THE SECOND PART, OR A CONTINVANCE OF POLYOLBION FROM THE EIGHTEENTH SONG.  
Containing all the Tracts, Rivers, Mountains, and Forests:  
Intermixed with the most remarkable Stories, Antiquities, Wonders, Rarities, Pleasures, and Commodities of the East, and Northern parts of this Isle, lying betwixt the two famous Rivers of THAMES, and TWEED.  
By MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esq.  
LONDON, Printed by Augustine Mathewes for john Marriott, john Grismand, and Thomas Dew.  
1622.   

TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY, CHARLES' Prince of WALES.  
THE first Part of this Poem (most Jllustrious Prince) I dedicated to your deceased Brother of most famous Memory, whose princely Bounty, and usage of me, gave me much encouragement to go on with this second Part, or Continuance thereof; which now as his Successor, I owe to your Highness. If means and time fail me not, being now arrived at Scotland, I trust you shall see me crown her with no worse Flowers, than I have done her two Sisters, England, and Wales: and without any partiality, as I dare be bold, to make the Poets of that Kingdom my judges therein. If I arrive at the Orcadeses, without sinking in my flight, your Highness cannot but say, that I had no ill Perspective that gave me things so clearly, when I stood so far off.  
To your Highness' most humbly devoted. MICHAEL DRAYTON.   

To any that will read it.  
WHen I first undertook this Poem, or as some very skilful in this kind, have pleased to term it, this Herculean labour. I was by some virtuous friends persuaded, that I should receive much comfort and encouragement therein; and for these Reasons: First, that it was a new, clear way, never before gone by any; then, that it contained all the Delicacies, Delights, and Rarities of this renowned Isle, interwoven with the Histories of the Britanes, Saxons, Normans, and the later English: And further that there is scarcely any of the Nobility, 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 freedom of their Spirits) proposed as my due, I have met with barbarous Ignorance, and base Detraction; such a cloud hath the Devil drawn over the World's judgement, whose opinion is in few years fallen so far below all Ballatry, that the Lethargy is incurable; nay some of the Stationers, that had the Selling of the first part of this Poem, 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) have either despitefully left out, or at least carelessly neglected the Epistles to the Readers, and so have cozened the Buyers with unperfected Books; which these that have undertaken the second Part, have been forced to amend in the first, for the small number that are yet remaining in their hands. And some of our outlandish, unnatural English, (I know not how otherwise to express them) stick not to say, that there is nothing in this Island worthy studying for, and take a great pride to be ignorant in any thing thereof; for these, since they delight in their folly, I wish it may be hereditary from them to their posterity, that their children may be begged for Fools to the fifth Generation, until it may be beyond the memory of man to know that there was ever any other of their Families: neither can this deter me from going on with Scotland, if Means and Time do not hinder me, to perform as much as I have promised in my first Song:  

Till to the sleepy Maine, to Thuly I have gone,  
And seen the Frozen Isles, the cold Deucalidon,  
Amongst whose Iron Rocks, grim Saturn yet remains,  
Bound in 〈◊〉 gloomy Caves with Adamantine Chains.   
And as for those cattle whereof I spoke before, Odi profanum vulgus & arceo, of which I account them, be they never so great, and so I leave them. To my friends, and the lovers of my Labours, I wish all happiness.  
Michael Drayton.   

To my Honoured Friend Mr. DRAYTON.  

Englands' brave Genius, raise thy head; and see,  
We have a Muse in this mortality  
Of Virtue yet survives; All met not Death,  
When we entombed our dear Elizabeth.  
Immortal Sidney, honoured Colin Clout,  
Presaging what we feel, went timely out.  
Then why lives Drayton, when the Times refuse,  
Both Means to live, and Matter for a Muse?  
Only without Excuse to leave us quite,  
And tell us, Durst we act, he durst to write.   

Now, as the people of a famished Town,  
Receiving no Supply, seek up and down  
For mouldy Corn, and Bones long cast aside,  
Wherewith their hunger may be satisfied:  
(Small store now left) we are enforced to pry  
And search the dark Leaves of Antiquity  
For some good Name, to raise our Muse again,  
In this her Crisis, whose harmonious strain  
Was of such compass, that no other Nation  
Durst ever venture on a sole Translation;  
Whilst our full language, Musical, and hie,  
Speaks as themselves their best of Poesy.   

Drayton, amongst the worthiest of all those,  
The glorious Laurel, or the Cyprian Rose  
Have ever crowned, doth claim in every Line,  
An equal honour from the sacred Nine:  
For if old Time could like the restless Maine,  
Roll himself back into his Spring again,  
And on his wings bear this admired Muse,  
For Ovid, Virgil, Homer, to peruse.  
They would confess, that never happier Pen,  
Sung of his Loves, his Country, and the Men.   
WILLIAM BROWNE.   

To his Noble Friend, MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esquire, upon his Topo-chrono-graphicall POEM.  

FRom CORNWAL'S Foreland to the Cliffs of DOVER,  
O'er hilly CAMBRIA, and all ENGLAND over,  
Thy Muse hath borne me; and (in four days) shown  
More goodly Prospects, than I could have known  
In four years' Travails; If I had not thus  
Been mounted, on thy winged PEGASUS.   

The famous Rivers, the delight some Fountains;  
The fruitful Valleys, the steepe-rising Mountains;  
The new built Towers, the ancient-ruined Walls;  
The wholesome Baths, the beds of Minerals;  
The nigh-worne Monuments of former Ages;  
The Works of Peace, the Marks of Civill-rages;  
The Woods, the Forests, and the open Plains,  
With whatsoever this spacious Land contains,  
For Profit, or for Pleasure: Io're-looke,  
(As from one Station) when I read thy Book.   

Nor do mine eyes from thence behold alone,  
Such Things, as for the present there are done;  
(Or Places, as this day, they do appear)  
But Actions past, and Places as they were  
A hundred Ages since, as well as now:  
Which, he that wearies out his feet to know,  
Shall never find, nor yet so cheap attain  
(With so much ease and profit) half that gain.  
Good-speed be fall Thee; who hast waged a Task,  
That better Censures, and Rewards doth ask,  
Then these Times have to give. For, those that should  
The honour of true POESY uphold,  
Are (for the most part) such as do prefer  
The fawning Lynes of every Pamphleter,  
Before the best-writ POEMS. And their sight  
Or cannot, or else dares not, eye the Flight  
Of freeborn NUMBERS; least bright VIRTVE'S fame,  
Which flies in those, reflect on Them, their shame.   

'tis well; thy happy judgement, could devose,  
Which way, a man this Age might Poetize,  
And not write SATYRS: Or else, so to write  
That scape thou mayst, the clutches of Despite.  
For, through such Woods, and Rivers, trips thy MUSE,  
As, will or lose, or drown him, that pursues.   

Had my Invention (which I know too weak)  
Enabled been, so brave a Flight to make;  
(Should my unlucky Pen have over gone  
So many a Province, and so many a Town)  
Though I to no man's wrong had gone astray,  
I had been pounded on the King's hie way.   

But thou hast better Fortune, and hast chose  
So brave a PATRON, that thou canst not lose  
By this Adventure. For, in Him, survives  
His Brother henry's Virtues: and he lives  
To be that Comfort to thy MUSE, which He  
Had nobly (ere his death) begun to be.   

Yet, over much presume not, that these Times,  
Will therefore value thy Heroic Rhymes,  
According to their Merit. For, although,  
He, and some few, the worth of them shall know:  
This is their FATE. (And some unborn, will say,  
I spoke the Truth; what e'er men think to Day)  
Ages to come, shall hug thy POESY,  
As we our dear Friends Pictures, when they die.  
Those that succeed us, DRAYTONS' Name shall love,  
And, so much this laborious PIECE approve;  
That such as write beereafter, shall to trim  
Their new Inventions, pluck it limb from limb.  
And our great-Grandsonnes Childrens-childrens may,  
(Yea shall) as in a Glass, this ISLE survey,  
As we now see it: And as those did to,  
Who lived many hundred years ago.   

For, when the Seas shall eat away the Shore,  
Great Woods spring up, where Plains were heretofore;  
High Mountains levelled with low Valleys lie;  
And Rivers run where now the ground is dry:  
This POEM shall grow famous, And declare  
What old-Things stood, where new-Things shall appear.   

And hereunto his NAME subscribeth He,  
Who shall by this Predication, live with Thee.   
George Wither.   

To my Worthy Friend MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esquire. An Acrostic Sonnet upon his Name.  

MVst Albion thus be Stellified by thee,  
In her full pomp, that her the world may praise,  
Cheerful, Brave Isle, yea shall I live to see  
Him thus to deck, and crown thy Front with Bays,  
And shall I not in Zeal, and Merit too  
Express to thee my joy, my Thanks to him;  
Less (sure) than this I may not, will not do.  
Drayton, 〈◊〉 still Parnassus thou dost climb,  
Right like thyself, whose Heaven-inspired Muse,  
As doth the Phoenix still herself renewing,  
Ye into other the like life infuse;  
Thou his rich Subject, he thy Fame pursuing.  
Ohadst thou loved him, as 〈◊〉 thee hath done,  
No Land such Honour, (to all times) had won.   
JOHN REYNOLDS.   

 
 

POLY-OLBION.  
The nineteenth Book.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The Muse, now over Thames makes forth,  
Upon her Progress to the North,  
From Cauney with a full carrere,  
She up against the stream doth bear;  
Where Waltham Forests pride expressed,  
She points directly to the East,  
And shows how all those River's strain  
Through Essex, to the Germane main;  
When Stoure, with Orwels' aid prefers,  
Our British brave Sea-voyagers;  
Half Suffolk in with them she takes,  
Where of this Song an end she makes.   

Bear bravely up my Muse, the way thou wentest before, 
An Island lying in the Thames, on Essex side.   
And cross the kingly Thames to the Essexian shore,  
Stem up his tydefull stream, upon that side to rise, 
Albion feigned to be the son of Neptune, going over into France to fight with Hercules, by whom he was vanquished, is supposed to leave his children, the Isles 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, Albion's child in-Iled richly lies,  
Which, though her lower scite doth make her seem but mean,  
Of him as dearly loved as Shepey is or Greane,  
And him as dearly loved; for when he would depart,  
With Hercules to fight, she took it so to heart,  
That falling low and flat, her blubbered face to hide,  
By Thames she wellnear is 〈◊〉 every tide:  
And since of worldly State, she never taketh keep,  
But only gives herself, to tend, and milk her sheep.   

But Muse, from her so low, divert thy high-set song  
To London-wards, and bring from Lea with thee along  
The Forests, and the Floods, and most exactly show,  
How these in order stand, how those directly flow:  
For in that happy soil, doth pleasure ever won,  
Through Forests, where clear Rills in wild Meanders run;  
Where dainty Summer Bowers, and Arborets are made,  
Cut out of Busshy thicks, for coolness of the shade.  
Fools gaze at painted Courts, to th' country let me go,  
To climb the easy hill, then walk, the valley low;  
No gold-embossed Roofs, to me are like the woods;  
No Bed like to the grass, nor liquor like the floods:  
A city's but a sink, gay houses gaudy graves,  
The Muses have free leave, to starve or live in caves:   

But Waltham Forrest still in prosperous estate,  

The brave situation of Waltham 〈◊〉.  As standing to this day (so strangely fortunate)  
Above her neighbour Nymphs, and holds her head aloft;  
A turf beyond them all, so sleek and wondrous soft,  
Upon her setting side, by goodly London graced,  
Upon the North by Lea, her South by Thames embraced.  
Upon her rising point, she chanced to espy,  
A dainty Forrest-Nymph of her society.  
Fair Hatfield, which in height all other did surmount,  

Hatfield Forest lying lower towards the East between Stortford and Dunmow.  And of the Dryads held in very high account;  
Yet in respect of her stood far out of the way,  
Who doubting of herself, by others late decay,  
Her sister's glory viewed with an astonished eye,  
Whom Waltham wisely thus reproveth by and by.   

Dear Sister rest content, nor our declining rue,  
What thing is in this world (that we can say) is new;  
The Ridge and Furrow shows, that once the crooked Blow,  
Turned up the grassy turf, where Oaks are rooted now:  
And at this hour we see, the Share and Coulter tear  
The full corne-bearing glebe, where sometimes forests were;  
And those but Caitiffs are, which most do seek our spoil,  
Who having sold our woods, do lastly sell our soil;  
'tis virtue to give place to these ungodly times,  
When as the fostered ill proceeds from others crimes;  
'Gainst Lunatiks, and fools, what wife 〈◊〉 spend their force;  
For folly headlong falls, when it hath had the course:  
And when God gives men up, to ways abhorred and vile,  
Of understanding he deprives them quite, the while  
They into error run, confounded in their sin,  
As simple Fowls in lime, or in the Fowler's gynne.  
And for those pretty Birds, that wont in us to sing,  
They shall at last forbear to welcome in the Spring,  
When wanting where to perch, they sit upon the ground,  
And curse them in their Notes, who first did woods confound.  
Dear Sister Hatfield, then hold up thy drooping head,  
We feel no such decay, nor is all succour fled:  
For Essex is our dower, which greatly doth abound,  
With every simple good, that in the I'll is found:  
And though we go to wrack in this so general waste,  
This hope to us remains, we yet may be the last.   

When Hatfield taking heart, where late she sadly stood,  
Sends little Roding forth, her best-beloved Flood; 
Many Towns that stand on this River, have 〈◊〉 name as an addition: as Kythorp Roding, LeadenKoding, with many other.   
Which from her Crystal Fount, as to enlarge her fame,  
To many a Village lends, her clear and noble name,  
Which as she wandreth on, through Waltham holds her way,  
With goodly Oaken wreaths, which makes her wondrous gay;  
But making at the last into the marry Marsh,  
Where though the blady grass unwholesome be and harsh,  
Those wreaths away she casts, which bounteous Waltham gave,  
With Bulrush, Flags, and Reed, to make her wondrous brave,  
And her selues strength divides, to sundry lesser streams,  
So wantoning she falls into her Sovereign Thames.   

From whose vast Beechy banks a rumour strait resounds,  
Which quickly ran itself through the Essexian grounds,  
That Crouch amongst the rest, a River's name should seek,  
As scorning any more the nickname of a Creek,  
Well furnished with a Stream, that from the fill to fall,  
Wants nothing that a Flood should be adorned withal. 
The fruitfulst Hundred of Essex.   
On 
* Anciently called 〈◊〉 where these ominous signs foreran that great overthrow given to the Roman Co. lony by the Britan's. See the 8. Song.  Benge's Batfull side, and at her going out,  
With Walnot, Foulness fair, near watered round about.  
Two Isles for greater state to stay her up that stand,  
Thrust far into the Sea, yet fixed to the land;  
As Nature in that sort them purposely had placed,  
That she by Sea and Land, should every way be graced.  
Some Sea-Nymphs and beside, her part (there were) that took,  
As angry that their Crouch should not be called a Brook;  
And bade her to complain to Neptuns of her wrong.   

But whilst these grievous stirs thus happened them among,  
Choice Chelmer comes along, a Nymph most neatly clear,  
Which wellnear through the midst doth cut the wealthy Shear,  
By Dunmow gliding down to Chelmsford hold her chase, 
Chelmsfoid (abruptly 〈◊〉) as much to say, as the Ford upon the River Che'mer.   
To which she gives the name, which as she doth embrace  
Clear Can comes tripping in, and doth with Chelmer close:  
With whose supply (though small as yet) she greater grows.  
She for old 
* Anciently called 〈◊〉 where these ominous signs foreran that great overthrow given to the Roman Colony by the Britan's. See the 8. Song.  Maldon makes, where in her passing by,  
She to remembrance calls that Roman Colony,  
And all those ominous signs her fall that did forego,  
As that which most expressed their fatal overthrow;  
Crowned Victory reversed, fell down whereas she stood,  
And the vast greenish Sea, discoloured like to blood.  
Shrieks heard like people's cries, that see their deaths at hand;  
The pourtratures of men imprinted in the sand.  
When Chelmer scarce arrives in her most wished Bay,  
But Blakwater comes in, through many a crooked way,  
Which Pant was called of yore; but that, by Time exiled,  
She Froshwell after height, than Blakwater instilled,  
But few, such titles have the British Floods among.  
When Northey near at hand, and th'isle of Ousey rung  
With shouts the Sea-Nymphs gave, for joy of their arrive,  
As either of those Isles in courtesy do strive,  
To Tethis Darlings, which should greatest honour do;  
And what the former did, the latter adds thereto.   

But Colne, which frankly lends fair Colechester her name,  
(On all the Essexian shore, the Town of greatest fame)  
Perceiving how they still in Courtship did contend,  
Quoth she, wherefore the time thus idly do you spend?  
What is there nothing here, that you esteem of worth,  
That our big-bellied Sea, or our rich land brings forth?  
Think you our Oysters here, unworthy of your praise?  
Pure * Walfleet, which do still the daintiest palates please:  

Walfleet Oysters  As excellent as those, which are esteemed most.  
The Cizic shells, or those on the Lucrinian coast;  

Cizicum is a city of Bythinia. Lucrinia is a city of Apulia upon the Adriatic Sea; the Oysters of which places, were reckoned for great delicates with the Romans.  Or Cheese, which our fat soil to every quarter sends;  
Whose tack the hungry Clown, and Ploughman so commends.  
If you esteem not these, as things above the ground,  
Look under, where the Urns of ancient times are found:  
The Roman emperors Coins, oft digged out of the dust,  
And warlike Weapons now consumed with cankring rust:  
The huge and massy Bones, of mighty fearful men,  
To tell the world's full strength, what creatures lived then;  
When in her height of youth, the lusty fruitful earth  

The bones of Giantlike people found in those parts.  Brought forth her big-limbed brood, even Giants in their birth.   

Thus spoke she, when from Sea they suddenly do hear  
A strong and horrid noise, which struck the land with fear:  
For with their crooked Trumpets, his Tritons, Neptune sent,  
To warn the wanton Nymphs, that they incontinent  
Should strait repair to Stour, in Orwells pleasant Road;  
For it had been divulged the Ocean all abroad,  
That Orwell and this Stour, by meeting in one Bay,  
Two, that each others good, intended every way,  
Prepared to sing a Song, that should precisely show,  
That Medway for her life, their skill could not outgo:  

Medway in the 18. Song, reciteth the Catalogue of the English Warriors.  For Stour, a dainty flood, that duly doth divide  
Fair Suffolk from this Shire, upon her other side;  
By Clare first coming in, to Sudbury doth show,  
The even course she keeps; when far 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 coming in from Ipswitch thinks that she,  
Should stand for it with 〈◊〉, and lastly they agree,  
That since the Britan's hence their first Discoveries made,  
And that into the East they first were taught to trade.  
Besides, of all the Roads, and Havens of the East,  
This Harbour where they meet, is reckoned for the best.  
Our Voyages by Sea, and brave discoveries known,  
Their argument they make, and thus they sing their own;   

In severn's late tuned lay, that Empress of the West, 
See the 4. Song.   
In which great Arthur's acts are to the life expressed:  
His Conquests to the North, who Norway did invade,  
Who Groneland, Iseland next, than Lapland lastly made  
His awful Empire's bounds, the Britan's acts among,  
This Godlike Hero's deeds exactly have been sung:  
His valiant people then, who to those Countries brought,  
Which many an age since that, our great'st discoveries thought.  
This worthiest then of ours, our * Argonauts shall lead. 
Sea-voyages.    

Next Malgo, who again that Conqueror's steps to tread,  
Succeeding him in Reign, in conquests so no less,  
Ploughed up the frozen Sea, and with as fair success,  
By that great Conquerors claim, first Orkney overran;  
Proud Denmark then subdued, and spacious Norway won,  
Seized Iseland for his own, and Goteland to each shore,  
Where Arthur's full-sailed Fleet had ever touched before.   

And when the Britan's Reign came after to decline,  
And to the Cambrian hills their fate did them confine,  
The Saxon swaying all, in Alfred, powerful reign,  
Our English Octer put a Fleet to Sea again,  
Of th'uge Norwegian Hills, and news did hither bring,  
Whose tops are hardly wrought in twelve days travailing.  
But leaving Norway then a Sterboard, forward kept,  
And with our English Sails that mighty Ocean swept,  
Where those stern people won, whom hope of gain doth call,  
In Hulks with grappling hooks, to hunt the dreadful Whall;  
And great Duina down from her first springing place, 
The great river of Russia.   
Doth roll her swelling waves in churlish Neptune's face.   

Then Woolstan after him discovering Dansig found,  
Where Wixels mighty mouth is poured into the Sound, 
The greatest river of Dansk.   
And towing up his stream, first taught the English Oars,  
The useful way of Trade to those most gainful shores.   

And when the Norman Stem here strong and potent grew,  
And their successful sons, did glorious acts pursue,  
One Nicholas named of Lyn, where first he breathed the air,  
Though Oxford taught him Art, and well may hold him dear;  
Ith' Mathematics learnt, (although a Friar professed)  
To see those Northern Climes, with great desire possessed,  
Himself he thither shipped, and skilful in the Globe,  
took every several height with his true Astrolabe;  
The Whirlpooles of the seas, and came to understand, 
The greatest wonder of Nature.   
From the four Cardinal winds, four indraughts that command;  
Int'any of whose falls, if th'wand'ring Bark doth light,  
It hurried is away with such tempestuous flight,  
Into that swallowing gulf, which seems as it would draw  
The very earth itself into th'infernal maw.  
Four such Immeasured Pools, Philosophers agree,  
Ith' four parts of the world undoubtedly to be;  
From which they have supposed, Nature the winds doth raise,  
And from them to proceed the flowing of the Seas.   

And when our Civil wars began at last to cease,  
And these late calmer times of Olive-bearing Peace,  
Gave leisure to great Minds, far Regions to descry;  
That brave adventurous Knight, our Sir Hugh Willoughby,  
Shipped for the Northern Seas, 'mongst those congealed Piles,  
Fashioned by lasting Frosts, like Mountains, and like Isles,  
(In all her fearefulst shapes saw Horror, whose great mind,  
In lesser bounds then these, that could not be confined,  
Adventured on those parts, where Winter still doth keep;  
When most the Icy cold had chained up all the Deep)  
In Bleak Arzina's Road his death near Lapland took,  
Where Kegor from her scite, on those grim Seas doth look.   

Two others follow then, eternal fame that won,  
Our Chancellor, and with him, compare we jenkinson:  
For Russia both embarked, the first arriving there,  
Entering Duina's mouth, up her proud stream did steer  
To Volgad, to behold her pomp, the Russian State,  
Moscovia measuring then; the other with like Fate,  
Both those vast Realms surveyed, then into Bactria past,  
To Boghors bulwarkt walls, then to the liquid waist,  
Where Oxus roleth down 'twixt his far distant shores,  
And o'er the Caspian Main, with strong untyred Oars,  
Adventured to view rich Persias wealth and pride,  
Whose true report thereof, the English since have tried.   

With Fitch, our Eldred next, deseru'dly placed is;  
Both travailing to see, the Syrian Tripoli.  
The first of which (in this whose noble spirit was shown)  
To view those parts, to us that were the most unknown,  
On thence to Ormus set, Goa, Cambaya, then,  
To vast Zelabdim, thence to Echubar, again  
Crossed Ganges mighty stream, and his large banks 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 waist.   

The other from that place, the first before had gone,  
Determining to see the broad-wald Babylon,  
Crossed Euphrates, and rowed against his mighty stream;  
Licia, and Gaza saw, with great Jerusalem,  
And our dear Saviour's seat, blest Bethlem did behold,  
And jourdan, of whose waves, much is in Scriptures told.   

Then Macham, who (through love to long adventures led)  
Mederas wealthy Isles, the first discovered,  
Who having stolen a maid, to whom he was affied,  
Yet her rich parents still her marriage rites denied,  
Put with her forth to Sea, where many a danger past,  
Upon an I'll of those, at length by tempest cast;  
And putting in, to give his tender Love some ease,  
Which very ill had brooked, the rough and boisterous Seas;  
And lingering for her health, within the quict Bay,  
The Mariners most false, fled with the Ship away,  
When as it was not long, but she gave up her breath;  
When he whose tears in vain bewailed her timeless death:  
That their deserved Rites her Funeral could not have,  
A homely Altar built upon her honoured grave.  
When with his folk but few, not passing two or three,  
There making them a Boat, but rudely of one Tree, 
The wonderful Adventure of Macham.   
Put forth again to Sea, where after many a flaw,  
Such as before themselves, scarce Mortal ever saw;  
Nor miserable men could possibly sustain,  
Now swallowed with the waves, and then spewed up again;  
At length were on the coast of Sunburnt Africa thrown:  
T'amaze that further world, and to amuse our own.   

Then Windham who new ways, for us and ours to try,  
For great Morrocco made, discovering Barbary.   

Lock, Towerson, Fenner next, vast Guiney forth that sought,  
And of her ivory, home in great abundance brought.   

The East-Indian Voy'ger then, the valiant Lancaster,  
To Buona Esperance, Comara, Zanziber,  
To Nicuba, as he to Gomerpolo went,  
Till his strong Bottom struck Molluccos Continent;  
And sailing to Brazeel another time he took  
Olynda's chiefest Town, and Harbour Farnambuke,  
And with their precious Wood, Sugar, and Cotton fraught,  
It by his safe return, into his Country brought.   

Then Forbosher, whose fame flew all the Ocean o'er,  
Who to the Northwest sought, huge China's wealthy shore,  
When nearer to the North, that wand'ring Seaman set,  
Where he in our hot'st Months of june and july met  
With Snow, Frost, Hail, & Sleet, and found stern Winter strong,  
With mighty Isles of Ice, and Mountains huge and long.  
Where as it comes and goes, the great eternal Light,  
Makes half the year still day, and half continual night.  
Then for those Bounds unknown, he bravely set again, 
Meta Incognita.   
As he a Sea-god were, familiar with the Main.   

The Noble Fenton next, and lackman we prefer,  
Both Voyagers, that were with famous Forbosher.   

And Davies, three times forth that for the Northwest made;  
Still striving by that course, t'enrich the English Trade:  
And as he well deserved to his eternal fame.  
There by a mighty Sea, Imortalized his Name. 
〈◊〉 Davisium.    

With noble Gilbert next, comes Hoard who took in hand  
To clear the course scarce known into the Newfound Land,  
And viewed the plenteous Seas, and fishfull Havens, where  
Our neighbouring Nations since have stored them every year.   

Then Globe-engirdling Drake, the Naval Palm that won,  
Who strove in his long Course to emulate the Sun:  
Of whom the Spaniard used a Prophecy to tell,  
That from the British Isles should rise a Dragon fell,  
That with his armed wings, should strike th' Iberian Main,  
And bring in after time much horror upon Spain.  
This more than man (or what) this Demie-god at Sea,  
Leaving behind his back, the great America,  
Upon the surging Main his wel-stretched Tacklings flewed,  
To forty three Degrees of North'ly 〈◊〉;  
Unto that Land before to th' Christian world unknown,  
Which in his Country's right he named New Albion;  
And in the Western Ind, spite of the power of Spain,  
He Saint jago took, Domingo, Cartagene:  
And leaving of his prowess, a mark in every Bay,  
Saint Augustins surprised, in Terra Florida.   

Then those that forth for Sea, Industrious Raleigh wrought,  
And them with every thing, fit for discovery fraught;  
That Amadas, (whose Name doth scarcely English sound)  
With Barlow, who the first Virginia throughly found.  
As Greenvile, whom he got to undertake that Sea,  
Three sundry times from hence, who touched Virginia.  
(In his so rare a choice, it well approved his wit;  
That with so brave a Spirit, his turn so well could fit.  
O Greenvile, thy great Name, for ever be renowned,  
And borne by Neptune still, about this mighty Round;  
Whose Naval Conflict won thy Nation so much fame,  
And in th' Iberians bred fear of the English name.   

Nor should Fame speak her low'dst, Of Lane, she could not lie,  
Who in Virginia left, with th'English Colony,  
Himself so bravely bare, amongst our people there,  
That him they only loved, when others they did fear.  
And from those Barbarous, brute, and wild Virginians won  
Such reverence, as in him there had been more then man.   

Then he which favoured still, such high attempts as these,  
Raleigh, whose reading made him skilled in all the Seas,  
Embarked his worthy self, and his adventurous crew,  
And with a prosperous Sail to those fair Countries flew,  
Where O renoque, as he, on in his course doth roll,  
Seems as his greatness meant, grim Neptune to control;  
Like to a puissant King, whose Realms extend so far,  
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-brimed Orellana:  
And on the spacious firm Manoas' mighty seat,  
The land (by Nature's power) with wonders most replete.   

So Leigh, Cape Briton saw, and Rameas Isles again;  
As Tompson undertook the Voyage to New-Spaine:  
And Hawkins not behind, the best of these before,  
Who hoisting sail, to seek the most remotest shore,  
Upon that new named Spain, and Guinny sought his prize,  
As one whose mighty mind small things could not suffice,  
The son of his brave Sire, who with his furrowing Keel,  
Long ere that time had touched the goodly rich Brazeel.   

Courageous Candish then, a second Neptune here,  
Whose fame filled every mouth, and took up every ear.  
What man could in his time discourse of any Seas,  
But of brave Candish talked, and of his voyages;  
Who through the South Seas past, about this earthly Ball,  
And saw those Stars, to them that only rise and fall,  
And with his silken sails, stained with the richest Ore,  
Dared any one to pass where he had been before.   

Count Cumberland, so hence to seek th' Asores sent,  
And to the Westerne-Inde, to Porta Ricco went,  
And with the English power it bravely did surprise.   

Sir Robert Dudley then, by sea that sought to rise,  
Hoist Sails with happy winds to th'isles of Trinidado:  
Paria then he passed, the Lands of Granado;  
As those of Sancta Cruz, and Porta Ricco: then  
Amongst the famous rank of our Sea-searching men,  
Is Preston sent to Sea, with Summers forth to find,  
Adventures in the parts upon the Westerne-Inde;  
Port Santo who surprised, and Coaches, with the Fort  
Of Coro, and the Town, when in submissive sort,  
Cumana ransom craved, Saint james of Le on sacked;  
jamica went not free, but as the rest they wracked.   

Then Shirley, (since whose name such high renown hath won)  
That Voyage undertook, as they before had done:  
He Saint jago saw, Domingo, Margarita,  
By Terrafirma sailed to th'islands of jamica,  
Up Rio Dolce rowed, and with a prosperous hand,  
Returning to his home, touched at the Newfoundland,  
Where at jamicas Iles, courageous Parker met  
With Shirley, and along up Rio Dolce set,  
Where bidding him adieu, on his own course he ran,  
And took Campeches Town, the chiefest of jucatan.  
A Freegate, and from thence did home to Britan bring,  
With most strange Tribute fraught, due to that Indian King,   

At mighty Neptune's beck, thus ended they their Song,  
When as from Harwich all to Loving-land along,  
Great claps and shouts were heard resounding to the shore,  
Wherewith th' Essexian Nymphs applaud their loved Stour,  
From the Suffolcean side yet those which Stour prefer  
Their princely Orwell praise, as much as th'other her:  
For though clear Briton be rich Suffolk's from her spring,  
Which Stour upon her way to Harwich down doth bring,  
Yet Deben of herself a stout and steadfast friend,  
Her succour to that Sea, near Orwels' Road doth send.   

When Waveney to the North, rich Suffolk's only mere,  
As Stour upon the North, from Essex parts this Shear; 
Suffolk bounded on the South and North.   
Lest Stour and Orwell thus might steal her Nymphs away,  
In Neptune's name commands, that here their force should stay:  
For that herself and you're in honour of the Deep,  
Were purposed a Feast in Loving-land to keep.   
 
  

The twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The Muse that part of Suffolk sings,  
That lies to Norfolk, and then brings  
The bright Norfolcean Nymphs, to guest  
To Loving-land, to Neptune's Feast;  
To Ouze the less than down she takes,  
Where she a Flight at River makes:  
And thence to Marshland she descends,  
With whose free praise this Song she ends.   

FRom Suffolk rose a sound, through the Norfolcean shore  
That ran itself, the like had not been heard before:  
For he that doth of Sea the powerful Trident wield,  
His Tritons made proclaim, a * Nymphall to be held 
A meeting, or Feast os Nymphs.   
In honour of himself, in Loving-land, where he  
The most selected Nymphs appointed had to be.  
Those Seamayds that about his secret 〈◊〉 do dwell,  
Which tend his mighty herds of Whales, and Fishes fell,  
As of the Rivers those, amongst the Meadows rank,  
That play in every Foared, and sport on every bank,  
Were summoned to be there, in pain of Neptune's hate:  
For he would have his Feast, observed with godlike state,   

When those Suffolcean Floods, that sided not with Stoure,  
Their streams but of themselves into the Ocean power,  
As Or, through all the coast a Flood of wondrous fame,  
Whose honoured fall begets a * Haven of her name. 
〈◊〉 Haven.   
And Blyth a dainty Brook, their speedy course do cast,  
For Neptune with the rest, to Loving-land to haste:  
When Waveney in her way, on this Septentriall side,  
That these two Eastern Shires doth equally divide,  
From * Laphamford leads on, her stream into the East, 
The place of her Spring.   
By Bungey, then along by Beckles, when possessed  
Of Loving-land, 'bout which her limber Arms she throws,  
With Neptune taking hands, betwixt them who enclose,  
And her an Island make, famed for her scite so far.  
But leave her Muse awhile, and let us on with you're,  
Which Gariena some, some Higher, some you're do name; 
At Gatesend not far thence.   
Whorising from her spring not far from Walsingham,  
Through the Norfolcean fields seems wantonly to play,  
To Norwich comes at length, towards Yarmouth on her way,  
Where Wentsum from the South, and Bariden do bear  
Up with her, by whose wealth she much is honoured there,  
To entertain her you're, that in her state doth stand,  
With Towns of highest 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 Stuffs, and workmanship is such,  
(For refuge hither come) as they our aid deserve, 
The Dutch a most industrious people.   
By labour sore that live, whilst oft the English starve;  
On Roots, and Pulse that feed, on Beef and Mutton spare,  
So frugally they live, not gluttons as we are.   

But from my former Theme, since thus I have digressed,  
I'll borrow more of Time, until my Nymphs be dressed:  
And since these Foods fall out so fitly in my way,  
A little while to them I will convert my Lay.   

The Colewort, Colifloure, and Cabbage in their season, 
Roots and Garden. fruits of this Island.   
The Rouncefall, great Beans, and early ripening Peason;  
The Onion, Scallion, Leek, which Housewives highly rate;  
Their kinsman Garlic then, the poor man's Mithridate;  
The savoury Parsnip next, and Carrot pleasing food;  
The Skirret (which some say) in Salads stirs the blood;  
The Turnip, tasting well to Clowns in Winter weather.  
Thus in our verse we put, Roots, Herbs, and Fruits together.  
The great moist Pompion then, that on the ground doth lie,  
A purer of his kind, the sweet Muske-million by;  
Which dainty palates now, because they would not want,  
Have kindly learned to set, as yearly to transplant:  
The Radish somewhat hot, yet urine doth provoke;  
The Cucumber as cold, the heating Artichoke;  
The Citrons, which our soil not easily doth afford;  
The Rampion rare as that, the hardly got Gourd.   

But in these trivial things, Muse, wander not too long,  
But now to nimble you're, turn we our active Song,  
Which in her winding course, from Norwich to the Main,  
By many a stately seat lasciviously doth strain,  
To Yarmouth till she come, her only christened Town, 
So called by the falling of you're into the Sea.   
Whose fishing through the Realm, doth her so much renown,  
Where those that with their nets still haunt the boundless lake,  
Her such a sumptuous feast of salted Herrings make,  
As they had robbed the Sea of all his former store,  
And past that very hour, it could produce no more.   

Her own selves Harbour here, when you're doth hardly win,  
But kindly she again, saluted is by Thrin,  
A fair Norsolcean Nymph, which gratifies her fall.   

Now are the * Tritons heard, to Loving-land to call,  
Which Neptune's great commands, before them bravely bear, 
Supposed to be Trumpeters to Neptune.   
Commanding all the Nymphs of high account that were,  
Which in fat Holland lurk amongst the queachy plashes,  
Or play them on the sands, upon the foamy washeses,  
As all the watery brood, which haunt the Germane deeps,  
Upon whose briny Curls, the dewy morning weeps,  
To Loving-land to come, and in their bestattires,  
That meeting to observe, as now the time requires.   

When Erix, Neptune's son by Venus, to the shore  
To see them safely brought, their Herald came before,  
And for a Mace he held in his huge hand, the horn  
Of that so much esteemed, sea-honoring Unicorn.   

Next Proto wondrous swift, led all the rest the way, 
The virtual properties incident to waters, as well Seas, as Rivers, expressed by their name in the persons of Nymphs, as hath been used by the Ancients.   
Then she which makes the calms, the mild Cymodice,  
With godlike Dorida, and Galatea fair,  
With dainty Nets of pearl, cast o'er their braided hair:  
Analijs which the Sea doth salt, and seasoned keep;  
And Batheas, most supreme and sovereign in the deep,  
Brings Cyane, to the waves which that green colour gives;  
Then Atmis, which in Fogs and misty vapours lives:  
Phrinax, the Billows rough, and surges that bestrides,  
And Rothion, that by her on the wild waters rides;  
With Icthias, that of Frye the keeping doth retain,  
As Pholoë, most that rules the Monsters of the Main:  
Which brought to bear 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 wiled, to Loving-land that came.   

These Nymphs tricked up in tires, the Sea-gods to delight:  
Of Coral of each kind, the black, the red, the white; 
The delicacies of the Sea.   
With many sundry shells, the Scallop large, and fair;  
The Cockle small and round; the Periwinkle spare,  
The Oyster, wherein oft the pearl is found to breed,  
The Mussel, which retains that dainty Orient seed:  
In Chains and Bracelets made, with links of sundry twists,  
Some worn about their wastes, their necks, some on the wrists.  
Great store of Amber there, and jet they did not miss;  
Their lips they sweetened had with costly Ambergris.   

Scarcely the * Neriad's thus arrived from the Seas, 
Sea-Nymphs.   
But from the fresher streams the brighter * Niades, 
Nymphs of Rivers.   
To Loving-land make haste with all the speed they may,  
For fear their fellow-Nymphes should for their coming stay.  
Glico the running Streams in sweetness still that keeps,  
And Clymene which rules, when they surround their deeps.  
Spio, in hollow banks, the waters that doth hide:  
With Opis that doth bear them backward with the Tide.  
Semaia that for sights doth keep the water clear:  
Zanthe their yellow sands, that maketh to appear,  
Then Drymo for the Oaks that shadow every bank,  
Phylodice, the boughs for Garlands fresh and rank.  
Which the clear Naiads make them * Anadems withal,  
When they are called to dance in Neptune's mighty hall. 
Coronets of Flowers.   
Then Ligea, which maintains the Birds harmonious lays,  
Which sing on River's banks amongst the slender sprays,  
With Rhodia, which for them doth nurse the Roseate sets,  
joida, which preserves the azure Violets.  
Anthea, of the flowers, that hath the general charge,  
And Syrinx of the Reeds, that grow upon the Marge.  
Some of these lovely Nymphs wore on their flaxen hair  
Fine Chaplets made of Flags, that fully flowered were:  
With Water-cans again, some wantonly them dight,  
Whose larger leaf and flower, gave wonderful delight  
To those that wistly viewed their Beauties: some again,  
That sovereign places held amongst the watery train,  
Of Cat-tayles made them Crowns, which from the Sedge doth  
Which neatly woven were, and some to grace the show, (grow,  
Of Lady-smocks most white, do rob each neighbouring Mead,  
Wherewith their loser locks most curiously they breyd.   

Now thus together come, they friendly do devose,  
Some of light toys, and some of matters grave and wise.  
But to break off their speech, her reed when Syrinx sounds,  
Some cast themselves in Rings, and fell to Hornpipe rounds:  
They ceasing, as again to others turns it falls,  
They lusty galliards tread, some others jigs, and Brawls.  
This done, upon the bank together being set,  
Proceeding in the cause, for which they thus weremet,  
In mighty Neptune's praise, these Seaborn Virgins sing: 
The Song of the Sea-Nymphs in praise of Neptune.    

Let earth, and air, say they with the high praises ring,  
Of Saturn by his Ops, the most renowned * Son,  
From all the gods but jove, the Diadem that won,  
Whose offspring wise and strong, dear Nymphs let us relate,  
On mountains of vast waves, know he that sits in state,  
And with his Trident rules, the universal stream,  
To be the only sire of mighty Polypheme.  
On fair Thoofa got old 〈◊〉 loved child,  
Who in a feigned shape that god of Sea beguiled.  
Three thousand princely sons, and lovely Nymphs as we,  
Were to great Neptune borne, of which we sparing be:  
Some by his goodly Queen, some in his Lemen bed;  
Chryasor grim begot, on stern Medusa's head.  
Swart Brontes, for his own so mighty Neptune takes,  
One of the Cyclops strong, Ioues Thunderbolts that makes.  
Great Neptune, Nelius got, (if you for wisdom seek)  
Who was old Nestor's sire, the grau'st and wisest Greek.  
Or from this King of waves, of such thou lov'st to hear,  
Of famous Nations first, that mighty Founders were;  
Then Cadmus, who the plot of ancient Thebes contrived,  
From Neptune God of Sea, his Pedigree derived,  
By Agenor his old Sire, who ruled Phenicia long:  
So Inachus, the chief of Argives great and strong  
Claimed kindred of this King, and by some beauteous Niece,  
So did Pelasgus too, who peopled ancient Greece.  
A world of mighty Kings and Princes I could name,  
From our god Neptune sprung; let this suffice, his fame  
Incompasseth the world; those Stars which never rise,  
Above the lower South, are never from his eyes:  
As those again to him do every day appear,  
Continually that keep the Northern Hemisphere;  
Who like a mighty King, doth cast his Watched robe,  
far wider than the land, quite round about the Globe.  
Where is there one to him that may compared be,  
That both the Poles at once continually doth see;  
And Giantlike with heaven as often maketh wars;  
The Lands (in his power) as numberless as Stars,  
He washeth at his will, and with his mighty hands,  
He makes the even shores, oft mountainous with Sands:  
Whose creatures, which observe his wide Imperial seat,  
Like his immeasured self, are infinite and great.   

Thus ended they their Song, and off th'assembly broke,  
When quickly towards the west, the Muse her way doth take;  
Whereas the swelling soil, as from one bank doth bring  
This * Wavency sung before, and * Ouse the less, whose spring 
The fountains of these rivers, not far asunder, vet one running Northward, the other to the East.   
Towards Ouse the greater points, and down by Thetford glides,  
Where she clear Thet receives, her glory that divides,  
With her new-named Town, as wondrous glad that she,  
For frequency of late, so much esteemed should be:  
Where since these confluent Floods, so fit for Hawking lie,  
And store of Fowl entice skilled Falconers there to fly.   

Now of a flight at Brook shall my description be: 
A description of a flight at River.   
What subject can be found, that lies not fair to me.  
Of simple Shepherds now, my Muse exactly sings,  
And then of courtly Loves, and the affairs of Kings.  
Then in a Buskined strain, the warlike spear and shield,  
And instantly again of the disports of Field;  
What can this I'll produce, that lies from my report,  
Industrious Muse, proceed then to thy Hawking sport.   

When making for the Brook, the Falconer doth espy  
On River, Plash, or Mere, where store of Fowl doth lie:  
Whence forced over land, by skilful Falconers trade:  
A fair convenient flight, may easily be made.  
He whistleth off his Hawks, whose nimble pincons straight,  
Do work themselves by turns, into a stately height:  
And if that after * check, the one or both do go, 
After Pigeons, Crows, or such like.   
Sometimes he them the Lure, sometimes doth water show;  
The trembling Fowl that hear the jigging Hawk-bels ring,  
And find it is too late, to trust then to their wing,  
Lie flat upon the flood, whilst the high-mounted Hawks,  
Then being lords alone, in their etherial walks,  
Aloft so bravely stir, their bells so thick that shake;  
Which when the Falconer sees, that scarce one * plane they make: 
When they sore as Kites do.   
The gallantest Birds saith he, that ever flew on wing,  
And swears there is a Flight, were worthy of a King.   

Then making to the Flood, to force the Fowls to rise,  
The fierce and eager Hawks, down thrilling from the Skies,  
Make sundry * Canceleers e'er they the Fowl can reach, 
Crossing the air in their downe-come.   
Which then to save their lives, their wings do lively stretch.  
But when the whizzing Bells the silent air do cleave,  
And that their greatest speed, them vainly do deceive;  
And the sharp cruel Hawks, they at their backs do view,  
Themselves for very fear they instantly * ineawe. 
Lay the Fowls again into the water.    

