerse as these;
But leaue 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,
Where Westmerland to West, by wide Wynander Mere, See to the
〈◊〉
end of the 27. Song.
The Eboracean fields her to the Rising bound,
Where Can first creeping forth, her feet hath scarcely found,
But giues 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 hauing in her traine,
But Sput, a little Brooke, then VVinster doth retaine,
Tow'rds the Vergiuian Sea, by her two mighty Falls,
(Which the braue Roman tongue, her Catadupae calls)
This eager Riuer seemes outragiously to rore,
And counterfetting Nyle, to deafe the neighboring shore,
To which she by the sound apparantly doth show,
The
〈◊〉
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 Riuer hasts,
And to those queachy Sands, from whence her selfe she casts,
She likewise leaues her name as euery 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,
The source of long liu'd Lun, I long-liu'd doe her call;
For of the British Floods, scarce one amongst them all,
See to the 27. Song. Such state as to her selfe, the Destinies assigne,
By christning in her Course a Countie Palatine,
For Luncaster so nam'd; the Fort vpon 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 vtmost Albany)
By Eden, issuing out of Husseat-Moruill Hill,
And pointing to the North, as then a little Rill,
There simply takes her leaue of her sweet sister Swale,
Borne to the selfe same Sire, but with a stronger gale,
Tow'rds Humber hyes her course, but Eden making on,
The first place of note which shee runnes through. Through Malerstrang hard by, a Forrest woe begone
In loue with Edens eyes, of the cleere Naiades kind,
Whom thus the Wood-Nymph greets: What passage shalt thou find,
My most beloued Brook, in making to thy Bay,
That wandring art to wend through many a crooked way,
Farre vnder hanging Hills, through many a cragged strait,
And few the watry kind, vpon thee to await,
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 Moruill to thy source.
O my bright louely 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,
VVith loue I beare to thee, the day cannot suffice
For Malerstang to gaze vpon 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 leaue, 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 Leuenant, then these, a somewhat lesser Rill,
VVhen Glenkwin greets her well, and happily to fill,
Her more abundant Banks, from Vlls, a mightie Mere
On Cumberlands confines, comes Eymot neat and cleere,
And Loder doth allure, with whom she haps to meet,
VVhich at her comming in, doth thus her Mistris greet.
Quoth shee, thus for my selfe I say, that where I swell
Vp 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 * Venedocian Fount, or the * Demetian Spring, Two fountains the one in the South, th'other in Northvvales. See to the 5. 10. and 27. Song.
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.
When Eden, though shee seem'd to make vnusuall haste,
About cleere Loders neck, yet louingly doth cast
Her oft infolding Armes, as Westmerland shee leaues,
VVhere Cumberland againe as kindly her receiues.
Yet vp 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,
VVhere Dudden driuing downe to the Lancastrian lands,
This Cumberland cuts out, and strongly doth confine,
This meeting there with that, both meerly Maratine,
Where many a daintie Rill out of her natiue Dale,
To the Virgiuian makes, with many a pleasant gale;
As Eske her farth'st, so first, a coybred Cumbrian Lasse,
Who commeth to her Road, renowned Rauenglasse,
By Deuock driuen 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 Rendeuous that keepe
In Rauenglasse, 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,
VVhich deaw they sucking in, conceaue 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-paued
〈◊〉
,
〈◊〉
to her harbor brings,
From Copland comming downe, a Forrest, Nymph, which sings
Her owne praise, and those Floods, their Fountains that deriue
From her, which to extoll, the Forrest thus doth striue.
Yee Northerne * Dryades all adorn'd with Mountaines steepe,
Vpon whose hoary heads cold Winter long doth keepe,
Nymphes of the Forrest. 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
Vpon those humble Vales, through which they eas'ly flow;
Whereas the Mountaine Nymphs, and those that doe frequent
The Fountaines, Fields, and Groues, with wondrous meriment,
By Moone-shine many a night, doe giue 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 euery 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 euer 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:
Wherefore as some suppose of Copper Mynes in me,
I Copper-land was cald, but some will haue't to be
From the old Britans brought, for Cop they vse to call
The tops of many Hils, which I am stor'd withall.
Then Eskdale mine Ally, and Niter dale so nam'd,
Of Floods from you that flow, as Borowdale most fam'd,
With Wasdale walled in, with Hills on euery side,
Hows'euer 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 euery hill,
Vpon her Verge that stands, the neigbouring Vallies
〈◊〉
;
Heluillon 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 Wendresse 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,
VVhose Buildings, walks, and streets, with Ecchoes loud and long,
Did mightily commend old Copland for her Song.
VVhence 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 * Island, which the name from Darwent doth
〈◊〉
; The Isle of Darvvent.
