THE WONDERS OF THE PEAKE.  
BY CHARLES COTTON, Esquire.  Barbara Pyramidum sileat miracula Memphis. Mart. Epig. 
LONDON: Printed for joanna Brome, at the Gun at the West end of St. Paul's, 1681.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE Elizabeth Countess of Devonshire, THIS ESSAY Is with all acknowledgement and devotion humbly Dedicated  
BY Her Ladyship's Most Humble and most Obedient Servant Charles Cotton.   

THE WONDERS OF The Peake.  

DUrst I expostulate with Providence,  
I then should ask, wherein the innocence  
Of my poor undesigning infancy,  
Could Heaven offend to such a black degree,  
As for th' offence to damn me to a place  
Where Nature only suffers in disgrace.  
A Country so deformed, the Traveller  
Would swear those parts Natures pudenda were:  
Like Warts and Wens hills on the one 
* The Peake.  side swell,  
To all but Natives inaccessible;  

† The Moore-lands.  Th'other a blue scrofulous scum defiles,  
Flowing from th' earths impostumated boils;  
That seems the steps (Mountains on Mountains thrown)  
By which the Giants stormed the Thunderers Throne,  
This from that prospect seems the sulphurous flood,  
Where sinful Sodom and Gomorrah stood.   

'Twixt these twin- Provinces of Britain's shame,  
The Silver Dove (how pleasant is that name)  
Runs through a Vale high crested Cliffs o'ershade;  
(By her fair Progress only pleasant made:)  
But with so swift a Torrent in her course,  
As shows the Nymph flies from her native source,  
To seek what there's denied, the Sun's warm Beams,  
And to embrace Trents prouder swelling streams.  
In this so craggy, ill-contrived a Nook.  
Of this our little world, this pretty Brook  
Alas! is all the recompense I share,  
For all th' intemperancies of the Air,  
Perpetual Winter, endless solitude,  
Or the society of men so rude,  
That it is ten times worse. Thy murmurs (
* The River Dove.  Dove)  
Or humour Lovers; or men fall in love  
With thy bright beauties, and thy fair blue eyes  
Wound like a Parthian, whilst the shooter flies.  
Of all fair Thetis Daughters none so bright,  
So pleasant none to taste, none to the sight,  
None yields the gentle Angler such delight.  
To which the bounty of her stream is such,  
As only with a swift and transient touch,  
T' enrich her sterile borders as she glides,  
And force sweet flowers from their marble sides.   

North-East from this fair River's head there lies  
A 
† The Peake.  Country that abounds with Rarities,  
They call them Wonders there, and be they so;  
But the whole Country sure's a wonder too,  
And Mother of the rest, which seven are,  
And one of them so singularly rare,  
As does indeed amount to miracle,  
And all the Kingdom boasts so far excel,  
It ought not, I confess to be profaned  
By my poor Muse; nor should an artless hand  
Presume to take a Crayon up to trace,  
But the faint Land-scape of so brave a place.  
Yet, noble 
* The Earl of Devonshire's House.  Chatsworth, for I speak of thee,  
Pardon the love will prompt the injury  
My Pen must do thee, when, before I end,  
I fix dishonour, where I would commend.   

The first of these I meet with in my way,  
Is a vast Cave, which the old people say  
One Pool an Outlaw made his residence;  
But why he did so, or for what offence,  
The Beagles of the Law should press so near,  
As, spite of horror's self, to earth him there;  
Is in our times a Riddle, and in this  
Tradition most unkindly silent is:  
But whatsoever his Crime, than such a Cave  
A worse imprisonment he could not have.   

At a high Mountains foot, whose lofty crest  
O'erlooks the Marshy Prospect of the West;  
Under its Base there is an 
† Pool's Hole the first Wonder.  Overture  
Which Summer Weeds do render so obscure,  
The careless Traveller may pass, and ne'er  
Discover, or suspect an entry there:  
But such a one there is, as we might well  
Think it the Crypto-porticus of Hell,  
Had we not been instructed, that the Gate,  
Which to Destruction leads, is nothing strait.   