The Hawks get up again into their former place;  
And ranging here and there, in that their eyrie race:  
Still as the fearful Fowl attempt to scape away,  
With many a stooping brave, them in again they lay.  
But when the Falconers take their Hawking-poles in hand,  
And crossing of the Brook, do put it over land:  
The Hawk gives it a sauce, that makes it to rebound,  
Well near the height of man, sometime above the ground;  
Oft takes a leg, or wing, oft takes away the head,  
And oft from neck to tail, the back in two doth shred.  
With many a Woe ho ho, and jocund Lure again,  
When he his quarry makes upon the grassy plain.   

But to my Floods again: when as this Ouze the less  
Hath taken in clear Thet, with far more free access  
To Ouze the great she goes, her Queen that cometh crowned,  
As such a River fits, so many miles renowned;  
And pointing to the North, her Crystal front she dashes  
Against the swelling sands of the surrounded Washes;  
And Neptune in her Arms, so amply doth embrace,  
As she would rob his Queen, fair Thetis of her place.  
Which when rich Marshland sees, lest she should lose her state,  
With that fair River thus, she gently doth debate.   

Disdain me not, dear Flood, in thy excessive pride,  
There's scarcely any soil that sitteth by thy side,  
Whose Turf so batfull is, or bears so deep a swath;  
Nor is there any Marsh in all Great Britain, hath  
So many goodly seats, or that can truly show  
Such Rarities as I: so that all Marshes owe  
Much honour to my name, for that exceeding grace,  
Which they receive by me, so sovereign in my place.  
Though Rumney, as some say, for fineness of her grass,  
And for her dainty scite, all other doth surpass:  
Yet are those Seas but poor, and Rivers that confine  
Her greatness but mean Rills, be they compared with mine.  
Nor hardly doth she tithe th'abundant Fowl and Fish,  
Which Nature gives to me, as I myself can wish.  
As Amphitrite oft, calls me her sweet and fair,  
And sends the Northrenes winds to curl my braided hair,  
And makes the * Washeses stand, to watch and ward me still, 
The Washeses, lying between Marshland, and the Sea.   
Lest that rough god of Sea, on me should work his will.  
Old Wisbitch to my grace, my circuit sits within,  
And near my banks I have the neighbourhood of Lyn.  
Both Towns of strength and state, my profits still that vent:  
No Marsh hath more of Sea, none more of continent.  
Thus Marshland 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 Poetic rage,  
To Walsingham would needs have gone a Pilgrimage,  
To view those farthest shores, whence little Niger flows  
Into the Northrenes Main, and see the glebe where grows  
That Saffron, (which men say) this land hath not the like,  
All Europe that excels: but here she sail doth strike.  
For that Apollo plucked her easily by the ear;  
And told her in that part of Norfolk, if there were  
Aught 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 Argument.  

Now from New market comes the Muse,  
Whose spacious Heath, she wistly views,  
Those Ancient Ditches and surveys,  
Which our first Saxons here did raise:  
To Gogmagog then turns her tale,  
And shows you Ring-tailes pleasant vale.  
And to do Cambridge all her Rites,  
The Muses to her Town invites.  
And lastly, Elies praise she sings,  
An end which to this Canto brings.   

BY this our little rest, thus having gotten breath,  
And fairly in our way, upon Newmarket-Heath:  
That great and ancient * Ditch, which us expected long, 
The Devil's Ditch.   
Inspired by the Muse, at her arrival song:  
O Time, what earthly thing with thee itself can trust,  
When thou in thine own course, art to thyself unjust!  
Dost thou contract with death, and to oblivion give  
Thy glories, after them, yet shamefully dar'st live?  
O Time, hadst thou preserved, what labouring man hath done,  
Thou long before this day, mightst to thyself have won  
A Deity with the gods, and in thy Temple placed,  
But sacrilegious thou, hast all great works defaced;  
For though the things themselves have suffered by thy theft,  
Yet with their Ruins, thou, to ages mightst have left,  
Those Monuments who reared, and not have suffered thus 
The great ditch cutting Newmarket. Heath, beginneth at reach, & endeth at Cowlidge.   
Posterity so much, t'abuse both thee and us.  
I, by th' East Angles first, who from this Heath arose,  
The longest and largest Ditch, to check their Mercian foes;  
Because my depth, and breadth, so strangely doth exceed,  
men's low and wretched thoughts, they constantly decreed,  
That by the Devil's help, I needs must raised be,  
Wherefore the Devils-ditch they basely named me:  
When ages long before, I bare Saint edmond's name,  
Because up to my side, (some have supposed) came  
The Liberties bequeathed to his more sacred Shrine.  
Therefore my fellow Dykes, ye ancient friends of mine,  
That out of earth were raised, by men whose minds were great,  
It is no marvel, though Oblivion do you threat.  
First, * Flemditch next myself, that art of greatest strength, 
Alias, Seven mile ditch, being so much in length from the East side of the river 〈◊〉 to Balsham. From Hinxston to Horsheath five miles. From Melburne to Fulmer, the shortest of the four.   
That dost extend thy course full seven large mile in length:  
And thou the * Fivemile called, yet not less dear to me;  
With * Brenditch, that again is shortest of the three,  
Can you suppose yourselves at all to be respected,  
When you may see my truth's belied, and so neglected:  
Therefore dear Heath, live still in prosperous estate,  
And let thy wel-fleeced Flocks, from morn to evening late,  
(By careful Shepherds kept) rejoice thee with their praise;  
And let the merry Lark, with her delicious lays,  
Give comfort to thy plains, and let me only lie,  
(Though of the world contemned) 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 again,  
With one whose constant heart, with cruel love was slain:  
Old Gogmagog, a Hill of long and great renown,  
Which near to Cambridge set, o'rlookes that learned Town.  
Of Balshams' pleasant hills, that by the name was known,  
But with the monstrous times, he rude and barbarous grown,  
A Giant was become; for man he cared not,  
And so the fearful name of Gogmagog had got:  
Who long had borne good will to most delicious Grant:  
But doubting lest some god his greatness might supplant.  
For as that dainty Flood by Cambridge keeps her course,  
He found the Muses left their old Beotian source,  
Resorting to her banks, and every little space,  
He saw bright Phoebus' gaze upon her Crystal face,  
And through th'exhaled Fogs, with anger looked red,  
To leave his loved Nymph, when he went down to bed.  
Wherefore this Hill with love, being foully overgone:  
And one day as he found the lovely Nymph alone,  
Thus woos her; Sweeting mine, if thou mine own wilt be,  
Ch'aue many a pretty gaud, I keep in store for thee.  
A nest of broad-faced Owls, and goodly Urchins too;  
Nay Nymph take heed of me, when I begin to woo:  
And better yet then this, a Bulchin twa years old,  
A curld-pate Calf it is, and oft could have been sold:  
And yet beside all this, c'haue goodly Bearewhelps twa,  
Full dainty for my joy, when she's disposed to play,  
And twenty Sows of Lead, to make our wedding Ring;  
Bezides, at Sturbridge Fair, I'll buy thee many a thing:  
I'll zmouch thee every morn, before the Sun can rise,  
And look my manly face, in thy sweet glaring eyes.   

Thus said, he smuged his Beard, and stroked up his hair,  
As one that for her love he thought had offered fair:  
Which to the Muses, Grant did presently report,  
Wherewith they many a year shall make them wondrous sport.   

When Ringdale in herself, a most delicious Dale, 
The Vale of Ringdale, of the vulgar falsely called Ringtaile.   
Who having heard too long the barbarous Mountain's tale,  
Thus thinketh in herself, Shall I be silenced, when  
Rude Hills, and Ditches, digged by discontented men,  
Are aided by the Muse; their Mind's at large to speak:  
Besides my sister Vales supposing me but weak,  
judge meanly of my state, when she ńo longer stayed,  
But in her own behalf, thus to the other said.   

What though betwixt two Shears, I be by Fortune thrown, 
This Vale standeth part in 〈◊〉, part in Cambridgeshire.   
That neither of them both can challenge me her own,  
Yet am I not the less, nor less my Fame shall be:  
Your Figures are but base, when they are set by me;  
For Nature in your shapes, notoriously did err,  
But skilful was in me, cast pure Orbiculer.  
Nor can I be compared so like to any thing,  
By him that would express my shape, as to a Ring:  
For Nature bend 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 air borne,  
Oft run at Barleybreak upon the ears of Corn;  
And catching drops of dew in their lascivious chaces,  
Do cast the liquid pearl in one another's faces.  
What they in largeness have, that bear themselves so high,  
In my most perfect form, and delicacy, I,  
For greatness of my grain, and fineness of my grass;  
This Ilc scarce hath a Vale, that Ringdale doth surpass.   

When more she would have said, but suddenly there sprung,  
A confident report, that through the Country rung,  
That Cam her daintiest Flood, long since entitled Grant,  
Whose fountain Ashwell crowned, with many a upright plant. 
A famous Village in the confines of Hartfordshire.   
In sallying on for Ouze, determined by the way,  
To entertain her friends the Muses with a Lay.  
Wherefore to show herself ere she to Cambridge came,  
Most worthy of that Town to which she gives the name,  
Takes in her second head, from Linton coming in,  
By Shelford having slid, which straightway she doth win:  
Then which, a purer Stream, a delicater Brook,  
Bright Phoebus in his course, doth scarcely overlook.  
Thus furnishing her banks; as sweetly she doth glide  
Towards Cambridge, with rich Meads laid forth on either side;  
And with the Muses oft, did by the way converse:  
Wherefore it her behoves, that something she rehearse,  
The Sisters that concerned, who whispered in her ear,  
Such things as only she, and they themselves should hear,  
A wondrous learned Flood; and she that had been long,  
(Though silent, in herself, yet) vexed at the wrong  
Done to Apollo's Priests, with heavenly fire infused,  
Oft by the worthless world, unworthily abused:  
With whom, in their behalf, hap ill, or happen well,  
She meant to have a bout, even in despite of Hell,  
When humbly lowting low, her due obedience done,  
Thus like a Satire she, deliberately begun.   

My Inuective, thus quoth she, I only aim at you,  
(Of what degree soe'er) ye wretched worldly crew,  
In all your brainless talk, that still direct your drifts  
Against the Muse's sons, and their most sacred gifts,  
That hate a Poet's name, your vileness to advance,  
For ever be you damned in your dull ignorance.  
Slave, he whom thou dost think, so mean and poor to be,  
Is more than half divine, when he is set by thee.  
Nay more, I will avow, and justify him then,  
He is a god, compared with ordinary men.  
His brave and noble heart, here in a heaven doth dwell,  
Above those worldly cares, that sinks such sots to hell:  
A caitiff if there be more viler than thyself,  
If he through baseness light upon this worldly pelf,  
The Chimney-sweepe, or he that in the dead of night,  
Doth empty loathsome vaults, may purchase all your right;  
When not the greatest King, should he his treasure rain,  
The Muse's sacred gifts, can possibly obtain;  
No, were he Monarch of the universal earth,  
Except that gift from heaven, be breathed into his birth.  
How transitory be those heaps of rotting mud,  
Which only to obtain, ye make your chiefest good?  
Perhaps to your fond sons, your ill-got goods ye leave,  
You scarcely buried are, but they your hopes deceive.  
Have I not known a wretch, the purchase of whose ground,  
Was valued to be sold, at threescore thousand pound;  
That in a little time, in a poor threadbare coat,  
Hath walked from place to place, to beg a silly groat?  
When nothing hath of yours, or your base broods been left,  
Except poor widow's cries, to memorise your theft.  
That curse the Serpent got in Paradise for hire,  
Descend upon you all, from him your devilish Sire,  
Grovelling upon the earth, to creep upon your breast,  
And lick the loathsome dust, like that abhorred beast.   

But leave these hateful herds, and let me now declare,  
In th' heliconian 〈◊〉, who rightly christened are:  
Not such as basely soothe the Humour of the Time,  
And slubberingly patch up some slight and shallow Rhyme,  
Upon Parnassus' top, that strive to be installed,  
Yet never to that place were by the Muses called.  
Nor yet our Mimic Apes, out of their bragging pride,  
That fain would seem to be, what nature them denied;  
Whose Verses hobbling run, as with disjointed bones,  
And make a viler noise, than carts upon the stones;  
And these forsooth must be, the Muse's only heirs,  
When they but Bastards are, and foundlings none of theirs,  
Enforcing things in Verse for Poesy unfit,  
Mere filthy stuff, that breaks out of the sores of wit:  
What Poet recks the praise upon such Antics heaped,  
Or envies that their lines, in Cabinets are kept?  
Though some fantastic fool promove their ragged Rhymes,  
And do transcribe them o'er a hundred several times,  
And some fond women wins, to think them wondrous rare,  
When they lewd beggary trash, nay very gibberish are.  
Give me those Lines (whose touch the skilful ear to please)  
That gliding flow in state, like swelling Euphrates,  
In which things natural be, and not in falsely wrong:  
The Sounds are fine and smooth, the Sense is full and strong,  
Not bombasted with words, vain ticklish ears to feed;  
But such as may content the perfect man to read.  
What is of Painters said, is of true Poets rife,  
That he which doth express things nearest to the life,  
Doth touch the very point, nor needs he add thereto:  
For that the utmost is, that Art doth strive to do.   

Had Orpheus, whose sweet Harp (so musically strung)  
Enticed Trees, and Rocks, to follow him along:  
Th'morality of which, is that his knowledge drew  
The stony, blockish rout, that nought but rudeness knew,  
T'embrace a civil life, by his enticing Lays.  
Had he composed his lines, like many of these days,  
Which to be understood, do take in it disdain:  
Nay, Oedipus may fail, to know what they would mean.  
If Orpheus had so played, not to be understood,  
Well might those men have thought the Harper had been wood;  
Who might have fit him down, the trees and rocks among,  
And been a verier block, than those to whom he sung.   

O noble Cambridge then, my most beloved Town,  
In glory flourish still, to heighten thy renown:  
In woman's perfect shape, still be thy Emblem right, 
The Emblem of Cambridge.   
Whose one hand holds a Cup, the other bears a Light.  
Phocis' bedewed with drops, that from Parnassus' fall,  
Let Cirrha seek to her, nor be you least of 〈◊〉,  
Ye fair Beotian Thebes, and Thespia still to pay  
My Cambridge all her Rites: Cirrhea send this way.  
O let the thrice-three Maids, their dews upon thee rain,  
From Aganippa's fount, and hoofe-plowed Hippocrene.  
Mount Pindus, thou that art the Muses sacred place  
In Thessaly; and thou, O Pimpla, that in Thrace  
They chose for their own hill, than thou Parnassus hie,  
Upon whose by-clift top, the sacred company  
About Apollo sit; and thou O Flood, with these  
Pure Helicon, beloved of the Pierideses.  
With Tempe, let thy walks, and shades, be brought to her,  
And all your glorious gifts upon my Town confer.   

This said, the lovely Grant glides easily on along,  
To meet the mighty Ouze, which with her watery throng,  
The Cantabrigian fields had entered, taking in  
Th'in-Iled Elies earth, which strongly she doth win  
From Grants soft-neighbouring grounds, when as the fruitful I'll,  
Much wondering at herself, thought surely all this while,  
That by her silence she had suffered too much wrong.  
Wherefore in herself praise, lo thus the Island sung.   

Of all the Marshland Iles, I Ely am the Queen:  
For Winter each where sad, in me looks fresh and green.  
The Horse, or other beast, o'rwayed with his own mass,  
Lies wallowing in my Fens, hid over head in grass:  
And in the place where grows rank Fodder for my Neat;  
The Turf which bears the Hay, is wondrous needful Peat: 
Fuel cut out of the earth in squares, like Bricks.   
My full and battening earth, needs not the Ploughman's pains;  
The Rils which run in me, are like the branched veins  
In humane Bodies seen; those Ditches cut by hand,  
From the surrounding Meres, to win the measured land,  
To those choice waters, I most fitly may compare,  
Wherewith nice women use to blanche their Beauties rare.  
Hath there a man been borne in me, that never knew  
Of Watersey the Leame, or th'other called the New. 
Famous Ditches, or Waterdraughts in the 〈◊〉.   
The Frithdike nearest my midst, and of another sort,  
Who ever fished, or fouled, that cannot make report  
Of sundry Meres at hand, upon my Western way,  
As Ramsey mere, and Vg, with the great Whittelsey:  
Of the abundant store of Fish and Fowl there bred,  
Which whilst of Europe's Isles Great Britain is the Head.  
No Meres shall truly tell, in them, then at one draught,  
More store 〈◊〉 either kinds hath with the Net been caught:  
Which though some petty Isles do challenge them to be  
Their own, yet must those Isles likewise acknowledge me  
Their sovereign. Nor yet let that Islet Ramsey shame,  
Although to 〈◊〉. Mere she only gives 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 usurp upon her Bounds.  
Those Meres may well be proud, that I will take them in,  
Which otherwise perhaps forgotten might have been.  
Besides my towered Fane, and my rich Citied seat,  
With Villages, and Dorpes, to make me most complete. 
The Town and Church of Ely.    

Thus broke she off her speech, when as the Muse awhile,  
Desirous to repose, and rest her with the I'll,  
Here consumates her Song, and doth fresh courage take,  
With war in the next Book, the Muses to awake.   
 
  

The two and twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The Muse, Ouze from her Fountain brings  
Along by Buckingham, and sings:  
The Earth that turneth wood to stone,  
And t'holy Wells of Harlweston:  
Then shows wherefore the Fates do grant,  
That she the Civil wars should chant:  
By Huntingdon she Waybridge meets,  
And thence the Germane Ocean greets.   

Invention as before, thy high-pitcht pinions rouse,  
Exactly to set down how the far-wandring Ouze, 
The Progress of the River of Ouze to the Germane Sea.   
Through the Bedfordian fields deliciously doth strain,  
As holding on her course, by Huntingdon again,  
How bravely she herself betwixt her Banks doth bear,  
E'er Ely she in-Ile, a Goddess honoured there;  
From Brackley breaking forth, through soils most heavenly sweet,  
By Buckingham makes on, and crossing Watling-Street,  
She with her lesser Ouze, at Newport next doth twin,  
Which from proud Chiltern near, comes easily ambling in.  
The Brook which on her bank doth boast that earth alone:  
(Which noted) of this I'll, converteth wood to stone.  
That little Aspleyes' earth we anciently instile, 
One of the wonders of this Island.   
Mongst sundry other things, A wonder of the I'll:  
Of which the lesser Ouze oft boasteth in herway,  
As she herself with Flowers doth gorgeously array. 
After this river hath entered Bedford Shire, there is scarce any River in this Island, that runneth with so many intricate Gires and turnings as this Ouze.    

Ouze having Ouleney past, as she were waxed mad,  
From her first staider course immediately doth gad;  
And in Meandred Gires doth whirl herself about,  
That, this way, here, and there, back, forward, in, and out,  
And like a wanton Girl, oft doubling in her gate,  
In Labyrinth-like turns, and twine intricate,  
Through those rich fields doth run, till lastly in her pride,  
The Shires Hospitious town, she in her course divide,  
Where she her spacious breast in glorious breadth displays;  
And varying her clear form a thousand sundry ways,  
Streaks through the verdant Meads; but far she hath not gone,  
When I well a clear Nymph from Shefford sallying on,  
Comes deftly dancing in through many a dainty Slade,  
Crowned with a goodly Bridge, arrived at Bickleswade,  
Encouraged the more her Mistress to pursue,  
In whose clear face the Sun delights himself to view:  
To mix herself with Ouze, as on she thus doth make,  
And lovingly at last hath happed to overtake;  
She in her Crystal Arms her sovereign Ouze doth cling,  
Which Flood in her Ally, as highly glorying,  
Shoots forward to Saint Neots, into those neither grounds,  
Towards Huntingdon, and leaves the loved Bedfordian bounds.  
Scarce is she entered yet upon this second Shear,  
Of which she sovereign is, but that two Fountains clear, 
The holy Springs of Harlweston.   
At Harlweston near hand, th'one salted, the other sweet,  
At her first entrance, thus her greatness gently greet.   

Once were we two fair Nymphs, who fortunatly proved,  
The pleasures of the Woods, and faithfully beloved  
Of two such Sylvan gods, by hap that found us here;  
For than their Sylvan kind most highly honoured were,  
When this whole Country's face was Forresty, and we  
Lived loosely in the Wields, which now thus peopled be.  
Oft interchanged we sighs, oft amorous looks we sent,  
Oft whispering our dear loves, our thoughts oft did we vent  
Amongst the secret shades, oft in the groves did play,  
And in our sports our joys, and sorrows did bewray.  
Oft cunningly we met, yet coily then embraced,  
Still languished in desire, yet lived we ever chaste.  
And quoth the saltish Spring, as one day mine and I,  
Set to recount our loves, from his more tender eye  
The brinish tears dropped down, on mine impearced breast,  
And instantly therein so deeply were impressed,  
That brackish I became: he finding me deprived  
Of former freshness quite, the cause from him derived,  
On me bestowed this gift, my sweetness to requite,  
That I should ever cure the dimness of the sight.  
And, quoth the fresher Spring, the Wood-god me that wooed,  
As one day by my brim, surprised with love he stood,  
On me bestowed this gift, that ever after I  
Should cure the painful Itch, and loathsome Leprosy.   

Held on with this discourse, she on not far hath run,  
But that she is arrived at goodly Huntingdon;  
Where she no sooner views her darling and delight,  
Proud Portholme, but became so ravished with the sight, 
A little Island made by this River, lying near Huntingdon.   
That she her limber arms lascivously doth throw  
About the Islets waste, who b'ing embraced so,  
Her Flowery bosom shows to the enamoured Brook;  
On which when as the Ouze amazedly doth look  
On her brave Damasked breast, bedecked with many a flower  
(That grace this goodly Mead) as though the Spring did pour  
Her full abundance down, whose various dies so thick,  
Are intermixed as they by one another stick,  
That to the gazing eye that standeth far, they show  
Like those made by the Sun in the Celestial Bow.   

But now t'advance this Flood, the Fates had brought to pass,  
As she of all the rest the only River was:  
That but a little while before that fatal war,  
'twixt that divided Blood of York and Lancaster,  
Near Harleswood, above in her Bedfordian trace,  
By keeping back her stream, for near three furlongs space, 
Prodigious signs fares running the wars betwixt the houses of Lancaster and York in this River of Ouze.   
Laying her Bosom bare unto the public view,  
Apparently was proved by that which did ensue,  
In her Prophetic self, those troubles to foresee:  
Wherefore (even as her due) the Destinies agree,  
She should the glory have our civil fights to sing,  
When swelling in her banks, from her abundant Spring,  
Her sober silence she now resolutely breaks,  
In language fitting war, and thus to purpose speaks.   

With that most fatal field, I will not here begin,  
Where Norman William first the Conqueror, did win  
The day at * Hastings, where the valiant Harold slain,  
Resigned his Crown, whose soil the colour doth retain, 
In Sussex, near the Sea.   
Of th'English blood there shed, as th'earth still kept the scar:  
Which since not ours begot, but an invasive war,  
Amongst our home-fought fields, hath no description here:   

In Normandy nor that, that same day forty year,  
That Bastard William brought a Conquest on this I'll,  
'twixt Robert his eldest son, and Henry, who the while,  
His Brother's warlike tents in Palestine were pight,  
In England here usurped his eldest born brothers right;  
Which since it foreign was, not struck within this land,  
Amongst our civil fights here numbered shall not stand.   

But Lincoln Battle now we as our first will lay, 
The Battle at Lincoln.   
Where Maud the Empress stood to try the doubtful day,  
With Stephen, when he here had wellnear three years reigned,  
Where both of them their right courageously maintained,  
And marshalling their Troops, the King his person put,  
Into his well-armed Main, of strong and valiant Foot:  
The Wings that were his Horse, in th'one of them he placed  
Young Alan that brave Duke of Britain, whom he graced  
With th'earls of Norsolke, and Northampton, and with those,  
He Mellent in that wing, and Warren did dispose.  
The other no whit less, that this great day might stead;  
The Earl of Aubemerle, and valiant Ipres led.  
The Empress' powers again, but in two Squadrons were:  
The Vanguard Chester had, and Gloucester the Rear;  
Then were there valiant Welsh, and desperate men of ours,  
That when supplies should want, might reinforce their powers.  
The Battles join, as when two adverse Seas are dashed  
Against each others waves, that all the plains were washed  
With showers of sweltering blood, that down the furrows ran,  
Ere it could be discerned which either lost or wan.  
Earl Baldwin, and Fitzurse those valiant Knights, were seen  
To charge the Empress' Horse, as though dread Mars had been  
There in two sundry shapes; the day that beauteous was,  
Twinkled as when you see the Sunbeams in a glass,  
That nimbly being stirred, flings up the trembling flame  
At once, and on the earth reflects the very same.  
With their resplendent swords, that glistered 'gainst the Sun;  
The honour of the day, at length the Empress won.  
King Stephen prisoner was, and with him many a Lord,  
The common Soldiers put together to the sword.   

The next, the Battle near Saint Edmundsbury fought, 
The Battle at Saint Edmunds Bury. Henry the second.   
By our * Fitz-Empresse force, and Flemings hither brought  
By th'earl of Leicester, bend to move intestine strife,  
For young King Henry's cause, crowned in his father's life;  
Which to his kingly Sire much care and sorrow bred,  
In whose defiance then that Earl his Ensigns spread,  
Backed by Hugh Bigots' power, the Earl of Norfolk then,  
By bringing to his aid the valiant Norfolk men.  
'Gainst Bohun, England's great high Constable that swayed  
The Royal forces, joined with Lucy for his aid  
Chief justice, and with them the Germane powers, to expel  
The Earls of Cornwall came, Gloster, and Arundel,  
From Bury, that with them Saint edmond's Banner bring,  
Their Battles in array; both wisely ordering  
The Armies chanced to meet upon the Marshy ground,  
Betwixt Saint Edmund's town, and Fornham (fitly found)  
The bellowing Drums beat up a thunder for the charge,  
The Trumpets rend the air, the Ensigns let at large,  
Like waving flames far off, to either host appear:  
The bristling Pikes do shake, to threat their coming near;  
All clouded in a mist, they hardly could them view,  
So shadowed with the Shafts from either side that flew.  
The Wings came wheeling in, at joining of whole forces,  
The either part were seen to tumble from their horses,  
Which empty put to rout, are paunched with Gleaves and Pyles,  
Lest else by running loose, they might disrank their 〈◊〉.  
The Billmen come to blows, that with the cruel thwacks,  
The ground lay strewed with Male, and shreds of tattered jacks:  
The plains like to a shop, looked each where to behold.  
Where limbs of mangled men on heaps lay to be sold;  
Stern discontented War did never yet appear  
With a more threatening brow, than it that time did there.   

O Leicester (alas) in ill time wast thou won  
To aid this graceless youth, the most ingrateful son  
Against his natural Sire, who crowned him in his days,  
Whose ill requited love did him much sorrow raise,  
As Le'ster by this war against King Henry showed,  
Upon so bad a cause, O courage ill bestowed;  
Who had thy quarrel been, as thou thyself was skilled  
In brave and martial feats, thou evermore hadst filled  
This I'll with thy high deeds, done in that bloody field:  
But Bigot and this Lord, enforced at length to yield  
Them to the other part, when on that fatal plain,  
Of th' English and the Dutch, ten thousand men lay slain.   

As for the second Fight at Lincoln, betwixt those  
Who sided with the French, by seeking to depose  
Henry the son of john, then young, and to advance  
The Dauphin Lewes, son to Philip King of France,  
Which Lincoln Castle, then most straightly did besiege;  
And William Marshal Earl of Pembroke for his Liege,  
(Who led the faithful Lords) although so many there,  
Or in the conflict slain, or taken prisoners were;  
Yet for but a surprise, no field appointed fight,  
Mongst our set Battles here, may no way claim a right,   

The Field at Lewes then, by our third Henry fought, 
The Battle of Lewes.   
Who Edward his brave son unto that Conflict brought;  
With Richard then the King of Almain, and his son  
Young Henry, with such Lords as to his part he won,  
With him their Sovereign Liege, their lives that durst engage.  
And the rebellious league of the proud Barronage,  
By Simon Mounford Earl of Le'ster their chief Head,  
And th'earl of Gloster, Clare, against King Henry led;  
For th'ancient Freedoms here that bound their lives to stand,  
The Aliens to expulse, who troubled all the land,  
Whilst for this dreadful day, their great designs were meant;  
From Edward the young Prince, defiances were sent  
To Mountford's valiant sons, Lord Henry, Sim, and Guy,  
And calling unto him a Herald, quoth he, Fly  
To th'earl of Leister's Tents, and publicly proclaim  
Defiance to his face, and to the Montfords' name,  
And say to his proud sons, say boldly thus from me;  
That if they be the same, that they would seem to be,  
Now let them in the field be by their Band rolls known,  
Where as I make no doubt, their valour shall be shown.  
Which if they dare to do, and still uphold their pride,  
There will we vent our spleens, where swords shall it decide.   

To whom they thus replied, Tell that brave man of Hope,  
He shall the Mountford's find in t'head of all their Troop,  
To answer his proud braves; our Bilbowes be as good  
As his, our Arms as strong; and he shall find our blood  
Sold at as dear a rate as his; and if we fall,  
Tell him we'll hold so fast, his Crown shall go withal.   

The King into three fights his forces doth divide,  
Of which his princely * son the Vanguard had to guide: 
Prince Edward after called Edward the first.   
The second to the King of Almain, and his son,  
Young Henry he betook, in the third Legion  
Of Knights, and Men of Arms, in person he appears.   

Into four several Fights, the desperate Barons theirs.  
I'th' first those valiant youths, the sons of Leicester came,  
Of leading of the which, Lord Henry had the name:  
The Earl of Gloster brought the second Battle on,  
And with him were the Lords Mountchency, and Fitz-Iohn:  
The third wherein alone the Londoners were placed,  
The stout Lord Segrave led; the greatest, and the last,  
Brave Leicester himself, with courage undertook.  
The day upon the host affrightedly doth look,  
To see the dreadful shock, their first encounter gave,  
As though it with the roar, the Thunder would outbrave.  
Prince Edward all in gold, as he great jove had been:  
The Mountford's all in Plumes, like Estriges were seen,  
To beard him to his teeth, toth' work of death they go;  
The crowds like to a Sea seemed waving to and fro.  
Friend falling by his friend, together they expire:  
He breathed, doth charge afresh; he wounded, doth retire.  
The Mountford's with the Prince vie valour all the day,  
Which should for Knightly deeds excel, or he, or they,  
To them about his head, his glistering blade he throws,  
They waft him with their swords, as long with equal shows:  
Now Henry, Simon then, and then the youngest Guy,  
Kept by his brother's back, thus stoutly doth reply,  
What though I be but young, let death me overwhelm,  
But I will break my sword upon his plumed helm.  
The younger Bohun there, to high atchivements bend,  
With whom two other Lords, Lucy, and Hastings went,  
Which charging but too home, all sorely wounded were,  
Whom living from the field, the Barons strove to bear,  
Being on their party fixed; whilst still Prince Edward spurs;  
To bring his Forces up to charge the Londoners,  
T'whom cruel hate he bore, and joining with their Force,  
Of heavy-armed Foot, with his light Northern Horse,  
He putting them to flight, four miles in chase them slew:  
But ere he could return, the conquest wholly drew  
To the stout Baron's side: his father fled the field,  
Into the abbey there, constrained thence to yield.  
The Lord's Fitz-warren slain, and Wilton that was then  
Chief justice (as some say) with them five thousand men;  
And Bohun that great Earl of Her'ford overthrown,  
With Bardolfe, Somery, Patshull, and Percy known.  
By their Coat-armours then, for Barons, prisoners ta'en;  
Though Henry ware the Crown, great Le'ster yet did reign.   

Now for the Conflict next, at Chesterfield that chanced  
'Gainst Robert that proud Earl of Derby, who advanced  
His Ensigns 'gainst the King, (contrary to his oath)  
Upon the Baron's part, with the Lord Devil, both  
Surprised by Henry Prince of Almain with his power,  
By coming at so strange an unexpected hour:  
And taking them unarmed; since merely a defeat,  
With our well-ordered fights, we will not here repeat.   

The fatal Battle then at fertile Eusham struck, 
The Battle at Eusham.   
Though with the self same hands, not with the self same luck:  
For both the King and Prince at Lewes prisoners taken,  
By fortune were not yet so utterly forsaken;  
But that the Prince was got from Le'ster, and doth gather  
His friends, by force of Arms yet to redeem his father;  
And th'earl of Glo'ster won, who through the Mountford's pride  
Disgraced, came with his power to the Imperial side.  
When now those Lords, which late at Lewes won the day,  
The Sacrament received, their Arms not down to lay,  
Until the King should yield th'old Charter to maintain.  
King Henry and his son Prince Edward swore again,  
They would repeal those Laws that were at Oxford made,  
Or through this bloody war to their destruction wade.  
But since the King remained in puissant Lei'sters power,  
The remnant of his friends, whom death did not devour  
At Lewes' Battle late, and durst his part partake.  
The Prince excites again, an Army up to make,  
Whom Roger Bigot, Earl of Norfolk doth assist,  
England's high Marshal then, and that great Martialist,  
Old Henry Bohun, Earl of Her'ford, in this war,  
Grace, Basset, and Saint-Iohn, Lisle, Percy, Latimer,  
All Barons, which to him their utmost strengths do lay,  
With many a Knight for power their equal every way;  
And William Valence, Earl of Pembroke, who had fled  
From Lewes' field, to France, thence with fresh succour sped.  
Young Humphrey Bohun still, doth with great Le'ster go,  
Who for his Country's cause becomes his father's foe.  
Fitz-Iohn, Grace, Spencer, Strange, Rosse, Segrave, Vessey, Gifford,  
Wake, Lucy, Vipount, Vaux, Clare, Marmion, Hastings, Clifford.   

In that black night before his sad and dismal day,  
Were apparitions strange, as dread Heaven would bewray  
The horrors to ensue, O most amazing fight!  
Two Armies in the Air, discerned were to fight,  
Which came so near to earth, that in the morn they found  
The prints of horses feet remaining on the ground,  
Which came but as a show, the time to entertain,  
Till th'angry Armies joined, to act the bloody Scene.   

Shrill shouts, and deadly cries, each way the air do fill,  
And not a word was heard from either side, but kill:  
The father 'gainst the son, the brother 'gainst the brother,  
With Gleaves, Swords, Bills, and Pikes, were murdering one another.  
The full luxurious earth, seems surfitted with blood,  
Whilst in his Uncle's gore th'unnatural Nephew stood;  
Whilst with their charged Staffs, the desperate horsemen meet,  
They hear their kinsmen groan under their Horse's feet.  
Dead men, and weapons broke, do on the earth abound;  
The Drums bedashed with brains, do give a dismal sound.  
Great Le'ster there expired, with Henry his brave son,  
When many a high exploit 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 heaped on piles:  
Bohuns, and Beauchamps were, Basets, and Mandeviles:  
Segraves', and Saint-iohns' seek, upon the end of all,  
To give those of their names their Christian burial.  
Ten thousand on both sides were ta'en and slain that day:  
Prince Edward gets the goal, and bears the Palm away.   

All Edward Long shanks time, her civil wars did cease,  
Who strove his Country's bounds by Conquest to increase. 
The Conflicts at Burton and Burrough Bridge in the second Baron's wars   
But in th'ensuing reign of his most riotous son,  
As in his father's days, a second war begun;  
When as the stubborn heirs of the stout Barons dead,  
Who for their Country's cause, their blood at Eusham shed,  
Not able to endure the Spencer's hateful pride,  
The father and the son, whose counsels then did guide  
Th'inconsiderate King, conferring all his graces,  
On them who got all gifts, and bought and sold all places,  
Them raising, to debase the Baronage the more  
For Gavaston, whom they had put to death before.  
Which urged too far, at length to open Arms they broke,  
And for a speedy war, they up their powers do make.   

Upon King Edward's part, for this great Action bend,  
His brother Edmund came, the valiant Earl of Kent,  
With Richmount, Arundel, and Pembroke, who engage,  
Their powers, (three powerful Earls) against the Baronage.   

And on the Baron's side, great master of the war,  
Was Thomas (of the Blood) the Earl of Lancaster,  
With Henry Bobun, Earl of Hereford, his Peer,  
With whom (of great command and Martialists) there were  
Lyle, Darcy, Denvile, Teis, Beach, Bradburne, Bernvile, Knovile,  
With Badlesmer, and Bercks', Fitz-william, Leyburne, Lovel,  
Tuchet, and Talbot stout, do for the Barons stand,  
Mandute, and Mowbray, with great Clifford that command  
Their Tenants to take Arms, that with their Landlords run;  
With these went also Hugh, and Henry Willington;  
Redoubted Damory, as Audley, Elmesbridge, Wither,  
Earles, Barons, Knights, Esquiers, embodied all together,  
At Burton upon Trent who having gathered head,  
Towards them with all his power the King in person sped;  
Who at his near approach (upon his March) descried,  
That they against his power the Bridge had fortified:  
Which he by strong assault, assays from them to win,  
Where as a bloody fight doth instantly begin,  
When he to beat them off, assays them first by shot;  
And they to make that good, which they before had got,  
Defend them with the like, like hailstones from the sky,  
From Crossbows, and the Long, the light-winged arrows fly:  
But friended with the Flood, the Barons hold their strength,  
Forcing the King by Boats, and piles of wood at length,  
T'attempt to land his force upon the other side.  
The Barons, that the more his stratagems defied,  
Withstand them in the stream, when as the troubled flood,  
(With in a little time) was turned all to blood;  
And from the Boats and Bridge, the mangled bodies field,  
The poor affrighted Fish, their watery walks expelled.  
While at the Bridge the fight still strongly doth abide,  
The King had learned to know, that by a skilful guide,  
He by a Fourd not far might pass his power of Horse,  
Which quickly he performs, which drove the Baron's force  
From the defended Bridge, t'affront th'approaching foe,  
Imbattelling themselves, when to the shock they go,  
(On both sides so assailed) till th'water, and the shore  
Of one complexion were, distained with equal gore.  
Oft forced to change their fights, being driven from their ground,  
That when by their much loss, too weak themselves they found,  
Th'afflicted Barons fly, yet still together keep.  
The King his good success, not suffering so to sleep,  
Pursues them with his power, which Northward still do bear;  
And seldom escapes a day, but he doth charge their Rear:  
Till come to Burrough Bridge, where they too soon were stayed  
By Andrew Herckley, Earl of Carleill, with fresh aid  
Being lately thither come, King Edward's part to take.  
The Barons range their fights, still good their ground to make;  
But with long Marches tired, their wearied breath they draw,  
After the desperat'st fight the Sun yet ever saw,  
Brave Bohun there was slain, and Lancaster forsaken  
Of Fortune, is surprised; the Baron's prisoners taken.   

For those Rebellions, Stirs, Commotions, Uproars, here  
In Richard Bordeaux reign, that long so usual were; 
Richard the second, borne at Bordeaux.   
As that the first by Straw, and Tyler, with their Rout  
Of Rebels brought from Kent, most insolent and stout,  
By entering London, thought the the Island to subdue:  
* The first of which, the Mayor of London bravely slew; 
Jack Straw, killed by the Mayor of London with his dagger. John Litstar, 2 Dyer of Norwich.   
Walworth, which won his name much honour by the deed:  
As they of Suffolk next, those Rascals that succeed,  
By * Litster led about, their Captain who enstiled  
Himself the Commons King, in hope to have exiled  
The Gentry from those parts, by those that were his own,  
By that brave Bishop (then) of Norwitch overthrown. 
Henry Spencer, the warlike Bishop of Norwich. At Hatfield.   
By such unruly Slaves, and that in Essex raised  
By Thomas that stout Duke of Glo'ster, strongly * ceased,  
As that at Radcot bridge, where the last named Peer,  
With four brave * Earls his friends, encountered Robert Vere  
Then Duke of Ireland called, by Richard so created, 
Warwick, Derby, Arnndell, & Nottingham.   
And 'gainst those Lords maintained, whom they most deadly hated;  
Since they but Garboils were, in a deformed mass,  
Not ordered fitting war, we lightly ouerpasse.   

I choose the Battle next of Shrewsbury to chant, 
The Battle of Shrew: bury.   
Betwixt Henry the fourth, the son of john of Gant,  
And the stout Percies, Henry Hotspur and his Eme  
The Earl of Wor'ster, who the rightful Diadem  
Had from King Richard reft, and heaved up to his Seat  
This Henry, whom (too soon) they found to be too great,  
Him seeking to depose, and to the Rule prefer  
Richard's proclaimed Heir, their cousin Mortimer,  
Whom Owen Glendour then in Wales a prisoner stayed,  
Whom to their part they won, and thus their plot they laid,  
That Glendour should have Wales, along as Severne went,  
The Percies all the North, that lay beyond the Trent;  
And Mortimer from thence the South to be his share;  
Which Henry having heard, doth for the war prepare,  
And down to Cheshire makes, (where gathering powers they were)  
At Shrewsbury to meet, and doth affront them there:  
With him his peerless son, the princely Henry came,  
With th'earl of Stafford, and of Gentlemen of name,  
Blunt, Shyrley, Clifton, men that very powerful were,  
With Cockayne, Caluerly, Massy, and Mortimer,  
Gausell, and Wendsley, all in Friends and Tenants strong,  
Resorting to the King still as he passed along;  
Which in the open field before the ranged fights,  
He with his warlike Son, there dubbed his Maiden Knights.   

Th'Eatle Douglas for this day doth with the Percies stand,  
To whom they Berwicke gave, and in Northumberland  
Some Signories and Holds, if they the Battle got,  
Who brought with him to Field full many an angry Scot,  
At Holmdon Battle late that being overthrown,  
Now on the King and Prince hoped to regain their own;  
With almost all the power of Cheshire got together,  
By Venables, (there great) and Vernon mustered thither.  
The Vanguard of the King, great Stafford took to guide.  
The Vanguard of the Lords upon the other side,  
Consisted most of Scots, which joining, made such spoil,  
As at the first constrained the English to recoil,  
And almost broke their Ranks, which when King Henry found,  
Bringing his Battle up, to reinforce the ground,  
The Percies bring up theirs, again to make it good.  
Thus whilst the either Host in opposition stood,  
Brave Douglas with his spurs, his furious Courser strake, 
The high courage of Douglas won him that addition of Doughty Douglas, which after grew to a Proverb.   
His Lance set in his rest, when desperately he broke  
In, where his eye beheld th'imperial Ensign pight,  
Where soon it was his chance, upon the King to light,  
Which in his full career 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 he saw the King himself remounted:  
This hand of mine, quoth he, four Kings this day hath slain,  
And swore out of the earth he thought they sprang again,  
Or Fate did him defend, at whom he only aimed.  
When Henry Hotspurre, so with his high deeds inflamed,  
Doth second him again, and through such dangers press,  
That Douglas valiant deeds he made to seem the less,  
As still the people cried, A Percy Espirance.  
The King which saw then time, or never to advance  
His Battle in the Field, which near from him was won,  
Aided by that brave Prince, his most courageous son,  
Who bravely coming on, in hope to give them chase,  
It chanced he with a shaft was wounded in the face;  
Whom when out of the fight, his friends would bear away,  
He strongly it refused, and thus was heard to say,  
Time never shall report, Prince Henry left the field,  
When Harry Percy stayed, his traitorous sword to wield.  
Now rage and equal wounds, alike inflame their bloods,  
And the main Battles join, as do two adverse floods  
Met in some narrow Arm, shouldering as they would shove  
Each other from their path, or would their banks remove.  
The King his traitorous foes, before him down doth hew,  
And with his hands that day, near forty persons slew:  
When conquest wholly turns to his victorious side,  
His power surrounding all, like to a furious tide;  
That Henry Hotspurre dead upon the cold earth lies,  
Stout Wor'ster taken was, and doughty Douglasse flies.  
Five thousand from both parts left dead upon the ground,  
Mongst whom the kings fast friend, great Staffords coarse was found;  
And all the Knights there dubbed the morning but before,  
The evenings' Sun beheld there sweltered in their gore.   

Here I at Bramham More, the Battle in should bring,  
Of which Earl Percy had the greatest managing,  
With the Lord Bardolfe there, against the Counties power,  
Fast cleaving to his friend, even to his utmost hour:  
In Flanders, France, and Wales, who having been abroad  
To raise them present powers, intending for a Road  
On England, for the hate he to King Henry bore;  
His son and brother's blood augmenting it the more,  
Which in his mighty spirit still rooted did remain,  
By his too much default, whom he imputed slain  
At Shrewsbury before, to whom if he had brought  
Supplies, (that bloody field, when they so bravely fought)  
They surely it had won; for which to make amends,  
Being furnished with men, amongst his foreign friends,  
By Scotland entered here, and with a violent hand  
Upon those Castles ceased within Northumberland  
His Earldom, (which the King, who much his truth did doubt,  
Had taken to himself, and put his people out)  
Toward Yorkshire coming on, where (soon repaid his own)  
At Bramhams' fatal More, was foully overthrown:  
Which though it were indeed a long and mortal fight,  
Where many men were maimed, and many slain outright:  
Where that courageous Earl, all hopes there seeing past,  
Amongst his murdered troops (even) fought it to the last:  
Yet for it was achieved by multitudes of men,  
Which with Ralph Roksby rose, the Shreefe of Yorkshire then,  
No well proportioned fight, we of description quit,  
Amongst our famous fields; nor will we here admit  
That of that Rakehell Cades, and his rebellious crew,  
In Kent and Sussex raised, at Senok fight that slew  
The Staffords with their power, that thither him pursued,  
Who twice upon Black heath, backed with the Commons rude,  
Encamped against the King: then goodly London took,  
There ransoming some rich, and up the prisons broke,  
His sensual beastly will, for Law that did prefer,  
Beheaded the Lord Say, than England's Treasurer,  
And forced the King to flight, his person to secure,  
The Muse admits not here, a rabble so impure.   