VVithin whose secret breast nice Nature doth contriue,
That mighty Copper Myne, which not without its Vaines,
Of Gold and Siluer 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 Riuer proud the while,
Keepes on her Course to Sea, and in her way doth win
Cleere Coker her compeere, which at her comming in,
Giues Coker-mouth the name, by standing at her fall,
Into faire Darwents Banks, when Darwent there withall,
Runnes on her
〈◊〉
Race, and for her greater fame,
Of Neptune doth obtaine a Hauen of her name,
When of the Cambrian Hills, proud Skiddo that doth show
The high'st, respecting whom, the other be but low,
Perceiuing with the Floods, and Forrests, how it far'd,
And all their seuerall tales substantially had heard,
And of the Mountaine kind, as of all otherhe,
Most like Pernassus selfe that is suppos'd to be,
Hauing a double head, as hath that sacred Mount,
Which those nine sacred Nymphs held in so hie account,
Bethinketh of himselfe what he might iustly say,
When to them all he thus his beauties doth display.
The rough Hibernian sea, I proudly ouerlooke,
Amongst the scattered Rocks, and there is not a nooke,
But from my glorious height into its depth I pry,
Great Hills farre vnder me, but as my Pages lye;
And when my Helme of Clouds vpon 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 suruay:
So likewise on the North, Albania makes me way,
Her Countries to behold, when * Scurfell from the skie, A Hill in Scotland.
That Anadale doth crowne, with a most amorous eye,
Salutes me euery 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 vs, and England doe diuide,
As those, whence we them name vpon the other side,
Doe Italy, and France, these Mountaines heere of ours,
That looke farre off like clouds, shap't with embattelled towers,
Much enuy my estate, and somewhat higher be,
By lifting vp their heads, to state and gaze at me.
Cleere Darwent
〈◊〉
on, I looke at from aboue,
As some enamoured Youth, being deeply struck in loue,
His
〈◊〉
doth behold, and euery beauty notes;
Who as shee to her fall, through Fells and Vallies flotes,
Oft lifts her limber selfe aboue her Banks to view,
How my braue by clift top, doth still her Course pursue.
O all yee Topick Gods, that doe inhabite here,
To whom the Romans did, those ancient
〈◊〉
reare,
Oft found vpon those Hills, now sunke into the Soyles,
Which they for Trophies left of their victorious spoyles,
Ye Genij of these Floods, these Mountaines, and these Dales,
That with poore Shepheards Pipes, & harmlesse Heardsmans tales
Haue 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 meets, 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 Syluan is there seene, and be she nere so coy,
Whose pleasures to the full, these Nymphs doe not enioy,
And like Dianas selfe, so truly liuing chast:
For seldome any Tract, doth crosse their waylesse waste,
With many a lustie leape, the shagged Satyrs show
Them pastime euery day, both from the Meres below,
And Hils on euery 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 ouer-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
Vpon the North and South, as that she seemes to be
Much pleased with their course, and takes delight to see
How Elne vpon 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 VVauer, nor doth win
Lesse praise by her cleere Spring, which in her course doth twin
VVith VViz, a neater Nymph scarce of the watry kind;
And though shee be but small, so pleasing VVauers mind,
That they entirely mix'd, the Irish Seas imbrace,
But earnestly proceed in our intended Race.
At Eden now arriu'd, whom we haue left too long,
Which being com'n at length, the Cumbrian hils among,
As shee for Carlill coasts, the Floods from euery 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 ouertake her Soueraigne Eden sweeps,
To meet that great concourse, which seriously attend
That dainty Cumbrian Queene; when Gilsland downe doth send
Her Riuercts to receiue 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 ouertakes 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 giueth more delight, (braue Citie) to thy Seat,
Then my sweet louely selfe? a Riuer 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 nearest, and so farre
Transcending, that oft times they in their amorous warre,
Haue offered by my course, and Beauties to decide
The mastery, with her most vaunting in her pride, See to the 29. Song.
That mighty Roman Fort, which of the Picts we call,
But by them neere those times was
〈◊〉
Seuerus wall,
Of that great Emperour nam'd, which first that worke began,
Betwixt the Irish Sea, and German Ocean,
Doth cut me in his course neere Carlill, and doth end The West end of the
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
.
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
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
, when from the
〈◊〉
they,
For succour hither
〈◊〉
, as
〈◊〉
out of their way,
Amongst her mighty
〈◊〉
, and Mountains
〈◊〉
from feare,
And from
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
, race residing long time here,
Which in their Genuine tongue, themselues did
〈◊〉
name,
Why
〈◊〉
so called. Of
〈◊〉
, 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
〈◊〉
.
(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 vpon her
〈◊〉
; 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
〈◊〉
like to mine, at the lesse Sakeld, neere
To Edens Bank, the like is scarcely any where,
Stones seuentie seuen 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
〈◊〉
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
〈◊〉
,
The victories for which these Trophies were begun,
From darke obliuion thou, O Time shouldst haue 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
〈◊〉
comes along,
And by her double Spring, being mightie them among,
There ouertaketh Eske, from Scotland that doth hye,
Faire
〈◊〉
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 vndertooke,
This strange
〈◊〉
toyle, to this my thirtieth Booke.
FINIS.