Through a blind door (which some poor Woman there  
Still keeps the Key of, that it may keep her)  
Men bowing low, take leave of days fair light,  
To crowd themselves into the Womb of Night,  
Through such a low and narrow pass, that it  
For Badgers, Wolves, and Foxes seems more fit;  
Or for the yet less sorts of Chases, then  
T'admit the Statures, and the Bulks of men,  
Could it to reason any way appear,  
That men could find out any business there.  
But having fifteen paces crept or more,  
Through pointed stones and dirt upon all four,  
The gloomy Grotto lets men upright rise,  
Although they were six times Goliah's size.  
There, looking upward, your astonished sight  
Beholds the glory of the sparkling light  
Th' enamelled Roof darts round about the place,  
With so subduing, but ingrateful rays;  
As to put out the lights, by which alone  
They receive lustre, that before had none,  
And must to darkness be resigned when they are gone.  
But here a roaring Torrent bids you stand,  
Forcing you climb a Rock on the right hand,  
Which hanging, pent-house-like, does overlook  
The dreadful Channel of the rapid Brook,  
So deep, and black, the very thought does make  
My brains turn giddy, and my eyeballs ache.  
Over this dangerous Precipice you crawl,  
Lost if you slip, for if you slip you fall;  
But whither, faith 'tis no great matter, when  
Y'are sure never to be seen alive again.  
Propped round with Peasants, on you trembling go,  
Whilst, every step you take, your Guides do show  
In the uneven Rock the uncouth shapes  
Of Men, of Lions, Horses, Dogs, and Apes:  
But so resembling each the fancied shape,  
The Man might be the Horse, the Dog the Ape.  
And strait just in your way a 
* The Fonts.  stone appears,  
Which the resemblance of a Haycock bears,  
Some four foot high, and beyond that a less  
Of the same Figure; which do still increase  
In height, and bulk, by a continual drop,  
Which upon each distilling from the top,  
And falling still exactly on the Crown,  
There break themselves to mists, which trickling down,  
Crust into stone, and (but with leisure) swell  
The sides, and still advance the Miracle.  
So that in time, they would be tall enough,  
If there were need, to prop the hanging Roof,  
Did not sometimes the curious visiters,  
To steal a treasure, is not justly theirs,  
Break off much more at one injurious blow,  
Than can again in many Ages grow.  
These the Wise Natives call the Fonts; but there  
Descending from the Roof there does appear  
A bright transparent 
* The Bacon-Flitch.  Cloud, which from above,  
By those false lights, does downwards seem to move,  
Like a Machine, which, when some God appears,  
We see descend upon our theatres.  
Unlike in figure, and in posture, this  
With the two named before, owes its increase  
To the same cause the others grow up by,  
Namely, the petrifying quality  
Of those bright drops, which trickling one by one,  
Deliberately crust, as they glide, to stone;  
By which the Stiria longer, bigger grows,  
And must touch ground at last, but when, who knows,  
To see these thriving by these various ways,  
It seems, methinks, as if the first did raise  
Their heads the ponderous Vault so to sustain,  
Whilst th'other pendant Pillar seems to strain,  
And, at full stretch, endeavour to extend  
A stable foot to the same needless end.  
And this forsooth the Bacon-Flitch they call,  
Not that it does resemble one at all;  
For it is round, not flat: but I suppose  
Because it hangs i'th' roof like one of those,  
And shines like salt, Peake Bacon-eaters came  
At first to call it by that greasy name.  
This once a fellow had, another Stone  
Of the same colour, and proportion:  
But long ago, I know not how, the one  
Fell down, or eaten was; for now 'tis gone.  
The next thing you arrive at, is a 
* Pool's Lantern.  Stone,  
In truth a very rare, and pretty one;  
Which, on a Rocks sharp ridge taking its root,  
Rises from thence in a neat round turned foot  
Twelve inches high▪ or more, wherein are all  
The mouldings of a round-turned Pedestal.  
Whence bulbing out in figure of a Sphere,  
Some two foot and a half Diameter,  
The whole above is finished in a small  
Pellucid Spire crowned with a Crystal Ball.  
This, very aptly, they Pool's Lantern name,  
Being like those in Admiral Poops that flame.  
For several Paces beyond these, you meet  
With nothing worth observing, save your feet,  
Which with great caution you must still dispose,  
Lest, by mischance, should you once footing lose,  
Your own true story only serve to grace  
The lying Fables of the uncouth place:  
But moving forward o'er the glassy shore,  
You hear the Torrent now much louder roar,  
With such a noise striking th' astonished ear,  
As does inform some Cataract is near:  
When soon the deluge, that your fear attends  
Contemptibly in a small rivulet ends,  
Which falling low with a precipitous wave,  
The dreadful Echo of the spacious Cave,  
Gives it that hollow sound a man would fear  
The Sea was breaking in a Channel there:  
And yet above the Current's not so wide  
To put a Maid to an indecent stride;  
Which through bright Pebbles trembling there does crawl,  
As if afraid of the approaching fall,  
Which is a dreadful one; but yet how deep  
I never durst extend my neck to peep.  
Beyond this little Rill, before your eyes  
You see a great transparent 
* The Queen of Scots Pillar.  Pillar rise,  
Of the same shining matter with the rest;  
But such a one, as Nature does contest,  
Though working in the dark, in this brave piece  
With all the Obelisks of antique Greece;  
For all the Art the Chizel could apply,  
ne'er wrought such curious folds of Drapery.  
Of this the figure is, as men should crowd  
A vast Colossus in a Marble shroud,  
And yet the pleats so soft, and flowing are,  
As finest folds, from finest looms they were;  
But, far as hands can reach to give a blow,  
By the rude Clowns broke, and disfigured so,  
As may be well supposed, when all that come,  
Carry some piece of the Rock Crystal home.  
Of all these Rarities, this alone can claim  
A doubtless right to everlasting fame,  
The fairest, brightest Queen, that ever yet  
On English ground unhappy footing set,  
Having, to th' rest of th' Isles eternal shame,  
Honoured this Stone with her own splendid name.  
For Scotland's Queen, hither by Art betrayed,  
And by false friendship after Captive made,  
(As if she did nought but a Dungeon want  
T' express the utmost rigour of restraint)  
Coming to view this Cave, took so much pains,  
For all the damp, and horror it contains,  
To penetrate so far, as to this place,  
And seeing it, with her own mouth to grace,  
As her non ultra, this now famous Stone,  
By naming, and declaring it her own;  
Which, ever since so gloriously installed,  
Has been the Queen of Scots her Pillar called.   