But brings that Battle on of that long dreadful war, 
The first Battle of Saint Alban.   
Of those two Houses named of York and Lancaster,  
In fair Saint Alban fought, most fatally betwixt  
Richard then Duke of York, and Henry called the sixth,  
For that ill-gotten Crown, which him his * Grandsire left, 
Henry the fourth.   
That likewise with his life, he from King Richard reft,  
When underhand the Duke doth but promove his claim,  
Who from the elder son, the Duke of Clarence came,  
For which he raised Arms, yet seemed but to abet  
The people, to pluck down the Earl of Somerset,  
By whom (as they gave out) we Normandy had lost,  
And yet he was the man that only ruled the roast.   

With Richard Duke of York, (into his faction won)  
Salisbury and Warwick came, the father and the son;  
The Nevil's nobler name, that have renowned so far.  
So likewise with the King in this great action are,  
The Dukes of Somerset, and Buckingham, with these  
Were thrice so many Earls, their stout accomplices,  
As Pembroke great in power, and Stafford with them stand  
With Devonshire, Dorset, Wilt, and fierce Northumber land,  
With Sidley, Bernes, and Rosse, three Barons with the rest,  
When Richard Duke of York, then marching from the west;  
Towards whom, whilst with his power King Henry forward set,  
Unluckily as't happed, they at Saint Alban met;  
Where taking up the Street, the buildings them enclose,  
Where Front doth answer Front, & strength doth strength oppose;  
Whilst like two mighty walls, they each to other stand,  
And as one sinketh down under his enemy's hand,  
Another thrusting in, his place doth still supply,  
Betwixt them whilst on heaps the mangled bodies lie:  
The Staules are overthrown with the unwieldy thrust,  
The windows with the shot, are shivered all to dust.  
The Winter's Sleet or hail was never seen so thick,  
As on the houses sides the bearded arrows stick,  
Where Warwick's courage first most Comet-like appeared,  
Who with words full of Spirit, his fight Soldiers cheered;  
And ever as he saw the slaughter of his men,  
He with fresh forces filled the places up again.  
The valiant * Marchmen thus the battle still maintain, 
Men brought out of the Marches of Wales.   
That when King Henry found on heaps his Soldiers slain,  
His great Commanders calls, who when they sadly saw,  
The honour of the day would to the Yorkists draw,  
Their persons they put in, as for the last to stand;  
The Duke of Somerset, Henry Northumberland,  
Of those brave warlike Earls, the second of that name,  
The Earl of Stafford, son to th' Duke of Buckingham,  
And john Lord Clifford then, which shed their noble gore  
Under the Castle's sign, (of which not long before,  
A Prophet bade the Duke of Somerset beware)  
With many a valiant Knight, in death that had his share:  
So much great English blood, for others lawless guilt,  
Upon so little ground before was never spilt.  
Proud York hath got the goal, the King of all forfaken,  
Into a cottage got, a woeful prisoner taken.   

The Battle of Blore-heath, the place doth next supply, 
The Battle of 〈◊〉 heath.   
'twixt Richard Nevil, that great Earl of Salisbury,  
Who with the Duke of York, had at Saint Alban late,  
That glorious Battle got with uncontrolled Fate:  
And james Lord Audley stirred by that revengeful Queen,  
To stop him on his way, for the inveterate spleen  
She bore him, for that still he with the Yorkists held,  
Who coming from the North, (by sundry wrongs compelled  
To parley with the King) the Queen that time who lay  
In Staffordshire, and thought to stop him on his way,  
That valiant Tuchet stirred, in Cheshire powerful then,  
T'affront him in the field, where Cheshire Gentlemen  
Divided were, th'one part made valiant Tuchet strong,  
The other with the Earl rose as he came along,  
Encamping both their powers, divided by a Brook,  
Whereby the prudent Earl, this strong advantage took:  
For putting in the field his Army in array,  
Then making as (with speed) he meant to march away,  
He caused a flight of Shafts to be discharged first.  
The enemy who thought that he had done his worst,  
And cowardly had fled in a disordered Rout,  
Attempt to wade the Brook, he wheeling (soon) about,  
Set fiercely on that part, which then were passed over;  
Their Friends then in the Rear, not able to recover  
The other rising bank, to lend the Vanguard aid.  
The Earl who found the plot take right that he had laid,  
On those that forward pressed, as those that did recoil,  
As hungry in revenge, there made a ravenous spoil:  
There Dutton, Dutton kills; A Done doth kill a Done;  
A Booth, a Booth; and Leigh by Leigh is overthrown;  
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 try.  
O Chesshire wert thou mad, of thine own native gore  
So much until this day thou never sheddest before!  
Above two thousand men upon the earth were thrown,  
Of which the greatest part were naturally thine own.  
The stout Lord Audley slain, with many a Captain there;  
To Salisbury it sorts the Palm away to bear.   

Then fair Northampton next, thy Battle place shall take, 
The Battle of Northampton.   
Which of th'imperial war, the third fought Field doth make,  
'twixt Henry called our sixth, upon whose party came  
His near and dear Allies, the Dukes of Buckingham,  
And Somerset, the Earl of Shrewsbury of account,  
Stout Viscount Beaumount, and the young Lord Egremount,  
'Gainst Edward Earl of March, son to the Duke of York,  
With Warwick, in that war, who set them all at work,  
And Falkonbridge with him, not much unlike the other;  
A Nevil nobly borne, his puissant father's brother,  
Who to the Yorkists claim, had evermore been true,  
And valiant Bourcher, Earl of Essex, and of Eau.   

The King from out the town, who drew his Foot and Horse,  
As willingly to give full field-roomth to his Force,  
Doth pass the River Nen, near where it down doth run  
From his first fountains head, is near to Harsington,  
Advised of a place, by Nature strongly wrought,  
Doth there encamp his power: the Earl of March who sought  
To prove by dint of sword, who should obtain the day,  
From Tawcester trained on his powers in good array.  
The Vanguard Warwick led, (whom no attempt could fear;  
The Middle March himself, and Falkonbridge the Rear.   

Now july entered was, and ere the restless Sun,  
Three hours' ascent had got, the dreadful fight begun  
By Warwick, who a strait from Viscount Beaumond took,  
Defeating him at first, by which he quickly brook  
In, on th'imperial host, which with a furious charge,  
He forced upon the field, itself more to enlarge.  
Now English Bows, and Bills, and Battleaxes walk,  
Death up and down the field in ghastly sort doth stalk.  
March in the flower of Youth, like Mars himself doth bear;  
But Warwick as the man, whom Fortune seemed to fear,  
Did for him what he would, that wheresoever he goes,  
Down like a furious storm, before him all he throws:  
So Shrewsbury again of Talbots valiant strain,  
(That fatal Scourge of France) as stoutly doth maintain,  
The party of the King, so princely Somerset,  
Whom th'others knightly deeds, more eagerly doth whet,  
Bears up with them again: by Somerset opposed  
At last King Henry's host being on three parts enclosed,  
And aids still coming in upon the Yorkists side,  
The Summer being then at height of all her pride,  
The Husbandman, then hard upon his Harvest was:  
But yet the cocks of Hay, nor swaths of new-shorne grass,  
Strewed not the Meads so thick, as mangled bodies there,  
When nothing could be seen, but horror every where:  
So that upon the banks, and in the stream of * Nen,  
Ten thousand well resolved, stout, native English men 
The River running by Northampton.   
Left breathless, with the rest great Buckingham is slain,  
And Shrewsbury whose loss those times did much complain,  
Egremont, and Beaumond, both found dead upon the Field,  
The miserable King, enforced again to yield.   

Then Wakefield Battle next, we in our Bead-roll bring, 
The Battle of Wakefield.   
Fought by Prince Edward, son to that oft-conquered King,  
And Richard Duke of York, still struggling for the Crown,  
Whom Salisbury assists, the man with whose renown,  
The mouth of Fame seemed filled, there having with them then  
Some few selected Welsh, and Southern Gentlemen:  
A handful 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 prefer  
His cousin Somerset, and princely Excester,  
The Earl of Wiltshire still, that on his part stuck close:  
With those two valiant Peers, Lord Clifford, and Lord Rosse,  
Who made their March from York to Wakefield, on their way  
To meet the Duke, who then at Sandall Castle lay,  
Whom at his (very) gate, into the Field they dared,  
Whose long expected powers not fully then prepared,  
That March his valiant son, should to his succours bring.  
Wherefore that puissant Lord, by speedy mustering  
His Tenants and such friends, as he that time could get,  
Five thousand in five days, in his Battalion set  
'Gainst their twice doubled strength; nor could the Duke be stayed,  
Till he might from the South be seconded with aid;  
As in his martial pride, disdaining his poor foes,  
So often used to win, he never thought to lose.   

The Prince, which still provoked th'incensed Duke to fight,  
His main Battalion ranged in Sandals lofty sight,  
In which he, and the Dukes, were seen in all their pride:  
And as York's powers should pass, he had on either side  
Two wings in ambush laid, which at the place assigned  
His Rearward should enclose, which as a thing divined,  
Just caught as he forecast; for scarce his army comes  
From the descending banks, and that his rattling Drums  
Excites his men to charge; but Wiltshire with his force,  
Which were of light-armed Foot, and Rosse with his light Horse,  
Came in upon their backs, as from a mountain thrown,  
In number to the Dukes, by being four to one.  
Even as a Rout of wolves, when they by chance have caught  
A Beast out of the Herd, which long time they have sought;  
Upon him all at once courageously do set,  
Him by the Dewlaps some, some by the flank do get:  
Some climbing to his ears, do never leave their hold,  
Till falling on the ground, they have him as they would,  
With many of his kind, which, when he used to wend,  
What with their horns & hooves, could then themselves defend.  
Thus on their foes they fell, and down the Yorkists fall;  
Red Slaughter in her arms encompasseth them all.  
The first of all the fights in this unnatural war,  
In which blind Fortune smiled on woeful Lancaster.   

here Richard Duke of York, down beaten, breathed his last,  
And Salisbury so long with conquest still that past,  
Enforced was to yield; Rutland a younger son  
To the deceased Duke, as he away would run,  
(A child scarce twelve years old) by Clifford there surprised,  
Who whilst he thought with tears his rage to have sufficed,  
By him was answered thus, Thy father hath slain mine,  
And for his blood (young Boy) I'll have this blood of thine,  
And stabbed him to the heart: thus the Lancastrians reign,  
The Yorkist in the field on heaps together slain.   

The Battle at that Cross, which to this day doth bear 
The Battle at MortimersCrosse   
The great and ancient name of th' English Mortimer,  
The next shall hear have place, betwixt that Edward fought,  
Entitled Earl of March, (revengefully that sought  
To wreak his father's blood, at Wakefield lately shed  
But then he Duke of York, his father being dead)  
And jasper Tudor Earl of Pembroke, in this war,  
That stood to underprop the House of Lancaster,  
Half brother to the King, that strove to hold his Crown,  
With Wiltshire, whose high prowess had bravely beaten down  
The Yorkists swelling pride in that successful war  
At Wakefield, whose greatest power of Welsh and Irish are.  
The Dukes were Marchers most, which still stuck to him close,  
And meeting on the plain, by that forenamed Cross;  
As either General there for his advantage found,  
(For wisely they surueyd the fashion of the ground)  
They into one main sight their either Forces make,  
When to the Duke of York (his spirits as to awake)  
Three sons at once appeared, all severally that shone,  
Which in a little space were joined all in one.  
Auspicious to the Duke, as after it fell out,  
Who with the weaker power, (of which he seemed to doubt)  
The proud Lancastrian part had quickly put to chase,  
Where plainly it should seem, the Genius of the place,  
The very name of March should greatly favour there,  
A Title to this Prince derived from Mortimer:  
To whom this Trophy reared, much honoured had the soil.  
The Yorkists here enriched with the Lancastrian spoil,  
Are Masters of the day; four thousand being slain,  
The most of which were those, there standing to maintain  
The title of the King. Where Owen tudor's lot  
Was to be taken then; who this young Earl begot  
On Katherine the bright Queen, the fifth King Henry's Bride,  
Who too untimely dead, this Owen had affide.  
But he a Prisoner then, his son and Ormond fled,  
At Hereford was made the shorter by the head;  
When this most warlike Duke, in honour of that sign,  
Which of his good success so rightly did divine,  
And thankful to high heaven, which of his cause had care,  
Three Suns for his device still in his Ensign bare.   

Thy second Battle now, Saint Alban I record,  
Struck 'twixt Queen Margret's power, to ransom back her Lord, 
The second Battle of Saint Alban.   
Taken prisoner at that town, when there those factions fought,  
Whom now the part of York had thither with them brought,  
Whose force consisted most of Southern men, being led  
By Thomas Howard Duke of Norfolk, and the head  
Of that proud faction then, stout Warwick still that swayed,  
In every bloody field (the Yorkists only aid)  
When either's power approached, and they themselves had fixed,  
Upon the South and North, the town them both betwixt,  
Which first of all to take, the Yorkists had forecast,  
Putting their Vanguard on, and their best Archers placed  
The Market-sted about, and them so fitly laid,  
That when the foe cameup, they with such terror played  
Upon them in the Front, as forced them to retreit.  
The Northern mad with rage upon the first defeat,  
Yet put for it again, to enter from the North,  
Which when great Warwick heard, he sent his Vanguard forth,  
T'oppose them in what place so ere they made their stand,  
Where in too fit a ground, a Heath too near at hand,  
Adjoining to the town, unluckily they light,  
Where presenly began a fierce and deadly fight.  
But those of Warwick's part, which scarce four thousand were,  
To th'Vaward of the Queens, that stood so stoutly there,  
Though still with fresh supplies from her main Battle fed;  
When they their courage saw so little them to stead,  
Deluded by the long expectance of their aid,  
By passages too strait, and close ambushments stayed:  
Their succours that forslow'd, to flight themselves betake,  
When after them again, such speed the Northern make,  
Being followed with the force of their main Battle strong,  
That this disordered Rout, these breathless men among,  
They entered Warwick's Host, which with such horror struck  
The Southern, that each man began about to look  
A way how to escape, that when great Norfolk cried,  
Now as you favour York, and his just cause, abide.  
And Warwick in the Front even offered to have stood,  
Yet neither of them both, should they have spent their blood,  
Could make a man to stay, or look upon a foe:  
Where Fortune it should seem, to Warwick meant to show,  
That she this tide of his could turn, when ere she would.   

Thus when they saw the day was for so little sold;  
The King, which (for their ends) they to the field had brought,  
Behind them there they leave, but as a thing of naught,  
Which served them to no use: who when his Queen and son,  
There found in Norfolk's tent, the Battle being done,  
With many a joyful tear, each other they embrace;  
And whilst blind Fortune looked with so well pleased a face:  
Their swords with the warm blood of Yorkists so inbrude,  
Their foes but lately fled, courageously pursued.   

Now followeth that black Scene, borne up so wondrous high, 
The Battle of Towton.   
That but a poor dumb show before a Tragedy,  
The former Battles fought, have seemed to this to be;  
O Towton, let the blood Palme-Sunday spent on thee,  
Affright the future times, when they the Muse shall hear,  
Deliver it so to them; and let the ashes there  
Of forty thousand men, in that long quarrel slain,  
Arise out of the earth, as they would live again,  
To tell the manlike doeds, that bloody day were wrought  
In that most fatal field, (with various fortunes fought)  
'twixt Edward Duke of York, then late proclaimed King,  
Fourth of that royal name, and him accompanying,  
The nevil's, (of that war maintaining still the stream)  
Great Warwick, and with him his most courageous Eme,  
Stout Falconbridge, the third, a firebrand like the other,  
Of Salisbury surnamed, that Warwick's bastard brother.  
Lord Fitzwater, who still the Yorkists power assists,  
Blount, Wenlock, Dinham, Knight's approved Martialists.  
And Henry the late King, to whom they still durst stand,  
His true as powerful friend, the great Northumberland,  
With Westmoreland, his claim who ever did prefer  
His kinsman Somerset, his cousin Excester,  
Dukes of the Royal line, his faithful friends that were,  
And little less than those, the Earl of Devonshire,  
Th'Lord Dacres, and Lord Wels, both wise and warlike wights,  
With him of great command, Nevil 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'er Air at Ferybridge, and for that service sends  
A most selected troop of his well-chosen friends,  
To make that passage good, when instantly began  
The dire and ominous signs, the slaughter that foreran.  
For valiant Clifford there, himself so bravely quit,  
That coming to the Bridge (ere they could strengthen it)  
From the Lancastrian power, with his light troop of Horse,  
And early in the morn defeating of their force,  
The Lord Fitzmater slew, and that brave Bastard son  
Of Salisbury, themselves who into danger run:  
For being in their beds, suspecting nought at all;  
But hearing sudden noise, supposed some broil to fall  
Mongst their misgoverned troops, unarmed rushing out,  
By Clifford's Soldiers soon encompassed about,  
Were miserably slain: which when great Warwick hears,  
As he had felt his heart transpersed through his ears,  
To Edward mad with rage, immediately he goes,  
And with distracted eyes, in most stern manner shows  
The slaughter of those Lords; this day alone, quoth he,  
Our utter ruin shall, or our sure rising be.  
When soon before the Host, his glittering sword he drew,  
And with relentless hands his springly Courser slew.  
Then stand to me (quoth he) who meaneth not to fly;  
This day shall Edward win, or here shall Warwick die.   

Which words by Warwick spoke, so deeply seemed to sting  
The much distempered breast of that courageous King,  
That strait he made proclaimed, that every fainting heart,  
From his resolved host had licence to depart:  
And those that would abide the hazard of the fight,  
Rewards and titles due to their deserved right:  
And that no man, that day, a prisoner there should take;  
For this the upshot was, that all must mar or make.  
A hundred thousand men in both the Armies stood,  
That native English were: O worthy of your Blood  
What conquest had there been? But Ensigns fly at large,  
And trumpets every way sound to the dreadful charge.  
Upon the Yorkists part, there flew the ireful Bear:  
On the Lancastrian side, the Crescent waving there.  
The Southern on this side, for York a Warwick cry,  
A Percy for the right, the Northern men reply.  
The two main Battles join, the four large Wings do meet;  
What with the shouts of men, and noise of horses feet,  
Hell through the troubled earth, her horror seemed to breath;  
A thunder heard above, an earthquake felt beneath:  
As when the Evening is with darkness overspread,  
Her Star-befreckled face with Clouds enveloped,  
You oftentimes behold, the trembling lightning fly,  
Which suddenly again, 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 ways, and fallows raised,  
And breath of horse and men, that both together seized  
The air one every part, sent by the glimmering Sun,  
The splendour of their Arms doth by reflection run:  
Till heaps of dying men, and those already dead,  
Much hindered them would charge, and letted them that fled.  
Beyond all wont bounds, their rage so far extends,  
That sullen night begins, before their fury ends.  
Ten hours this fight endured, whilst still with murdering hands,  
Expecting the next morn, the weakest unconquered stands;  
Which was no sooner come, but both begin again  
To wreck their friends dear blood, the former evening slain.  
New Battles are begun, new fights that newly wound,  
Till the Lancastrian part, by their much lesning found  
Their long expected hopes were utterly forlorn,  
When lastly to the foe, their recreant backs they turn.  
Thy Channel then, O * Cock, was filled up with the dead, 
A little Rivilet near to Towton, running into Wharf.   
Of the Lancastrian side, that from the Yorkists fled,  
That those of Edward's part, that had the Rear in chase,  
As though upon a Bridge, did on their bodies pass.  
That Wharfe to whose large banks thou contribut'st thy store,  
Had her more Crystal face discoloured with the gore  
Of forty thousand men, that up the number made,  
Northumberland the great, and Westmoreland there laid  
Their bodies: valiant Wells, and Dacres there do leave  
Their carcases, (whose hope too long) did them deceive.  
Trolop and Nevil found massacred in the field,  
The Earl of Wiltshire forced to the stern foe to yield.  
King Henry from fair York, upon this sad mischance  
To Scotland fled, the Queen sailed over into France,  
The Duke of Somerset, and Excester do fly,  
The rest upon the earth together breathless lie.   

Muse, turn thee now to tell the Field at Hexam struck, 
The 〈◊〉 at Hexam.   
Upon the Yorkists part, with the most prosperous luck  
Of any yet before, where to themselves they gained  
Most safety, yet their powers least damage there sustained,  
'twixt john Lord Montacute, that Nevil, who to stand  
For Edward, gathered had out of Northumber land  
A sort of valiant men, consisting most of Horse,  
Which were again supplied with a most puissant force,  
Sent thither from the South, and by King Edward brought  
In person down to York, to aid if that in aught  
His General should have need, for that he durst not trust  
The Northern, which so oft to him had been unjust:  
Whilst he himself at York, a second power doth hold,  
To hear in this rough war, what the Lancastrians would.   

And Henry with his Queen, who to their powers had got,  
The lively daring French, and the light hardy Scot,  
To enter with them here, and to their part do get,  
Their faithful loved Ally, the Duke of Somerset,  
And Sir Ralph Percy, then most powerful in those parts,  
Who had been reconciled to Edward, but their hearts  
Still with King Henry stayed, to him and ever true,  
To whom by this revolt, they many Northern drew:  
Sir William T aylboys, (called of most) the Earl of Kime,  
With Hungerford, and Rosse, and Mullins, of that time  
Barons of high account, with Nevil, T unstall, Grace,  
Hussy, and Finderne, Knights, men bearing mighty sway.   

As forward with his force, brave Montacute was set,  
It happed upon his way at Hegly More he met  
With Hungerford, and Rosse, and Sir Ralph Percy, where,  
In sign of good success (as certainly it were)  
They and their utmost force were quickly put to slight;  
Yet Percy as he was a most courageous Knight,  
Ne'er boudged till his last breath, but in the field was slain.  
Proud of this first defeat, then marching forth again,  
Towards Livells, a large Waste, which other plains out-braves,  
Whose Verge fresh * dowel still is watering with her waves,  
Whereas his posting Scouts, King Henry's power descried, 
A little River near Hexam.   
Towards whom with speedy march, this valiant General hied,  
Whose haste there likewise had such prosperous event,  
That luckless Henry yet, had scarcely cleared his Tent,  
His Captains hardly set his Battles, nor enlarged  
Their Squadrons on the field, but this great Nevil charged:  
Long was this doubtful fight on either side maintained,  
That rising whilst this falls, this losing whilst that gained:  
The ground which this part got, and there as Conquerors stood,  
The other quickly gain, and firmly make it good,  
To either as blind Chance, her favours will dispose;  
So to this part it ebbed, and to that side it flows.  
At last, till whether 'twere that sad and horrid sight,  
At Saxton that yet did their fainting spirits affright,  
With doubt of second loss, and slaughter, or the aid  
That Montacute received; King Henry's power dismayed:  
And giving up the day, dishonourably fled,  
Whom with so violent speed the Yorkists followed,  
That had not Henry spurred, and had a Courser swift,  
Besides a skilful guide, through woods and hills to shift,  
He sure had been surprised, as they his Hench-men took,  
With whom they found his Helm; with most disastrous luck,  
To save themselves by flight, ne'er more did any strive,  
And yet so many men ne'er taken were alive.   

Now Banbury we come thy Battle to report,  
And show th'efficient cause, as in what wondrous sort 
The 〈◊〉 of Banbury.   
Great Warmicke was wrought in to the Lancastrian part,  
When as that wanton King so vexed his mighty heart:  
Whilst in the Court of France, that Warrior he bestowed,  
(As potent here at home, as powerful else abroad)  
A marriage to entreat with Bona bright and sheen,  
Of the Savoyan Blood, and sister to the Queen,  
Which whilst this noble Earl negotiated there,  
The widow Lady Grace, the King espoused here.  
By which the noble Earl in France who was disgraced,  
(In England his revenge doth but too quickly haste)  
T'excite the Northern men doth secretly begin,  
(With whom he powerful was) to rile, that coming in,  
He might put in his hand, (which only he desired)  
Which rising before York were likely to have fired 
The City of 〈◊〉 to have been 〈◊〉 by 〈◊〉 faction.   
The City, but repulsed, and Holdorn them that led,  
Being taken, for the cause made shorter by the head.  
Yet would not they desist, but to their Captains drew  
Henry the valiant son of john the Lord Fitz-Hugh,  
With Coniers that brave Knight, whose valour they prefer,  
With Henry Nevil, son to the Lord Latimer,  
By whose Allies and friends, they every day grew strong,  
And so in proud array towards London march along.  
Which when King Edward saw the world began to side  
With Warwick, till himself he might of power provide,  
To noble Pembroke sends, those Rebels to withstand.  
Six thousand valiant We sh, who mustering 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 having Severne crossed,  
And up to Cotswould clome, they heard the Northern host,  
Being at Northampton then, itself towards Warwick weighed,  
When with a speedy march, the Harberts that forlaid  
Their passage, charged their Rear with near two thousand horse,  
That the Lancastrian part suipecting all their force  
Had followed them again, their army bring about,  
Both with such speed and skill, that 〈◊〉 the Welsh got out,  
By having charged too far, some of their Vanguard lost,  
Beat to their 〈◊〉 back; thus as these Legions coast,  
On Danemore they are met, indifferent for this war,  
Whereas three easy hills that stand Trianguler,  
Small Edgcoat overlook; on that upon the West  
The Welsh encamp themselves; the Northern them possessed  
Of that upon the South, whilst, (by wars strange event)  
Young Nevil, who would brave the Harberts in their Tent,  
Leading a troop of Youth, (upon that fatal plain)  
Was taken by the Welsh, and miserably slain,  
Of whose untimely death, his friends the next day took  
A terrible revenge, when Stafford there forsook  
The army of the Welsh, and with his Archers bade  
Them fight that would for him; for that proud Pembroke had  
Displaced him of his Inn, in Banbury where he  
His Paramour had lodged; where since he might not be,  
He back ward shapes his course, and leaves the Harberts there,  
T'abide the brunt of all: with outcries every where  
The clamorous Drums & 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 arms do fly;  
They fight as none could scape, yet scape as none could die.  
The ruffling Northern Lads, and the stout Welshmen tried it;  
Then Headpieces hold out, or brains must sore abide it.  
The Northern men Saint George for Lancaster do cry:  
A Pembroke for the King, the lusty Welsh reply;  
When many a gallant youth doth desperately assay,  
To do some thing that might be worthy of the day:  
Where Richard Harbert bears into the Northern press,  
And with his Poleaxe makes his way with such success,  
That breaking through the Ranks, he their main Battle past,  
And quit it so again, that many stood aghast,  
That from the higher ground beheld him wade the crowd,  
As often ye behold in tempests rough and proud,  
Overtaken with a storm, some Shell or little Crea,  
Hard labouring for the land, on the high-working Sea,  
Seems now as swallowed up, then floating light and free  
O'th' top of some high wave; then think that you it see  
Quite sunk beneath that waste of waters, yet doth clear  
The Main, and safely gets some Creek or Harbour near:  
So Harbert cleared their Host; but see th'event of war,  
Some spials on the hill discerned had from far  
Another Army come to aid the Northern side,  
When they which Claphams craft so quickly not espied,  
Who with five hundred men about Northampton raised,  
All discontented spirits, with Edward's rule displeased,  
Displaying in the field great 〈◊〉 dreaded Bear:  
The Welsh who thought the Earl in person had been there,  
Leading a greater power (disheartened) turn the back  
Before the Northern host, that quickly go to wrack.  
Five thousand valiant Welsh are in chase o'rthrowne,  
Which but an hour before had thought the day their own.  
Their Leaders (in the flight) the high-born Harberts' taken,  
At Banbury must pay for Henry Nevil slain.   

Now Stamford in due course, the Muse doth come to tell, 
The Battle of Stamford, or Lose: coat field.   
Of thine own named field, what in the fight befell,  
Betwixt brave youthful Wells, from Lincolnshire that led  
Near twenty thousand men, towered London making head,  
Against the Yorkists power, great Warwick to abet,  
Who with a puissant force prepared forth to set,  
To join with him in Arms, and jointly take their chance.  
And Edward with his friends, who likewise do advance  
His forces, to refel that desperate daring foe;  
Who for he durst himself in open Arms to show,  
Nor at his dread command them down again would lay.  
His father the Lord Wells, who he supposed might sway  
His so outrageous son, with his loved law-made brother,  
Sir Thomas Dymock, thought too much to rule the other,  
He strangely did to die, which so incensed the spleen  
Of this courageous youth, that he to wreak his teen  
Upon the cruel King, doth every way excite  
Him to an equal field, that come where they might smite  
The Battle: on this plain it chanced their Armies met:  
They ranged their several fights, which once in order set,  
The loudly-brawling Drums, which seemed to have feared  
The trembling air at first, soon after were not heard,  
For out-cries, shrieks, and shouts, whilst noise doth noise confound.  
No accents touch the ear, but such as death do sound:  
In thirsting for revenge, whilst fury them doth guide:  
As slaughter seems by turns to seize on either side.  
The Southern expert were, in all to war belong,  
And exercise their skill, the Marchmen stout and strong,  
Which to the Battle stick, and if they make retreat,  
Yet coming on again, the foe they back do beat,  
And Wells for Warwick cry, and for the rightful Crown;  
The other call a York, to beat the Rebels down:  
The worst that war could do, on either side she shows,  
Or by the force of Bills, or by the strength of Bows,  
But still by fresh supplies, the Yorkists power increase:  
And Wells, who sees his troops so overborne with press,  
By hazarding too far into the boisterous throng,  
Encouraging his men the adverse troops among,  
With many a mortal wound, his wearied breath expired:  
Which sooner known to his, than his first hopes desired,  
Ten thousand on the earth before them lying slain,  
No hope left to repair their ruin'd state again,  
Cast off their Country's coats, to hast their speed away,  
(Of them) which Loose-coat field is called (even) to this day.   

Since needsly I must stick upon my former text, 
The Battle of Barnet.   
The bloody Battle fought, at Barnet followeth next,  
'twixt Edward, who before he settled was to reign,  
By Warwick hence expulsed; but here arrived again,  
From Burgundy, brought in munition, men and pay,  
And all things fit for war, expecting yet a day.  
Whose brother * George came in, with Warwick that had stood, 
George Duke of clarence.   
Whom nature wrought at length t'adhere to his own blood:  
His brother Richard Duke of Gloster, and his friend;  
Lord Hastings, who to him their utmost powers extend;   

And Warwick, whose great heart so mortal hatred bore  
To Edward, that by all the Sacraments he swore,  
Not to lay down his Arms, until his sword had razed,  
That proud King from his Seat, that so had him disgraced:  
And marquis Montacute, his brother, that brave stem  
Of Nevil's noble Stock, who joined had to them,  
The Dukes of Somerset, and Excester, and take  
The Earl of Oxford in; the Armies forward make,  
And meeting on the plain, to Barnet very near,  
That to this very day, is called Gladmore there.   

Duke Richard to the field, doth Edward's Vanguard bring;  
And in the middle came that most courageous King,  
With Clarence his reclaimed, and brother then most dear;  
His friend Lord 〈◊〉 had the guiding of the Rear,  
(A man of whom the King most highly did repute.)   

On puissant Warwick's part, the marquis Montacute  
His brother, and his friend the Earl of Oxford led  
The right wing; and the left which most that day might stead,  
The Duke of Excester; and he himself do guide  
The middle fight (which was the Armies only pride)  
Of Archers most approved, the best that he could get,  
Directed by his friend, the Duke of Somerset.   

O Sabbath ill bestowed, O dreary Easter day,  
In which (as some suppose) the Sun doth use to play,  
In honour of that God for sinful man that died,  
And rose on that third day, that Sun which now doth hide  
His face in foggy mists; nor was that morning seen,  
So that the space of ground those angry hosts between,  
Was overshadowed quite with darkness, which so cast  
The armies on both sides, that they each other past,  
Before they could perceive advantage, where to fight;  
Besides the envious mist so much deceived their sight,  
That where eight hundred men, which valiant Oxford brought,  
Beware Comets on their coats: great Warwick's force which thought  
They had King Edward's been, which so with Suns were dressed,  
First made their shot at them, who by their friends distressed,  
Constrained were to fly, being scattered here and there.  
But when this direful day at last began to clear,  
King Edward then beholds that height of his first hopes,  
Whose presence gave fresh life to his oft-fainting troops,  
Prepared to scourge his pride, there daring to defy  
His mercy, to the host proclaiming publicly  
His hateful breach of faith, his perjury, and shame,  
And what might make him vile; so Warwick heard that name  
Of York, which in the field he had so oft advanced,  
And to that glorious height, and greatness had enhanced,  
Then cried against his power, by those which oft had fled,  
Their swift pursuing foc, by him not bravely led,  
Upon the enemies back, their swords bathed in the gore  
Of those from whom they 〈◊〉, like heartless men before,  
Which Warwick's nobler name injuriously defied,  
Even as the ireful host then joined side to side.   

Where cruel Richard charged the Earls main battle, when  
Proud Somerset therein, with his approved men  
Stood stoutly to the shock, and flung out such a flight  
Of shafts, as wellnear seem'dt'eclipse the welcomed light,  
Which forced them to fall off, on whose retreat again,  
That great Battalion next approacheth the fair plain,  
Where in the King himself in person was to try,  
Proud Warwick's utmost strength: when Warwick by and by,  
With his left wing came up, and charged so home and round,  
That had not his light horse by disuantagious ground  
Been hindered, he had struck the heart of Edward's host:  
But finding his defeat, his enterprise so lost,  
He his swift Currers sends, to will his valiant brother,  
And Oxford, in command being equal to the other,  
To charge with the right wing, who bravely up do bear;  
But Hastings that before reached thither with his Rear,  
And with King Edward joined, the host too strongly armed.  
When every part with spoil, with rape, with fury charmed,  
Are prodigal of blood, that slaughter seems to swill  
Itself in humane gore, and every one cries kill.  
So doubtful and so long the battle doth abide,  
That those, which to and fro, 'twixt that and London ride,  
That Warwick wins the day for certain news do bring,  
Those following them again, said certainly the King,  
Until great Warwick found his army had the worse,  
And sore began to faint, alighting from his horse,  
In with the foremost puts, and wades into the throng;  
And where he saw death sternest, the murdered troops among,  
He ventures, as the Sun in a tempestuous day,  
With darkness threatened long, yet sometimes doth display  
His cheerful beams, which scarce appear to the clear eye,  
But suddenly the clouds, which on the winds do fly,  
Do muffle him again within them, till at length,  
The storm (prevailing still with an unusual strength)  
His clearness quite doth close, and shut him up in night:  
So mighty Warwick fares in this outrageous fight.   

The cruel Lions thus enclose the dreaded Bear,  
Whilst Montacute, who strives (if any help there were)  
To rescue his beloved and valiant brother, fell:  
The loss of two such spirits at once, time shall not tell;  
The Duke of Somerset, and th'earl of Oxford fled,  
And Excester being left for one amongst the dead,  
At length recovering life, by night escaped away,  
York never safely sat, till this victorious day.   

Thus Fortune to his end this mighty Warwick brings  
This puissant setter up, and plucker down of Kings.  
He who those battels won, which so much blood had cost,  
At Barnet's fatal fight, both Life and Fortune lost.   

Now Tewksbury it rests, thy storry to relate,  
Thy sad and dreadful fight, and that most direful Fate 
The Battle at Tewxbury.   
Of the Lancastrian Line, which happened on that day,  
Fourth of that fatal Month, that still-remembred May:  
'twixt Edmund that brave Duke of Somerset, who fled  
From Barnet's bloody field, (again there gathering head)  
And marquis Dorset bound in blood to aid him there,  
With Thomas Courtney Earl of powerful Devonshire:  
With whom King Henry's son, young Edward there was seen,  
To claim his doubtless right, with that undaunted Queen  
His mother, who from France with succours came on land  
That day, when Warwick 〈◊〉 at 〈◊〉, which now stand,  
Their fortune yet to try, upon a second fight.  
And Edward who employed the utmost of his might,  
The poor Lancastrian part (which he doth easily feel,  
By Warwick's mighty fall, already faintly reel)  
By Battle to subvert, and to extirp the Line;  
And for the present act, his army doth assign  
To those at Barnet field so luckily that sped;  
As Richard late did there, he here the Vanguard led,  
The Main the King himself, and Clarence took to guide;  
The Rearward as before by Hastings was supplied.   

The Army of the Queen, into three Battles cast,  
The first of which the Duke of Somerset, and (fast  
To him) his brother john do happily dispose;  
The second, which the Prince for his own safety chose  
The Barons of Saint john, and Wenlocke; and the third,  
To Courtney that brave Earl of Devonshire referred.  
Where in a spacious field they set their Armies down;  
Behind, hard at their backs, the Abbey, and the Town,  
To whom their foe must come, by often banks and steep,  
Through quickset narrow Lanes, cut out with ditches deep,  
Repulsing Edward's power, constraining him to prove  
By thundering Cannonshot, and Culvering to remove  
Them from that chosen ground, so tedious to assail;  
And with the shot came shafts, like stormy showers of Hail:  
The like they sent again, which beat the other sore,  
Who with the Ordnance strove the Yorkists to outroar,  
And still make good their ground, that whilst the Pieces play,  
The Yorkists hasting still to hand-blowes, do assay,  
In strong and boisterous crowds to scale the cumbrous Dykes;  
But beaten down with Bills, with Pole-axes, and Pikes,  
Are forced to fall off; when Richard there that led  
The Vanguard, saw their strength so little them to stead,  
As he a Captain was, both politic and good,  
The stratagems of war, that rightly understood,  
Doth seem as from the field his forces to withdraw.  
His sudden, strange retire, proud Somerset that saw,  
(A man of haughty spirit, in honour most precise;  
In action yet far more adventurous than wise)  
Supposing from the field for safety he had fled,  
Strait giveth him the chase; when Richard turning head,  
By his encounter let the desperate Duke to know,  
'twas done to train him out, when soon began the show  
Of slaughter every where; for scarce their equal forces  
Began the doubtful fight, but that three hundred horses,  
That out of sight this while on Edward's part had stayed,  
To see, that near at hand no ambushes were laid,  
Soon charged them on the side, disordering quite their Ranks,  
Whilst this most warlike King had won the climbing Banks,  
Upon the equal earth, and coming bravely in  
Upon the adverse power, there likewise doth begin  
A fierce and deadly fight, that the Lancastrian side,  
The first and furious shock not able to abide  
The utmost of their strength, were forced to bestow,  
To hold what they had got; that Somerset below,  
Who from the second force, had still expected aid,  
But frustrated thereof, even as a man dismayed,  
Scarce shifts to save himself his Battle overthrown;  
But faring as a man that frantic had been grown,  
With Wenlock happed to meet (preparing for his flight)  
Upbraiding him with terms of baseness and despite,  
That cow'rdly he had failed to succour him with men:  
Whilst Wenlock with like words requiteth him again,  
The Duke (to his stern rage, as yielding up the reins)  
With his too ponderous Axe pashed out the Baron's brains.   

The party of the Queen in every place are killed,  
The Ditches with the dead, confusedly are filled,  
And many in the flight, i'th' neighbouring Rivers drowned,  
Which with victorious wreaths, the conquering Yorkists crowned.  
Three thousand of those men, on Henry's part that stood,  
For their presumption paid the forfeit of their blood.  
john marquis Dorset dead, and Devonshire that day  
Drew his last vital breath, as in that bloody fray,  
Delues, Hamden, Whittingham, and Leuknor, who had there,  
Their several brave commands, all valiant men that were,  
Found dead upon the earth. Now all is Edward's own,  
And through his enemy's tents he marched into the town,  
Where quickly he proclaims, to him that forth 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 fair and goodly Youth; whom when proud York demands,  
Why thus he had presumed by help of traitorous hands  
His kingdom to disturb, and impiously displayed  
His Ensigns: the stout Prince, as not a jot dismayed,  
With confidence replies, To claim his ancient right,  
Him from his Grandsires left; by tyranny and might,  
By him his foe usurped: with whose so bold reply,  
Whilst Edward throughly vexed, doth seem to thrust him by;  
His second brother George, and Richard near that stood, 
The murder of Prince Ed. ward.   
With many a cruel stab let out his princely blood;  
In whom the Line direct of Lancaster doth cease,  
And Somerset himself surprised in the press;  
With many a worthy man, to Gloster prisoners led,  
There forfeited their lives: Queen Margaret being fled  
To a religious Cell, (to Tewksbury, too near)  
Discovered to the King, with sad and heavy cheer,  
A prisoner was conveyed to London, woeful Queen,  
The last of all her hopes, that buried now had seen.   

But of that outrage here, by that bold Bastard son  
Of Thomas Nevil, named Lord Falkonbridge, which won 
A brief passage of the Bastard Falkonhridge his Rebellion.   
A rude rebellious Rout in Kent and Essex raised,  
Who London here besieged, and Southwark having seized,  
Set fire upon the Bridge: but when he not prevailed,  
The Suburbs on the East he furiously assailed;  
But by the City's power was lastly put to flight:  
Which being no set Field, nor yet well ordered fight,  
Amongst our Battles here, may no way reckoned be.   

Then Bosworth here the Muse now last bids for thee,  
Thy Battle to describe, the last of that long war, 
The Battle of 〈◊〉.   
entitled by the name of York and Lancaster;  
'twixt Henry Tudor Earl of Richmond only left  
Of the Lancastian Line, who by the Yorkists reft  
Of liberty at home, a banished man abroad,  
In Brittany had lived; but late at Milford Road,  
Being prosperously arrived, though scarce two thousand strong,  
Made out his way through Wales, where as he came along.  
First Griffith great in Blood, than Morgan next doth meet  
Him, with their several powers, as offis ing at his feet  
To lay their Lands, and lives; Sir Rice ap Thomas then,  
With his brave Band of Welsh, most choice and expert men,  
Comes lastly to his aid; at Shrewsbury arrived,  
(His hopes so faint before, so happily revived)  
He on for England makes, and near to Newport town,  
The next ensuing night setting his Army down,  
Sir Gilbert Talbot still for Lancaster that stood,  
(To Henry near Allied in friendship as in Blood)  
From th'earl of Shrewsbury his Nephew (under age)  
Came with two thousand men, in warlike Equipage,  
Which much his power increased; when easily setting on,  
From Lichfield, as the way leads forth to Atherston,  
Brave Bourcher and his friend stout Hungerford, whose hopes  
On Henry long had lain, stealing from Richard's troops,  
(Wherewith they had been mixed) to Henry do appear,  
Which with a high resolve, most strangely seemed to cheer,  
His oft-appauled heart, but yet the man which most,  
Gave sail to Henry's self, and fresh life to his host,  
The stout Lord Stanley was, who for he had affide  
The mother of the Earl, to him so near allied:  
The King who feared his truth, (which he to have, compelled)  
The young Lord Strange his son, in hostage strongly held,  
Which forced him to fall off, till he fit place could find,  
His son in law to meet; yet he with him combined  
Sir William Stanley, known to be a valiant Knight,  
T'assure him of his aid. Thus growing towards his height,  
A most selected Band of Chesshire Bowmen came,  
By Sir john Savage led, besides two men of name:  
Sir Brian Sanford, and Sir Simon Digby, who  
Leaving the tyrant King, themselves expressly show  
Fast friends to Henry's part, which still his power increased:  
Both Armies well prepared, towards Bosworth strongly pressed,  
And on a spacious Moor, lying Southward from the town;  
Indifferent to them both, they set their Armies down  
Their Soldiers to refresh, preparing for the fight:  
Where to the guilty King, that black forerunning night,  
Appear the dreadful ghosts of Henry and his son, 
Richard's fearful Dreams the night before the Battle.   
Of his own brother George, and his two nephews done  
Most cruelly to death; and of his wife and friend,  
Lord Hastings, with pale hands prepared as they would rend  
Him piecemeal; at which oft he roareth in his sleep.   

No sooner 'gan the dawn out of the East to peep,  
But Drums and Trumpets chide, the Soldiers to their Arms,  
And all the neighbouring fields are covered with the swarms  
Of those that came to fight, as those that came to see,  
(Contending for a Crown) whose that great day should be.   

First, Richmond ranged his fights, on Oxford, and bestows  
The leading, with a Band of strong and Sinewy Bows  
Out of the Army picked; the Front of all the field,  
Sir Gilbert Talbot next, he wisely took to wield,  
The right Wing, with his strengths, most Northern men that were.  
And Sir john Savage, with the power of Lancashire,  
And Chesshire (Chief of men) was for the left Wing placed:  
The Middle Battle he in his fair person graced,  
With him the noble Earl of Pembroke, who commands  
Their Countrymen the Welsh, (of whom it mainly stands,  
For their great numbers found to be of greatest force)  
Which but his guard of Gleaves, consisted all of Horse.   

Into two several fights the King contrived his strength,  
And his first Battle cast into a wondrous length,  
In fashion of a wedge, in point of which he set  
His Archery, thereof and to the guidance let  
Of john the noble Duke of Norfolk, and his son  
Brave Surrey: he himself the second bringing on,  
Which was a perfect square; and on the other side,  
His Horsemen had for wings, which by extending wide,  
The adverse seemed to threat, with an unequal power.  
The utmost point arrived of this expected hour,  
He to Lord Stanley sends, to bring away his aid;  
And 〈◊〉 him by an Oath, if longer he delayed  
His eldest son young Strange immediately should die,  
To whom stout Stanley thus doth carelessly reply:  
Tell thou the King I'll come, when I fit time shall see,  
I love the Boy, but yet I have more sons than he.   

The angry Armies meet, when the thin air was rend,  
With such re-ecchoing shouts, from either's Soldiers sent,  
That flying o'er the field the Birds down trembling dropped.  
As some old building long that hath been vnderpropt,  
When as the Timber fails, by the unwieldy fall,  
Even into powder beats, the Roof, and rotten wall,  
And with confused clouds of smouldering dust doth choke  
The streets and places near; so through the misty smoke,  
By Shot and Ordnance made, a thundering noise was heard.  
When Stanley that this while his succours had deferred,  
Both to the cruel King, and to the Earl his son,  
When once he doth perceive the Battle was begun,  
Brings on his valiant Troops, three thousand fully strong,  
Which like a cloud far off, that tempest threatened long,  
Falls on the Tyrant's host, which him with terror struck,  
As also when he sees, he doth but vainly look  
For succours from the great Northumberland, this while,  
That from the Battle scarce three quarters of a mile,  
Stood with his power of Horse, nor once was seen to stir:  
When Richard (that th'event no longer would defer,  
The two main Battles mixed, and that with wearied breath,  
Some laboured to their life, some laboured to their death,  
(There for the better fought) even with a Spirit elate,  
As one that inly scorned the very worst that Fate  
Could possibly impose, his Lance set in his Rest,  
Into the thick'st of Death, through threatening peril pressed,  
To where he had perceived the Earl in person drew,  
Whose Standard- 〈◊〉 he, Sir William Brandon slew,  
The pile of his strong staff into his arme-pit sent;  
When at a second shock, down Sir john Cheney went,  
Which scarce a Lance's length before the Earl was placed,  
Until by Richmond's Guard, environed at last,  
With many a cruel wound, was through the body gride.  
Upon this fatal field, john Duke of Norfolk died;  
The stout Lord Ferrer fell, and Ratcliffe, that had long  
Of Richard's counsels been, found in the field among  
A thousand Soldiers that on both sides were slain,  
O Red-more, it than seemed, thy name was not in vain,  
When with a thousands blood the earth was coloured red.  
Whereas th'imperial Crown was set on Henry's head,  
Being found in Richard's Tent, as he it there did win,  
The cruel Tyrant stripped to the bare naked skin,  
Behind a Herald trussed, was back to Le'ster sent,  
From whence the day before he to the Battle went.   

The Battle then at Stoke, so fortunatly struck, 
The Battle of Stoke.   
(Upon King Henry's part, with so successful luck,  
As never till that day he felt his Crown to cleave  
Unto his temples close, when Mars began to leave  
His fury, and at last to sit him down was brought)  
I come at last to sing, 'twixt that seventh Henry fought;  
With whom, to this brave Field the Duke of Bedford came,  
With Oxford his great friend, whose praise did him inflame  
To all Achievements great, that fortunate had been  
In every doubtful fight, since Henry's coming in,  
With th'earl of Shresbury, a man of great command,  
And his brave son Lord George, for him that firmly stand.   

And on the other side, john Duke of Suffolk's son,  
(john Earl of Lincoln called) who this stern war begun,  
Subborning a lewd Boy, a false Imposter, who  
By Simonds a worse Priest, instructed what to do;  
Upon him took the name of th'earl of Warwick, heir  
To George the murdered Duke of Clarence, who (for fear  
Lest some that favoured York, might under hand maintain)  
King Henry in the Tower, did at that time detain.  
* Which practise set on foot, this Earl of Lincoln sailed  
To Burgundy, where he with Margaret prevailed, 
The Duchess of Burgundy was sister to Edward the 4, and so was this Earl's mother.   
Wife to that warlike Charles, and his most loved Aunt,  
Who vexed that a proud Lancastrian should supplant  
The lawful Line of York, whence she her blood derived;  
Wherefore for Lincoln's sake she speedily contrived,  
And Lovel, that brave Lord, before him sent to land 
The Lord Francis Lovel.   
Upon the same pretence, to furnish them a Band  
Of Almains, and to them for their stout Captain gave  
The valiant Martin Swart, the man thought scarce to have  
His match for Martial feats, and sent them with a Fleet  
For Ireland, where she had apppointed them to meet,  
With Simonds that lewd Clerk, and Lambert, whom they there  
The Earl of Warwick called, and published every where  
His title to the Crown, in Divelin, and proclaim  
Him England's lawful King, by the fifth Edward's name:  
Then joining with the Lord Fitz-Gerald, to their aid 
The Lord Thomas Geraldine   
Who many Irish brought, they up their Ankres weighed,  
And at the rocky Pyle of * Fowdray put to shore 
On the coast of 〈◊〉.   
In Lancashire; their power increasing more and more,  
By Soldiers 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 himself to far in dangers mouth,  
From Coventry he came, still gathering up his Host,  
Made greater on his way, and doth the Country coast,  
Which way he understood his enemies must pass:  
When after some few days (as if their Fortunes was)  
At Stoke, a village near to Newarke upon Trent,  
Each in the others sight pitched down their warlike Tent.  
Into one Battle soon, the Almans had disposed  
Their Army, in a place upon two parts enclosed  
With Dells, and fenced Dykes, (as they were expert men.)  
And from the open fields King Henry's Host again,  
In three fair several fights came equally divided;  
The first of which, and fitst, was given to be guided  
By Shrewsbury, which most of Soldier's choice consisted:  
The others placed as Wings, which ever as they listed,  
Came up as need required, or fell back as they found  
Just cause for their retire; when soon the troubled ground,  
On her black bosom felt the thunder, which awoke  
Her Genius, with the shock that violently shook  
Her intrayles; this sad day when there ye might have seen  
Two thousand Almains stand, of which each might have been  
A Leader for his skill, which when the charge was hot,  
That they could hardly see the very Sun for shot,  
Yet they that motion kept that perfect Soldiers should;  
That most courageous Swart there might they well behold,  
With most unusual skill, that desperate fight maintain,  
And valiant De la Poole, most like his princely strain,  
Did all that courage could, or noblesse might befit;  
And Lovel that brave Lord, behind him not a whit,  
For martial deeds that day: stout Broughton that had stood  
With York (even) from the first, there lastly gave his blood  
To that well-foughten Field: the poor Trowzed Irish there,  
Whose Mantles stood for Mail, whose skins for Corslets were,  
And for their weapons had but Irish Skeins and Darts,  
Like men that scorned death, with most resolved hearts,  
Give not an inch of ground, but all in pieces hewn,  
Where first they fought, they fell; with them was overthrown  
The Leader gerald's hope, amidst his men that fought,  
And took such part as they, whom he had thither brought.  
This of that field be told, There was not one that fled, 
A Field bravely fought.   
But where he first was placed, there found alive or dead.  
If in a fought field, a man his life should lose,  
To dye as these men did, who would not gladly choose,  
Which full four thousand were. But in this tedious Song,  
The too laborious Muse hath tarried 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 Parliament then given, or that of Cornwall called,  
Enclosures to cast down, which overmuch enthralled 
The Rebellion of Cornwall, in the third year of Edward the sixth.   
The Subject: or proud Kets, who with the same pretence  
In Norfolk raised such stirs, as but with great expense  
Of blood was not appeased; or that begun in Lent  
By Wyatt and his friends, the Marriage to prevent,  
That Mary did intend with Philip King of Spain: 
Sir Thomas Wyatt.   
Since these but Riots were, nor fit the others strain,  
She here her Battles ends: and as She did before,  
So travelling along upon her silent shore,  
Waybridge a neighbouring Nymph, the only remnant left  
Of all that Forest kind, by Times injurious theft  
Of all that tract destroyed, with wood which did abound,  
And former times had seen the goodliest Forest ground,  
This Island ever had: but she so left alone,  
The ruin of her kind, and no man to bemoan.  
The deep intranced Flood, as thinking to awake,  
Thus from her shady Bower she silently bespoke.   

O Flood in happy plight, which to this time, remainest,  
As still along in state to Neptune's Court thou strainst;  
Revive thee with the thought of those forepast hours,  
When the rough Wood-gods kept, in their delightful Bowers  
On thy embroidered banks, when now this Country filled,  
With villages, and by the labouring ploughman tilled,  
Was Forest, where the Fir, and spreading Poplar grew.  
O let me yet the thought of those past times renew,  
When as that woody kind, in our umbragious Wyld,  
Whence every living thing save only they exiled,  
In this their world of waist, the sovereign Empire swayed.  
O who would ere have thought, that time could have decayed  
Those trees whose bodies seemed by their so massy weight,  
To press the solid earth, and with their wondrous height  
To climb into the Clouds, their Arms so far to shoot,  
As they in measuring were of Acres, and their Root,  
With long and mighty spurns to grapple with the land,  
As Nature would have said, that they should ever stand:  
So that this place where now this Huntingdon is set,  
Being an easy hill where mirthful Hunters met,  
From that first took the name. By this the Muse arrives  
At Elies Iled Marge, by having past Saint Ives,  
Unto the Germane Sea she hasteth her along,  
And here she shutteth up her two and twentieth Song,  
In which she quite hath spent her vigour, and must now,  
As Workmen often use, a while sit down 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 ARGUMENT.  

From 〈◊〉 Fights Invention comes,  
Deafened with noise of rattling Drums,  
And in the Northamptonian bounds,  
Shows Whittlewoods, and Sacies grounds;  
Then to Mount Hellidon doth go,  
(Whence Charwell, Leame, and Nen do 〈◊〉  
The Surface, which of England sings,  
And Nen down to the Washeses brings;  
Then whereas Welland makes her way,  
Shows Rockingham, her rich array:  
A Course at Kelmarsh than she takes, '  
Where she Northamptonshire for sakes.   

ON tow'ds the Midlands now, th'industrious Muse doth make,  
The Northamptonian earth, and in her way doth take;  
As fruitful every way, as those by Nature, which  
The Husbandman by Art, with Compost doth enrich,  
This boasting of herself; that walk her Verge about,  
And view her well within, her breadth, and length throughout:  
The worst foot of her earth, is equal with their best,  
With most abundant store, that highliest think them blest.  
When Whittlewood betime th'unwearied Muse doth win  
To talk with her awhile; at her first coming in,  
The Forest thus that greets: With more successful Fate,  
Thrive then thy fellow Nymphs, whose sad and ruinous state  
We every day behold, if any thing there be,  
That from this general fall, thee happily may free,  
'Tis only for that thou dost naturally produce  
More Under wood, and Broke, than Oak for greater use:  
But when this ravenous Age, of those hath us bereft,  
Time wanting this our store, shall seize what thee is left.  
For what base Auerice now enticeth men to do,  
Necessity in time shall strongly urge them too;  
Which each divining Spirit most clearly doth foresee.   

Whilst at this speech perplexed, the Forest seemed to be,  
A Water-nymph, near to this goodly Wood-nymphs side,  
(As towards her sovereign Ouze, she softly down doth slide)  
Tea, her delightsome stream by Tawcester doth lead;  
And sporting her sweet self in many a dainty Mead,  
She hath not sallied far, but Sacy soon again  
Salutes her; one much graced amongst the Sylvan train:  
One whom the Queen of Shades, the bright Diana oft  
Hath courted for her looks, with kisses smooth and soft,  
On her fair Bosom leaned, and tenderly embraced,  
And called her, her Dear heart, most loved, and only chaste:  
Yet Sacie after Tea, her amorous eyes doth throw,  
Till in the banks of Ouze the Brook herself bestow.   

Where in those fertile fields, the Muse doth hap to meet  
Upon that side which sits the West of Watling-street,  
With * Helidon a Hill, which though it be but small, 
A hill not far From Daventry   
Compared with their proud kind, which we our Mountains call;  
Yet hath three famous Floods, that out of him do flow,  
That to three several Seas, by their assistants go;  
Of which the noblest, Nen, to fair Northampton hies,  
By Owndle sallying on, than Peterborough plies  
Old * Medhamsted: where her the Seamayds entertain, 
The anclent name of Peterborough.   
To lead her through the Fen into the Germane Maine,   

The second, Charwell is, at Oxford meeting Thames,  
Is by his King conveyed into the * Celtic streams.  
Then Leame as least, the last, to midland avon hasts, 
The French Sea.   
Which Flood again itself, into proud Severne casts:  
As on * th' Iberian Sea, herself great Severne spends; 
The Spanish Sea.   
So Leame the Dower she hath, to that wide Ocean lends.   

But Helidon waxed proud, the happy Sire to be  
To so renowned Floods, as these forenamed three,  
Besides the Hill of note, near England's midst that stands,  
Whence from his Face, his back, or on his either hands,  
The Land extends in breadth, or lays itself in length.  
Wherefore, this Hill to show his state and natural strength,  
The surface of this part determineth to show,  
Which we now England name, and through her tracts to go.  
But being plain and poor, professeth not that height,  
As Falkon-like to sore, till lesning to the sight.  
But as the 〈◊〉 soils, his style so altering oft,  
As full expressions fit, or Verses smooth and soft,  
Upon their several Scites, as naturally to strain,  
And wisheth that these Floods, his tunes to entertain,  
The air with Haltion calms, may wholly have possessed,  
As though the rough winds tired, were easily laid to rest.  
Then on the worth'est tract up towards the midday's Sun,  
His undertaken task, thus Hellidon begun.   

From where the kingly Thames his stomach doth discharge, 
A description of the Surface of the sundry Tracts of England.   
To Devonshire, where the land her bosom doth enlarge;  
And with the Inland air, her beauties doth relieve,  
Along the Celtic Sea, called oftentimes the Sleeve:  
Although upon the coast, the Downs appear but bare,  
Yet naturally within the Country's woody are.   

Then Cornwall creepeth out into the western Maine,  
As (lying in her eye) she pointed still at Spain:  
Or as the wanton soil, disposed to lustful rest,  
Had laid herself along on Neptune's amorous breast.   

With Denshire, from the firm, that Beak of land that fills,  
What Landscape lies in Vales, and often rising hills,  
So placed betwixt the French, and the Sabrinian Seas,  
As on both sides adorned with many harbourous Bays,  
Who for their Trade to Sea, and wealthy Ours of Tin,  
From any other Tract, the praise doth clearly win.   

From Denshire by those shores, which Severne oft Surrounds,  
The Soil far lower sits, and mightily abounds  
With sundry sort of Fruits, as well-grown Grass and Corn,  
That Somerset may say, her battening Mores do scorn  
Our England's richest earth, for burden should them stain;  
And on the self same Tract, up severn's stream again,  
The Vale of Eusham lays her length so largely forth,  
As though she meant to stretch herself into the North,  
Where still the fertile earth depressed lies and low,  
Till her rich Soil itself to Warwickshire do show.   

Hence somewhat South by East, let us our course incline,  
And from these setting shores so merely Maratine,  
The Isles rich Inland parts, le's take with us along,  
To set him rightly out, in our well-ordred Song;  
Whose prospects to the Muse their sundry scites shall show,  
Where she from place to place, as free as air shall flow,  
Their superficies so exactly to descry,  
Through Wiltshire, pointing how the Plain of Salisbury  
Shoots forth herself in length, and lays abroad a train  
So large, as though the land served scarcely to contain  
Her vastness, North from her, himself proud Cotswould vaunts,  
And casts so stern a look, about him that he daunts,  
The lowly Vales, remote that sit with humbler eyes.   

In Barckshire, and from thence into the Orient lies  
That most renowned Vale of White-horse, and by her,  
So Buckingham again doth Alsbury prefer,  
With any English Earth, along upon whose pale,  
That mounting Country then, which maketh her a Vale,  
The chalky Chilterne, runs with Beech's crowned about,  
Through Bedfordshire that bears, till his bald front he shoot,  
Into that foggy earth towards Ely, that doth grow  
Much Fenny, and surrounds with every little flow.   

So on into the East, upon the Inland ground,  
From where that Crystal Colne most properly doth bound, 
The River running by Uxbridge, falling into the Thames at Colebrook.   
Rough Chilterne, from the soil, where in rich London sits,  
As being fair and flat it naturally befits  
Her greatness every way, which holdeth on along  
To the Essexian earth, which likewise in our Song,  
Since in one Tract they lie, we here together take,  
Although the several Shires, by sundry soils do make  
It different in degrees, for Middlesex of Sands  
Her soil composeth hath; so are th' Fssexian lands,  
Adjoining to the same, that sit by Isis' side,  
Which London over-lookes: but as she waxeth wide,  
So Essex in her Tides, her deepe-growne Marshes drowns,  
And to Enclosures cuts her drier upland grounds,  
Which lately woody were, whilst men those woods did prize;  
Whence those fair Country's lie, upon the pleasant rise,  
(Betwixt the mouth of Thames, and where Ouze roughly dashes  
Her rude unwieldy waves, against the queachy Washeses)  
Suffolk and Norfolk near, so named of their Scites,  
Adorned every way with wonderful delights,  
To the beholding eye, that every where are seen,  
Abounding with rich fields, and pastures fresh and green,  
Fair Havens to their shores, large Heaths within them lie,  
As Nature in them 〈◊〉 to show variety.   

From Ely all along upon that Eastern Sea,  
Then Lincolnshire herself, in state at length doth lay,  
Which for her fattening Fens, her Fish, and Fowl may have  
Pre-eminence, as she that seemeth to outbrave  
All other Southern Shires, whose head the Washeses feels,  
Till wantonly she kick proud Humber with her heels.   

Up towards the Navel then, of England from her Flank,  
Which Lincolnshire we call, so leveled and lank.  
Northampton, Rutland then, and Huntingdon, which three  
Do show by their full Soils, all of one piece to be,  
Of Nottingham a part, as Leicester them is lent,  
From Bevers battening Vale, along the banks of Trent.  
So on the other side, into the Set again,  
Where Severne towards the Sea from Shrewsbury doth strain,  
'twixt which and Auons banks (where Arden when of old,  
Her bushy curled front, she bravely did uphold, 
See to the 13. Song.   
In state and glory stood) now of three several Shires,  
The greatest portions lie, upon whose earth appears  
That mighty Forest's foot, of Worftershire a part,  
Of Warwickshire the like, which sometime was the heart  
Of Arden that brave Nymph, yet woody here and there,  
Oft intermixed with Heaths, whose Sand and Gravel bear,  
A Turf more harsh and hard, where Stafford doth partake,  
In quality with those, as Nature strove to make  
Them of oneself same stuff, and mixture, as they lie,  
Which likewise in this Tract, we here together tie.   

From these recited parts to th'North, more high and bleak,  
Extended ye behold, the Mooreland and the Peake,  
From either's several scite, in either's mighty waste,  
A sterner lowering eye, that every way do cast  
On their beholding Hills, and Countries round about;  
Whose soils as of one shape, appearing clean throughout.  
For Moreland which with Heath most naturally doth bear,  
Her Winter livery still, in Summer seems to wear;  
As likewise doth the Peake, whose dreadful Caverns found,  
And Lead-mines, that in her, do naturally abound,  
Her superficies makes more terrible to show:  
So from her natural fount, as Severne down doth flow,  
The high Sallopian hills lift up their rising sails;  
Which Country as it is the nearest allied to Wales,  
In Mountains, so it most is to the same alike.   

Now towards the Irish Seas a little let us strike,  
Where Cheshire, (as her choice) with Lancashire doth lie  
Along th'unleveled shores; this former to the eye,  
In her complexion shows black earth with gravel mixed,  
A Wood-land and a plain indifferently betwixt,  
A good fast-feeding grass, most strongly that doth breed:  
As Lancashire no less excelling for her seed,  
Although with Heath, and Fin, her upper parts abound;  
As likewise to the Sea, upon the lower ground,  
With Mosses, Fleets, and Fells, she shows most wild and rough,  
Whose Turf, and square cut Peat, is fuel good enough.  
So, on the North of Trent, from Nottingham above,  
Where Sherwood her curled front, into the cold doth shove,  
Light Forrest land is found, to where the floating Don,  
In making towards the Main, her Doncaster hath won,  
Where Torkshire's laid abroad, so many a mile extent,  
To whom preceding times, the greatest circuit lent,  
A Province, than a Shire, which rather seemeth: so  
It incidently most variety doth show.  
here stony 〈◊〉 grounds, there wondrous fruitful fields,  
Here Champain, and there Wood, it in abundance yields:  
Th' West-riding, and North, be mountainous and high,  
But towards the Germane Sea the East, more low doth lie.  
This I'll hath not that earth, of any kind elsewhere,  
But on this part or that, epitomised here.   

Towards those Scotch-Irish Isles, upon that Sea again,  
The rough Virgivian called, that tract which doth contain  
Cold Cumberland, which yet wild Westmoreland excels,  
For roughness, at whose point lies rugged Fournesse Fells,  
Is filled with mighty Moors, and Mountains, which do make  
Her wild superfluous waste, as Nature sport did take  
In Heaths, and high-cleeued Hills, whose threatening fronts do dare  
Each other with their looks, as though they would outstare  
The Starry eyes of heaven, which to outface they stand.   

From these into the East, upon the other hand,  
The Bishopric, and fair Northumberland do bear  
To Scotland's bordering Tweed, which as the North elsewhere,  
Not very fertile are, yet with a lovely face  
Upon the Ocean look; which kindly doth embrace  
Those Countries all along, upon the Rising side,  
Which for the Batfull Glebe, by nature them denied,  
With mighty Ours of Cole, abundantly are blest,  
By which this Tract remains renowned above the rest:  
For what from her rich womb, each habourous Road receives.   

Yet Hellidon not here, his loved description leaves,  
Though now his darling Springs desired him to desist;  
But say all what they can, he'll do but what he list.  
As he the Surface thus, so likewise will he show,  
The Clownish Blazons, to each Country long ago,  
Which those unlettered times, with blind devotion lent,  
Before the Learned Maids our Fountains did frequent,  
To show the Muse can shift her habit, and she now  
Of Palatins that sung, can whistle to the Blow;  
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 itself apply,  
(Quoth he) this Blazon first, Long Tails and Liberty. 
Here follow the Blazons of the Shires.   
Suffex with Surrey say, Then let us lead home Logs.  
As Hamfhire long for her, hath had the term of Hogs.  
So Dorsetshire of long, they Dorsers used to call.  
Cornwall and Devonshire cric, we'll wrestle for a Fall.  
Then Somerset says, Set the Bandog on the Bull.  
And Glostershire again is blazoned, Weigh thy Wool.  
As Berkshire hath for hers, Le's to't and toss the Ball.  
And Wiltshire will for her, Get home and pay for all.  
Rich Buckingham doth bear the term of Bread and Beef,  
Where if you beat a Bush, 'tis odds you start a Thief.  
So Hartford blazoned is, The Club, and clouted Shoes,  
Thereto, I'll rise betime, and sleep again at Noon.  
When Middlesex bids, Up to London let us go,  
And when our Markets done, we'll have a pot or two.  
As Essex hath of old been named, Calves and Styles,  
Fair Suffolk, Maids and Milk, and Norfolk, Many Wyles.  
So Cambridge hath been called, Hold Nets, and let us win;  
And Huntingdon, With 〈◊〉 we'll stalk through thick and thin.  
Northamptonshire of long hath had this Blazon, Love,  
Below the girdle all, but little else above.  
An outcry Oxford makes, The Scholars have been here,  
And little though they paid, yet have they had good cheer.  
Quoth warlike Warwickshire, I'll bind the sturdy Bear.  
Quoth Worstershire again, And I will squirt the Pear.  
Then Staffordshire bids Stay, and I will Beet the Fire,  
And nothing will I ask, but good will for my hire.  
Beane belly Leicestershire, her attribute doth bear.  
And Bells and Bagpipes next, belong to Lincolnshire.  
Of Malt-horse, Bedfordshire long since the Blazon wan.  
And little Rutlandshire is termed Raddleman.  
To Derby is assigned the name of Wool and Lead.  
As Nottinghams', of old (is common) Ale and Bread.  
So Hereford for her says, Give me Woof and Warp.  
And Shropshire saith in her, That Shins be ever sharp,  
Lay wood upon the fire, reach hither me my Harp,  
And whilst the black Bowl walks, we merrily will carp.  
Old Chesshire is well known to be the Chief of Men.  
Fair Women doth belong to Lancashire again.  
The lands that over Ouze to Berwicke forth do bear,  
Have for their Blazon had the Snaffle, Spur, and Spear.   

Now Nen extremely grieved those barbarous things to hear,  
By Helidon her sire, that thus delivered were:  
For as his eldest, she was to passed ages known,  
Whom by Aufona's name the Romans did renown.  
A word by them derived of avon, which of long,  
The Britan's called her by, expressing in their tongue  
The full and general name of waters; wherefore she  
Stood much upon her worth, and jealous grew to be,  
Lest things so low and poor, and now quite out of date,  
Should happily impair her dignity and state.  
Wherefore from him her sire immediately she hasts;  
And as she forth her course to Peterborough casts,  
She falleth in her way with Weedon, where 'tis said,  
Saint Werburge princely borne, a most religious Maid,  
From those peculiar fields, by prayer the Wild-geese drove,  
Thence through the Champain she lasciviously doth rove  
Towards fair Northampton, which, whilst Nen was avon called,  
Resumed that happy name, as happily installed  
Upon her * Northern side, where taking in a Rill, 
Northimpton, for North 〈◊〉 avonton, the town upon the North of avon.   
Her long impoverished banks more plenteously to fill,  
She flourishes in state, along the fruitful fields;  
Where whilst her waters she with wondrous pleasure yields,  
To * Wellingborough comes, whose Fountains in she takes, 
So called of his many wells or Fonntaines.   
Which quickening her again, immediately she makes  
To Owndle, which receives contractedly the sound  
From Auondale, t'express that River's lowest ground:  
To Peterborough thence she maketh forth her way,  
Where Welland hand in hand, goes on with her to Sea;  
When Rockingham, the Muse to her fair Forest brings,  
Thence lying to the North, whose sundry gifts she sings.   

O dear and dainty Nymph, most gorgeously arrayed,  
Of all the Dryads known, the most delicious Maid,  
With all delights adorned, that any way beseem  
A Sylvan, by whose state we verily may deem  
A Deity in thee, in whose delightful Bowers,  
The Fawns and Fairies make the longest days, but hours,  
And joying in the Soil, where thou assum'st thy seat,  
Thou to thy Handmaid haste, (thy pleasures to await)  
Fair Benefield, whose care to thee doth surely cleave,  
Which bears a grass as soft, as is the dainty sleeve,  
And thrummed so thick and deep, that the proud Palmed Deer,  
Forsake the closer woods, and make their quiet leyre  
In beds of plaited fog, so easily there they sit.  
A Forest and a Chase in every thing so fit  
This Island hardly hath, so near allied that be,  
Brave Nymph, such praise belongs to Benefield and thee.   

Whilst Rockingham was heard with these Reports to ring,  
The Muse by making on towards 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 scorns that any place, should with her Plains compare:  
Which in the proper Terms the Muse doth thus report;   

The man whose vacant mind prepares him to the sport,  
The * Finder sendeth out, to seek out nimble Wat,  
Which crosseth in the field, each furlong, every Flat, 
The Hare-finder.   
Till he this pretty Beast upon the Form hath found,  
Then viewing for the Course, which is the fairest ground, 
A description of a Course at the Hare.   
The Greyhounds forth are brought, for coursing then in case,  
And choicely in the Slip, one leading forth a brace;  
The Finder puts her up, and gives her Courser's law.  
And whilst the eager dogs upon the Start do draw,  
She riseth from her seat, as though on earth she flew,  
Forced by some yelping * Cute to give the Greyhounds view, 
A Cur.   
Which are at length let slip, when gunning out they go,  
As in respect of them the swiftest wind were slow,  
When each man runs his Horse, with fixed eyes, and notes  
Which Dog first turns 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 turn will take,  
What's offered by the first, the other good doth make;  
And turn for turn again with equal speed they ply,  
Bestirring their swift feet with strange agility:  
A hardened ridge or way, when if the Hare do win,  
Then as shot from a Bow, she from the Dogs doth spin,  
That strive to put her off, but when he cannot reach her,  
This giving him a Coat, about again doth fetch her  
To him that comes behind, which seems the Hare to bear;  
But with a nimble turn she casts them both arrere:  
Till oft for want of breath, to fall to ground they make her,  
The Greyhounds both so spent, that they want breath to take her.  
Here leave I whilst the Muse more serious things attends,  
And with my Course at Hare, my Canto likewise ends.   
 
  

The four and twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The fatal Welland from her Springs,  
This Song to th'isle of Ely brings:  
Our ancient English Saints revives,  
Then in an oblique course contrives,  
The Rarities that Rutland shows,  
Which with this Canto she doth close.   

THis way, to that fair Fount of Welland hath us led,  
At * Nasby to the North, where from a second head 
The Fountain of Welland.   
Runs avon, which along to Severne shapes her course,  
But pliant Muse proceed, with our new-handled source,  
Of whom from Ages past, a prophecy there ran,  
(Which to this ominous flood much fear and reverence won)  
That she alone should drown all Holland, and should see 
An ancient Prophecy of the 〈◊〉 of Welland.   
Her Stamford, which so much forgotten seems to be;  
Renowned for Liberal Arts, as highly honoured there,  
As they in Cambridge are, or Oxford ever were;  
Whereby she in herself a holiness supposed,  
That in her scantled banks, though wand'ring long enclosed,  
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 won such fame  
Both to the British first, then to the English name,  
For their abundant Faith, and sanctimony known,  
Such as were hither sent, or naturally our own,  
It much her Genius grieved, to have them now neglected,  
Whose piety so much those zealous times respected.  
Wherefore she with herself resolved, when that she  
To Peterborough came, where much she longed to be,  
That in the wished view of Mcdhamsted, that Town,  
Which he the greatest of Saints doth by his Name renown,  
She to his glorious Fane an Offering as to bring,  
Of her dear Country's Saints, the martyrologue would sing:  
And therefore all in haste to Harbour she hied,  
Whence Leicestershire she leaves upon the Northward side,  
At Rutland then arrived, where Stamford her sustains,  

The conrse of Wellana to the Sea.  By Deeping drawing out, to Lincolnshire she leans,  
Upon her Bank by North, against this greater throng,  
Northamptonshire to South still lies with her along,  
And now approaching near to this appointed place,  
Where she and Nen make show as though they would embrace;  
But only 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 Miracles by them, but feigned to be wrought,  
That they which did their lives so palbably belie,  
To times have much impeached their holiness thereby:  
Though fools (I say) on them, such poor impostures lay,  
Have scandaled them to ours, far foolisher than they,  
Which think they have by this so great advantage got  
Their venerable names from memory to blot,  
Which truth can ne'er permit; and thou that art so pure,  
The name of such a Saint that no way canst endure;  
Know in respect of them to recompense that hate,  
The wretchedst thing, and thou have both one death and date:  
From all vain worship too; and yet am I as free  
As is the most precise, I pass not who he be.  
Antiquity I love, nor by the world's despite,  
I can not be removed from that my dear delight.  
This spoke, to her fair aid her sister Nen she wins,  
When she of all her Saints, now with that man begins.   

The first that ever told Christ crucified to us,  
(By Paul and Peter sent) just Aristobulus,  

Saints in the Primitive British Church.  Renowned in holy Writ, a Labourer in the word,  
For that most certain Truth, opposing fire and sword,  
By th' Britan's murdered here, so unbelieving then.  
Next holy joseph came, the mercifulst of men,  
The Saviour of mankind, in Sepulchre that laid,  
That to the Britan's was th'Apostle; in his aid  
Saint Duvian, and with him Saint Fagan, both which were  
His Scholars, likewise left their sacred Relics here:  
All Denizens of ours, t'advance the Christian state,  
At Glastenbury long that were commemorate.  
When Amphtball again our Martyrdom began  
In that most bloody reign of Dioclesian:  
This man into the truth, that blessed Alban led  
(Our Proto-Martyr called) who strongly discipled  
In Christian Patience, learned his tortures to appease:  
His fellow-Martyrs then, Stephen, and Socrates,  
At holy Alban Town, their Festival should hold;  
So of that Martyr named, (which Ver'lam was of old.)  
A thousand other Saints, whom Amphiball had taught,  
Flying the Pagan foe, their lives that strictly sought,  
Were slain where Lichfield is, whose name doth rightly sound,  
(There of those Christians slain) Dead field, or burying ground.   

Then for the Christian faith, two other here that stood,  
And teaching, bravely sealed their Doctrine with their blood:  
Saint jalius, and with him Saint Aron, have their room,  
At Carleon suffering death by Dioclesian's doom;  
Whose persecuting reign tempestuously that raged,  
'Gainst those here for the Faith, their utmost that engaged,  
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 London's ancient See,  
Though it were after long, good Voadine who reproved  
Proud Vortiger his King, unlawfully that loved  
Another's wanton wife, and wronged his Nuptial bed;  
For which by that stern Prince unjustly murdered,  
As he a Martyr died, is Sainted with the rest.  
The third Saint of that See (though only he confessed)  
Was Guithelme, unto whom those times that reverence gave,  
As he a place with them eternally shall have.  
So Melior may they bring, the Duke of Cornwall's son,  
By his false brother's hands, to death who being done  
In hate of Christian faith, whose zeal lest time should taint,  
As he a Martyr was, they justly made a Saint.   

Those godly Romans then (who as mine Author saith)  
Won good King Lucius first t'embrace the Christian faith,  
Fugatius, and his friend Saint Damian, as they were  
Made Denizens of ours, have their remembrance here:  
As two more (near that time, Christ jesus that confessed,  
And that most lively faith, by their good works expressed)  
Saint Eluan with his fere Saint Midwin, who to win  
The Britan's, (come from Rome, where Christened they had been)  
Converted to the Faith then thousands, whose dear grave,  
That Glastenbury graced, there their memorial have.   

As they their sacred Bones in Britain here bestowed,  
So Britain likewise sent her Saints to them abroad: 
Britain sendeth her holy men to other countries.   
Marsellus that just man, who having gathered in  
The scattered Christian Flock, instructed that had been  
By holy joseph here; to congregate he won  
This justly named Saint, this never-wearied man,  
Next to the Germans preached, till (void of earthly fear)  
By his courageous death, he much renowned Trevere.   

Then of our Native Saints, the first that died abroad;  
Beatus, next to him shall fitly be bestowed,  
In Switzerland who preached, whom there those Paynims slew,  
When greater in their place, though not in Faith, ensue  
Saint Lucius (called of us) the primer christened King,  
Of th'ancient Britons then, who led the glorious ring  
To all the Saxon Race, that here did him succeed,  
Changing his regal Robe to a religious Weed,  
His rule in Britain left, and to Helvetia hied,  
Where he a Bishop lived, a Martyr lastly died.  
As Constantine the Great, that godly Emperor,  
Here first the Christian Church that did to peace restore,  
Whose ever blessed birth, (as by the power divine)  
The Roman Empire brought into the British Line,  
Constantinoples' Crown, and th'ancient Britan's glory.  
So other here we have to furnish up our Story,  
Saint Melon wellnear, when the British Church began,  
(Even early in the reign of Rome's Valerian)  
Here leving us for Rome, from thence to Rouen was called,  
To preach unto the French, where soon he was instauld  
Her Bishop: Britain so may of her Gudwall vaunt,  
Who first the Flemings taught, whose feast is held at Gaunt.  
So others forth she brought, to little Britain vowed,  
Saint Wenlocke, and with him Saint Samson, both 〈◊〉  
Apostles of that place, the first the Abbot sole  
Of Tawrac, and the last sat on the See of Dole:  
Where dying, Maglor then, thereof was Bishop made,  
Sent purposely from hence, that people to persuade,  
To keep the Christian faith: so Goluin gave we thither,  
Who sainted being there, we set them here together.   

As of the weaker Sex, that ages have enshrined  
Amongst the British Dames, and worthily divined:  
The finder of the Cross Queen Helena doth lead,  
Who tough Rome set a Crown on her Imperial head,  
Yet in our Britain borne, and bred up choicely here.  
Emerita the next, King Lucius sister dear,  
Who in Helvetia with her martyred brother died;  
Bright Ursula the third, who undertook to guide  
Th'eleven thousand Maids to little Britain sent,  
By Seas and bloody men devoured as they went:  
Of which we find these four have been for Saints preferred,  
(And with their Leader still do live incalenderd)  
Saint Agnes, Cordula, Odillia, Florence, which  
With wondrous sumptuous shrines those ages did enrich  
At Cullen, where their Lives most clearly are expressed,  
And yearly Feasts observed to them and all the rest.   

But when it came to pass the Saxon powers had put  
The Britan's from these parts, and them o'er Severne shut, 
The Cambro British Saints.   
The Christian Faith with her, than Cambria had alone,  
With those that it received (from this now England) gone,  
Whose Cambrobritans so their Saints as duly brought,  
T'advance the Christian Faith, effectually that wrought,  
Their David, (one derived of th'royal British blood)  
Who 'gainst Palagius false and damned opinions stood,  
And turned Menenias' name to David's sacred See,  
Th' Patron of the Welsh deserving well to be:  
With Cadock, next to whom comes Canock, both which were  
Prince Brechans sons, who gave the name to Brecnocksheere;  
The first a Martyr made, a Confessor the other.  
So Clintanck, Brecknocks Prince, as from oneself same mother,  
A Saint upon that sear, the other doth ensue,  
Whom for the Christian Faith a Pagan Soldier slew.   

So Bishops can she bring, which of her Saints shall be,  
As Asaph, who first gave that name unto that See;  
Of Bangor, and may boast Saint David which her wan  
Much reverence, and with these Owdock and Telean,  
Both Bishops of Landaff, and Saints in their Succession;  
Two other following these, both in the 〈◊〉 profession,  
Saint Dubric whose report old Carleon yet doth carry,  
And Elery in North-wales, who built a Monastery,  
In which himself became the Abot, to his praise,  
And spent in Alms and Prayer the remnant of his days.   

But leaving these Divined, to Decuman we come,  
In North-wales who was crowned with glorious Martyrdom.  
justinian, as that man a Sainted place deserved,  
Who still to feed his soul, his sinful body starved:  
And for that height in zeal, whereto he did attain,  
There by his fellow Monks most cruelly was slain.  
So Cambria, Beno bore; and Gildas, which doth grace  
Old Bangor, and by whose learned writings we embrace,  
the knowledge of those times; the fruits of whose just pen,  
Shall live for ever fresh, with all truth-searching men:   

Then other, which for hers old Cambria doth aver,  
Saint Senan, and with him we set Saint Deiferre,  
Then Tather will we take, and Chyned to the rest,  
With Brauk, who so much the I'll of Bardsey blest  
By his most powerful prayer, to solitude that lived,  
And of all worldly care his zealous Soul deprived.  
Of these, some lived not long, some wondrous aged were,  
But in the Mountains lived, all Hermits here and there.  
O more than mortal men, whose Faith and earnest prayers,  
Not only bare ye hence, but were those mighty stairs  
By which you went to heaven, and God so clearly saw,  
As this vain earthly pomp had not the power to draw  
Your elevated souls, but once to look so low,  
As those depressed paths, wherein base worldlings go.  
What mind doth not admire the knowledge of these men?  
But zealous Muse return unto thy task again.   

These holy men at home, as here they were bestowed,  
So Cambria had such too, as famous were abroad.  
Sophy King Gulicks son of North-wales, who had seen  
The Sepulchre three times, and more, seven times had been  
On Pilgrimage at Rome, of Beniventum there  
The painful Bishop made; by him so place we here,  
Saint Macklove, from North-wales to little Britain sent,  
That people to convert, who resolutely bend,  
Of Athelney in time the Bishop there became,  
Which her first title changed, and took his proper name.  
So she her Virgins had, and vowed as were the best:  
Saint Keyne Prince Brechans child, (a man so highly blest,  
That thirty borne to him all Saints accounted were.)  
Saint Inthwar so apart shall with these other bear,  
Who out of false suspect was by her brother slain.  
Then Winifrid, whose name yet famous doth remain,  
Whose Fountain in North-wales entitled by her name,  
For Moss, and for the Stones that be about the same,  
Is sounded through this I'll, 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 substantial planting,  
Saint Augustine from Rome was to this Island sent;  

Those that came from foreign parts into this I'll, & were canonised here for Saints.  And coming through large France, arriving first in Kent,  
Converted to the faith King Ethelbert, till then  
Unchristened that had lived, with all his Kentishmen,  
And of their chiefest Town, now Canterbury called,  
The Bishop first was made, and on that See instauld.  
Four other, and with him for knowledge great in name,  
That in this mighty work of our conversion came,  
Lawrence, Melitus then, with justus, and Honorius,  
In this great Christian work, all which had been laborious,  
To venerable age, each coming in degree,  
Succeeded him again in Canterbury See,  
As Peter borne in France, with these and made our own,  
And Pauline whose great zeal, was by his Preaching shown.  
The first to Abbot's state, wise Austen did prefer,  
And to the latter gave the See of Rochester;  
All canonised for Saints, as worthy sure they were,  
For establishing the Faith, which was received here.  
Few Countries where our Christ had ere been preached then,  
But sent into this I'll some of their godly men.  
From Persia led by zeal, so Iue this Island sought,  
And near our Eastern Fens a fit place finding, taught  
The Faith: which place from him the name alone derives,  
And of that sainted man since called is Saint-Iues;  
Such reverence to herself that time Devotion wan.   

So Sunburnt Africa sent us holy Adrian,  
Who preached the Christian Faith here nine and thirty year,  
An Abbot in this Isle, and to this Nation dear,  
That in our Country two Provincial Synods called,  
T'reforme the Church that time with Heresies enthralled.  
So Denmark Henry sent t'increase our holy store,  
Who falling in from thence upon our Northern shore  
In th'Isle of * Cochet lived, near to the mouth of Tyne, 
An Islet upon the coast of Scotland, in the Germane Sea.   
In Fasting as in Prayer, a man so much divine,  
That only thrice a week on homely cates he fed,  
And three times in the week himself he silenced,  
That in remembrance of this most abstenious man,  
Upon 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 us three men most reverend bare,  
Amongst our other Saints, that claim to have their share,  
Of which was Felix first, who in th'East-Saxon reign,  
Converted to the faith King Sigbert: him again  
Ensueth Anselm, whom Augusta sent us in,  
And Hugh, whose holy life, to Christ did many win,  
By * Henry th'empress son holp hither, and to have 
Henry the second.   
Him wholly to be ours, the See of Lincoln gave.   

So Lombary to us, our reverend Lanfranck lent,  
For whom into this land King William Conqueror sent,  
And Canterbury's See to his wise charge assigned.   

Nor France to these for hers was any whit behind,  
For Grimbald she us gave (as Peter long before,  
Who with Saint Austen came, to preach upon this shore)  
By Alsred hither called, who him an Abbot made,  
Who by his godly life, and preaching did persuade,  
The Saxons to believe the true and quickening word:  
So after long again she likewise did afford,  
Saint O smond, whom the See of Salisbury doth own,  
A Bishop once of hers, and in our conquest known,  
When hither to that end their Norman William came,  
Remigius then, whose mind, that work of ours of fame,  
Rich Lincoln Minster shows, where he a Bishop sat,  
Which (it should seem) he built for men to wonder at.  
So potent were the powers of Churchmen in those days.   

Then Henry named of Bloys, from France who crossed the Seas,  

Native English 〈◊〉 into 〈◊〉 parts, canonised.  With Stephen Earl of Bloys his brother, after King,  
In Winchester's rich See, who him establishing,  
He in those troublous times in preaching took such pain,  
As he by them was not canonised in vain.   

As other Countries here, their holy men bestowed;  
So Britain likewise sent her Saints to them abroad,  
And into neighbouring France, our most religious went,  
Saint Clare that native was of Rochester in Kent,  
At Volcasyne came vowed the French instructing there,  
So early ere the truth amongst them did appear,  
That more than half a God they thought that reverend man.  
Our judock, so in France such fame our Nation wan,  
For holiness, where long an Abbot's life he led  
At Pontoyse, and so much was honoured, that being dead,  
And after threescore years (their latest period dated)  
His body taken up, was solemnly translated.  
As Ceofrid, that sometime of Wyremouth Abbot was,  
In his return from Rome, as he through France did pass,  
At Langres left his life, whose holiness even yet,  
Upon his reverend grave, in memory doth sit.  
Saint Alkwin so for ours, we English boast again,  
The Tutor that became to mighty Charlemaigne,  
That holy man, whose heart was so with goodness filled,  
As out of zeal he won that mighty King to build  
That Academy now at Paris, whose Foundation  
Through all the Christian world hath so renowned that Nation,  
As well declares his wealth, that had the power to do it,  
As his most lively zeal, persuading him unto it.  
As Simon called the Saint of Bordeaux, which so wrought,  
By preaching there the truth, that happily he brought  
The people of those parts, from Paganism, wherein  
Their unbelieving souls so long had nuzzled been.  
So in the Norman rule, two most religious were,  
Amongst ours that in France dispersed here and there,  
Preached to that Nation long, Saint Hugh, who borne our own,  
In our first Henries rule sat on the See of Rouen,  
Where 〈◊〉 he was long. Saint Edmund so again,  
Who banished from hence in our third Henry's reign,  
There led an Hermit's life near Pontoyse, where before,  
Saint judock did the like) whose honour to restore,  
Religious Lewes there interred with wondrous cost,  
Of whose rich Funeral France deservedly may boast.  
Then Main we add to these, an Abbot here of ours,  
To little Britain sent, employing all his powers  
To bring them to the Faith, which he so well effected,  
That since he as a Saint hath ever been respected.   

As these of ours in France, so had we 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 sat possessed,  
At Dockum had his death, by faithless Frizians slain,  
Whose Anniverssaries there did after long remain.  
So Wigbert full of faith, and heavenly wisdom went  
Unto the self 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 slain, who ruled in Frizia then:  
So in the sacred roll of our Religious men,  
In Frieze that preached the faith we of Saint Lullus read,  
Who in the 〈◊〉 of Mentz did Boniface succeed;  
And Willihad that of Bren, that sacred Seat supplied,  
So holy that him there, they halfely deified;  
With Marchelme, and with him our Plechelme, holy men,  
That to the Freezes now, and to the Saxons then,  
In Germany abroad the glorious Gospel spread,  
Who at their lives depart, their bodies gathered,  
Were at old-Seell enshrined, their Obijts yearly kept:  
Such as on them have had as many praises heaped,  
That in their lives the truth as constantly confessed,  
As th'other that their Faith by Martyrdom expressed.   

In Frieze, as these of ours, their names did famous leave,  
Again so had we those as much renowned in Cleave;  
Saint Swibert, and with him Saint Willick, which from hence,  
To Cleeve-land held their way, and in the Truth's defence  
Pawned their religious lives, and as they went together,  
So one and self same place allotted was to either:  
For both of them at Wert in Cleaveland seated were,  
Saint Swibert Bishop was, Saint Willick Abbot there.   

So Guelderland again shall our most holy bring,  
As Edilbert the son of Edilbald the King  
Of our South-Saxon Rule, incessantly that taught  
The Gelder's, whose blessed days unto their period brought,  
Unto his reverend Corpse, old Haerlem harbour gave;  
So Werensrid again, and Otger both we have,  
Who to those people preached, whose praise that country tells.  
What Nation names a Saint, for virtue that excels  
Saint German who for Christ his Bishopric forsook,  
And in the Netherlands most humbly him betook,  
From place to place to pass, the secrets to reveal,  
Of our dear Saviour's death, and last of all to seal  
His doctrine with his blood: In Belgia so abroad,  
Saint 〈◊〉 in like sort, his blessed time bestowed,  
Whose relics Wormshault (yet) in Flanders hath reserved,   

Of these, th'rebellious 〈◊〉 (to win them heaven) that starved.  
Saint Menigold, a man, who in his youth had been  
A Soldier, and the French, and Germane wars had seen,  
A Hermit last became, his sinful soul to save,  
To whom good Arnulph, that most godly Emperor gave  
Some ground not far from Liege, his Hermitage to set,  
Whose floor when with his tears, he many a day had wet,  
He for the Christian faith upon the same was slain:  
So did th' Erwaldi there most worthily attain  
Their Martyrs glorious Types, to Ireland first approved,  
But after (in their 〈◊〉) as need required removed,  
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 deep  
To the true Faith, whose shrines brave Cullen still doth keep.   

So Adler one of ours, by England set apart  
For Germany, and sent that people to convert,  
Of Erford Bishop made, there also had his end.  
Saint Liphard like wise to our Martyraloge shall lend,  
Who having been at Rome on Pilgrimage, to see  
The Relics of the Saints, supposed there to be,  
Returning by the way of Germany, at last,  
Preaching the Christian faith, as he through Cambray past,  
The Pagan people slew, whose Relics Huncourt hath;  
These others so we had, which trod the self same path  
In Germany, which she most reverently embraced.  
Saint john a man of ours, on Salzburgs See was placed;  
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 reared  
The Monastery, wherein he richly was interred.   

So Mastreight unto her Saint Willibord did call,  
And seated him upon her See Episcopal,  
As two Saint Lebwins there amongst the rest are brought;  
Th'one o'er Isells banks the ancient Saxons taught:  
At over Isell rests, the other did apply,  
The Gueldres, and by them interred at Deventry.  
Saint Wynibald again, at Hidlemayne enjoyed  
The Abbacy, in which his godly time employed  
In their Conversion there, which long time him withstood.  
Saint Gregory then, with us sprung of the Royal blood,  
And son to him whom we the elder Edward style,  
Both Court and Country left, which he esteemed vile,  
Which Germany received, where he at Myniard led  
A strict Monastic life, a Saint alive and dead.   

So had we some of ours for Italy were pressed,  
As well as these before, sent out into the East.  
King Inas having done so great and wondrous things,  
As well might be supposed the works of sundry Kings,  
Erecting beauteous Phanes, and Monuments so fair,  
As Monarches have not since been able to repair,  
Of many that he built, the least, in time when they  
Have (by weak men's neglect) been fall'n into decay:  
This Realm by him enriched, he poverty professed,  
In Pilgrimage to Rome, where meekly he deceased.  
As Richard the dear son to Lothar King of Kent,  
When he his happy days religiously had spent;  
And feeling the approach of his declining age,  
Desirous to see Rome in holy Pilgrimage,  
Into thy Country come at Leuca, left his life,  
Whose miracles there done, yet to this day are rife.  
The Patron of that place, so Thusoany in thee,  
At fair Mount-flascon still the memory shall be  
Of holy Thomas there most reverently interred,  
Who sometime to the See of Hereford preferred;  
Thence travailing to Rome, in his return bereft  
His life by sickness, there to thee his body left.   

Yet Italy gave not these honours all to them  
That visited her Rome, but from jerusalem,  
Some coming back through thee, and yielding up their spirits,  
On thy rich earth received their most deserved merits.  
O Naples, as thine own, in thy large Territory,  
Though to our Country's praise, yet to thy greater glory,  
Even to this day the Shrines religiously dost keep,  
Of many a blessed Saint which in thy lap doth sleep!  
As Eleutherius, come from visiting the Tomb,  
Thougau'st to him at Ark in thy Apulia room  
To set his holy Cell, where he an Hermit died,  
Canonised her Saint; so hast thou glorified  
Saint Gerrard, one of ours, (above the former graced)  
In such a sumptuous Shrine at Galinaro placed;  
At Sancto Padre so, Saint Fulke hath ever fame,  
Which from that reverend man't should seem derived the name,  
His Relics there reserved; so holy Ardwins Shrine  
Is at Ceprano kept, and honoured as divine,  
For Miracles, that there by his strong faith were wrought.  
Mongst these selected men, the Sepulchre that sought,  
And in thy Realm arrived, their blessed souls resigned:  
Our Bernard's body yet at Arpine we may find,  
Until this present time, her patronising Saint.   

So Countries more remote, with ours we did acquaint,  
As Richard for the fame his holiness had won,  
And for the wondrous things that through his Prayers were done,  
From this his native home into Calabria called,  
And of Saint Andrew's there the Bishop was instauld,  
For whom she hath professed much reverence to this land:  
Saint William with this man, a parallel may stand,  
Through all the Christian world accounted so divine,  
That travelling from hence to holy Pálestine,  
Desirous that most blessed jerusalem to see,  
(In which the Saviour's self so oft vouchsafed to be)  
Prior of that holy house by Suffrages related,  
To th'Sepulchre of Christ, which there was dedicated;  
To Tyre in Syria thence removed in little space,  
And in less time ordained Archbishop of that place;  
That God inspired man, with heavenly goodness filled,  
A Saint amongst the rest deservedly is held.   

Yet Italy, nor France, nor Germany, those times  
Employed not all our men, but into colder Climbs,  
They wandered through the world, their Countries that forsook.  
So Sigfrid sent fromhence, devoutly undertook  
Those Pagans wild and rude, of Gothia to convert,  
Who having laboured long, with danger oft engird,  
Was in his reverend age for his deserved fee,  
By Olaus' King of Goths, set on Vexouia's See.  
To Norway, and to those great North-East Countries far;  
So Gotebald gave himself holding a Christian war  
With Paynims, nothing else but Heathenish Rites that knew.  
As Suethia to herself these men most reverend drew,  
Saint Vlfrid of our Saints, as famous there as any,  
Nor scarcely find we one converting there so many.  
And Henry in those days of Oxsto Bishop made,  
The first that Swethen King, which euer did persuade,  
On Finland to make war, to force them by the sword,  
When nothing else could serve to hear the powerful word;  
With Eskill thither sent, to teach that barbarous Nation,  
Who on the Passion day, there preaching on the Passion,  
T'express the Saviour's love to mankind, taking pain,  
By cruel Paynims hands was in the Pulpit slain,  
Upon that blessed day Christ died for sinful man,  
Upon that day for Christ, his Martyr's Crown he won.  
So David drawn from hence into those farther parts,  
By preaching, who to pierce those Paynims hardened hearts,  
Incessantly proclaimed Christ jesus, with a cry  
Against their Heathen gods, and blind Idolatry.  
Into those colder Climbs to people beastly rude,  
So others that were ours courageously pursued,  
The planting of the Truth, in zeal three most profound,  
The relish of whose names by likeliness of sound,  
Both in their lives and deaths, a likeliness might show,  
As Vnaman we name, and Shunaman that go,  
With Wynaman their friend, which martyred gladly were  
In Gothland, whilst they taught with Christian patience there.   

Nor those from us that went, nor those that hither came  
From the remotest parts, were greater yet in name,  
Then those residing here on many a goodly See,  
(Great Bishops in account, now greater Saints that be)  
Some such selected ones for piety and zeal,  
As to the wretched world, more clearly could reveal,  
How much there might of God in mortal man be found  
In charitable works, or such as did abound,  
Which by their good success in aftertimes were blest,  
Were then related Saints, as worthier than the rest.   

Of Canterbury here with those I will begin, 
Bishops of this land canonised Saints.   
That first Archbishops See, on which there long hath been  
So many men devout, as raised that Church so high,  
Much reverence, and have won their holy Hierarchy:  
Of which he first that did with goodness so inflame  
The hearts of the devout (that from his proper name)  
As one (even) sent from God, the souls of men to save  
The title unto him, of Deodat they gave.  
The Bishops Brightwald next, and Tatwin in we take,  
Whom time may say, that Saints it worthily did make  
Succeeding in that See directly even as they,  
Here by the Muse are placed, who spent both night and day  
By doctrine, or by deeds, instructing, doing good,  
In raising them were fall'n, or strengthening them that stood.   

Then Odo the Severe, who highly did adorn  
That See, (yet being of unchristened parents borne,  
Whose Country Denmark was, but in East England dwelled)  
He being but a child, in his clear bosom felt  
The most undoubted truth, and yet unbaptised long;  
But as he grew in years, 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 confirmed, and strongly credit won,  
To many wondrous things, which he before had done.  
To whom when (as they say) the Devil once appeared,  
This man so full of faith, not once at all afeard,  
Strong conflicts with him had, in miracles most great.  
As Egelnoth again much graced that sacred seat,  
Who for his godly deeds surnamed was the Good,  
Not boasting of his birth, though come of Royal blood:  
For that, nor at the first, a Monks mean Cowle despised,  
With winning men to God, who never was sufficed.  
These men before expressed; so Eadsine next ensues,  
To propagate the truth, no toil that did refuse;  
In Harald's time who lived, when William Conqueror came,  
For holiness of life, attained unto that fame,  
That Soldiers fierce and rude, that pity never knew,  
Were suddenly made mild, as changed in his view.  
This man with those before, most worthily related  
Arch-saints, as in their Sees Archbishops consecrated.  
Saint Thomas Becket then, which Rome so much did hery,  
As to his Christened name it added Canterbury;  
There to whose sumptuous Shrine the near succeeding ages,  
So mighty offerings 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 truly just, he hath his right; if no,  
Those times were much to blame, that have him reckoned so.   

Then these from York ensue, whose lives as much have graced  
That See, as these before in Canterbury placed:  
Saint Wilfrid of her Saints, we then the first will bring,  
Who twice by Egfrids' ire, the stern Northumbrian King,  
Expulsed his sacred Seat, most patiently it bore,  
The man for sacred gifts almost beyond compare.  
Then Bosa next to him as meek and humble hearted,  
As the other full of grace, to whom great God imparted  
His mercies sundry ways, as age upon him came.  
And next him followeth john, who like wise bare the name,  
Of Beverley, where he most happily was borne,  
Whose holiness did much his native place adorn,  
Whose Vigils had by those devouter times bequests  
The Ceremonies due to great and solemn Feasts.  
So Oswald of that seat, and Cedwall sainted were,  
Both reverenced and renowned Archbishops, living there  
The former to that See, from Worcester transferred,  
Deceased, was again at Worcester interred:  
The other in that See a sepucher they chose,  
And did for his great zeal amongst the Saints dispose,  
As William by descent come of the Conqueror's strain,  
Whom 〈◊〉 ruling here did in his time ordain  
Archbishop of that See, among our Saints doth fall,  
Deriaed from those two Seats, styld archiepiscopal.   

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 reverend Bishop Chad,  
At Lichfield in those times, his famous seat that had)  
Is Sainted for that See amongst our reverend men,  
From London though at length removed to Lestingen,  
A monastery, which then he richly had begun.  
Him Erkenwald ensues th'East English Offa's son,  
His father's kingly Court, who for a Crosiar fled,  
Whose works such fame him won for ho linesse, that dead,  
Time him enshrined in Paul's, (the mother of that See)  
Which with Revenues large, and Privileges he  
Had wondrously endowed; to goodness so affected,  
That he those abbeys great, from his own power erected  
At Chertsey near to Thames, and Barking famous long.  
So Roger hath a room in these our Sainted throng,  
Who by his words and works so taught the way to heaven,  
As that great name to him sure was not vainly given.   

With Winchester again proceed we, which shall store  
Us with as many Saints, as any See (or more)  
Of whom we yet have sung, (as Hcada there we have)  
Who by his godly life, so good instructions gave,  
As teaching that the way to make men to live well,  
Example us assured, did Preaching far excel.  
Our Swithen then ensues, of him why ours I say,  
Is that upon his Feast, his dedicated day,  
As it in Harvest haps, so Ploughmen note thereby,  
Th'ensuing forty days be either wet or dry,  
As that day falleth out, whose Miracles may we  
Believe those former times, he well might sainted be.   

So Frithstan for a Saint incalendred we find,  
With Brithstan not a whit the holiest man behind,  
Canonised, of which two, the former for respect  
Of virtues in him found, the latter did elect  
To sit upon his See, who likewise dying there,  
To Ethelbald again succeeding did appear,  
The honour to a Saint, as challenging his due.  
These formerly expressed, than Elpheg doth ensue;  
Then Ethelwald, of whom this Almsdeed hath been told,  
That in a time of dearth his Church's plate he sold,  
T'releeue the needy poor; the Church's wealth (quoth he)  
May be again repaired, but so these cannot be.  
With these before expressed, so Britwald forth she brought,  
By faith and earnest prayer his miracles that wrought,  
That such against the Faith, that were most stonyhearted,  
By his religious life, have lastly been converted.  
This man, when as our Kings so much decayed were,  
As'twas suppos d their Line would be extinguished here,  
Had in his Dream revealed, to whom All-doing heaven,  
The Sceptre of this land in aftertimes had given;  
Which in Prophettick sort by him delivered was,  
And as he stoutly spoke, it truly came to pass.   

So other Southern Sees, here either less or more,  
Have likewise had their Saints, though not alike in store.  
Of Rochester, we have Saint Ithamar, being then  
In those first times, first of our native English men  
Residing on that Seat; so as an aid to her,  
But singly Sainted thus, we have of Chichester,  
Saint Richard, and with him Saint Gilbert, which do stand  
Enrolled amongst the rest of this our mitred Band,  
Of whom such wondrous things, for truths delivered are,  
As now may seem to stretch 〈◊〉 straight belief too far.   

And Cimbert, of a Saint had the deserved right,  
His yearly Obijts long, done in the Isle of Wight;  
A Bishop, as some say, but certain of what See,  
It scarcely can be proved, nor is it known to me.   

Whilst Sherburne was a See, and in her glory shone,  
And Bodmin likewise had a Bishop of her own,  
Whose Diocese that time contained Cornwall; these  
Had as the rest their Saints, derived from their Sees:  
The first, her Adelme had, and Hamond, and the last  
Had Patrock, for a Saint that with the other past;  
That were it fit for us but to examine now  
Those former times, these men for Saints that did allow,  
And from our reading urge, that others might as well  
Related be for Saints, as worthy every deal.  
This scrutiny of ours, would clear that world thereby,  
And show it to be void of partiality,  
That each man holy called, was not canonised here,  
But such whose lives by death had trial many a year.   

That See at Norwich now established (long not stirred)  
At Eltham planted first, to Norwich then transferred  
Into our bead-roll here, her Humbert in doth bring,  
(A Counsellor that was to that most martyred King  
Saint Edmund) who in their rude massacre then slain,  
The title of a Saint, his Martyrdom doth gain.   

So Hereford hath had on her Cathedral Seat,  
Saint Leofgar, a man by Martyrdom made great,  
Whom Griffith Prince of Wales, that swoon which did subdue,  
(O most unhallowed deed) unmercifully slew.   

So Worster, (as those Sees here sung by us before)  
Hath likewise with her Saints renowned our native shore:  
Saint Egwin as her eldest, with Woolstan as the other,  
Of whom she may be proud, to say she was the Mother,  
The Church's Champions both, for her that stoutly stood.   

Lichfield hath those no whit less famous, nor less good:  
The first of whom is that most reverend Bishop Chad,  
In those religious times for holiness that had,  
The name above the best that lived in those days,  
That Stories have been stuffed with his abundant praise;  
Who on the See of York being formerly instauld,  
Yet when back to that place Saint Wilfrid was recalled,  
The Seat to that good man he willingly resigned,  
And to the quiet Close of Lichfield him confined.  
So Sexulfe after him, than Owen did supply,  
Her Trine of reverend men, renowned for sanctity.   

As Lincoln to the Saints, our Robert Grosted lent,  
A perfect godly man, most learned and eloquent,  
Then whom no Bishop yet walked in more upright ways,  
Who durst reprove proud Rome, in her most prosperous days,  
Whose life, of that next age the justice well did show,  
Which we may boldly say, for this we clearly know,  
Had Innocent the fourth the Church's Suffrage led,  
This man could not at Rome have been Canonised.   

Her sainted Bishop john, so Ely adds to these,  
Yet never any one of all 〈◊〉 several Sees  
Northumber land like thine, have to these times been blest,  
Which sent into this Isle so many men professed,  
Whilst Hagustald had then a Mother-Churches style,  
And Lindisferne of us now called the Holy-Ile,  
Was then a See before that Durham was so great,  
And long ere Carleill came to be a Bishop's seat.  
Aidan, and Finan both, most happily were found  
Northumber land in thee, even whilst thou didst abound  
With Paganism, which them thy Oswin that good King,  
His people to convert did in from Scotland bring:  
As Etta likewise hers, from Malrorse that arose,  
Being Abbot of that place, whom the Northumber's chose  
The Bishopric of Ferne, and Hagustald to hold.  
And Cuthbert of whose life such Miracles are told,  
As Story scarcely can the truth thereof maintain,  
Of th'old Scotch-Irish Kings descended from the strain,  
To whom since they belong, I from them here must swerve,  
And till I thither come, their holiness reserve,  
Proceeding with the rest that on those Sees have shown,  
As Edbert after these borne naturally our own.  
The next which in that See Saint Cuthbert did succeed,  
His Church then built of wood, and thatched with homely reed,  
He builded up of stone, and covered fair with Lead,  
Who in Saint Cuthberts' Grave they buried being dead,  
As his sad people he at his departing wild.  
So Higbald after him a Saint is likewise held,  
Who when his proper See, as all the Northern Shore,  
Were by the Danes destroyed, he not dismayed the more,  
But making shift to get out of the cruel flame,  
His Clergy carrying forth, preached wheresoever he came.   

And Alwyn who the Church at Durham now, begun,  
Which place before that time was strangely overrun  
With shrubs, and men for corn that plot had lately eared,  
Where he that goodly Fane to after ages reared,  
And thither his late Seat from * Lindisferne translated,  

An Isle near to Scotland, lying into the Germane Ocean, since that called Holy Island, as you may read in the next page following.  Which his Cathedral Church by him was consecrated.   

So Acca we account 'mongst those which have been called  
The Saints of this our See, which sat at Hagenstald,  
Of which he Bishop was, in that good age respected,  
In Calendars preserved, in th'Catalogues neglected,  
Which since would seem to show the Bishops as they came:  
Then Edilwald, which some (since) Ethelwoolph do name,  
At Durham by some men supposed to reside  
More rightly, but by some at Carleill justified,  
The first which ruled that See, which * Beauclerke did prefer,  
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,  
Canonised as well as thy great mitred men:  
Two famous Abbots first are in the rank of these,  
Whose abbeys touched the walls of thy two ancient Seas.   

Thy Roysill (in his time the tutelage that had  
Of Cuthbert that great Saint, whose hopes then but a lad,  
Expressed in riper years how greatly he might merit)  
The man who had from God a prophesying Spirit,  
Foretelling many things; and growing to be old,  
His very hour of death, was by an Angel told.  
At Malroyes' this good man his Sainting well did earn,  
Saint Oswald his again at holy Lindisferne,  
With Ine a godly Priest, supposed to have his lere  
Of Cuthbert, and with him was Herbert likewise there  
His fellow-pupill long, (who as mine Author saith)  
So great opinion had, of Cuthbert and his faith,  
That at one time and place, he with that holy man,  
Desired of God to dye, which by his prayer he won.   

Our venerable Bede so forth that Country brought,  
And worthily so named, who of those ages sought  
The truth to understand, impartially which he  
Delivered hath to time, in his Records that we,  
Things left so far behind, before us still may read,  
Mongst our canonised sort, who called is Saint Bede.   

A sort of Hermits then, by thee to light are brought,  
Who lived by Alms, and Prayer, the world respecting nought.  
Our Edilwald the Priest, in Ferne (now holy I'll)  
Which standeth from the firm to Sea nine English mile,  
Sat in his reverend Cell, as Godrick thou canst show;  
His head and beard as white as Swan or driven Snow,  
At Finchall threescore years, a Hermit's life to lead;  
Their solitary way in thee did Alrick tread,  
Who in a Forest near to Carleill, in his age,  
Bequeathed himself 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 royal strain)  
That Alkwin, Master to that mighty Charlemaigne,  
In Verse his Legend writ, who of our holy men,  
He him the subject chose for his most learned pen.  
So Oswyn, one of thy dear Country thou canst show,  
To whom as for the rest for him we likewise owe  
Much honour to thy earth, this godly man that gave,  
Whose Relics that great house of Lesting long did save,  
To cinders till it sank: so Benedict by thee,  
We have amongst the rest, for Saints that reckoned be,  
Of Wyremouth worshipped long, her Patron buried there,  
In that most goodly Church, which he himself did rear.  
Saint Thomas so to us Northumberland thou lent'st,  
Whom up into the South, thou from his Country sentest;  
For sanctity of life, a man exceeding rare,  
Who since that of his name so many Saints there are,  
This man from others more, that times might understand,  
They to his christened name added Northumberland.   

Nor in one Country thus our Saints confined were,  
But through this famous Isle dispersed here and there:  
As Yorkshire sent us in Saint Robert to our store,  
At Knarsborough most known, whereas he long before  
His blessed time bestowed; then one as just as he,  
(If credit to those times attributed may be)  
Saint Richard with the rest deserving well a room,  
Which in that Country once, at Hampoole had a tomb.  
Religious Alred so, from rydal we receive,  
The Abbot, who to all posterity did leave,  
The fruits of his stayed faith, delivered by his Pen.  
Not of the least desert amongst our holiest men,  
One Eusac than we had, but where his life he led,  
That doubt I, but am sure he was Canonised,  
And was an Abbot too, for sanctity much famed.   

Then Woolsey will we bring, of Westminster so named,  
And by that title known, in power and goodness great;  
And meriting as well his Sainting, as his Seat.  
So have we found three johns, of sundry places here,  
Of which (three reverend men) two famous Abbots were.  
The first Saint Alban showed, the second Lewes had,  
Another godly john we to these former add,  
To make them up a Trine, (the name of Saints that won)  
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 diversely dare say,  
As they of Gilbert do, who founded those Divines,  
monastics all that were, of him named Gilbertines:  
To which his Order here, he thirteen houses built,  
When that most thankful time, to show he had not spilt  
His wealth on it in vain, a Saint hath made him here,  
At Sempringham enshrined, a town of Lincolnshire.   

Of sainted Hermits then, a company we have,  
To whom devouter times this veneration gave:  
As Gwir in Cornwall kept his solitary Cage,  
And Neoth by Hunstock there, his holy Hermitage,  
As Guthlake, from his youth, who lived a Soldier long,  
Detesting the rude spoils, done by the armed throng,  
The mad tumultuous world contemptibly forsook,  
And to his quiet Cell by Crowland him betook,  
Free from all public crowds, in that low Fenny ground.  
As Bertiline again, was near to Stafford found:  
Then in a Forest there, for solitude most fit,  
Blest in a Hermit's life, by there enjoying it.  
An Hermit Arnulph so in Bedfordshire became,  
A man austere of life, in honour of whose name,  
Time after built a Town, where this good man did live,  
And did to it the name of Arnulphsbury give.  
These men, this wicked world respected not a hair,  
But true Professors were of poverty and prayer.   

Amongst these men which times have honoured with the Style  
Of Confessors, (made Saints) so every little while,  
Our Martyrs have come in, who sealed with their blood,  
That faith which th'other preached, 'gainst them that it withstood;  
As 〈◊〉, who had lived a Herdsman, left his Seat,  
Though in the quiet fields, whereas he kept his Neat,  
And leaving that his Charge, he left the world withal,  
An Anchorite and became, within a Cloystred wall,  
Enclosing up himself, in prayer to spend his breath,  
But was too soon (alas) by Pagans put to death.  
Then Woolstan, one of these, by his own kinsman slain  
At Eusham, for that he did zealously maintain  
The verity of Christ. As Thomas, whom we call  
Of Dover, adding Monk, and 〈◊〉 therewithal;  
For that the barbarous Danes he bravely did withstand,  
From ransacking the Church, when here they put on land,  
By them was done to death, which rather he did choose,  
Then see their Heathen hands those holy things abuse.   

Two Boys of tender age, those elder Saints ensue,  
Of Norwich William was, of Lincoln little Hugh,  
Whom 〈◊〉 jews (rebellious that abide)  
In mockery of our Christ at Easter ciucified,  
Those time's 〈◊〉 every one should their due honour have,  
His freedom or his life, for jesus Christ that gave.   

So Wiltshire with the rest her Hermit Vlfrick hath  
Related for a Saint, so famous in the Faith,  
That 〈◊〉 ages since, his Cell have sought to find,  
At Hasselburg, who had his Obijts him assigned.   

So 〈◊〉 we many Kings most holy here at home, 
Saxon Kings canonised for Saints.   
As 〈◊〉 of meaner rank, which have attained that room:  
Northumberland, thy seat with Saints did us supply  
Of thy 〈◊〉 Kings; of which high Hierarchy  
Was Edwin, for the Faith by Heathenish hands enthralled,  
Whom Penda which to him the Welsh Cadwallyn called,  
Without all mercy slew: But he alone not died  
By that proud Mercian King, but Penda yet beside,  
Just Oswald likewise slew, at Oswaldstree, who gave  
That name unto that place, as though time meant to save  
His memory thereby, there suffering for the Faith,  
As one whose life deserved that memory in death.  
So likewise in the Roll of these Northumbrian Kings,  
With those that Martyrs were, so forth that Country brings  
Th'enchanted Oswin next, in Deira to ensue,  
Whom Osway that bruit King of wild Bernitia slew:  
Two kingdoms, which whilst then Northumberland remained  
In greatness, were within her larger bounds contained;  
This Kingly Martyr so, a Saint was rightly crowned.  
As Alkmond one of hers for sanctity renowned,  
King Alreds Christened son, a most religious Prince,  
Whom when the Heathenish here by no means could convince,  
(Their Paganism a pace declining to the wane)  
At Derby put to death, whom in a goodly Fane,  
Called by his glorious name, his corpse the Christians laid.  
What fame deserved your faith, (were it but rightly weighed)  
You pious Princes then, in godliness so great;  
Why should not full-mouthed Fame your praises oft repeat?  
So 〈◊〉 her King, Northumbria notes again,  
In 〈◊〉 the next, though not the next in reign,  
Whom his false Subjects slew, for that he did deface  
The Heathenish Saxon gods, and bound them to embrace  
The lively quickening Faith, which then began to spread.  
So for our Saviour Christ, as these were martyred:  
There other holy Kings were likewise, who confessed,  
Which those most zealous times have Sainted with the rest,  
King Alfred that his Christ he might more surely hold,  
Left his Northumbrian Crown, and soon became encould,  
At Malroyse, in the land, whereof he had been King.  
So Egbert to that Prince, a Parallel we bring,  
To Oswoolph his next heir, his kingdom that resigned,  
And presently himself at Lindisferne confined,  
Contemning Courtly state, which earthly fools adore:  
So Ceonulph again as this had done before,  
In that religious house, a cloistered man became,  
Which many a blessed Saint hath honoured with the name.   

Nor those Northumbrian Kings the only Martyrs were,  
That in this sevenfold Rule the sceptres once did bear,  
But that the Mercian reign, which Pagan Princes long,  
Did terribly infest, had some her Lords among,  
To the true Christian Faith much reverence which did add  
Our martyrologue to help: so happily she had  
Rufin, and Vlfad, sons to Wulphere, for desire  
They had t'embrace the Faith, by their most cruel Sire  
Were without pity slain, long ere to manhood grown,  
Whose tender bodies had their burying Rites at * Stone.  

A Town in 〈◊〉.  So Kenelm, that the King of Mercia should have been,  
Before his first seven years he fully out had seen,  
Was slain by his own Guard, for fear lest waxing old,  
That he the Christian Faith undoubtedly would hold.  
So long it was ere truth could Paganism expel.   

Then Fremund, Offa's son, of whom times long did tell,  
Such wonders of his life and sanctity, who fled  
His father's kingly Court, and after meekly led  
An Hermit's life in Wales, where long he did remain  
In Penitence and prayer, till after he was slain  
By cruel Oswayes hands, the most inveterate foe,  
The Christian faith here found: so Etheldred shall go  
With these our martyred Saints, though only he confessed,  
Since he of Mercia was, a King who highly blest,  
Fair Bardncy, where his life religiously he spent,  
And meditating Christ, thence to his Saviour went.   

Nor our West-Saxon reign was any whit behind  
Those of the other rules (their best) whose zeal we find,  
Amongst those sainted Kings, whose fames are safeliest kept;  
As Cedwall, on whose head such praise all times have heaped,  
That from a Heathen Prince, a holy Pilgrim turned,  
Repenting in his heart against the truth t'have spurned,  
To Rome on his bare feet his patience exercised,  
And in the Christian faith there humbly was baptised.  
So Ethelwoolph, who sat on Cedwalls ancient Seat,  
For charitable deeds, who almost was as great,  
As any English King, at Winchester enshrined,  
A man amongst our Saints, most worthily divined.  
Two other Kings as much our martyrologue may stead,  
Saint Edward, and with him comes in Saint Ethelred,  
By Alfreda, the first, his Stepmother was slain,  
That her most loved son young Ethelbert might reign:  
The other in a storm, and deluge of the Dane,  
For that he Christened was, received his deadly bane;  
Both which with wondrous cost, the English did inter,  
At Wynburne this first Saint, the last at Winchester,  
Where that West-Saxon Prince, good Alfred buried was  
Among our Sainted Kings, that well deserves to pass.   

Nor were these Western Kings of the old Saxon strain,  
More studious in those times, or stoutlier did maintain  
The truth, than these of ours, the Angles of the East,  
Their nearest and dearest Allies, which strongly did invest  
The * Island with their name, of whose most holy Kings, 
A people of the Saxons, who gave the name to England, of Angel's land.   
Which justly have deserved their high Canonizing,  
Are Sigfrid, whose dear death him worthily hath crowned,  
And Edmund in his end, so wondrously renowned,  
For Christ's sake suffering death, by that blood-drowning Dane,  
To whom those times first built that City and that Fane, 
Saint Edmunsbury.   
Whose ruins Suffolk yet can to her glory show,  
When she will have the world of her past greatness know.  
As Ethelbert again allured with the report  
Of more than earthly pomp, then in the Mercian Court,  
From the East-Angles went, whilst mighty Offa reigned;  
Where, for he christened was, and Christianlike abstained  
To Idolatrize with them, fierce Quenred, Offa's Queen  
Most treacherously him slew out of th'inveterate spleen  
She bore unto the Faith, whom we a Saint adore.  
So Edwald brother to Saint Edmund, sang before,  
A Confessor we call, whom past times did inter,  
At Dorcester by Tame, (now in our Calendar.)   

Amongst those kingdoms here, so Kent account shall yield  
Of three of her best blood, who in this Christian Field  
Were mighty, of the which, King Ethelbert shall stand  
The first; who having brought Saint Augustine to land,  
Himself first christened was, by whose example then,  
The Faith grew after strong amongst his Kentishmen.  
As Ethelbrit again, and Ethelred his fere,  
To Edbald King of Kent, who natural Nephews were,  
For Christ there suffering death, assume them places hie,  
Amongst our martyred Saints, commemorate at Wye.  
To these two brothers, so two others come again,  
And of as great descent in the 〈◊〉 strain:  
Arwaldi of one name, whom ere King Cedwall knew  
The true and lively Faith, he tyranously slew:  
Who still amongst the Saints have their deserved right,  
Whose Vigils were observed (long) in the Isle of Wight.  
Remembered too the more, for being of one name,  
As of th' East-Saxon line, King Sebba so became  
A most religious Monk, at London, where he led  
A strict retired life, a Saint alive and dead.  
Related for the like, so Edgar we admit,  
That King, who over eight did solely Monarch sit,  
And with our holiest Saints for his endowments great,  
Bestowed upon the Church. With him we likewise seat  
That sumptuous shrined King, good Edward, from the rest  
Of that renowned name, by Confessor expressed.   

To these our sainted Kings, remembered in our Song,  

Holy women Canonised Saints.  Those Maids and widowed Queens, do worthily belong,  
Encloistered that became, and had the self same style,  
For Fasting, Alms, and Prayer, renowned in our Isle,  
As those that forth to France, and Germany we gave,  
For holy charges there; but here first let us have  
Our Mayd-made-Saints at home, as Hilderlie, with her  
We Theorid think most fit, for whom those times aver,  
A Virgin strictlyer vowed, hath hardly lived here.  
Saint Wulfshild than 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 Abbess of that place.  
So Werburg, Wulpheres child, (of Mercia that had been  
A persecuting King) 〈◊〉 Ermineld his Queen,  
At Ely honoured is, where her dear mother late,  
A Recluse had remained, in her sole widowed state:  
Of which good Audery was King Ina's daughter bright,  
Reflecting on those times so clear a Vestal light,  
As many a Virgin-breast she fired with her zeal,  
The fruits of whose strong faith, to ages still reveal  
The glory of those times, by liberties she gave,  
By which those Eastern Shires their Privileges have. 
Saint Audries Liberties.   
Of holy Audries too, a sister here we have,  
Saint Withburg, who herself to Contemplation gave,  
At Deerham in her Cell, where her due hours she kept,  
Whose death with many a tear in Norfolk was bewept.   

And in that Isle again, which beareth Elies' name,  
At Ramsey, Merwin so a Veiled Maid became  
Amongst our Virgin-Saints, where 〈◊〉 is enrolled,  
The daughter that is named of noble Ethelwold,  
A great East-Anglian Earl, of Ramsey Abbas long,  
So of our Mayden-Saints, the Female sex among.  
With Milburg, Mildred comes, and Milwid, daughters dear,  
To Meruald, who did then the Mercian Sceptre bear.  
At Wenlock, Milburg died, (a most religious maid)  
Of which great abbey she the first foundation laid:  
And Thanet as her Saint (even to this age) doth herye  
Her Mildred. Milwid was the like at Canterbury.   

Nor in this utmost Isle of Thanet may we pass,  
Saint Eadburg Abbess there, who the dear daughter was,  
To Ethelbert her Lord, and Kent's first Christened King,  
Who in this place most first we with the former bring,  
Translated (as some say) to Flanders: but that I,  
As doubtful of the truth, here dare not justify.   

King Edgar's sister so, Saint Edith, place may have  
With these our Maiden-Saints, who to her Powlsworth gave  
Immunities most large, and goodly livings laid.  
Which Modwen, long before, a holy Irish maid,  
Had founded in that place, with most devout intent.  
As Eanswine, Eadwalds' child, one of the Kings of Kent,  
At Foulkston found a place (given by her father there)  
In which she gave herself to abstinence and prayer.   

Of the West-Saxon rule, borne to three several Kings,  
Four holy Virgins more the Muse in order brings:  
Saint Ethelgive the child to Alfred, which we find,  
Those more devouter times at Shaftsbury enshrined.  
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 Maids,  
As from their Cradles' vowed to bidding of their beads.  
Saint Cuthburg, and with her Saint Quinburg, which we here  
Succeedingly do set, both as they Sisters were,  
And Abbesses again of Wilton, which we gather,  
Our Virgin-Band to grace, both having to their father  
Religious Ina, red with those which ruled the West,  
Whose mothers sacred womb with other Saints was blest,  
As after shall be showed: an other Virgin vowed,  
And likewise for a Saint amongst the rest allowed;  
To th'elder Edward borne, bright Eadburg, who for she,  
(As five related Saints of that blessed name there be)  
Of Wilton Abbess was, they her of Wilton styled:  
Was ever any Maid more merciful, more mild,  
Or sanctimonious known: But Muse, on in our Song,  
With other princely Maids, 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  
Encloistered; and to these Saint Tibba let us call,  
In solitude to Christ, that set her whole delight,  
In Godmanchester made a constant Anchorite.  
Amongst which of that house, for Saints that reckoned be,  
Yet never any one more graced the 〈◊〉 than she.  
Derived of royal Blood, as th'other Elfled than  
Niece to that mighty King, our English Athelstan,  
At Glastenbury shrined; and one as great as she,  
Being Edward Outlaws child, a Maid that lived to see  
The Conqueror enter here, Saint Christian (to us known)  
Whose life by her clear name divinely was foreshown.   

For holiness of life, that as renowned were,  
And not less nobly borne, nor bred, produce we here;  
Saint Hilda, and Saint Hien, the first of noble name,  
At Strenshalt, took her vow, the other sister came  
To Colchester, and graced the rich Effexian shore:  
Whose Relics many a day the world did there adore.  
And of our sainted Maids, the number to supply,  
Of Eadburg we allow, sometime at Alsbury,  
To Redwald then a King of the East-Angles borne,  
A Votress as sincere as she thereto was sworn.  
Then Pandwine we produce, whom this our native Isle,  
As foreign parts much prized, and higher did instyle,  
The holiest English Maid, whose Vigils long were held  
In Lincolnshire; yet not Saint Frideswid excelled,  
The Abbess of an house in Oxford, of her kind  
The wonder; nor that place, could hope the like to find.  
Two sisters so we have, both to devotion plight,  
And worthily made Saints; the elder Margarite,  
Of Katsby Abbess was, and Alice, as we read,  
Her sister on that seat, did happily succeed,  
At Abington, which first received their living breath.  
Then those Northumbrian Nymphs, all vayld, as full of Faith,  
That Country sent us in, t'increase our Virgin-Band,  
Fair Elfled, Oswald's child, King of Northumberland,  
At Strenshalt that was veiled. As 'mongst those many there,  
O Ebba, whose clear fame, time never shall outwear,  
At Coldingham, far hence within that Country placed;  
The Abbess, who to keep thy veiled Virgins chaste,  
Which else thou fearest the Danes would ravish, which possessed  
This Isle; first of thyself and then of all the rest,  
The Nose and upper Lip from your fair faces carved,  
And from pollution so your hallowed house preserved.  
Which when the Danes perceived, their hopes so far deluded,  
Setting the house on fire, their Martyrdom concluded.  
As Leofron, whose faith with others rightly weighed,  
Shall show her not outmatched by any English Maid:  
Who likewise when the Dane with persecution stormed,  
She here a Martyr's part most gloriously performed.  
Two holy Maids again at Whitby were renowned,  
Both Abbesses thereof, and Confessors are crowned;  
Saint Ethelfrid, with her Saint Congill, as a pair  
Of Abbesses therein, the one of which by prayer  
The Wild-geese thence expelled, that Island which annoyed,  
By which their grass and grain was many times destroyed,  
Which fall from off their wings, nor to the air can get 
Wild. geese falling down, if they fly over the place.   
From the forbidden place, till they be fully set.   

As these within this Isle in Cloisters were enclosed:  
So we our Virgins had to foreign parts exposed;  
As Eadburg, Ana's child, and Sethred borne our own,  
Were Abbesses of Bridge, whose zeal to France was known:  
And Ercongate again we likewise thither sent,  
(Which Ercombert begot, sometime a 〈◊〉 of Kent)  
A Prioress of that place; Burgundosora bore,  
At Eureux the chaste rule, all which renowned are  
In France, which as this Isle of them may freely boast,   

So Germany some graced, from this their native coast.  
Saint Walburg here extract from th'royal English Line,  
Was in that Country made Abbess of Heydentine.  
Saint Tecla to that place at Ochenford they chose:  
From Wynburne with the rest (in Dorsetshire) arose  
chaste Agatha, with her went Lioba along.  
From thence, two not the least these sacred Maids among,  
At Biscopsen, by time encloistered and became.  
Saint Lewen so attained an everliving name  
For Martyrdom, which she at 〈◊〉 wan,  
Maids seeming in their Sex t'exceed the holiest man.  
Nor had our Virgins here for sanctity the prize,  
But widowed Queens as well, that being godly wise,  
Forsaking 2. beds, the world with them forsook,  
To strict retired lives, and gladly them betook  
To Abstinence and Prayer, and as sincerely lived,  
As when the Fates of life King Ethelwold deprived,  
That o'er the East-Angles reigned, bright Heriswid his wife,  
Betaking her to lead a straight Monastic life,  
Departing hence to France, received the holy Veil,  
And lived many a day encloistered there at Kale.  
Then Keneburg in this our Sainted front shall stand,  
To Alfred the loved wife, King of Northumberland,  
Daughter to Penda King of Mercia, who though he  
Himself most Heathenish were, yet lived that age to see  
Four Virgins and this Queen, his children, consecrated  
Of Godmanchester all, and after Saints related.   

As likewise of this Sex, with Saints that doth us store,  
Of the Northumbrian Line so have we many more;  
Saint Eanfled widowed left, by Osway reigning there,  
At Strenshalt took her Veil, as Ethelburg the fere  
To Edwin, (rightly named) the holy, which possessed  
Northumber's sacred seat, herself that did invest  
At Lymming far in Kent, which Country gave her breath.  
So Edeth as the rest after King Sethricks death,  
Which had the self same rule of Wilton Abbess was,  
Where two West-Saxon Queens for Saints shall likewise pass,  
Which in that self same house, Saint Edeth did succeed,  
Saint Ethelwid, which here put on her hallowed weed,  
King Alreds, worthy wife, of Westsex; so again  
Did Wilfrid, Edgar's Queen, (so famous in his reign)  
Than Eadburg, Ana's wife, received as the other,  
Who as a Saint herself, so likewise was she mother  
To two most holy Maids, as we before have showed  
At Wilton, (which we say) their happy time bestowed,  
Though she of Barking was, a holy Nun professed,  
Who in her husband's time, had reigned in the West:  
Th' East-Saxon Line again, so others to us lent,  
As Sexburg sometime Queen to Ercombert of Kent,  
Though Ina's loved child, and Audryes sister known,  
Which Ely in those days did for her Abbess own.  
Nor to Saint O sith we less honour ought to give,  
King Sethreds widowed Queen, who (when death did deprive  
Th' Essexian King of life) became enrolled at Chich,  
Whose Shrine to her there built, the world did long enrich.  
Two holy Mercian Queens so widowed, Saints became,  
For sanctity much like, not much unlike in name.  
King Wulpheres widowed Fere, Queen Ermineld, whose life  
At Ely is renowned, and Ermenburg, the wife  
To Meruald reigning there, a Saint may safely pass,  
Who to three Virgin-Saints the virtuous mother was,  
The remnant of her days, religiously that bare,  
Immonastred in Kent, where first she breathed the air.  
King Edgar's mother so, is for a Saint preferred,  
Queen Algyve, who (they say) at Shipston was interred.  
So Edward Outlaws wife, Saint Agatha, we bring,  
By Solomon begot, that great Hungarian King;  
Who when she saw the wrong to Edgar her dear son,  
By cruel Harold first, then by the Conqueror done,  
Deprived his rightful crown, no hope it to recover,  
A Vestal habit took, and gave the false world over.  
Saint Maud here not the least, though she be set the last,  
And scarcely over-matcht by any that is past,  
Our Beauclearks Queen, and borne to Malcolm King of Scots,  
Whose sanctity was seen to wipe out all the spots  
Were laid upon her life, when she her Cloister fled,  
And chastely gave herself to her loved husband's bed,  
Whom likewise for a Saint those reverend ages chose,  
With whom we at this time our Catalogue will close.   

Now Rutland all this time, who held her highly wron'g,  
That she should for the Saints thus strangely be prolonged,  
As that the Muse such time upon their praise should spend,  
Sent in her ambling Wash, fair Welland to attend  
At Stamford, which her Stream doth easily overtake,  
Of whom her Mistress Flood seems wondrous much to make;  
For that she was alone the darling and delight  
Of Rutland, ravished so with her beloved sight,  
As in her only child's, a mother's heart may be:  
Wherefore that she the least, yet fruitfulst Shire should see,  
The honourable rank she had amongst the rest,  
The ever-labouring Muse her Beauties thus expressed.   

Love not thyself the less, although the least thou art,  
What thou in greatness want'st, wise Nature doth impart  
In goodness of thy soil; and more delicious mould,  
Surveying all this Isle, the Sun did ne'er behold.  
Bring forth that British Vale, and be it ne'er so rare,  
But Catmus with that Vale, for richness shall compare:  
What Forrest-Nymph is found, how brave so ere she be,  
But Lyfield shows herself as brave a Nymph as she?  
What River ever rose from Bank, or swelling Hill,  
Then Rutland's wand'ring Wash, a delicater Rill?  
Small Shire that can produce to thy proportion good,  
One Vale of special name, one Forest, and one Flood.  
O Catmus, thou fair Vale, come on in Grass and Come;  
That Beaver ne'er be said thy sisterhood to scorn,  
And let thy Ocham boast, to have no little grace,  
That her they pleased Fates, did in thy bosom place,  
And Lyfield, as thou art a Forest, live so free,  
That every Forrest-Nymph may praise the sports in thee.  
And down to Wellands' course, O Wash, run ever clear,  
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 seem a Volume, than a Song.   
 
  

The five and twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Towards Lincolnshire our Progress laid,  
We through deep Holland's Ditches wade,  
Fowling, and Fishing in the Fen;  
Then come we next to Kestiven,  
And bringing Wytham to her fall,  
On Lindsey light we last of all,  
Her Scite and Pleasures to attend,  
And with the Isle of Axholme end.   

NOw in upon thy earth, rich Lincolnshire I strain, (drain,  
At Deeping, from whose Street, the plenteous Ditches  
Hemp bearing Holland's Fen, at Spalding that do fall  
Together in their Course, themselves as emptying all  
Into one general Sewer, which seemeth to divide, 
Holland divided into two parts, the Lower, and the Higher.   
Low Holland from the High, which on their Eastern side  
Th' inbending Ocean holds, from the Norfolcean lands,  
To their more Northern point, where * Wainfleet drifted stands, 
The iength of Holland by the Sea shore from the coast of Norsolke to Wainfleet.   
Do shoulder out those Seas, and Lindsey bids her stay,  
Because to that fair 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 Washes.   
Where Neptune every day doth powerfully invade  
The vast and queachy soil, with Hosts of wallowing waves,  
From whose impetuous force, that who himself not saves,  
By swift and sudden flight, is swallowed by the deep,  
When from the wrathful Tides the foaming Surges sweep,  
The Sands which lay all naked, to the wide heaven before,  
And turneth all to Sea, which was but lately Shore,  
From this our Southern part of Holland, called the Low,  
Where Crowlands ruins yet, (though almost buried) show  
Her mighty Founder's power, yet his more Christian zeal,  
She by the Muse's aid, shall happily reveal  
Her sundry sorts of Fowl, from whose abundance she  
Above all other Tracts, may boast herself to be  
The Mistress, (and indeed) to sit without compare,  
And for no worthless soil, should in her glory share,  
From her moist seat of Flags, of Bulrushes and Reed,  
With her just proper praise, thus Holland doth proceed.   

Ye Acherusian Fens, to mine resign your glory,  

Holland's Orztion  Both that which lies within the goodly Territory  
Of Naples, as that Fen Thesposia's earth upon,  
Whence that infernal Flood, the smutted Acheron  
Shoves forth her sullen head, as thou most fatal Fen,  
Of which Hetruria tells, the watery Thrasimen,  
In History although thou highly seemest to boast,  
That Hannibal by thee o'rthrew the Roman Host.  
I scorn th' Egyptian Fen, which Alexandria shows,  
Proud Mareotis, should my mightiness oppose,  
Or Scythia, on whose face the Sun doth hardly shine,  
Should her Meotis think to match with this of mine,  
That covered all with Snow continually doth stand.  
I stinking Lerna hate, and the poor Libyan Sand.  
* Marica that wise Nymph, to whom great Neptune gave  

A Nymph supposed to have the charge of the Shore.  The charge of all his Shores, from drowning them to save,  
Abideth with me still upon my service pressed,  
And leaves the loser Nymphs to wait upon the rest:  
In Summer giving earth, from which I square my * Peat,  

Fuel cut out of the Marsh.  And faster feedings by, for Dear, for Horse, and Neat.  
My various * Fleets for Fowl, O who is he can tell,  

Brooks and Pools worn by the water, into which the rising floods have recourse.  The species that in me for multitudes excel!  
The Duck, and Mallard first, the Falconers only sport,  
(Of River-flights the chief, so that all other sort,  
They only Greene-Fowle term) in every Mere abound,  
That you would think they sat upon the very ground,  
Their numbers be so great, the waters covering quite,  
That raised, the spacious air is darkened with their flight;  
Yet still the dangerous Dykes, from shot do them secure,  
Where they from Flash to Flash, like the full Epicure  
Waft, as they loved to change their Diet every meal;  
And near to them ye see the lesser dibling Teal  
In * Bunehes, with the first that fly from Mere to Mere,  

The word in Palconry, for a company of Teal.  As they above the rest were Lords of Earth and Air.  
The Gossander with them, my goodly Fens do show  
His head as Ebon black, the rest as white as Snow,  
With whom the Widgeon goes, the Golden-Eye, the Smeath,  
And in odd scattered pits, the Flags, and Reeds beneath;  
The Coot, bald, else clean black, that whiteness it doth bear  
Upon the forehead stared, the Water-Hen doth wear  
Upon her little tail, in one small feather set.  
The Water-woosell next, all over black as jet,  
With various colours, black, green, blue, red, russet, white,  
Do yield the gazing eye as variable delight,  
As do those sundry Fowls, whose several plumes they be.  
The diving Dob-chick, here among the rest you see,  
Now up, now down again, that hard it is to prove,  
Whether under water most it liveth, or above:  
With which last little Fowl, (that water may not lack;  
More than the Dob-chick doth, and more doth love the * brack) 
Salt water.   
The Puffin we compare, which coming to the dish,  
Nice palates hardly judge, if it be flesh or fish.   

But wherefore should I stand upon such to yes as these,  
That have so goodly Fowls, the wand'ring eye to please.  
Here in my vaster Pools, as white as Snow or Milk,  
(In water black as Styx) swims the wild Swan, the Ilke,  
Of Hollanders so termed, no niggard of his breath,  
(As Poets say of Swans, which only sing in death)  
But oft as other Birds, is heard his tons to rote,  
Which like a Trumpet comes, from his long arched throat,  
And towards this watery kind, about the Flashes brim,  
Some cloven-footed are, by nature not to swim.  
There stalks the stately Crane, as though he marched in war,  
By him that hath the Herne, which (by the Fishy Car)  
Can fetch with their long necks, out of the Rush and Reed,  
Snigs, Fry, and yellow Frogs, whereon they often feed:  
And under them again, (that water never take,  
But by some Ditches side, or little shallow Lake  
Lie dabbling night and day) the pallat-pleasing Snite,  
The Bidcocke, and like them the Redshank, that delight  
Together still to be, in some small Reedy bed,  
In which these little Fowls in Summer's 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 noise, as though a Bull did roar;  
But scarcely have I yet recited half my store:  
And with my wondrous flocks of Wild-geese come I then,  
Which look as though alone they peopled all the Fen,  
Which here in Winter time, when all is overflowed,  
And want of solid sward enforceth them abroad,  
Th'abundance than is seen, that my full Fens do yield,  
That almost through the Ifle, do pester every field.  
The Barnacles with them, which wheresoever they breed,  
On Trees, or rotten Ships, yet to my Fens for feed  
Continually they come, and chief abode do make,  
And very hardly forced my plenty to forsake:  
Who almost all this kind do challenge as mine own,  
Whose like I dare aver, is elsewhere hardly known.  
For sure unless in me, no one yet ever saw  
The multitudes of Fowl, 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-pie, Gull, and Curlew here do keep,  
As searching every Shoal, and watching every deep,  
To find the floating Fry, with their sharpe-pearcing sight,  
Which suddenly they take, by stooping from their height.  
The Cormorant than comes, (by his devouring kind)  
Which flying o'er the Fen, immediately doth find  
The Fleet best stored of Fish, when from his wings at full,  
As though he shot himself into the thickened skull,  
He under water goes, and so the Shoal purfues,  
Which into Creeks do fly, when quickly he doth choose,  
The Fin that likes him best, and rising, flying feeds.  
The Ospray oft here seen, though seldom here it breeds,  
Which over them the Fish no sooner do espy,  
But (betwixt him and them, by an antipathy)  
Turning their bellies up, as though their death they saw,  
They at his pleasure lie, to ftuffe his glutt'nous maw.   

The toiling Fisher here is tewing of his Net:  
The Fowler is employed his limed twigs to set. 
The pleasures of the Fens.   
One underneath his Horse, to get a shoot doth stalk;  
Another over Dykes upon his Stilts doth walk:  
There other with their Spades, the Peats be squaring out,  
And others from their Cars, are busily about,  
To draw out Sedge and Reed, for Thatch and Stover fit,  
That whosoever would a Landscape rightly hit,  
Beholding but my Fens, shall with more shapes be stored,  
Then Germany, or France, or Tuscan 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 Neptune's liquid field,  
Doth to no other tract the like abundance yield.  
For that of all the Seas environing this Isle,  
Our Irish, Spanish, French, how e'er we them enstyle,  
The German is the great'st, and it is only I,  
That do upon the same with most advantage lie.  
What Fish can any shore, or British Sea-towne show,  
That's eatable to us, that it doth not bestow  
Abundantly thereon? the Herring king of Sea,  
The faster feeding Cod, the Mackerel brought by May,  
The dainty Sole, and Plaice, the Dabb, as of their blood;  
The Conger finely soused, hot Summer coolest food;  
The Whiting known to all, a general wholesome Dish;  
The Gurnet, Rochet, Maid, and Mullet, dainty Fish;  
The Haddock, Turbet, Bert, Fish nourishing and strong;  
The Thornback, and the Scate, provocative among:  
The Weaver, which although his prickles venom be,  
By Fishers cut away, which Buyers seldom see:  
Yet for the Fish he bears, 'tis not accounted bad;  
The Sea-Flounder is here as common as the Shad;  
The Sturgeon cut to Keggs, (too big to handle whole)  
Gives many a dainty bit out of his lusty jowl.  
Yet of rich Neptune's store, whilst thus I Idly chat,  
Think not that all betwixt the Wherpoole, and the Sprat,  
I go about to name, that were to take in hand,  
The Atomy to tell, or to cast up the sand;  
But on the English coast, those most that usual are,  
Wherewith the staules from thence do furnish us for far;  
Amongst whose sundry sorts, since thus far I am in,  
I'll of our Shellfish speak, with these of Scale and Fin:   

The Sperme-increasing Crab, much Cooking that doth ask,  
The big-legged Lobster, fit for wanton Venus' task,  
Voluptuaries oft take rather than for food,  
And that the same effect which worketh in the blood  
The rough long Oyster is, much like the Lobster limbed:  
The Oyster hot as they, the Mussle often trimmed  
With Orient Pearl within, as thereby nature showed,  
That she some secret good had on that Shell bestowed:  
The Scallop cordial judged, the dainty Wilk and Limp,  
The Periwinkle, Prawne, the Cockle, and the Shrimp,  
For wanton women's tastes or for weak stomaches bought.   

When Kestiven this while that certainly had thought,  
Her tongue would ne'er have stopped, quoth she, O how I hate, 
Kestivens' Oration.   
Thus of her foggy Fens, to hear rude Holland prate,  
That with her Fish and Fowl, here keepeth such a coil,  
As her unwholesome air, and more unwholesome foil,  
For these of which she boasts, the more might suffered be;  
When those her feathered flocks she sends not out to me,  
Wherein clear Witham they, and many a little Brook,  
(In which the Sun itself may well be proud to look)  
Have made their Flesh more sweet by my refined food,  
From that so ramish taste of her most fulsome mud,  
When the toiled Cater home them to the Kitchen brings,  
The Cook doth cast them out, as most unsavoury things.  
Besides, what is she else, but a foul woosie Marsh,  
And that she calls her grass, so blady is, and harsh,  
As cuts the Cattles mouths, constrained 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 grass, or the pure Clover show,  
Compared with her best: and for her sundry Fish,  
Of which she freely boasts, to furnish every Dish.  
Did not full Neptune's fields so furnish her with store,  
Those in the Ditches bred, within her muddy Moor,  
Are of so earthy taste, as that the Ravenous Crow  
Will rather starve, thereon her stomach then bestow.   

From Stamford as along my tract towered Lincoln strains,  
What Shire is there can show more valuable Veins  
Of soil than is in me? or where can there be found,  
So fair and fertile fields, or Sheep-walks ne'er so sound?  
Where doth the pleasant air resent a sweeter breath?  
What Country can produce a delicater Heath,  
Then that which her fair Name from * Ancaster doth hold?  

Ancaster Heath  Through all the neighbouring Shires, whose praise shall still be told,  
Which Flora in the Spring doth with such wealth adorn,  
That Beaver needs not much her company to scorn,  
Though she a Vale lie low, and this a Heath sit hie,  
Yet doth she not alone, allure the wondering eye  
With prospect from each part, but that her pleasant ground  
Gives all that may content, the well-breathed Horse and Hound:  
And from the Britan's yet, to show what then I was,  
One of the Roman Ways near through my midst did pass:  
Besides to my much praise, there hath been in my mould  
Their painted Pavements found, and Arms of perfect gold.  
They near the Saxons reign, that in this tract did dwell,  

No Tract can 〈◊〉 so brave Churches.  All other of this Isle, for that they would excel  
For Churches every where, so rich and goodly reared  
In every little Dorp, that aftertimes have feared  
T'attempt so mighty works; yet one above the rest,  
In which it may be thought, they strove to do their best,  
Of pleasant Grantham is, that Pyramid so hie,  
Reared (as it might be thought) to overtop the sky,  
The Traveller that strikes into a wondrous maze,  
As on his Horse he fits, on that proud height to gaze.   

When Wytham that this while a listening ear had laid,  
To hearken (for herself) what Kestiven had said,  
Much pleased with this report, for that she was the earth  
From whom she only had her sweet and seasoned birth,  
From Wytham which that name derived from her Springs,  

A Town so called.  Thus as she trips along, this dainty Rivelet sings.   

Ye easy ambling streams, which way soe'er you run,  
Or towards the pleasant rise, or towards the midday Sun:  
By which (as some suppose by use that have them tried)  
Your waters in their course are neatly purified.  
Be what you are, or can, I not your Beauty's fear,  
When Neptune shall command the Naiads t'appear.  
In River what is found, in me that is not rare:  
Yet for my well-fed Pikes, I am without compare.   

From Wytham mine own Town, first watered with my source,  
As to the Eastern Sea, I hasten on my course.  
Who sees so pleasant plains, or is of fairer seen,  
Whose Swains in Shepherds grey, and Girls in Lincoln green? 
Lincoln anciently died the best green of England.   
Whilst some the rings of Bells, and some the Bagpipes ply,  
Dance many a merry Round, and many a Hydegy.  
I envy, any Brook should in my pleasure share,  
Yet for my dainty Pikes, I am without compare.   

No Land-floods can me force to over-proud a height;  
Nor am I in my Course, too crooked, or too straight:  
My depths fall by descents, too long, nor yet too broad,  
My Foards with Pebbles, clear as Orient Pearls, are strewed;  
My gentle winding Banks, with sundry Flowers are dressed,  
The higher rising Heaths, hold distance with my breast.  
Thus to her proper Song, the Burden still she bore;  
Yet for my dainty Pikes, I am without compare.   

By this to Lincoln come, upon whose lofty Scite,  
Whilst wistly Wytham looks with wonderful delight,  
Enamoured of the state, and beauty of the place,  
That her of all the rest especially doth grace,  
Leaving her former Course, in which she first set forth,  
Which seemed to have been directly to the North:  
She runs her silver front into the muddy Fen,  
Which lies into the East, in her deep journey, when  
Clear Ban a pretty Brook, from Lyndsey coming down,  
Delicious Wytham leads to holy Botulphs' Town, 
Botulphs' town contractedly Boston.   
Where proudly she puts in amongst the great resort,  
That their appearance make in Neptune's watery Court.   

Now Lyndsey all this while, that duly did attend,  
Till both her Rivals thus had fully made an end  
Of their so tedious talk, when lastly she replies; 
Lyndsies' oration   
Lo, bravely here she sits, that both your states defies.  
Fair Lincoln is mine own, which lies upon my South,  
As likewise to the North, great Humber's swelling mouth  
Encircles me, 'twixt which in length I bravely lie:  
O who can me the best, before them both deny?  
Nor Britain in her Bounds, scarce such a Tract can show,  
Whose shore like to the back of a well-bended Bow,  
The Ocean beareth out, and every where so thick,  
The Villages and Dorps upon my Bosom stick,  
That it is very hard for any to define,  
Whether Upland most I be, 〈◊〉 am Maratine.  
What is there that complete can any Country make,  
That in large measure I, (fair Linasey) not partake,  
As healthy Heaths, and Woods fair Dales, and pleasant Hills,  
All watered here and there, with pretty creeping Rills,  
Fat Pasture, mellow Glebe, and of that kind what can,  
Give nourishment to beast, or benefit to man,  
As Kestiven doth boast, her Wytham so have I,  
My Ancum (only mine) whose fame as far doth fly,  

Wytham Eel, and Ancum Pike, In all the world there is none sick.  For fat and dainty Eels, as hers doth for her Pike,  
Which makes the Proverb up; the world hath not the like.  
From Razin her clear Springs, where first she doth arrive,  
As in an even course, to Humber forth doth drive,  
Fair Barton she salutes, which from her Scite out-braves  
Rough Humber, when he strives to show his sternest waves.   

Now for my Bounds to speak, few 〈◊〉 (I think) there be,  

The Bounds of Kestiven.  (And search through all this Isle) to parallel with me:  
Great Humber holds me North, as I have said before)  
From whom (even) all along, upon the Eastern shore,  
The Germane Oceanlyes; and on my Southern side,  
Clear Wytham in her course, me fairly doth divide  
From Holland; and from thence the Fosdyke is my bound,  
Which our first Henry cut from Lincoln, where he found,  
Commodities by Trent, from Humber to convey:  
So Nature, the clear Trent doth fortunatly lay,  
To ward me on the West, though farther I extend,  
And in my larger bounds do largely comprehend  
Full Axholme, (which those near, the fertile do instile)  
Which Idle, Don, and Trent, embracing make an Isle.   

But wherefore of my Bounds, thus only do I boast,  
When that which Holland seems to vaunt her on the most,  
By me is ouermatcht; the Fowl which she doth breed:  
She in her foggy Fens, so moorishly doth feed,  
That Physic oft forbids the Patient them for food,  
But mine more airy are, and make fine spirits and blood:  
For near this battening Isle, in me is to be seen,  
More than on any earth, the Plover grey, and green,  
The Corne-land-loving quail, the daintiest of our bits,  
The Rail, which seldom comes, but upon Rich men's spits:  
The Peewit, Godwit, Stint, the palate that allure,  
The Miser and do make a wasteful Epicure:  
The Knot, that called was Canutus' Bird of old,  
Of that great King of Danes, his name that still doth hold,  
His appetite to please, that far and near was sought,  
For him (as some have said) from Denmark hither brought  
The Dotterel, which we think a very dainty dish,  
Whose taking makes such sport, as man no more can wish;  
For as you creep, or cowre, or lie, or stoop, or go,  
So marking you (with care) the Apish Bird doth do,  
And acting every thing, doth never mark the Net,  
Till he be in the Snare, which men for him have set.  
The big-boaned Bustard then, whose body bears that size,  
That he against the wind must run, ere he can rise:  
The Shouler, which so shakes the air with saily wings,  
That ever as he flies, you still would think he sings.  
These Fowls, with other Soils, although they frequent be,  
Yet are they found most sweet and delicate in me.   

Thus whilst she seems t'extol in her peculiar praise,  
The Muse which seemed too slack, in these too low-pitcht lays,  
For nobler height prepares, her oblique course, and casts  
A new Book to begin, an end of this she hasts.   
 
  

The six and twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Three Shires at once this Song assays,  
By various and unusual ways.  
At Nottingham first coming in,  
The Vale of Beaver doth begin;  
Towards Leicester then her course she holds,  
And sailing o'er the pleasant Oulds,  
She fetcheth Soar down from her Springs,  
By Charnwood, which to Trent she brings,  
Then shows the Braveries of that Flood,  
Makes Sherwood sing her Robin Hood;  
Then rouzes up the aged Peake,  
And of her Wonders makes her speak:  
Thence Darwin down by Derby tends,  
And at her fall, to Trent, it ends.   

NOw scarcely on this Tract the Muse had entrance made,  
Inclining to the South, but Bevers battening Slade  
receiveth her to Guest, whose coming had too long  
Put off her rightful praise, when thus herself she sung.   

Three Shires there are (quoth she) in me their parts that claim,  
Large Lincoln, Rutland Rich, and th'Norths Eye Nottingham. 
The Vale of Beaver bordreth upon 3. Shires.   
But in the last of these since most of me doth lie,  
To that my most-loved Shire myself I must apply.   

Not Eusham that proud Nymph, although she still pretend  
Herself the first of Vales, and though abroad she send 
Not a more pleasant Vale in all great Britain, then Bever.   
Her awful dread Command, that all should tribute pay  
To her as our great Queen; nor White-horse, though her Clay  
Of silver seem to be, new melted, nor the Vale  
Of Alsbury, whose grass seems given out by tale,  
For it so Silken is, nor any of our kind,  
Or what, or where they be, or howe'er inclined,  
Me Beaver shall out brave, that in my state do scorn,  
By any of them all (once) to be overborne,  
With theirs, do but compare the Country where I lie,  
My Hill, and Oulds will say, they are the Islands eye.  
Consider next my Scite, and say it doth excel;  
Then come unto my Soil, and you shall see it swell,  
With every Grass and Graine, that Britain forth can bring:  
I challenge any Vale, to show me but that thing  
I cannot show to her, (that truly is mine own)  
Besides I dare thus boast, that I as far am known,  
As any of them all, the South their names doth sound,  
The spacious North doth me, that there is scarcely found  
A roomth for any else, it is so filled with mine,  
Which but a little wants of making me divine:  
Nor barren am of Brooks, for that I still retain  
Two neat and dainty Rills, the little Snyte, and Deane,  
That from the lovely Oulds, their beauteous parent sprung  
From the Lecestrian fields, come on with me along,  
Till both within one Bank, they on my North are meint,  
And where I end, they fall, at Newarck, into Trent.   

Hence wand'ring as the Muse delightfully beholds  
The beauty of the large, and goodly full-flockd Oulds,  
She on the left hand 〈◊〉 old Leicester, and flies,  
Until the fertile earth glut her insatiate eyes,  
From Rich to Richer still, that 〈◊〉 her before,  
Until she come to cease upon the head of Soare,  
Where * Fosse, and Watling cut each other in their course  

The 2. famous Ways of England. See to the 13. Song.  At * Sharnford, where at first her soft and gentle source,  
To her but shallow Banks, beginneth to repair,  
Of all this beauteous Isle, the delicatest air;  

A little Village at the rising of Soare.  Whence softly sallying out, as loathe the place to leave,  
She Sense a pretty Rill doth courteously receive:  
For Swift, a little Brook, which certainly she thought  
Down to the Banks of Trent, would safely her have brought,  
Because their native Springs so nearly were allied,  
Her sister Soar forsook, and wholly her applied  
To avon, as with her continually to keep,  
And wait on her along to the Sabrinian deep.   

Thus with her handmaid Sense, the Soare doth easily slide  
By Leicester, where yet her ruins show her pride,  
Demolished many years, that of the great foundation  
Of her long buried walls, men hardly see the station;  
Yet of some pieces found, so sure the Cement locks  
The stones, that they remain like perdurable rocks:  
Where whilst the lovely Soare, with many a dear embrace,  
Is solacing herself with this delightful place,  
The Forest, which the name of that brave Town doth bear, 
Leicester Forrest.   
With many a goodly wreath, crownes her disheveled hair,  
And in her gallant Greene, her lusty Livery shows  
Herself to this fair Flood, which mildly as she flows,  
Reciprocally likes her length and breadth to see,  
As also how she keeps her fertile purlieus free:  
The Herds of Fallow Deer she on the Lands doth feed,  
As having in herself to furnish every need.  
But now since gentle Soare, such leisure seems to take,  
The Muse in her behalf this strong defence doth make,  
Against the neighbour floods, for that which tax her so,  
And her a Channel call, because she is so slow.  
The cause is that she lies upon so low a Flat,  
Where nature most of all befriended her in that,  
The longer to enjoy the good she doth possess:  
For had those (with such speed that forward seem to press)  
So many dainty Meads, and Pastures theirs to be,  
They then would wish themselves to be as slow as she,  
Who well may be compared to some young tender Maid,  
Entering some Prince's Court, which is for pomp arrayed,  
Who led from room to room amazed is to see 
A Simile of Soare.   
The furnitures and states, which all Embroideries be,  
The rich and sumptuous Beds, with Tester-covering plumes,  
And various as the Suits, so various the perfumes,  
Large Galleries, where piece with piece doth seem to strive,  
Of Pictures done to life, Landscape, and Perspective,  
Thence goodly Gardens sees, where Antique Statues stand  
In Stone and Copper, cut by many a skilful hand,  
Where every thing to gaze, her more and more entices,  
Thinking at once she sees a thousand Paradices,  
Goes softly on, as though before she saw the last,  
She longed again to see, what she had slightly passed.  
So the enticing Soil the Soare along doth lead,  
As wondering in herself, at many a spacious Mead;  
When Charnwood from the rocks salutes her wished sight,  
(Of many a Wood-god wooed) her darling and delight,  
Whose beauty whilst that Soare is pausing to behold  
Clear Wreakin coming in, from Waltham on the Old,  
Brings Eye, a pretty Brook, to bear her silver train,  
Which on by Melton make, and tripping o'er the Plain,  
Here finding her surprised with proud Mount-Sorrels sight,  
By quickening of her Course, more easily doth invite  
Her to the goodly Trent, where as she goes along  
By Loughborough, she thus of that fair Forest sung.   

O Charnwood, be thou called the choicest of thy kind,  
The like in any place, what Flood hath happed to find?  
No Tract in all this Isle, the proudest let her be,  
Can show a Sylvan Nymph, for beauty like to thee:  
The Satyrs, and the Fawns, by Diana set to keep,  
Rough Hills, and Forrest holts, were sadly seen to weep,  
When thy high-palmed Hearts the sport of Bows and Hounds,  
By gripple Borderers hands, were banished thy grounds.  
The Dryads that were wont about thy Lawns to rove,  
To trip from Wood to Wood, and scud from Grove to Grove,  
On * Sharpley that were seen, and * Cadmans' aged rocks,  

Two mighty Rocks in the Forest.  Against the rising Sun, to brayed their silver locks;  
And with the harmless Elves, on Heathy * Bardons height,  
By Cynthia's colder beams to play them night by night,  

A Hill in the Forest.  Exiled their sweet abode, to poor bare Commons fled,  
They with the Oaks that lived, now with the Oaks are dead.  
Who will describe to life, a Forest, let him take  
Thy Surface to himself, nor shall he need to make  
An other form at all, where oft in thee is found  
Fine sharp but easy Hills, which reverently are crowned  
With aged Antique Rocks, to which the Goats and Sheep,  
(To him that stands remote) do softly seem to creep,  
To gnaw the little shrubs, on their steep sides that grow;  
Upon whose other part, on some descending Brow,  
Huge stones are hanging out, as though they down would drop,  
Where under-growing Okes, on their old shoulders prop  
The others hoary heads, which still seem to decline,  
And in a Dimble near, (even as a place divine,  
For Contemplation fit) an juy-seeled Bower,  
As Nature had therein ordained some Sylvan power;  
As men may very oft at great Assemblies see,  

A Simile of Charnwood Forrest.  Where many of most choice, and wondered Beauties be:  
For Stature one doth seem the best away to bear;  
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 preferred; amongst the rest yet one,  
Adjudged by all to be, so perfect Paragon,  
That all those parts in her together simply dwell,  
For which the other do so severally excel.  
My Charnwood like the last, hath in herself alone,  
What excellent can be in any Forest shown,   

On whom when thus the Soare had these high praises spent,  
She easily slid away into her Sovereign Trent,  
Who having wandered long, at length began to leave  
Her native Country's bounds, and kindly doth receive  
The lesser Tame, and Mess, the Mess a dainty Rill,  
Near Charnwood rising first, where she begins to fill  
Her Banks, which all her course on both sides do abound  
With Heath and Finny olds, and often gleaby ground,  
Till Croxals fertile earth doth comfort her at last  
When she is entering Trent; but I was like t'ave past  
The other Sense, whose source doth rise not far from hers,  
By Anchor, that herself to famous Trent prefers,  
The second of that name, allotted to this Shire, 
Two Rivers of one name in one Shire.   
A name but hardly found in any place but here;  
Nor is to many known, this Country that frequent.   

But Muse return at last, attend the princely Trent,  
Who straining on in state, the Norths imperious Flood,  
The third of England called, with many a dainty Wood,  
Being crowned to Burton comes, to Needwood where she shows  
Herself in all her pomp; and as from thence she flows,  
She takes into her Train rich Dove, and Darwin clear,  
Darwin, whose fount and fall are both in Darbysheere;  
And of those thirty Floods, that wait the Trent upon,  
Doth stand without compare, the very Paragon.   

Thus wand'ring at her will, as uncontrolled she ranges,  
Her often varying form, as variously and changes.  
First Erwash, and then Line, sweet Sherwood sends her in;  
Then looking wide, as one that newly waked had been,  
Saluted from the North, with Nottinghams' proud height,  
So strongly is surprised, and taken with the sight,  
That she from running wild, but hardly can refrain,  
To view in how great state, as she along doth strain,  
That brave exalted seat, beholdeth her in pride,  
As how the large-spread Meads upon the other side,  
All flourishing in Flowers, and rich embroideries dressed,  
In which she sees herself above her neighbours blest.  
As raped with the delights, that her this Prospect brings,  
In her peculiar praise, lo thus the River sings.   

What should I care at all, from what my name I take,  
That Thirty doth import, that thirty Rivers make; 
Whence Trent is supposed to derive her name. See to the 12. Song.   
My greatness what it is, or thirty abbeys great,  
That on my fruitful Banks, times formerly did seat:  
Or thirty kinds of Fish, that in my Streams do live,  
To me this name of Trent did from that number give.  
What reack I: let great Thames, since by his fortune he  
Is Sovereign of us all that here in Britain be;  
From Isis, and Old Tame, his Pedigree derive:  
And for the second place, proud Severne that doth strive,  
Fetch her descent from Wales, from that proud Mountain sprung,  
Plinillimon, whose praise is frequent them among,  
As of that princely Maid, whose name she boasts to bear,  
Bright Sabrin, which she holds as her undoubted heir.  
Let these imperious Floods draw down their long descent  
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 brown, my clear complexioned Spring,  
Gained with the Nymphs such grace, that when I first did rise,  
The Naiads on my brim, danced wanton Hydagies,  
And on her spacious breast, with Heaths that doth abound)  
Encircled my fair Fount with many a lusty round:  
And of the British Floods, though but the third I be,  
Yet Thames, and Severne both in this come short of me,  
For that I am the Mere of England, that divides  
The North part from the South, on my so either sides,  
That reckoning how these Tracts in compass be extent,  
Men bound them on the North, or on the South of Trent;  
Their Banks are barren Sands, if but compared with mine,  
Through my perspicuous Breast, the pearly Pebbles shine:  
I throw my Crystal Arms along the Flowery Valleys,  
Which lying sleek, and smooth, as any Garden-Allies,  
Do give me leave to play, whilst they do Court my Stream,  
And crown my winding banks with many an Anademe:  
My Siluer-scaled Skulls about my Streams do sweep,  
Now in the shallow fords, now in the falling Deep:  
So that of every kind, the new-spawned numerous Fry  
Seem in me as the Sands that on my Shore do lie.  
The Barbell, than which Fish, a braver doth not swim,  
Nor greater for the Ford within my spacious brim,  
Nor (newly taken) more the curious taste doth please;  
The Greling, whose great Spawn is big as any Pease;  
The Perch with pricking Fins, against the Pike prepared,  
As Nature had there on bestowed this stronger guard,  
His daintiness to keep, (each curious palate's proof)  
From his vile ravenous foe: next him I name the Ruff,  
His very near Ally, and both for scale and Fin,  
In taste, and for his Bait (indeed) his next of kin;  
The pretty slender Dare, of many called the Dace,  
Within my liquid glass, when Phoebus looks his face,  
Oft swiftly as he swims, his silver belly shows,  
But with such nimble slight, that ere ye can disclose  
His shape, out of your sight like lightning he is shot.  
The Trout by Nature marked with many a Crimson spot,  
As though she curious were in him above the rest,  
And of freshwater Fish, did note him for the best;  
The Roche, whose common kind to every Flood doth fall;  
The Chubb, (whose neater name) which some a Chevin call,  
Food to the Tyrant Pike, (most being in his power)  
Who for their numerous store he most doth them devour;  
The lusty Salmon then, from Neptune's watery Realm,  
When as his season serves, stemming my tydefull Stream,  
Then being in his kind, in me his pleasure takes,  
(For whom the Fisher than all other Game forsakes)  
Which bending of himself to th'fashion of a Ring,  
Above the forced Wears, himself doth nimbly fling,  
And often when the Net hath dragged him safe to land,  
Is seen by natural force to scape his murderer's hand;  
Whose grain doth rise in flakes, with fatness interlarded,  
Of many a liquorish lip, that highly is regarded.  
And Humber, to whose waste I pay my watery store,  
Me of her Sturgeons sends, that I thereby the more  
Should have my beauties graced, with some thing from him sent:  
Not Ancums' silvered Eel exceedeth that of Trent;  
Though the sweet-smelling Smelled be more in Thames then me,  
The Lamprey, and his * Less, in Severne general be; 
The 〈◊〉.   
The Flounder smooth and flat, in other Rivers caught,  
Perhaps in greater store, yet better are not thought:  
The dainty Gudgcon, Loche, the Minnow, and the Bleak,  
Since they but little are, I little need to speak  
Of them, nor doth it fit me much of those to reck,  
Which every where are found in every little Beck;  
Nor of the Crayfish here, which creeps amongst my stones,  
From all the rest alone, whose shell is all his bones:  
For carp, the Tench, and bream, my other store among,  
To Lakes and standing Pools, that chiefly do belong,  
Here scouring in my Foards, feed in my waters clear,  
Are muddy Fish in Ponds to that which they are here.   

From Nottingham, near which this River first begun,  
This Song, she the mean while, by Newarke having run,  
Receiving little Snyte, from Bevers battening grounds,  
At Gaynsborough goes out, where the Lincolnian bounds.  
Yet Sherwood all this while not satisfied to show  
Her love to princely Trent, as downward she doth flow,  
Her Meden and her Man, she down from Mansfield sends  
To Idle for her aid, by whom she recommends  
Her love to that brave Queen of waters, her to meet,  
When she towards Humber comes, do humbly kiss her feet,  
And clip her till she grace great Humber with her fall.  
When Sherwood somewhat back, the forward Muse doth call;  
For she was let to know, that Soare had in her Song  
So chanted Charnwoods' worth, the Rivers that along,  
Amongst the neighbouring Nymphs, there was no other Lays,  
But those which seemed to sound of Charnwood, and her praise:  
Which Sherwood took to heart, and very much disdained,  
(As one that had both long, and worthily maintained  
The title of the great'st, and bravest of her kind)  
To fall so far below, one wretchedly confined  
Within a furlongs space, to her large skirts compared:  
Wherefore she as a Nymph that neither feared, nor cared  
For aught to her might chance, by others love or hate,  
With Resolution armed, against the power of Fate,  
All selfe-praise set apart, determineth to sing  
That lusty Robin Hood, who long time like a King  
Within her compass lived, and when he lift to range  
For some rich Booty set, or else his air to change,  
To Sherwood still retired, his only standing Court,  
Whose praise the Forest thus doth pleasantly report.   

The merry pranks he played, would ask an age to tell,  
And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befell,  

Robin Hoods Story.  When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath been laid,  
How he hath cozened them, that him would have betrayed;  
How often he hath come to Nottingham disguised,  
And cunningly escaped, being set to be surprised.  
In this our spacious Isle, I think there is not one,  
But he hath heard some talk of him and little john;  
And to the end of time, the Tales shall ne'er be done,  
Of Scarlock, George a Green, and Much the Miller's son,  
Of Tuck the merry Friar, which many a Sermon made,  
In praise of Robin Hood, his Outlaws, and their Trade.  
An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood,  
Still ready at his call, that Bowmen were right good,  
All clad in Lincoln Greene, with Caps of Red and Blue,  
His fellows wound Horn, not one of them but knew,  
When setting to their lips their little Beugles shrill,  
The warbling Echoes waked from every Dale and Hill:  
Their Bauldricks set with Studs, athwart their shoulders cast,  
To which under their arms, their Sheaves were buckled fast,  
A short Sword at their Belt, a Buckler scarce a span,  
Who struck below the knee, not counted then a man:  
All made of Spanish Yew, their Bows were wondrous strong;  
They not an Arrow drew, but was a cloth-yard long.  
Of Archery they had the very perfect craft,  
With Broad-arrow, or But, or Prick, or Roving Shaft,  
At Marks full forty score, they used to Prick, and Rove,  
Yet higher than the breast, for Compass never strove;  
Yet at the farthest mark a foot could hardly win:  
At Longs-but, short, and Hoyles, each one could cleave the pin:  
Their Arrows finely paired, for Timber, and for Feather,  
With Birch and Brazill pieced, to fly in any weather;  
And shot they with the round, the square, or forked Pyle,  
The loose gave such a twang, as might be heard a mile.  
And of these Archers brave, there was not any one,  
But he could kill a Dear his 〈◊〉 speed upon,  
Which they did boil and roast, in many a mighty wood,  
Sharp hunger the fine sauce to their more kingly food.  
Then taking them to rest, his merry men and he  
Slept many a 〈◊〉 night under the 〈◊〉 tree.  
From wealthy Abbot's chests, and Churl's abundant store,  
What often times he took, he shared amongst the poor:  
No lordly Bishop came in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 way,  
To him before he went, but for his Pass must pay:  
The Widow in distress he graciously relieved,  
And remedied the wrongs of many a Virgin grieved:  
He from the husband's bed no married woman wan,  
But to his Mistress dear, his loved Marian  
Was ever constant known, which wheresoever she came,  
Was sovereign of the Woods, chief Lady of the Game:  
Her Clothes tucked to the knee, and dainty braided hair,  
With Bow and Quiver armed, she wandered here and there,  
Amongst the Forest's wild; Diana never knew  
Such pleasures, nor such Hearts as Mariana slew.   

Of merry Robin Hood, and of his merrier men,  
The Song had 〈◊〉 ceased, when as the Muse again  
Wades * Erwash, (that at hand) on Sherwoods' setting side, 
A Riveret parting the two Shires.   
The Nottinghamian Fields, and Derbian doth divide,  
And Northward from her Springs, haps Scardale forth to find,  
Which like her Mistress Peake, is naturally inclined  
To thrust forth ragged Cleeves, with which she scattered lies,  
As busy Nature here could not herself 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 bear,  
You by the Rocks might think that it a Mountain were,  
From which it takes the name of Scardale, which expressed,  
Is the hard 〈◊〉 of Rocks, of Chesterfield possessed,  
By her which is instilled; where Rother from her rist,  
Ibber, and Crawley hath, and Gunno, that assist  
Her weaker wand'ring Stream towards Yorkshire as she wends,  
So Scardale towards the same, that lovely 〈◊〉 sends,  
That helps the fertile Seat of Axholme to in-Isle:  
But to th'unwearied Muse the Peake appears the while,  
A withered Beldame long, with bleared waterish eyes,  
With many a bleak storm dimmed, which often to the Skies  
She cast, and oft toth' earth bowed down her aged head,  
Her meager wrinkled face, being sullied still with lead,  
Which sitting in the works, and poring o'er the Mines,  
Which she out of the Oar continually refines:  
For she a Chemist was, and Nature's secrets knew,  
And from amongst the Lead, she 〈◊〉 drew,  
And Crystal there congealed, (by her enstyled Flowers)  
And in all Medicines knew their most effectual powers.  
The spirits that haunt the Ours, she could command and tame,  
And bind them as she list in Satur's dreadful name:  
She Millstones from the Quarrs, with sharpened picks could get,  
And dainty Whetstones make, the dull-edgd tools to whet.  
Wherefore the Peake as proud of her laborious toil,  
As others of their Corn, or goodness of their Soil,  
Thinking the time was long, till she her tale had told,  
Her Wonders one by one, thus plainly doth unfold.   

My dreadful daughters borne, your mother's dear delight,  
Great Nature's chiefest work, wherein she showed her might;  

The Peakes Wonders.  Ye dark and hollow Caves, the pourtratures of Hell,  
Where Fogs, and misty Damps continually do dwell;  
O ye my only joys, my Darlings, in whose eyes,  
Horror assumes her seat, from whose abiding flies  
Thick Vapours, that like Rugs still hang the troubled air,  
Ye of your mother Peake, the hope and only care:  
O thou my first and best, of thy black Entrance named  
The Divels-arse, in me, O be thou not ashamed,  

The Divels-arse in the 〈◊〉  Nor think thyself difgraced, or hurt thereby at all,  
Since from thy horror first men used thee so to call:  
For as amongst the Moors, the jettiest black are deemed  
The beautifulst of them; so are your kind esteemed,  
The more ye gloomy are, more fearful and obscure,  
(That hardly any eye your sternness may endure)  
The more ye famous are, and what name men can hit,  
That best may ye express, that best doth ye befit:  
For he that will attempt thy black and darksome jaws,  
In midst of Summer meets with Winter's stormy flaws,  
Cold Dews, that over head from thy foul roof distil,  
And meeteth under foot, with a dead sullen Rill,  
That Acheron itself, a man would think he were  
immediately to pass, and stayed for Charon there;  
Thy Flore dread Cave, yet flat, though very rough it be,  
With often winding turns: then come thou next to me,  
My pretty daughter Poole, my second loved child,  

〈◊〉 Hole.  Which by that noble name was happily enstild,  
Of that more generous stock, long honoured in this Shire,  
Of which amongst the rest, one being outlawed here,  
For his strong refuge took this dark and uncouth place,  
An heyre-loome ever since, to that succeeding race:  
Whose entrance though depressed below a mountain steep,  
Besides so very straight, that who will see't, must creep  
Into the mouth thereof, yet being once got in,  
A rude and ample Roof doth instantly begin  
To raise it self aloft, and who 〈◊〉 doth intend  
The length thereof to seo, still going must ascend  
On mighty slippery stones, as by a winding stair,  
Which of a kind of base dark Alabaster are,  
Of strange and sundry forms, both in the Roof and Floor,  
As Nature showed in thee, what ne'er was seen before.  
For Elden thou my third, a Wonder I prefer 
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 judge it here,  
Whose depth is so immense, and wondrously profound,  
As that long line which serves the deepest Sea to sound,  
Her bottom never wrought, as though the vast descent,  
Through this Terrestrial Globe directly pointing went  
Our Antipods to see, and with her gloomy eyes,  
To glote upon those Stars, to us that never rise;  
That down into this hole if that a stone ye throw,  
An acres length from thence, (some say that) ye may go,  
And coming back thereto, with a still listening ear,  
May hear a sound as though that stone then falling were.   

Yet for her Caves, and Holes, Peake only not excels,  
But that I can again produce those wondrous Wells  
Of Buckston, as I have, that most delicious Fount,  
Which men the second Bath of England do account,  
Which in the primer reigns, when first this well began  
To have her virtues known unto the blessed Saint Anne, 
Saint Anne of Buskston.   
Was consecrated then, which the same temper hath,  
As that most dainty Spring, which at the famous Bath,  
Is by the Cross enstild, whose fame I much prefer,  
In that I do compare my daintiest Spring to her,  
Nice sicknesses to cure, as also to prevent,  
And supple their clear skins, which Ladies oft frequent,  
Most full, most fair, most sweet, and most delicious source.  
To this a second Fount, that in her natural course, 
〈◊〉.   
As mighty Neptune doth, so doth she ebb and flow,  
If some Welsh Shires report, that they the like can show.  
I answer those, that her shall so no wonder call,  
So far from any Sea, not any of them all.  
My Caves, and Fountains thus delivered you, for change.  
A little Hill I have, a wonder yet more strange,  
Which though it be of light, and almost dusty sand, 
Sandy Hill.   
Unaltered with the wind, yet firmly doth it stand;  
And running from the top, although it never cease,  
Yet doth the foot thereof, no whit at all increase.  
Nor is it at the top, the lower, or the less,  
As Nature had ordained, that so it's own excess,  
Should by some secret way within itself ascend,  
To feed the falling back; with this 〈◊〉 do not end  
The wonders of the Peake, for nothing that I have,  
But it a wonders name doth very justly crave: 〈◊〉  
A Forest 〈◊〉 have I, (of which when any speak,  
Of me they it enstile, The Forest, of the Peake)  

The Peake Forrest.  Whose Hills do serve for Brakes, the Rocks 〈◊〉 shrubs and trees,  
To which the Stag pursued, as to the 〈◊〉 flees;  
Like it in all this Isle, for sternness there is none,  
Where Nature may be said to show you groves of stone,  
As she in little there, had 〈◊〉 compyld  
The model of the vast Arabian stony Wyld.  
Then as it is supposed, in England that there be  
Seven wonders: to myself so have I here in me,  
My seven before rehearced, allotted me by Fate,  
Her greatness, as therein ordained to imitate.   

No sooner had the Peake her seven proud wonders sung,  
But Darwin from her 〈◊〉, her mother's Hills among,  
Through many a crooked way, opposed with envious Rocks,  
Comes tripping down towards Trent; and sees the goodly Flocks  
Fed by her mother Peake; and Herds, (for 〈◊〉 and hair,  
That hardly are put down by those of Lancashire,)  
Which on her Mountaives sides, and in her Bottoms graze,  
On whose delightful Course, whilst Vnknidge stands to gaze,  
And look on her his fill; doth on his tiptoes get,  
He Nowstoll plainly sees, which likewise from the Set,  
Salutes her, and like friends, to Heaven-hill far away,  
Thus from their lofty tops, were plainly heard to say.   

Fair Hill be not so proud of thy so pleasant Scite,  
Who for thou giv'st the eye such wonderful delight,  
From any Mountain near, that glorious name of Heaven,  
Thy bravery to express, was to thy greatness given:  
Nor cast thine eye so much on things that be above:  
For sawest thou as we do, our Darwin, thou wouldst love  
Her more than any thing, that so doth thee allure;  
When Darwin that by this her travel could endure,  
Takes Now into her train, (from Nowstoll her great Sire,   

Which shows to take her name) with many a winding Gyre.  
Then wand'ring through the Wylds, at length the pretty Wye,  
From her black mother Poole, her nimbler course doth ply  
Towards Darwin, and along from Bakewell with her brings  
Lathkell a little Brook, and Headford, whose poor Springs,  
But hardly them the name of Riverets can afford;  
When Burbrook with the strength, that Nature hath her stored,  
Although but very small, yet much doth Darwin stead.  
At Worksworth on her way, when from the Ours of Lead,  
Browne Eclesborne comes in, than Amber from the East,  
Of all the Darbian Nymphs of Darwin loved the best,  
(A delicater Flood from fountain never flowed)  
Then coming to the Town, on which she first bestowed  
Her natural * British name, her Derby, so again, 
Darwin, of the British Dour Guin, which is White water. Derby from thence, as the place by the water.   
Her, to that ancient Seat, doth kindly entertain,  
Where Marten-Brooke, although an easy shallow Rill,  
There offereth all she hath, her Mistress Banks to fill,  
And all too little thinks that was on Darwin spent;  
From hence as she departs, in travailing to Trent,  
Back goes the active Muse, towards Lancashire amain,  
Where matter rests enough her vigour to maintain,  
And to the Northern Hills shall lead her on along,  
Which now must wholly be the subject of my Song.   
 
  

The seven and twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The circuit of this Shire expressed,  
〈◊〉, and Ribble then contest;  
The Muse next to the Mosses flies,  
And to fair Wire herself applies,  
The Fishy Lun then doth she bring,  
The praise of Lancashire to sing,  
The Isle of Man maintains her plea,  
Then falling Eastward from that Sea,  
On rugged furnace, and his Fells,  
Of which this Canto lastly tells.   

SCarce could the labouring Muse salute this lively Shire,  
But straight such shouts arose from every Moss and Mere,  
And Rivers rushing down, with such unusual noise,  
Upon their peably shoals, seemed to express their joys,  
That Mersey (in her course which happily confines  
Brave Chesshire from this Tract, two County Palatines)  
As ravished with the news, along to Lerpoole ran,  
That all the Shores which lie to the * Vergivian, 
The Irish Sea.   
Resounded with the shouts, so that from Creek to Creek,  
So jowd the Echoes cried, that they were heard to shriek  
To Fournesse ridged Front, whereas the rocky Pile  
Of Foudra is at hand, to guard the outlaid Isle 
The circuit and true dimension of 〈◊〉   
Of Walney, and those gross 〈◊〉 foggy 〈◊〉 awoke;  
Thence flying to the East, with their reverberance shook  
The Clouds from Pendles head, (which as the people say,  
Prognosticates to them a happy Halcyon day)  
Rebounds on Blackstonedge, and there by falling fills  
Fair Mersey, making in from the Derbeian Hills.   

But whilst the active Muse thus nimbly goes about,  
Of this large Tract to lay the true Dimensions out,  
The neat Lancastrain Nymphs, for beauty that excel,  
That for the * Hornpipe round do bear away the bell;  

The Lancashire Hornpipe.  Some that about the Banks of Erwell make abode,  
With some that have their seat by Ribbles silver road,  
In great contention fell, (that mighty difference grew)  
Which of those Floods deserved to have the sovereign due;  
So that all future spleen, and quarrels to prevent,  
That likely was to rise about their long descent,  
Before the neighbouring Nymphs, their right they mean to plead,  
And first thus for herself the lovely Erwell said.   

Ye Lasses, quoth this Flood, have long and blindly cred,  
That Ribble before me, so falsely have preferred,  

Erwels oration  That am a Native borne, and my descent do bring,  
From ancient Gentry here, when Ribble from her Spring,  
An Alien known to be, and from the Mountain's rude  
Of Yorkshire getting strength, here boldly dares intrude  
Upon my proper Earth, and through her mighty fall,  
Is not ashamed herself of Lancashire to call:  
Whereas of all the Nymphs that carefully attend  
My Mistress Merseys State, there's none that doth transcend  
My greatness with her grace, which doth me so prefer,  
That all is due to me, which doth belong to her.  
For though from Blackstonedze the Taume come tripping down,  
And from that long-ridged Rock, her father's high renown,  
Of Mersey thinks from me, the place alone to win,  
With my attending Brooks, yet when I once come in,  
I out of countenance quite do put the Nymph, for note,  
As from my Fountain I towards mightier Mersey float,  
First Roch a dainty Rill, from Roch-dale her dear Dame,  
Who honoured with the half of her stern mother's name,  
Grows proud, yet glad herself into my Banks to get,  
Which Spodden from her Spring, a pretty Rivelet,  
As her attendant brings, when Irck adds to my store,  
And Medlock to their much, by lending somewhat more,  
At Manchester do meet, all kneeling to my State,  
Where brave I show myself; then with a prouder gate,  
Towards Mersey making on, great Chatmosse at my fall,  
Lies full of Turf, and Marle, her unctuous Mineral,  
And Blocks as black as Pitch, (with boring-Augars found)  
There at the general Flood supposed to be drowned.  
Thus chief of Merseys train, away with her I run,  
When in her prosperous course she watreth Warrington,  
And her fair silver load in Lerpoole down doth lay,  
A Road none more renowned in the Vergivian Sea.  
Ye lusty Lasses then, in Lancashire that dwell,  
For Beauty that are said to bear away the Bell,  
Your Country's Hornpipe, ye so minsingly that tread,  
As ye the Eg-pye love, and Apple Cherry-red; 
He that wilfish for a Lancashire man, at any time or tide, Must 〈◊〉 his book with a good 〈◊〉, or an Apple with a red side.   
In all your mirthful Songs, and merry meetings tell,  
That Erwell every way doth Ribble far excel.   

Her well-disposed speech had Erwell scarcely done,  
But swift report there with immediately doth run  
To the Virgivian Shores, among the Mosses deep,  
Where Alt a neighbouring Nymph for very joy doth weep,  
That Symonds-wood, from whence the Flood assumes her Spring,  
Excited with the same, was loudly heard to ring;  
And over all the Moors, with shrill re-ecchoing sounds,  
The drooping Fogs to drive from those gross wat'y grounds,  
Where those that toil for Turf, with peating Spades doc find  
Fish living in that earth (contrary to their kind) 
A wonder in Nature.   
Which but that Pontus, and Heraclia likewise shows,  
The like in their like earth, that with like moisture flows,  
And that such Fish as these, had not been likewise found,  
Within far firmer earth, the Paphlagonian ground,  
A Wonder of this Isle, this well might have been thought   

But Ribbell that this while for her advantage wrought,  
Of what she had to say, doth well herself advise,  
And to brave Erwels' speech, thus boldly she replies.  
With that, whereby the most thou thinkst me to disgrace,  
That I an Alien am, (not rightly of this place)  
My greatest glory is, and Lancashire therefore,  
To Nature for my Birth, beholding is the more;  
That Yorkshire, which all Shires for largeness doth exceed,  
A kingdom to be called, that well deserves (indeed)  
And not a Fountain hath, that from her womb doth flow  
Within her spacious self, but that she can bestow;  
To Lancaster yet lends, me Ribbell, from her store,  
Which adds to my renown, and makes her Bounty more.  
From Penigents proud foot, as from my source I slide,  
That Mountain my proud Sire, in height of all his pride,  
Takes pleasure in my Course, as in his firstborn Flood:  
And Ingleborow Hill of that Olympian Brood,  
With Pendle, of the North the highest Hills that be,  
Do wistly me behold, and are beheld of me,  
These Mountains make me proud, to gaze on me that stand:  
So Long-ridge, once arrived on the Lancastrian Land,  
Salutes me, and with smiles, me to his soil invites,  
So have I many a Flood, that forward me excites,  
As Hodder, that from home attends me from my Spring;  
Then Caldor coming down, from Blackstonedze doth bring  
Me easily on my way, to Preston the greatest Town,  
Where with my Banks are blest; where at my going down,  
Clear Darwen on along me to the Sea doth drive,  
And in my spacious fall no sooner I arrive,  
But Savock to the North, from Longridge making way,  
To this my greatness adds, when in my ample Bay,  
Swart Dulas coming in, from Wiggin with her aids,  
Short Taud, and Dartow small, two little Country Maids,  
(In those low watery lands, and Moory Mosses bred)  
Do see me safely laid in mighty Neptune's bed;  
And cutting in my course, even through the very heart  
Of this renowned Shire, so equally it part,  
As Nature should have said, Lo thus I meant to do;  
This Flood divides this Shire thus equally in two.  
Ye Maids, the Hornpipe then, so minsingly that tread,  
As ye the Egg-pye love, and Apple Cherry-red;  
In all your mirthful Songs, and merry meetings tell,  
That Ribbell every way, your Erwell doth excel.   

here ended she again, when Mertons Moss and Mere,  
With Ribbels sole reply so much revived were,  
That all the Shores resound the Rivers good success,  
And wondrous joy there was all over * Andernesse,  

A part of Lancashire so called  Which strait conveyed the news into the upper land,  
Where Pendle, Penigent, and Ingleborow stand  

Jngleborow, Pendle, and Penigent, The highest Hills betwixt Barwick and Trent. See to the 28. Song.  Like Giants, and the rest do proudly overlook;  
Or Atlas-like as though they only undertook  
To underprop high Heaven, or the wide Welkin dared,  
Who in their Ribbles praise (be sure) no speeches spared;  
That the loud sounds from them down to the Forests fell,  
To Bowland brave in state, and Wyersdale, which as well,  
As any Sylvan Nymphs, their beauteous Scites may boast,  
Whose Echoes sent the same all round about the Coast,  
That there was not a Nymph to jollity inclined,  
Or of the woody brood, or of the watery kind,  
But at their finger's ends, they Ribbels Song could say,  
And perfectly the Note upon the Bagpipe play.   

That Wyre, when once she knew how well these Floods had sped,  
(When their reports abroad in every place was spread)  
It vexed her very heart, their eminence to see,  
Their equal (at the least) who thought herself to be,  
Determins at the last to Neptune's Court to go,  
Before his ample State, with humbleness to show  
The wrongs she had sustained by her proud sister's spite,  
And offering them no wrong, to do her greatness right;  
Arising but a Rill at first from Wyersdales' lap,  
Yet still receiving strength from her full Mother's pap,  
As down to Seaward she, her serious course doth ply,  
Takes Caldor coming in, to bear her company.  
From Woolfcrags Cliffy foot, a Hill to her at hand,  
By that fair Forest known, within her Verge to stand.  
So Bowland from her breast sends Brock her to attend,  
As she a Forest is, so likewise doth she send  
Her child, on Wyresdales' Flood, the dainty Wire to wait,  
With her assisting Rills, when Wire is once replete:  
She in her crooked course to Seaward softly slides,  
Where Pellins mighty Moss, and Mertons, on her sides  
Their boggy breasts out lay, and Skipton down doth crawl,  
To entertain this Wire, attained to her fall:  
When whilst each wand'ring flood seemed settled to admire,  
First Erwell, Ribbell then, and last of all this Wire,  
That mighty wagers would have willingly been laid,  
(But that these matters were with much discretion stayed)  
Some broils about these Brooks had surely been begun.  
When Coker a coy Nymph, that clearly seems to shun  
All popular applause, who from her Crystal head,  
In Wyresdale, near where Wyre is by her fountain fed,  
That by their natural birth, they seem (in deed) to twin,  
Yet for her sister's pride she careth not a pin,  
Of none, and being helped, she likewise helpeth none,  
But to the Irish Sea goes gently down alone  
Of any undisturbd, till coming to her Sound,  
Endangered by the Sands, with many a lofty bound,  
She leaps against the Tides, and cries to Crystal Lon,  
The Flood that names the Town, 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 petty Brooks would be before her still preferred.  
Which the long-wandring Lon, with good advisement heard,  
As she comes ambling on from Westmoreland, where first  
Arising from her head, amongst the Mountains nursed,  
By many a pretty spring, that hourly getting strength,  
Arriving in her Course in Lancashire at length,  
To Lonsdale shows herself, and lovingly doth play  
With her dear daughter Dale, which her frim Cheek doth lay 
Lunesdale.   
To her clear mother's Breast, as minsingly she traces,  
And oft embracing her, she oft again embraces,  
And on her Darling smiles, with every little gale.  
When Lac the most loved child of this delicious Dale,  
And Wemming on the way, present their either's Spring.  
Next them she Henbourne hath, and Robourne, which do bring  
Their bounties in one bank, their Mistress to prefer,  
That she with greater state may come to Lancaster,  
Of her which takes the name, which likewise to the Shire,  
The Sovereign title lends, and eminency, where  
To give to this her Town, 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) immediately began,  

Lancashire, Fair women.  His she self woman, which the goodliest of this Isle,  
This country hath brought forth, that much doth grace my style;  
Why should those Ancients else, which so much knowing were,  
When they the Blazons gave to every several Shire,  
Fair women as mine own, have titled due to me?  
Besides in all this Isle, there no such cattle be,  
For largeness, Horn, and Hair, as these of Lancashire;  

Lancashire Breed of cattle the best.  So that from every part of England far and near,  
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 mouthed of all  
The other of this kind, which we our Hunters call,  

Lancashire, Deep mouthed Hounds.  Which from their bellowing throats upon a scent so roar,  
That you would surely think, that the firm earth they tore  
With their wide yawning chaps, or rend the Clouds in sunder,  
As though by their loud cry they meant to mock the thunder.  
Besides, her Natives have been anciently esteemed,  
For Bowmen near our best, and ever have been deemed  

Lancashire Bowmen.  So loyal, that the Guard of our preceding Kings,  
Of them did most consist; but yet 'mongst all these things,  
Even almost ever since the English Crown was set  
Upon the lawful head, of our Plantagenet,  
In Honour, next the first, our Dukedom was allowed,  
And always with the greatest, revenues was endowed:  
And after when it happed, France-conquering Edward's blood  
Divided in itself, here for the Garland 〈◊〉;  
The right Lancastrian Line, it from Yorks Issue bore;  
The Red-rose, our brave Badge, which in their Helmets ware,  

The White and Red 〈◊〉.  In many a bloody field, at many a doubtful fight,  
Against the House of York, which bore for theirs the White.   

And for myself there's not the Tivy, nor the Weigh,  

See to the sixth Song.  Nor any of those Nymphs, that to the Southward lie,  
For Salmon me excels; and for this name of Lun,  

Llun, in the British, fullness.  That I am Christened by, the Britain's it begun,  
Which Fullness doth import, of waters still increase:  
To Neptune lowting low, when Crystal Lun doth cease,  
And Conder coming in, conducts her by the hand,  
Till lastly she salute the point of * Sunderland,  

A part of Lancashire iutting out into the Irish Sea.  And leaves our dainty Lun to Amphitrites care.   

So blithe and bonny now the Lads and Lasses are,  
That ever as anon the Bagpipe up doth blow,  
Cast in a gallant Round about the Hearth they go,  
And at each pause they kiss, was never seen such rule  
In any place but here, at Boon-fire, or at Yeule;  
And every village smokes at Wakes with lusty cheer,  
Then hay they cry for Lun, and hay for Lancashire;  
That one high Hill was heard to tell it to his brother,  
That instantly again to tell it to some other:  
From Hill again to Vale, from Vale to Hill it went,  
The Highlands they again, it to the lower sent,  
The mud-exhausted Meres, and Mosses deep among,  
With the report thereof, each Road, and Harbour rung;  
The Sea-Nymphs with their Song, so great a coil do keep,  
They cease not to resound it over all the Deep,  
And acted it each day before the Isle of Man,  
Who like an Empress sits in the Virgivian,  
By her that hath the Calse, long Walney, and the Pyle, 
The Calf of Man, a little Island.   
As Hand-mayds to attend on her their Sovereign Isle,  
To whom, so many though the Hebrides do show,  
Acknowledge, that to her they due subjection owe:  
With Corn and Cattell stored, and what for hers is good,  
(That we, nor Ireland, need not scorn her neighbourhood)  
Her midst with Mountains set, of which, from * Sceafels' height, 
A mountain in the Isle of Man.   
A clear and perfect eye, the weather being bright,  
(Be Neptune's visage ne'er so terrible and stern)  
The Scotch, the Irish Shores, and th' English may discern;  
And what an Empire can, the same this Island brings  
Her Pedigrecs to show, her right successive Kings,  
Her Chronicles and can as easily rehearse,  
And with all foreign parts to have had free commerce;  
Her municipial Laws, and Customs very old,  
Belonging to her State, which strongly she doth hold:   

This Island, with the Song of Lun is taken so,  
As she hath special cause before all other, who  
For her bituminous Turf, squared from her Mossy ground,  
And Trees far under earth, (by daily digging found,  
As for the store of Oats, which her black Glebe doth bear,  
In every one of these resembling Lancashire,  
To her she'll stoutly stick, as to her nearest kin,  
And cries the day is ours, brave Lancashire doth win.  
But yet this Isle of Man more seems not to rejoice  
For Lancashires' good luck, nor with a louder voice  
To sound it to the Shores; then furnace whose stern face,  
With Mountains set like Warts, which Nature as a grace  
Bestowed upon this Tract, whose Brows do look so stern,  
That when the Nymphs of Sea did first her Front discern,  
Amazedly they fled, to Amphitrite's Bower.  
Her grim aspect to see, which seemed to them so sour,  
As it maligned the Rule which mighty Neptune bare,  
Whose Fells to that grim god, most stern and dreadful are,  
With Hills whose hanging brows, with Rocks about are bound,  
Whose weighty feet stand fixed in that black beachy ground,  
Whereas those scattered trees, which naturally partake,  
The fatness of the soil (in many a slimy Lake,  
Their roots so deeply soaked) send from their stocky bough,  
A soft and sappy Gum, from which those Tree-geeses grow,  
Called Barnactes by us, which like a jelly first  

Barnacles one of the 〈◊〉 Wonders.  To the beholder seem, then by the fluxure nursed,  
Still great and greater thrive, until you well may see  
Them turned to perfect Fowls, when dropping from the tree  
Into the Meery Pond, which under them doth lie,  
Wax ripe, and taking wing, away in flocks do fly,  
Which well our Ancients did among our Wonders place:  
Besides by her strong Scite, she doth receive 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 Britain's drove,  
To their distressed estate it no less succour gave,  
Then the trans Seuerned Hills, which their old stock yet stores,  
Which now we call the Welsh, or the Cornubian Shores.  
What Country lets ye see those soils within her Seat,  
But she in little hath, what it can show in great?  
As first without herself at Sea to make her strong,  
(Yet how soe'er exposed, doth still to her belong)  
And fence her furthest point, from that rough Neptune's rage,  
The Isle of Walney lies, whose longitude doth suage  
His 〈◊〉 when his waves, on furnace seem to war,  
Whose crooked back is armed with many a rugged * scar  

A scar is a Rock.  Against his boisterous shocks, which this defensive Isle  
Of Walney still assail, that she doth scorn the while,  
Which to assist her hath the Pyle of Fouldra set,  
And Fulney at her back, a pretty Insulet,  
Which all their forces bend, their furnace safe to keep:  
But to his inner earth, divert we from the deep,  
Where those two mighty Meres, outstretched in length do wander,  
The lesser Thurstan named, the famouser Wynander,  
So bounded with her Rocks, as Nature would descry,  
By her how those great Seas Mediserranean lie.  
To Seaward then she hath her sundry Sands again,  
As that of Dudden first, than Leain, lastly Ken,  
Of three bright Naiads named, as Dudden on the West,  
That Cumberland cuts off from this Shire, doth invest  
Those Sands with her proud Style, when Levin from the Fells,  
Besides her natural source, with the abundance swells,  
Which those two mighty Meres, upon her either side  
Contrribute by recourse, that out of very pride,  
She leaves her ancient name, and Fosse herself doth call,  
Till coming to the Sands, even almost at her fall,  
On them her ancient Style she liberally bestows.  
Upon the East from these, clear Ken her beauty shows,  
From Kendale coming in, which she doth please to grace,  
First with her famous Type, than lastly in her race,  
Her name upon those Sands doth liberally bequeath,  
Whereas the Muse a while may sit her down to breath,  
And after walk along towards Torkshire on her way,  
On which she strongly hopes to get a noble day.   
 
  

The eight and twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Invention hence her Compass steers,  
Towards York the most renowned of Shires,  
Makes the three Ridings in their Stories,  
Each severally to show their glories.  
Ouse for her most-loved City's sake,  
Doth her Duke's Title undertake;  
His Floods then Humber welcomes in,  
And shows how first he did begin.   

THe Muse from Blackstonedge, no whit dismayed at all,  
With sight of the large Shire, on which she was to fall,  
(Whose Forests, Hills, & Floods, then long for her arrive  
From Lancashire, that looked her Beauties to contrive)  
Doth set herself to sing, of that above the rest  
A Kingdom that doth seem, a Province at the least,  
To them that think themselves no simple Shires to be;  
But that wherein the world her greatness most may see,  
And that which doth this Shire before the rest prefer,  
Is of so many Floods, and great, that rise from her,  
Except some silly few out of her Verge that flow,  
So near to other Shires, that it is hard to know,  
If that their Springs be hers, or others them divide,  
And those are only found upon her Setting side.  
Else be it noted well, remarkable to all, 
A great bravery of Yorkshire.   
That those from her that flow, in her together fall.  
Nor can small praise beseem so beaurious Brooks as these,  
For from all other Nymphs these be the Naiads,  
In Amphitrites Bower, that princely places hold,  
To whom the Orks of Sea dare not to be so bold,  
As rudely once to touch, and wheresoever they come,  
The Tritons with their Trumpets proclaim them public room.   

Now whiles the Muse prepares these Floods along to lead,  
The wide West-riding first, desires that she may plead  
The right that her belongs, which of the Muse she wins,  
When with the course of Don, thus she her Tract begins.   

Thou first of all my Floods, whose Banks do bound my South,  

The West Ridings oration.  And offerest up thy Stream to mighty Humber's mouth,  
Of Ewe, and climbing Elm, that crowned with many a spray,  

Much Ewe and Elm upon the Bank of Don.  From thy clear Fountain first through many a Mead dost play,  
Till Rother, whence the name of Rotheram first begun,  
At that her christened Town doth lose her in my Don,  
Which proud of her recourse, towards Doncaster doth drive,  
Her greatest and chiefest town, the name that doth derive  
From Don's near bordering Banks, when holding on her race,  
She dancing in and out, indenteth 〈◊〉 ' Chase,  
Whose bravery 〈◊〉 adds, new honours to her Bank:  
When Sherwood sends her in slow Iddie, that made rank  
With her profuse excess, she largely it bestows  
On Marshland, whose swollen womb with such abundance flows,  
As that her battening breast, her Fatlings sooner feeds,  
And with more lavish waste then oft the Grazier needs:  
Whose soil, as some report that be her Borderers note,  
With th'water under earth undoubtedly doth float:  
For when the waters rise, it risen doth remain  
High whilst the Floods are high, and when they fall again,  

A strange opinion held by those of the neighbouring Villages.  It falleth: but at last, when as my linely Don,  
Along by Marshlands' side, her lusty course hath run,  
The little wand'ring Went, won by the loud report  
Of the magnific State, and height of Humber's Court,  
Draws on to meet with Don, at her approach to Air:  
Now speak I of a Flood, who thinks there's none should dare  
(Once) to compare with her, supposed by her descent,  
The darling daughter borne of lofty Penigent,  
Who from her father's foot, by Skipton down doth scud,  
And leading thence to Leeds, that delicatest Flood,  
Takes Caldor coming in by Wakefield, by whose force,  
As from a lusty Flood, much strengthened in her course;  
But Caldor as she comes, and greater still doth wax,  
And travelling along by Heading Halifax,  

Beheading, which we call Halifax Law.  Which Horton once was called, but of a Virgin's hair,  
(A Martyr that was made, for Chastity, that there  
was by her Lover slain) being fastened to a tree:  
The people that would needs it should a Relic be,  
It Halifax since named, which in the Northern tongue,  
Is Holy hair: but thence as Caldor comes along,  
It chanced she in her Course on Kirkbey cast her eye,  

Robin Hoods burying place.  Where merry Robin Hood, that honest Thief doth lie,  
Beholding fitly too before how Wakefield stood,  
She doth not only think of lusty Robin Hood,  
But of his merry man, the Pindar of the Town  
Of Wakefield, George a Green, whose same's so far are blown,  
For their so valiant fight, that every free man's Song,  
Can tell you of the same, quoth she be talked on long,  
For ye were merry Lads, and those were merry days;  
When Air to Caldor calls, and bids her come her ways,  
Who likewise to her help, brings Hebden, a small Rill:  
Thus Aire holds on her course towards Humber, till she fill  
Her fall with all the wealth that Don can her afford.  
Quoth the West-riding thus, with Rivers am I stored.   

Next guide I on my Wharf, the great'st in her degree,  
And that I well may call the worthicst of the three,  
Who her full fountain takes from my waist Western wild,  
(Whence all but Mountaineers, by Nature are exiled)  
On Langstrethdale, and lights at th'entrance of her race,  
When keeping on her course, along through Barden Chase,  
She watreth Wharfdales' breast, which proudly bears her name;  
For by that time she's grown a flood of wondrous fame,  
When Washbrooke with her wealth her Mistress doth supply;  
Thus Wharf in her brave course embracing Wetherby,  
Small Cock, a sullen Brook comes to her succour then, 
See to the 22. Song.   
Whose Banks received the blood of many thousand men,  
On sad Palm Sunday slain, that Towton-Field we call,  
Whose Channel quite was choked with those that there did fall,  
That Wharf discolored was with gore, that then was shed,  
The bloodiest field betwixt the White Rose, and the Red,  
Of wellnear fifteen fought in England first and last:   

But whilst the goodly 〈◊〉 doth thus towards Humber haste,  
From Wharnside Hill not far, outflowes the nimble Nyde,  
Through Nydersdale along, as neatly she doth glide  
Towards Knarsburg on her way, a pretty little Rill,  
Called Kebeck, stows her stream, her Mistress Banks to fill,  
To entertain the Whafe where that brave * Forest stands, 
〈◊〉 Forest.   
Entitled by the Town, who with upreared hands  
Makes signs to her of joy, and doth with Garlands crown  
The River passing by; but Wharfe that hasteth down  
To meet her Mistress Ouse, her speedy course doth high;  
Dent, Rother, Rivell, Great, so on my Set have I,  
Which from their fountains there all out of me do flow,  
Yet from my bounty I on Lancashire bestow,  
Because my rising soil doth shoot them to the West:  
But for my Mountains I, will with the Isle contest,  
All other of the North in largeness shall exceed,  
That ages long before it finally decreed,  
That Ingleborow Hill, Pendle, and Penigent,  

Pendle Hill is near upon the verge of this Tract, but standeth in. Lancashire.  Should named be the highest betwixt our Tweed and Trent.  
My Hills, brave Whelpston then, thou Wharnside, and thou Cam,  
Since I West-Riding still your only mother am;  
All that Report can give, and justly is my due,  
I as your natural 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'er Penigent to peer; not Skiddo, that proud Mount,  
Although of him so much, Rude Cumberland account,  
Nor Cheviot, of whose height Northumberland doth boast  
* Albania to survey; nor those from Coast to Coast  

Scotland.  That wellnear run in length, that rue of Mountains tall,  
By th'name of th' English Alps, that our most learned call;  
As soon shall those, or these remove out of their place,  
As by their lofty looks, my Penigent out face:  
Ye thus behold my Hills: my Forests, Dales, and Chases  
Upon my spacious breast note too how Nature places,  
far up into my West, first Langstrethdale doth lie,  
And on the Bank of Wharfe, my pleasant Bardon by,  
With Wharfdale hard by her, as taking hand in hand:  
Then lower towards the Sea brave Knarsborough doth stand,  
As higher to my North, my Niddersdale by Nyde,  
And Bishopsdale above upon my Setting side,  
Marshland, and Hatfield Chase, my Eastern part do bound,  
And Barnsdale there doth butt on Dons wel-watred ground:  
And to my great disgrace, if any shall object  
That I no wonder have that's worthy of respect  
In all my spacious Tract, let them (so wise) survey  
My Ribbles rising Banks, their worst, and let them say;  
At Giggleswick where I a Fountain can you show,  
That eight times in a day is said to ebb and flow,  
Who sometime was a Nymph, and in the Mountains hie  

The Metamorphosis of that Fountain. Nymphs of the Mountains.  Of Craven, whose blue heads for Caps put on the Sky,  
Amongst amongst th' Oread's there, and Sylvans made abode,  
(It was e'er humane foot upon those Hills had trod)  
Of all the Mountain kind and since she was most fair,  
It was a Satyrs chance to see her silver hair  
Flow loosely at her back, as up a Cliff she claim,  
Her Beauties noting well, her Features, and her Frame,  
And after her he goes; which when she did espy,  
Before him like the wind, the nimble Nymph doth fly,  
They hurry down the Rocks, o'er Hill and Dale they drive;  
To take her he doth strain, t'outstrip him she doth strive,  
Like one his kind that knew, and greatly feared his Rape,  

The supposed Genius of the place.  And to the * Topick gods by praying to escape,  
They turned her to a Spring, which as she then did pant,  
When wearied with her course, her breath grew wondrous scant:  
Even as the fearful Nymph, then thick and short did blow,  
Now made by them a Spring, so doth she ebb and flow.  
And near the Stream of Nyde, another Spring have I,  
As well as that, which may a wonders place supply,  
Which of the form it bears, men Dropping well do call,  
Because out of a Rock, it still in drops doth fall,  
near to the foot whereof it makes a little Pon,  
Which in as little space converteth Wood to Stone,  
Chevin, and Kilnsey Crags, were they not here in me,  
In any other place, right well might Wonders be,  
For their Gygantick height, that Mountains do transcend?  
But such are frequent here, and thus she makes an end.   

When Your thus having heard the Genius of this Tract, 
Your, the chiefest River of Yorkshire, who alter her long course, by the confluence of other floods, gets the name of Ouse.   
Her well-deserued praise so happily to act,  
This River in herself that was extremely loath,  
The other to defer, since that she was to both  
Indifferent, straight wills West-riding there to cease;  
And having made a sign to all the watery press  
For silence; which at once, when her command had won,  
The proud North-Riding thus for her great self begun.   

My sovereign Flood, quoth she, 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,  
there's scarcely any one thy greatness that attends,  
Till thou hast passed York, and drawest near thy fall;  
And when thou hast no need of their supplies at all,  
Then come they flattering in, and will thy followers be;  
So as you oftentimes these wretched worldlings see,  
That whilst a man is poor, although some hopes depend 
The Simile.   
Upon his future age, yet there's not one will lend  
A farthing to relieve his sad distressed state,  
Not knowing what may yet befall him; but when Fate  
Doth pour upon his head his long expected good,  
Then shall you see those Slaves, aloof before that stood,  
And would have let him starve, like Spaniels to him crouch,  
And with their glavering lips, his very feet to touch:  
So do they by thee Your; whereas the Floods in me,  
That spring and have their Course, (even) give thy life to thee:  
For till that thou and Small, into one Bank do take,  
Meeting at Borough-Bridge, thy greatness there to make:  
Till then the name of Ouse thou art not known to owe,  
A term in former times the Ancients did bestow  
On many a full-bankt Flood; but for my greater grace,  
These Floods of which I speak, I now intent to trace  
From their first springing Founts, beginning with the Your,  
From Moruils mighty foot which rising, with the power  
That Bantam from Sea-mere brings, her somewhat more doth fill,  
Near Bishopsdale at hand, when Cover a clear Rill,  
Next cometh into Your, whereas that lusty Chase  
For her loved Covers sake, doth lovingly embrace  
Your as she yields along, amongst the Parks and Groves,  
In Middlehams' amorous eye, as wandringly she roves,  
At Rippon meets with Skell, which makes to her amain,  
Whom when she hath received into her Nymphish train,  
(near to that town so famed, for Colts there to be bought,  

Rippon Fair.  For goodness far and near, by Horsemen that are sought)  
Foreright upon her way she with a merrier gale,  
To Borough Bridge makes on, to meet her sister Small,  
(A wondrous holy Flood (which name she ever hath)  

The reason why Swale is called Holy.  For when the Saxons first received the Christian Faith,  
Paulinus of old York, the zealous Bishop then,  
In Swales abundant stream Christened ten thousand men,  
With women and their babes, a number more beside,  
Upon one happy day, whereof she boasts with pride)  
Which springs not far from whence Your hath her silver head;  
And in her winding Banks along my bosom led,  
As she goes swooping by, to Swaledale whence she springs,  
That lovely name she leaves, which forth a Forest brings,  
The Valleys Style that bears, a braver Sylvan Maid,  
Scarce any Shire can show; when to my River's aid,  
Come Barney, Arske, and Marske, their sovereign Small to guide,  
From Applegarths wide waste, and from New Forest side.  
Whose Fountains by the Fawns, and Satyrs, many a year,  
With youthful Greene's were crowned, yet could not stay the there,  
But they will serve the Small, which in her wand'ring course,  
A Nymph named Holgat hath, and Risdale, all whose force,  
Small though (God wot) it be, yet from their Southern shore,  
With that salute the Small, as others did before,  
At Richmond and arrive, which much doth grace the Flood,  

Richmondshire within Yorkshire.  For that her Precinct long amongst the Shires hath stood:  
But Yorkshire wills the same her glory to resign.  
When passing thence the Small, this minion Flood of mine  
Next takes into her train, clear Wiske, a wanton Girl,  
As though her watery path were paved with Orient Pearl,  
So wondrous sweet she seems, in many a winding Gyre,  
As though she Gambols made, or as she did desire,  
Her Labyrinth-like turns, and mad Meandred trace,  
With marvel should amaze, and coming doth embrace  
* Northalerton, by whom her honour is increased,  

A County within YorkeShire.  Whose Liberties include a County at the least,  
To grace the wand'ring Wiske, then well upon her way,  
Which by her countenance thinks to carry all the sway;  
When having her received, Small bonny Codbeck brings,  
And Willowbeck with her, two pretty Rivelling,  
And bedal bids along, then almost at the Ouze,  
Who with these Rills enriched begins herself to rouse.  
When that great Forrest-Nymph fair Gautresse on her way,  
She sees to stand prepared, with Garlands fresh and gay  
To deck up Ouze, before herself to York she show,  
So out of my full womb the Fosse doth likewise flow,  
That meeting thee at York, under the City's side,  
Her glories with thyself doth equally divide,  
The East part watering still, as thou dost wash the West,  
By whose Embraces York abundantly is blest.  
So many Rivers I continually maintain,  
As all those lesser Floods that into Darwin strain,  
Their Fountains find in me, the Ryedale naming Rye,  
Fosse, rycal, Hodbeck, Dow, with Semen, and them by  
Clear Costwy, which herself from Blackmore in doth bring,  
And playing as she slides through shady Pickering,  
To Darwent homage doth; and Darwent that divides  
The East-riding and me, upon her either sides,  
Although that to us both, she most indifferent be,  
And seemeth to affect her equally with me,  
From my Division yet her Fountain doth derive,  
And from my Blackmore here her Course doth first contrive.   

Let my Dimensions then be seriously pursued,  
And let great Britain see in my brave Latitude,  
How in the highest degree, by nature I am graced;  
For towards the Craven Hills, upon my West are placed  
New-Forrest, Applegarth, and Swaledale, * Dryads all, 
Nymphs of the Woods.   
And lower towards the Ouze, if with my Floods ye fall,  
The goodly Gautresse keeps chief of my Sylvan kind,  
There stony Stanmore view, bleak with the Sleet and Wind,  
Upon this Eastern side, so Ryedale dark and deep,  
Amongst whose Groves of yore, some say that Elves did keep;  
Then Pickering, whom the Fawns beyond them all adore,  
By whom not far away lies large-spred Blackimore,  
The Cleeveland North from these, a State that doth maintain,  
Leaning her lusty side to the great German Maine,  
Which if she were not here confined thus in me,  
A Shire even of herself might well be said to be.   

Nor less hath Pickering Leigh, her liberty then this,  
Northalerton a Shire so likewise reckoned is;  
And Richmond of the rest, the greatest in estate,  
A County justly called, that them accommodate;  
So I North-Riding am, for spaciousness renowned,  
Our mother Yorkshires eldst, who worthily is crowned  
The Queen of all the Shires, on this side Trent, for we  
The Ridings several parts of her vast greatness be,  
In us, so we again have several seats, whose bounds  
Do measure from their sides so many miles of grounds,  
That they are called Shires; like to some mighty King,  
May Yorkshire be compared, (the lik'st of any thing)  

A Simile of Yorkshire.  Who hath Kings that attend, and to his State retain,  
And yet so great, that they have under them again  
Great Princes, that to them be subject, so have we  
Shires subject unto us, yet we her subjects be;  
Although these be enough sufficiently to show,  
That I the other two for bravery quite outgo:  
Yet look ye up along into my Setting side,  
Where Teis first from my bounds, rich * Dunelme doth divide,  

The Bishopric of 〈◊〉.  And you shall see those Rills, that with their watery press,  
Their most beloved Teis so plenteously increase,  
The clear yet lesser Lune, the Bauder, and the Great,  
All out of me do flow; then turn ye from the Set,  
And look but towards the Rise, upon the Germane Maine,  
Those Rarities, and see, that I in me contain;  
My Scarborough, which looks as though in heaven it stood,  
To those that lie below, from th' Bay of Robin Hood,  

A Catalogue of the wonders of the North-Riding  Even to the fall of Teis; let me but see the man,  
That in one Tract can show the wonders that I can,  
Like Whitbies' self I think, there's none can show but I,  
O'er whose attractive earth there may no wild geese fly,  
But presently they fall from off their wings to ground:  
If this no wonder be, where's there a wonder found,  
And stones like Serpents there, yet may ye more behold,  
That in their natural Gires are up together rolled.  
The Rocks by 〈◊〉 too, my glories forth to set,  
Out of their cranied Cleeves, can give you perfect 〈◊〉,  
And upon Huntclipnab, you every where may find,  
(As though nice Nature loved to vary in this kind)  
Stones of a Spheric form of sundry 〈◊〉 framed,  
That well they Globes of stone, or bullets might be named  
For any Ordnance fit: which broke with Hammers blows,  
Do headless Snakes of stone, within their Rounds enclose.  
Mark Gisboroughs gay Scite, where Nature seems so nice,  
As in the same she makes a second Paradise,  
Whose Soil embroidered is, with so rare sundry Flowers,  
Her large Okes so long green, as Summer there her Bowers,  
Had set up all the year, her air for health refined,  
Her earth with Allome veins most richly intermined.  
In other places these might 〈◊〉 be thought,  
So common but in me, that I esteem as nought.  
Then could I reckon up my Ricall, making on  
By Rydale, towards her dear-loued Darwent, who's not gone  
far from her pearly Springs, but underground she goes;  
As up towards Craven Hills, I many have of those,  
Amongst the cranied Cleeves, that through the 〈◊〉 creep,  
And dimbles hid from day, into the earth so deep,  
That oftentimes their sight, the senses doth appall,  
Which for their horrid course, the people Helbecks' call,  
Which may for aught I see, be with my Wonders set,  
And with much marvel seen: that I am not in debt  
To none that neigboureth me; nor aught can they me lend.  
When Darwent bade her stay, and there her speech to end,  
For that East-Riding called, her proper cause to plead:  
For Darwent a true Nymph, a most impartial Maid,  
And like to both allied, doth will the last should have  
That privilege, which time to both the former gave,  
And wills th' East-Riding then, in her own cause to speak,  
Who mildly thus begins; Although I be but weak, 
The East-Ridings 〈◊〉.   
To those two former parts, yet what I seem to want  
In largeness, for that I am in my Compasle scant,  
Yet for my Scite I know, that I them both excel;  
For mark me how I lie, ye a note me very well,  
How in the East I reign, (of which my name I take)  
And my broad side do bear up to the Germane Lake,  
Which bravely I survey; then turn ye and behold  
Upon my pleasant breast, that large and spacious Ould  
Of Torke that takes the name, that with delighted eyes, 
Yorks 〈◊〉   
When he beholds the Sun out of the Seas to rise,  
With pleasure feeds his Flocks, for which he scarce gives place  
To Cotsall, and for what becomes a Pastoral grace,  
Doth go beyond him quite; then note upon my South,  
How all along the Shore, to mighty Humber's mouth,  
Rich holderness I have, excelling for her grain,  
By whose much plenty I, not only do maintain  
Myself in good estate, but Shires far off that lie,  
Up Humber that to Hull, come every day to buy,  
To me beholding are; beside, the neighbouring Towns,  
Upon the Verge whereof, to part her, and the Downs,  
Hull down to Humber hasts, and takes into her Bank  
Some less but lively Rills, with water's waxing rank,  
She Beverley salutes, whose beauties so delight  
The fayre-enamoured Flood, as ravished with the sight,  
That she could ever stay, that gorgeous Fane to view,  
But that the Brooks, and Bournes, so hotly her pursue, 
The Church of 〈◊〉.   
To Kingston and convey, whom Hull doth newly name,  
Of Humber-bordring Hull, who hath not heard the fame:  
And for great Humber's self, I challenge him for mine:  
For whereas 〈◊〉 first, and Sheifleet do combine,  
By meeting in their course, so courteously to twin,  
'Gainst whom on th'other side, the goodly Trent comes in,  
From that especial place, great Humber hath his reign,  

The marks how far he is called Number.  Beyond which he's mine own: so I my Course maintain,  
From Kilnseys' pyle-like point, along the Eastern shore,  
And laugh at Neptune's rage, when lowdl'est he doth roar,  
Till Flamborough iutt forth into the Germane Sea.  

The length of the East Riding upon the Sea.  And as th' East-Riding more yet ready was to say,  
Ouse in her own behalf doth interrupt her speech,  
And of th'Imperious land doth liberty beseech,  
Since she had passed 〈◊〉, and in her wand'ring race,  
By that fair Cities scite, received had such grace,  
She might for it declaim, but more to honour York,  
She who supposed the same to be her only work,  
Still to renown those Dukes, who strongly did pretend  
A title to the Crown, as those who did descend  
From them that had the right, doth this Oration make,  
And to uphold their claim, thus to the Floods she spoke.   

They very idly err, who think that blood then spilt,  

Quzes' Oration.  In that long-lasting war, proceeded from the guilt,  
Of the proud Yorkist, 〈◊〉; for let them understand,  
That Richard Duke of York, whose brave and martial hand  
The Title undertook, by tyranny and might,  
Sought not t'attain the Crown, but from successful right,  

The title of the house of York to the Crown.  Which still upheld his claim, by which his valiant son,  
Great Edward Earl of March, the Garland after won:  
For Richard Duke of York, at Wakefield Battle slain,  
Who first that title broached, in the 〈◊〉 Henry's reign,  
From Edmond a fifth son of Edward did descend,  
That justly he thereby no title could pretend,  
Before them come from Gaunt, well known of all to be,  
The fourth to Edward borne, and therefore a degree  
Before him to the Crown; but that which did prefer  
His title, was the match with Dame Anne Mortimer,  
Of Roger Earl of March the daughter, that his claim,  
From Clarence the third son of great King Edward came,  
Which Anne derived alone, the right before all other,  
Of the delapsed Crown, from Philip her fair mother,  
Daughter and only heir of Clarence, and the Bride  
To Edmond Earl of March; this Anne her daughter tie  
In wedlock to the Earl of Cambridge, whence the right  
Of Richard as I said, which fell at Wakefield fight,  
Descended to his son, brave Edward after King,  
(Henry the sixth deposed) thus did the Yorkists bring  
Their title from a strain, before the line of Gaunt,  
Whose issue they by Armès did worthily supplant.   

By this the Ouze perceived great Humber to look grim;  
(For evermore she hath a special eye to him)  
As though he much disdained each one should thus be heard,  
And he their only King, until the last deferred,  
At which he seemed to frown; wherefore the Ouze off breaks,  
And to his confluent Floods, thus mighty Humber speaks.   

Let Trent her tribute pay, which from their several founts,  
For thirty Floods of name, to me her King that counts, 
The Oration of Humber.   
Be much of me beloved, brave River; and from me,  
Receive those glorious Rites that 〈◊〉 can give to thee.  
And thou Marsh-drowning Don, and all those that repair  
With thee, that bringst to me thy easy 〈◊〉 Aire,  
Embodying in one Bank: and Wharfe, which by thy fall  
Dost much augment my Ouze, let me embrace you all,  
My brave West-Riding Brooks, your King you need not 〈◊〉,  
Proud Nyades neither ye, North-Riders that are borne;  
My yellow-sanded Your, and thou my sister Small,  
That dancing come to 〈◊〉, through many a dainty Dale,  
Do greatly me enrich, clear Darwent driving down  
From Cleeveland; and thou Hull, that highly dost renown  
Th' East-Riding by thy rise, do homage to your King,  
And let the Sea Nymphs thus of 〈◊〉 Humber sing;  
That full an hundred Floods my 〈◊〉 Court maintain,  
Which either of themselves, or in their greater's train,  
Their Tribute pay to me; and for my princely name,  
From Humber King of 〈◊〉, as anciently it came;  
So still I stick to him: for from that Eastern King  
Once in me drowned, as I my Pedigree do bring:  
So his great name receives no prejudice thereby;  
For as he was a King, so know ye all that I  
Am King of all the Floods, that North of Trent do flow;  
Then let the idle world no more such cost bestow,  
Nor of the muddy Nile, so great a Wonder make,  
Though with her bellowing fall, she violently take  
The neighbouring people deaf; nor Ganges so much praise,  
That where he narrowest is, eight miles in broadness lays  
His bosom, nor so much hereafter shall be spoke  
Of that (but lately found) Guyanian Orenoque,  
Whose * Cateract a noise so horrible 〈◊〉 keep, 
A fall of water   
That it even Neptune frights; what Flood comes to the Deep,  
Then Humber that is heard more horribly to roar? 
The roaring of the waters, at the coming in of the Tide.   
For when my * Higre comes, I make my either shore  
Even tremble with the sound, that I afar do send.   

No sooner of this speech had Humber made an end,  
But the applauding. Floods sent forth so shrill a shout,  
That they were easily heard all holderness about,  
Above the Beachy Brack, amongst the Marshes rude,  
When the East-Riding her Oration to conclude,  
Goes on; My Sister's boast that they have little Shires  
Their subjects, I can show the like of mine for theirs;  
My Howdon hath as large a Circuit, and as free,  

A Liberty in the 〈◊〉.  On Ouse, and Humber's banks, and as much graceth me,  
My Latitude compared with those that me oppugn:  
Not Richmond nor her like, that doth to them belong,  
Doth grace them more than this doth me, upon my coast,  
And for their wondrous things, whereof so much they boast,  
Upon my Eastern side, which iutts upon the Sea,  
Amongst the white-scalped Cleeves, this wonder see they may,  
The Mullet, and the Awke, (my Fowlers there do find)  

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 Cliff, that pointeth to the land,  
Fall instantly to ground, as though it were a stone,  
But put out to the Sea, they instantly are gone,  
And fly a league or two before they do return,  
As only by that air, they on their wings were borne.  
Then my Prophetic Spring at Veipsey, I may show,  
That some years is dried up, some years again doth flow;  
But when it breaketh out with an immoderate birth,  
It tells the following year of a penurious dearth.   

Here ended she her speech, the Ridings all made friends,  
And from my tired hand, my laboured Canto ends.   
 
  

The nine and twentieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The Muse the Bishopric assays,  
And to her fall sings down the Teis,  
Then takes she to the dainty Were,  
And with all braveries fitted her.  
Tyne tells the Victories by us got,  
In soughten Fields against the Scot  
Then through Northumberland she goes,  
The Floods and Mountains dotb dispose;  
And with their glories doth proceed,  
Not staying till she come to Tweed.   

THe Muse this largest Shire of England having sung,  
Yet seeing more than this did to her task belong,  
Looks still into the North, the Bishopric and views, 
The Bishopric of Durham.   
Which with an eager eye, whilst wistly she pursues,  
Teis as a bordering Flood, (who thought herself divine)  
Confining in her Course that County Palatine,  
And York the greatest Shire doth instantly begin,  
To rouse herself; quoth she, Doth every Rillet win  
Applause for their small worths, and I that am a Queen,  
With those poor Brooks compared, shall I alone be seen  
Thus silently to pass, and not be heard to sing,  
When as two Countries are contending for my Spring:  
For Cumberland, to which the Cumri gave the name, 
〈◊〉 springeth out of Stanmore, which lieth almost equally between Cumberland, & 〈◊〉.   
Accounts it to be hers, Northumberland the same,  
Will needsly hers should be, for that my Spring doth rise,  
So equallytwixt both, that he were very wise,  
Could tell which of these two, me for her own may claim.  
But as in all these Tracts, there's scarce a Flood of fame,  
But she some Valley hath, which her brave name doth bear:  
My Teisdale, named of me, so likewise have I hear,  
At my first setting forth, through which I nimbly slide;  
Then Yorkshire which doth lie upon my Setting side,  
Me Lune and Bauder lends, as in the Song before  
Th'industrious Muse hath showed; my * Dunelmenian shore,  

The Bishopric of Durham.  Sends 〈◊〉 to help my course, with some few other Becks,  
Which 〈◊〉 (as it should seem) so utterly neglects,  
That they are nameless yet; then do I bid adieu,  
To 〈◊〉 battled Towers, and seriously pursue  
My course to Neptune's Court, but as forthright I run,  
The Skern, a dainty Nymph, saluting Darlington,  
Comes in to give me aid, and being proud and rank,  
She chanced to look aside, and spieth near her Bank,  
Three black and horrid pits, which for their boiling heat,  
(That from their loathsome brimms, do breath a sulphurous sweat)  
Hell-kettles rightly called, that with the very sight,  
This Water-Nymph, my Skern is put in such 〈◊〉,  
That with unusual speed, she on her Course doth haste,  
And rashly runs herself into my widened waste.  
In pomp I thus approach great Amphetrites state.   

But whilst Teis undertook her Story to relate,  
Were waxeth almost wood, that she so long should stand  
Upon those lofty terms, as though both sea and land  
Were tied to hear her talk: quoth Were, what wouldst thou say,  
Vainglorious bragging Brook, hadst thou so clear a way  
T'advance thee as I have, hadst thou such means and might,  
How wouldst thou then exult? O then to what a height  
Wouldst thou put up thy price? hadst thou but such a Trine  
Of Rillets as I have, which naturally combine,  
Their Springs thee to beget, as these of mine do me,  
In their consenting sounds, that do so well agree?  
As Kellop coming in from Kellop-Law her Sire,  
A Mountain much in fame, small Wellop doth require,  
With her to walk along, which Burdop with her brings.  
Thus from the full conflux of these three several Springs  
My greatness is begot, as Nature meant to show  
My future strength and state; then forward do I flow  
Through my delicious Dale, with every pleasure rife,  
And Wyresdale still may stand, with Teisdale for her life:  
Comparing of their Scites, then casting on my Course,  
So satiate with th'excess of my first natural source,  
As petty Bournes and Becks, I scorn but once to call,  
Wascrop a wearish Girl, of name the first of all,  
That I vouchsafe for mine, until that I arrive  
At Aukland, where with force me forward still to drive,  
Clear Gauntlesse gives herself, when I begin to gad,  
And whirling in and out, as I were waxed mad,  
I change my posture oft, to many a Snaky Gyre,  
To my first fountain now, as seeming to retire:  
Then suddenly again I turn my watery trail,  
Now I endent the earth, and then I it engrayle  
With many a turn and trace, thus wand'ring up and down,  
Brave Durham I behold, that stately seated Town,  
That Dunholme hight of yore (even) from a Desert won,  
Whose first foundation Zeal, and Piety begun,  
By them who thither first Saint Cutberts' body brought,  
To save it from the Danes, by fire and sword that sought  
Subversion of those things, that good and holy were,  
With which beloved place, I seem so pleased here,  
As that I clip it close, and sweetly hug it in  
My clear and amorous arms, as jealous time should win  
Me further off from it, as our divorce to be.  
Hence like a lusty Flood most absolutely free,  
None mixing then with me, as I do mix with none,  
But scorning a Colleague, nor near me any one,  
To Neptune's Court I come; for note along the Strand,  
From Hartlepoole (even) to the point of Sunder land,  
As far as * Wardenlaws can possibly survey; 
A Mountain on that part of the Shire.   
There's not a Flood of note hath entrance to the sea.   

Here ended she her Speech, when as the goodly Tyne,  
(Northumberland that parts from this Shire Palatine)  
Which patiently had heard, look as before the Were  
Had taken up the Teis, so Tyne now takes up her,  
For her so tedious talk, Good Lord (quoth she) had I  
No other thing wherein my labour to imply,  
But to set out myself, how much (well) could I say,  
In mine own proper praise, in this kind every way  
As skilful as the best; I could if I did please,  
Of my two Fountains tell, which of their sundry ways,  
The South and North are named, entitled both of Tyne,  
As how the prosperous Springs of these two Floods of mine  
Are distant thirty miles, how that the South-Tyne named,  
From Stanmore takes her Spring, for Mines of Brass that's famed,  
How that named of the North, is out of Wheel-fell sprung,  
Amongst these English Alps, which as they run along,  
England, and Scotland here impartially divide.  
How South-Tyne setting out from Cumberland is plied,  
With Hartley which her hastes, and Tippall that doth strive,  
By her more sturdy Stream, the Tyne along to drive;  
How th' alan, th' East, and West, their bounties to her bring,  
Two fair and full-brimed Floods, how also from her Spring,  
My other North-named Tyne, through Tyndale maketh in,  
Which She'll her Handmaid hath, and as she hasts to twin  
With th'other from the South, her sister, how clear Rhead,  
With Perop comes prepared, and Cherlop, me to lead,  
Through Ridsdale on my way, as far as Exham, than  
dowel me Homage doth, with blood of Englishmen,  
Whose Stream was deeply died in that most cruel war  
Of Lancaster and York. Now having gone so far,  
Their strengths me their dear Tyne, do wondrously enrich,  
As how clear Darwent draws down to Newcastle, which  
The honour hath alone to entertain me 〈◊〉,  
As of those mighty ships, that in my mouth I bear,  
Fraught with my country Coal, of this * Newcastle named,  

Newcastle Coale.  For which both far and near, that place no less is famed,  
Then India for her Ours; should I at large declare  
My glories, in which Time commands me to be spare,  
And I but slightly touch, which stood I to report,  
As freely as I might, ye both would fall too short  
Of me; but know that Tyne hath greater things in hand:  
For, to trick up ourselves, whilst trifling thus we stand,  
Bewitched with our own praise, at all we never note,  
How the Albanian Floods now lately set afloat,  
With th'honour to them done, take heart, and loudly cry  
Defiance to us all, on this side Tweed that lie;  
And hark the high-browed Hills aloud begin to 〈◊〉,  
With sound of things that Forth prepared is to sing:  
When once the Muse arrives on the Albanian shore;  
And therefore to make up our forces here before  
The onset they begin, the Battles we have got,  
Both on our earth and theirs, against the valiant Scot,  
I undertake to tell; then Muses I entreat  
Your aid, whilst I these Fights in order shall repeat.   

When mighty Malcolm here had with a violent hand,  
(As he had oft before) destroyed Northumberland,  
In Rufus troubled Reign, the warlike Mowbray then,  
This Earldom that 〈◊〉, with half the power of men,  
For conquest which that King from Scotland hither drew,  
At Anwick in the field their Armies overthrew;  
Where Malcolm and his son, brave Edward both were found,  

The 〈◊〉 of Anwicke.  Slain on that bloody field: So on the English ground,  
When David King of Scots, and Henry his stern son,  
Entitled by those times, the Earl of Huntingdon,  
Had forradged all the North, beyond the River Teis,  
In Stephen's troubled reign, in as tumultuous days  
As England ever knew, the Archbishop of York,  
Stout Thurstan, and with him joined in that warlike work,  

See to the 18. Song.  Ralph, (both for wit and Arms) of Durham Bishop then  
Renowned, that called were the valiant Clergy men,  
With th'earl of Aubemarle, Especk, and Peverell, Knights,  
And of the Lacies two, oft tried in bloody fights,  
'twixt Aluerton and York, the doubtful battle got, 
The Battle of 〈◊〉.   
On David and his son, whilst of th'invading Scot,  
Ten thousand strewed 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 sons in high combustions were,  
William the Scottish King, taking advantage then, 
The second Battle at Anwicke.   
And entering with an Host of eighty thousand men,  
As far as Kendal came, where Captains then of ours,  
Which aid in Yorkshire raised, with the Northumbrian powers,  
His forces overthrew, and him a prisoner led.   

So Long shanks, Scolands' scourge, him to that Country sped,  
Provoked by the Scots, that England did invade,  
And on the Borders here such spoil and havoc made,  
That all the land lay waste betwixt the Tweed and me.  
This most courageous King, from them his own to free,  
Before proud Berwick set his puissant army down,  
And took it by strong siege, since when that warlike town,  
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 won, 
The Battle at Halidon.   
Upon the Scottish power, as that of Halidon,  
Seven Earls, nine hundred Horse, and of Foot-soldiers more,  
Near twenty thousand slain, so that the Scottish gore  
Ran down the Hill in streams (even) in Albania's sight.  
By our third Edward's prowess, that most renowned Knight,  
As famous was that Fight of his against the Scot,  
As that against the French, which he at Cressy got.  
And when that conquering King did afterward advance  
His Title, and had passed his warlike powers to France,  
And David King of Scots here entered to invade,  
To which the King of France did that false Lord persuade,  
Against his given Faith, from France to draw his Bands,  
To keep his own at home, or to fill both his hands  
With war in both the Realms: was ever such a loss,  
To Scotland yet befell, as that at Nevills' Cross, 
The Battle at Nevil's Crosse.   
Where fifteen thousand Scots their souls at once forsook,  
Where stout john Copland then, King David prisoner took,  
I'th' head of all his troops, that bravely there was seen.  
When English Philip, that brave Amazonian Queen,  
Encouraging her men, from troop to troop did ride,  
And where our Clergy had their ancient Valourtride:  
Thus often coming in, they have gone out too short.  
And next to this the fight of Nesbit I report,  
When Hebborn that stout Scot, and his had all their hire, 
The Battle of 〈◊〉.   
Which in t'our Marches came, and with invasive fire,  
Our Villages laid waste, for which defeat of ours,  
When doughty Douglasse came with the Albanian powers.  
At Holmdon do but see, the blow our 〈◊〉 gave  
To that bold daring Scot, before him how he drove  
His Army, and with shot of our brave English Bows,  
Did wound them on the backs, whose breasts were hurt with blows,  
Ten thousand put to sword, with many a Lord and Knight,  
Some prisoners, wounded some, some others 〈◊〉 outright,  
And entering Scotl'and then, all 〈◊〉 o'r-ran.   

Or who a braver field than th'earl of Surrey won,  
Where their King james the fourth himself so bravely bore,  

The Battle of Flodden.  That since that age wherein he lived, nor those before,  
Yet never such a King in such a Battle saw,  
Amongst his fight friends, where whilst he breath could draw,  
He bravely fought on foot, where Flodden Hill was 〈◊〉  
With bodies of his men, wellnear to mammocks hewed,  
That on the Mountain's side, they covered near a mile,  
Where those two valiant Earls of Lenox and Arguyle,  
Were with their Sovereign slain, Abbots, and Bishops there,  
Which had put Armour on, in hope away to bear  
The Victory with them, before the English fell.   

But now of other Fields, it 〈◊〉 the Muse to tell,  
As when the Noble Duke of Norfolk made a Road  

A Road into Scotland by the Duke of Norfolk.  To Scotland, and therein his hostile 〈◊〉 bestowed  
On wellnear thirty Towns, and staying there so long,  
Till victual waxed weak, the Winter waxing strong,  
Returning over Tweed, his Booties home to 〈◊〉,  
Which to the very heart did vex the Scottish King,  
The fortune of the Duke extremely that did grudge,  
Remaining there so long, and doing there so much,  
Thinking to spoil and waste, in England as before,  
The English men had done on the Albanian shore,  
And gathering up his force, before the English fled  
To Scotland's utmost bounds, thence into England sped,  
When that brave Bastard son of 〈◊〉, and his friend,  
john Musgrave, which had charge the Marches to attend,  
With Wharton, a proud Knight, with scarce four hundred Horse,  
Encountering on the Plain 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,  
Earls, Barons, Knights, Esquires, two hundred there and more,  
Of ordinary men, seven hundred made to yield,  
There scarcely hath been heard, of such a fought field,  
That james the fifth to think, that but 〈◊〉 very few,  
His universal power so strangely should subdue,  
So took the same to heart, that it abridged his life.  
Such foils by th' English given, amongst the Scots were rife.   

These on the English earth, the English men did gain;  
But when their breach of faith did many times constrain  
Our Nation to invade, and carry conquests in  
To Scotland; then behold, what our success hath been,  
Even in the latter end of our eight Henries days,  
Who Seymor sent by Land, and Dudley sent by Seas,  
With his full forces then, O Forth, then didst thou bear,  
That Nany on thy Stream, whose Bulk was fraught with fear,  
When Edenbrough and Leeth, into the air were blown 
The Siege of Leeth.   
With Powders sulphurous smoke, & twenty towns were thrown  
Upon the trampled earth, and into ashes trod;  
As int' Albania when we made a second Road,  
In our sixth Edwards days, when those two Martial men,  
Which conquered there before, were thither sent again:  
But for their high deserts, with greater Titles graced,  
The first created Duke of Somerset, the last  
The Earl of Warwick made, at Muscleborough Field,  
Where many a doughty Scot that did disdain to yield,  
Was on the earth laid dead, where as for five miles' space  
In length, and four in breadth, the English in the chase,  
With carkeises of Scots, strewed all their natural ground,  
The number of the slain were fourteen thousand found,  
And fifteen hundred more ta'en Prisoners by our men.   

So th'earl of Sussex next to Scotland sent again,  
To punish them by war, which on the Borders here, 
The Road into Scotland by the Earl of Sussex.   
Not only robbed and spoiled, but that assistants were  
To those two puissant Earls, Northumberland, who rose  
With Westmoreland his Peer, suggested by the foes  
To great Eliza's reign, and peaceful government;  
Wherefore that puissant Queen him to Albania sent,  
Who fifty Rock-reard Pyles and Castles having cast  
far lower than their Scites, and with strong fires 〈◊〉  
Three hundred towns, their wealth, with him worth carrying  
To England over 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 River's speech, the Hills and Floods among,  
And Lowes, a Forrest-Nymph, the same so loudly sung,  
That it through Tindale strait, and quite through 〈◊〉 ran,  
And sounded shriller there, then when it first began, 
A repetition of the Hills parting Northumberland and Scotland, as they lie from South to North.   
That those high Alpine Hills, as in a row they stand,  
Received the sounds, which thus went on from hand to hand.   

The high-rcared Red-Squire first, to Aumond Hill it told,  
When Aumond great therewith, nor for his life could hold,  
To Kembelspeth again, the business but relate,  
To Black-Brea he again, a Mountain holding state  
With any of them all, to Cocklaw he it gave;  
And Cocklaw it again, to Cheviot, who did rave  
With the report thereof, he from his mighty stand,  
Resounded it again through all Northumberland,  
That White-Squire lastly caught, and it to Berwick sent,  
That brave and warlike Town, from thence incontinent,  
The sound from out the South, into Albania came,  
And many a lusty Flood, did with her praise inflame,  
Affrighting much the Forth, who from her trance awoke,  
And to her native strength her presently betook,  
Against the Muse should come to the Albanian Coast.   

But Pictswall all this while, as though he had been lost,  
Not mentioned by the Muse, began to fret and fume,  

〈◊〉 brickwall.  That every petty Brook thus proudly should presume  
To talk; and he whom first the Romans did invent,  
And of their greatness yet, the longst-liued monument,  
Should this be over-trod; wherefore his wrong to wreak,  
In their proud presence thus, doth aged Pictswall speak.   

Me thinks that Offa's ditch in Cambria should not dare  
To think himself my match, who with such cost and care  
The Romans did erect, and for my safeguard set  
Their Legions, from my spoil the proling Pict to let,  
That often In roads made, our earth from them to win,  
By Adrian beaten back, so he to keep them in,  
To Sea from East to West, begun me first a wall  
Of eighty miles in length, 'twixt Tyne and eden's fall:  
Long making me they were, and long did me maintain.  
Nor yet that Trench which tracts the Western Wiltshire Plain,  
Of Woden, Wansdyke called, should parallel with me,  
Comparing our descents, which shall appear to be  
Mere upstarts, basely borne; for when I was in hand,  
The Saxon had not then set foot upon this land,  
Till my declining age, and after many a year,  
Of whose poor petty Kings, those the small labours were.  
That on Newmarket-Heath, made up as though but now,  
Who for the Devils work the vulgar dare avow,  

See to the 〈◊〉. Song.  Tradition telling none, who truly it began,  
Where many a reverend Book can tell you of my Man,  
And when I first decayed, Severus going on,  
What Adrian built of turf, he builded new of stone,  
And after many a time, the Britan's me repaired,  
To keep me still in plight, nor cost they ever spared.  
Towns stood upon my length, where Garrisons were laid,  
Their limits to defend; and for my greater aid,  
With turrets I was built-where Sentinels were placed,  
To watch upon the Pict; so me my Makers graced,  
With hollow Pipes of Brass, along me still that went,  
By which they in one Fort still to another scent,  
By speaking in the same, to tell them what to do,  
And so from Sea to Sea could I be whispered through:  
Upon my thickness, three marched easily breast to breast,  
Twelve foot was I in height, such glory I possessed.   

Old Pictswall with much pride thus finishing his plea,  
Had in his utmost course attained the Eastern Sea,  
Yet there was Hill nor Flood once heard to clap a hand;  
For the Northumbrian Nymphs had come to understand,  
That Tyne exulting late o'er Scotland in her Song,  
(Which over all that Realm report had loudly rung)  
The Caledonian * Forth so highly had displeased, 
The great River on which Edinburgh standeth.   
And many an other Flood, (which could not be appeased)  
That they had vowed revenge, and Proclamation made,  
That in a learned war the foe they would invade,  
And like stout Floods stand free from this supputed shame,  
Or conquered give themselves up to the English name:  
Which these Northumbrian Nymphs, with doubt & terror struck,  
Which knew they from the foe, for nothing were to look,  
But what by skill they got, and with much care should keep,  
And therefore they consult by meeting in the Deep,  
To be delivered from the ancient enemies tag,  
That they would all upon a solemn Pilgrimage  
Unto the Holy-Isle, the virtue of which place,  
They knew could very much avail them in this case:  
For many a blessed Saint in former ages there,  
Secluded from the world, to Abstinence and Prayer,  
Had given up themselves, which in the Germane Maine,  
And from the shore not far, did in itself contain 
The Holy Island   
Sufficient things for food, which from those holy men,  
That to devotion lived, and sanctimony then,  
It Holy-Isle was called, for which they all prepare,  
As I shall tell you how, and what their number are. 
A Catalogue of the Rivers of Northumberland, as they run into the Germane sea, upon the East part of the country betwixt the Falls of Tine and 〈◊〉.   
With those the farthest off, the first I will begin,  
As Pont a peerless Brook, brings Blyth which putteth in  
With her, than Wansbeck next in wading to the Main,  
Near Morpet meets with Font, which followeth in her train;  
Next them the little Line alone doth go along,  
When Cocket cometh down, and with her such a throng,  
As that they seem to threat the Ocean; for with her  
Comes Ridley, Ridland next, with Vsway, which prefer  
Their Fountains to her Flood, who for her greater fame,  
Hath at her fall an Isle, called 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 fair fall,  
(In bravery as to show, that she 〈◊〉 past them all)  
The famous Isle of Ferne, and Staples aptly stand,  
And at her coming forth, do kiss her Crystal hand.   

Whilst these resolved upon their Pilgrimage, proceed,  
Till for the love she bears to her dear Mistress Tweed,  
Of Bramish leaves the name, by which she hath her birth;  
And though she keep her course upon the English earth,  
Yet Bowbent, a bright Nymph, from Scotland coming in,  
To go with her to Tweed, the wanton Flood doth win.  
Though at this headstrong Stream, proud Flodden from his height,  
Doth daily seem to fret, yet takes he much delight  
Her loveliness to view, as on to Tweed she strains,  
Where whilst this Mountain much for her sweet sake sustains,  
This Canto we conclude, and fresh about must cast,  
Of all the English Tracts, to consummate the last.   
 
  

The thirtieth Song.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Of Westmoreland the Muse now sings,  
And fetching Eden from her Springs,  
Sets her along, and Kendal then  
Surveying, beareth back again;  
And climbing Skidows lofty Hill,  
By many a River, many a Rill,  
To Cumberland, where in her way,  
She Copland calls, and doth display  
Her Beauties, back to Eden goes,  
Whose Floods, and Fall she aptly shows.   

YEt cheerly on my Muse, no whit at all dismayed,  
But look aloft towards heaven, to him whose powerful aid;  
Hath led thee on thus long, & through so sundry soils,  
Steep Mountains, Forest's rough, deep Rivers, that thy toils  
Most sweet refresh seem, and still thee comfort sent,  
Against the Bestial Rout, and Boorish rabblement  
Of those rude vulgar sots, whose brains are only Slime,  
Borne to the doting world, in this last iron Time,  
So stony, and so dull, that Orpheus which (men say)  
By the enticing Strains of his melodious Lay,  
Drew Rocks and aged Trees, to whether he would please;  
He might as well have moved the Universe as these;  
But leave this Fry of Hell in their own filth defiled,  
And seriously pursue the stern Westmerian wild,  
First seizing in our Song, the South part of the Shire,  
Where Westmoreland 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 gives that Dale her name, where Kendale town doth stand,  
For making of our Cloth scarce matched in all the land.  
Then keeping on her course, though having in her train,  
But Sput, a little Brook, than Winster doth retain,  
Towards the Vergivian Sea, by her two mighty Falls,  
(Which the brave Roman tongue, her Catadupae calls)  
This eager River seems outrageously to roar,  
And counterfeiting Nile, to deaf the neighbouring shore,  
To which she by the sound apparently doth show,  
The 〈◊〉 foul or fair, as then the wind doth blow:  
For when they to the North, the noise do easliest hear,  
They constantly affirm the weather will be clear;  
And when they to the South, again they boldly say,  
It will be clouds or rain the next approaching day.  
To the Hibernick Gulf, when soon the River hasts,  
And to those queachy Sands, from whence herself she casts,  
She likewise leaves her name as every place where she,  
In her clear course doth come, by her should honoured be.  
But back into the North from hence our course doth lie,  
As from this fall of Can, still keeping in our eye,  
The source of long lived Lun, I long-lived do her call;  
For of the British Floods, scarce one amongst them all,  

See to the 27. Song.  Such state as to herself, the Destinies assign,  
By christening in her Course a County Palatine,  
For Luncaster so named; the Fort upon the Lun,  
And Lancashire the name from Lancaster begun:  
Yet though she be a Flood, such glory that doth gain,  
In that the British Crown doth to her state pertain,  
Yet Westmoreland alone, not only boasts her birth,  
But for her greater good the kind Westmerian earth,  
Clear Burbeck her bequeathes, and Barrow to attend  
Her grace, till she her name to Lancaster do lend.  
With all the speed we can, to Cumberland we hie,  
(Still longing to salute the utmost Albany)  
By Eden, issuing out of Husseat-Moruill Hill,  
And pointing to the North, as then a little Rill,  
There simply takes her leave of her sweet sister Small,  
Borne to the self same Sire, but with a stronger gale,  
Towards Humber hies her course, but Eden making on,  

The first place of note which she runs through.  Through Malerstrang hard by, a Forest woe begun  
In love with Eden's eyes, of the clear Naiads kind,  
Whom thus the Wood-Nymph greets: What passage shalt thou find,  
My most beloved Brook, in making to thy Bay,  
That wand'ring art to wend through many a crooked way,  
far under hanging Hills, through many a cragged straight,  
And few the watery kind, upon thee to await,  
Opposed in thy course with many a rugged Cliff,  
Besides the Northern winds against thy stream so stiff,  
As by main strength they meant to stop thee in thy course,  
And send thee easily back to Moruill to thy source.  
O my bright lovely Brook, whose name doth bear the sound  
Of God's first Garden-plot, th'imparadized ground,  
Wherein he placed Man, from whence by sin he fell.  
O little blessed Brook, how doth my bosom swell,  
With love I bear to thee, the day cannot suffice  
For Malerstang to gaze upon thy beauteous eyes.   

This said, the Forest rubbed her rugged front the while,  
Clear Eden looking back, regreets her with a smile,  
And simply takes her leave, to get into the Main;  
When Below a bright Nymph, from Stanmore down doth strain  
To Eden, as along to Appleby she makes,  
Which passing, to her train, next Troutbeck in she takes,  
And Levenant, than these, a somewhat lesser Rill,  
When Glenkwin greets her well, and happily to fill,  
Her more abundant Banks, from Vlls, a mighty Mere  
On Cumberlands confines, comes Eymot neat and clear,  
And Loder doth allure, with whom she haps to meet,  
Which at her coming in, doth thus her Mistress greet.   

Quoth she, thus for myself I say, that where I swell  
Up from my Fountain first, there is a Tyding-well,  
That daily ebbs and flows, (as Writers do report)  
The old Euripus doth, or in the self same sort,  
The * Venedocian Fount, or the * Demetian Spring, 
Two fountains the one in the South, th'other in North-wales. 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 Mistress Eden please,  
With this, as other Floods delighted are with these.   

When Eden, though she seemed to make unusual haste,  
About clear Loders neck, yet lovingly doth cast  
Her oft infolding Arms, as Westmoreland she leaves,  
Where Cumberland again as kindly her receives.  
Yet up her watery hands, to Winfield Forrest holds  
In her rough woody arms, which amorously infolds  
Clear Eden coming by, with all her watery store,  
In her dark shades, and seems her parting to deplore.   

But Southward sallying hence, to those Sea-bordring sands,  
Where Dudden driving down to the Lancastrian lands,  
This Cumberland cuts out, and strongly doth confine,  
This meeting there with that, both merely Maratine,  
Where many a dainty Rill out of her native Dale,  
To the Virgivian makes, with many a pleasant gale;  
As Eske her farth'st, so first, a coybred Cumbrian Lass,  
Who cometh to her Road, renowned Ravenglasse,  
By Devock driven along, (which from a large-brimed Lake,  
To hie her to the Sea, with greater haste doth make)  
Meets Nyte, a nimble Brook, their Rendezvous that keep  
In Ravenglasse, when soon into the bluish Deep  
Comes Irt, of all the rest, though small, the richest Girl,  
Her costly bosom strewed with precious Orient Pearl,  
Bred in her shining Shells, which to the dew doth yawn,  
Which dew they sucking in, conceive that lusty Spawn,  
Of which when they grow great, and to their fullness swell,  
They cast, which those at hand there gathering, dearly sell.  
This clear pearle-paved 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 to her harbour brings,  
From Copland coming down, a Forest, Nymph, which sings  
Her own praise, and those Floods, their Fountains that derive  
From her, which to extol, the Forest thus doth strive.   

Ye Northern * Dryads all adorned with Mountains steep,  
Upon whose hoary heads cold Winter long doth keep,  

Nymphs of the Forest.  Where often rising Hills, deep Dales and many make,  
Where many a pleasant Spring, and many a large-spread Lake,  
Their clear beginnings keep, and do their names bestow  
Upon those humble Vales, through which they easily flow;  
Whereas the Mountain Nymphs, and those that do frequent  
The Fountains, Fields, and Groves, with wondrous merriment,  
By Moonshine many a night, do give each other chase,  
At Hoodwink, Barleybreak, at Tick, or Prison-base,  
With tricks, and antique toys, that one another mock,  
That skip from Crag to Crag, and leap from Rock to Rock.  
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 stern from every way,  
That who doth it behold, he cannot choose but say,  
Th'aspect of these grim Hills, these dark and misty Dales,  
From clouds scarce ever cleared, with the strongest Northern gales,  
Tell in their mighty Roots, some Mineral there doth lie,  
The Islands general want, whose plenty might supply:  
Wherefore as some suppose of Copper Mynes in me,  
I Copper-land was called, but some will have't to be  
From the old Britan's brought, for Cop they use to call  
The tops of many Hills, which I am stored withal.  
Then Eskdale mine Ally, and Niter dale so named,  
Of Floods from you that flow, as Borowdale most famed,  
With Wasdale walled in, with Hills on every side,  
hows'ever ye extend within your wastes so wide,  
For th'surface of a soil, a Copland, Copland cry,  
Till to your shouts the Hills with Echoes all reply.   

Which Copland scarce had spoke, but quickly every hill,  
Upon her Verge that stands, the neighbouring Valleys 〈◊〉;  
Heluillon from his height, it through the Mountains threw,  
From whom as soon again, the sound Dunbalrase drew,  
From whose stone-trophied head, it on to Wendresse went,  
Which towards the Sea again, resounded it to Dent,  
That Brodwater therewith within her Banks astounded,  
In sailing to the Sea, told it in Egremound,  
Whose Buildings, walks, and streets, with Echoes loud and long,  
Did mightily commend old Copland for her Song.   

Whence soon the Muse proceeds, to find out fresher Springs,  
Where Darwent her clear Fount from Borowdale that brings,  
Doth quickly cast herself into an ample Lake,  
And with Thurls' mighty Mere, between them two do make  
An * Island, which the name from Darwent doth 〈◊〉; 
The Isle of Darwent.   
Within whose secret breast nice Nature doth contrive,  
That mighty Copper Mine, which not without its Veins,  
Of Gold and Silver found, it happily obtains  
Of Royalty the name, the richest of them all  
That Britan bringeth forth, which Royal she doth call. 
The Ours Royal.   
Of Borowdale her Dam, of her own named Isle,  
As of her Royal Ours, this River proud the while,  
Keeps on her Course to Sea, and in her way doth win  
Clear Coker her compeer, which at her coming in,  
Gives Coker-mouth the name, by standing at her fall,  
Into fair Darwents Banks, when Darwent there withal,  
Runs on her 〈◊〉 Race, and for her greater fame,  
Of Neptune doth obtain a Haven of her name,   

When of the Cambrian Hills, proud Skiddo that doth show  
The highest, respecting whom, the other be but low,  
Perceiving with the Floods, and Forests, how it fared,  
And all their several tales substantially had heard,  
And of the Mountain kind, as of all otherhe,  
Most like Parnassus' self that is supposed to be,  
Having a double head, as hath that sacred Mount,  
Which those nine sacred Nymphs held in so high account,  
Bethinketh of himself what he might justly say,  
When to them all he thus his beauties doth display.   

The rough Hibernian sea, I proudly overlook,  
Amongst the scattered Rocks, and there is not a nook,  
But from my glorious height into its depth I pry,  
Great Hills far under me, but as my Pages lie;  
And when my Helm of Clouds upon my head I take,  
At very sight thereof, immediately I make  
Th'Inhabitants about, tempestuous storms to fear,  
And for fair weather look, when as my top is clear;  
Great Fournesse mighty Fells, I on my South survey:  
So likewise on the North, Albania makes me way,  
Her Countries to behold, when * Scurfell from the sky, 
A Hill in Scotland.   
That Anadale doth crown, with a most amorous eye,  
Salutes me every day, or at my pride looks grim,  
Oft threatening me with Clouds, as I oft threatening him:  
So likewise to the East, that rue of Mountains tall,  
Which we our English Alps may very aptly call,  
That Scotland here with us, and England do divide,  
As those, whence we them name upon the other side,  
Do Italy, and France, these Mountains here of ours,  
That look far off like clouds, shaped with embattelled towers,  
Much envy my estate, and somewhat higher be,  
By lifting up their heads, to state and gaze at me.  
Clear Darwent 〈◊〉 on, I look at from above,  
As some enamoured Youth, being deeply struck in love,  
His 〈◊〉 doth behold, and every beauty notes;  
Who as she to her fall, through Fells and Valleys floats,  
Oft lifts her limber self above her Banks to view,  
How my brave by cleft top, doth still her Course pursue.  
O all ye Topick Gods, that do inhabit here,  
To whom the Romans did, those ancient 〈◊〉 rear,  
Oft found upon those Hills, now sunk into the Soils,  
Which they for Trophies left of their victorious spoils,  
Ye Genij of these Floods, these Mountains, and these Dales,  
That with poor Shepherd's Pipes, & harmless Heardsmans' tales  
Have often pleased been, still guard me day and night,  
And hold me Skidow still, the place of your delight.   

This Speech by Skidow spoke, the Muse makes forth again,  
Towards where the inborn Floods, clear Eden entertain,  
To Cumberland come in, from the Westmerian wastes,  
Where as the readyest way to carlil, as she casts,  
She with two Wood-Nymphs meets, the first is great and wild,  
And Westward Forrest hight; the other but a child,  
Compared with her Fere, and Inglewood is called,  
Both in their pleasant Scites, most happily installed.   

What Sylvan is there seen, and be she ne'er so coy,  
Whose pleasures to the full, these Nymphs do not enjoy,  
And like Diana's self, so truly living chaste:  
For seldom any Tract, doth cross their wayless waste,  
With many a lusty leap, the shagged Satyrs show  
Them pastime every day, both from the Meres below,  
And Hills on every side, that neatly hem them in;  
The blushing morn to break, but hardly doth begin,  
But that the ramping Goats, swift Deer, and harmless Sheep,  
Which there their owners know, but no man hath to keep,  
The Dales do overspread, by them like Motley made;  
But Westward of the two, by her more widened Slade,  
Of more abundance boasts, as of those mighty Ours,  
Which in her Verge she hath: but that whereby she shines,  
Is her two dainty Floods, which from two Hills do flow,  
Which in herself she hath, whose Banks do bound her so  
Upon the North and South, as that she seems to be  
Much pleased with their course, and taketh delight to see  
How Elne upon the South, in sallying to the Sea  
Confines her: on the North how Wampull on her way,  
Her purlieus wondrous large, yet limitteth again,  
Both falling from her earth into the Irish Maine.  
No less is Westward proud of Waver, nor doth win  
Less praise by her clear Spring, which in her course doth twin  
With Wiz, a neater Nymph scarce of the watery kind;  
And though she be but small, so pleasing Wavers' mind,  
That they entirely mixed, the Irish Seas embrace,  
But earnestly proceed in our intended Race.   

At Eden now arrived, whom we have left too long,  
Which being come at length, the Cumbrian hills among,  
As she for carlil coasts, the Floods from every where,  
Prepare each in their course, to entertain her there,  
From Skidow her tall Sire, first Cauda clearly brings  
In Eden all her wealth; so Petterell from her Springs,  
(Not far from Skidows' foot, whence dainty Cauda creeps)  
Along to overtake her Sovereign Eden sweeps,  
To meet that great concourse, which seriously attend  
That dainty Cumbrian Queen; when Gilsland down doth send  
Her Rivercts to receive Queen Eden in her course;  
As Irthing coming in from her most plenteous source,  
Through many a cruel Crag, though she be forced to crawl,  
Yet working forth her way to grace herself with all,  
First Pultrosse is her Page, then Gelt she gets her guide,  
Which springeth on her South, on her Septentrion side,  
She crooked Cambeck calls, to wait on her along,  
And Eden overtakes amongst the watery throng.  
To carlil being come, clear 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 chief town, lo thus she doth dilate.   

What giveth more delight, (brave City) to thy Seat,  
Then my sweet lovely self? a River so complete,  
With all that Nature can a dainty Flood endow,  
That all the Northern Nymphs me worthily allow,  
Of all their Nyades kind the nearest, and so far  
Transcending, that oft times they in their amorous war,  
Have 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 near those times was 〈◊〉 Severus wall,  
Of that great Emperor named, which first that work began,  
Betwixt the Irish Sea, and Germane Ocean,  
Doth cut me in his course near carlil, and doth end 
The West end of the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
At Boulnesse, where myself I on the Ocean spend.  
And for my Country here, (of which I am the chief  
Of all her watery kind) know that she lent relief,  
To those old 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, when from the 〈◊〉 they,  
For succour hither 〈◊〉, as 〈◊〉 out of their way,  
Amongst her mighty 〈◊〉, and Mountains 〈◊〉 from fear,  
And from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, race residing long time here,  
Which in their Genuine tongue, themselves did 〈◊〉 name,  

Why 〈◊〉 so called.  Of 〈◊〉, the name of Cumberland first came;  
And in her praise be't spoke, this soil whose best is mine,  
That Fountain bringeth forth, from which the Southern 〈◊〉.  
(So named for that of North, another hath that style)  
This to the Eastern Sea, that makes forth many a mile,  
Her first beginning takes, and Vent, and Alne doth lend,  
To wait upon 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 show 〈◊〉 like to mine, at the less Sakeld, near  
To Eden's Bank, the like is scarcely any where,  
Stones seventy seven stand, in manner of a Ring,  
Each full ten foot in height, but yet the strangest thing,  
Their equal distance is, the circle that compose,  
Within which other stones lie flat, which do enclose  
The 〈◊〉 of men long dead, (as there the people say;)  
So near to Loders Spring, from thence not far away,  
Be others nine foot high, a mile in length that 〈◊〉,  
The victories for which these Trophies were begun,  
From dark oblivion thou, O Time shouldst have protected;  
For mighty were their minds, them thus that first erected:  
And near to this again, there is a piece of ground,  
A little rising Bank, which of the Table round,  
Men in remembrance keep, and Arthur's Table name.  
But whilst these more and more, with glory her inflame,  
Supposing of herself in these her wonders great,  
All her attending Floods, fair Eden do entreat,  
To lead them down to Sea, when 〈◊〉 comes along,  
And by her double Spring, being mighty them among,  
There overtaketh Eske, from Scotland that doth hie,  
Fair 〈◊〉 to behold, who meeting by and by,  
Down from these Western Sands into the Sea do fall,  
Where I this Canto end, as also therewithal  
My England do conclude, for which I undertook,  
This strange 〈◊〉 toil, to this my thirtieth Book.    
FINIS.