Illustrious Mary, it had happy been,  
Had you then found a Cave like this to screen  
Your Sacred Person from those Frontier Spies,  
That of a Sovereign Princess durst make prize,  
When Neptune too officiously bore  
Your credulous Innocence to this faithless shore.  
Oh England! once who hadst the only fame  
Of being kind to all who hither came  
For refuge, and protection; how couldst thou  
So strangely alter thy Good Nature now,  
Where there was so much excellenee to move,  
Not only thy compassion, but thy love?  
'Twas strange on earth, save Caledonian ground,  
So impudent a villain could be found,  
Such Majesty, and Sweetness to accuse;  
Or after that a judge would not refuse  
Her Sentence to Pronounce; or that being done,  
Even amongst bloody'st Hangmen, to find one  
Durst, though her Face was veiled, and Neck laid down,  
Strike off the fairest Head e'er wore a Crown.  
And what State-Policy there might be here,  
Which does with right too often interfere,  
I'm not to judge; yet thus far dare be bold,  
A fouler Act the Sun did ne'er behold,  
And 'twas the worst, if not the only stain,  
I'th' brightest Annals of a Female Reign.   

Over the Brook you're now obliged to stride,  
And, on the left hand, by this Pillars side  
To seek new Wonders, though beyond this stone,  
Unless you safe return, you'll meet with none,  
And that indeed will be a kind of one:  
For from this place, the way does rise so steep,  
Craggy, and wet, that who all safe does keep,  
A stout, and faithful Genius has, that will  
In Hell's black Territories guard him still;  
Yet to behold these vast prodigious Stones,  
None who has any kindness for his bones,  
Will venture to climb up, though I did once,  
A certain symptom of an empty sconce;  
But many more have done the like since then,  
That now are wiser than to do't again.  
Having swarmed sevenscore paces up, or more  
On the right hand you find a kind of floor,  
Which twining back, hangs o'er the Cave below,  
Where, through a hole, your kind Conductors show  
A Candle left on purpose at the Brook,  
On which, with trembling horror, whilst you look,  
You'll fancied from that dreadful Precipice,  
A Spark ascending from the black Abyss.  
Returning to your Road, you thence must still  
Higher, and higher mount the dangerous Hill,  
Till, at the last, dirty, and tired enough,  
Your giddy heads do touch the sparkling Roof.  
And now you here a while to pant may sit,  
To which Adventurers have thought requisite  
To add a Bottle, to express the love  
They owe their Friends left in the world above.  
And here I too would sheathe my wearied Pen,  
Were I not bound to bring you back again;  
You therefore must return, but with much more  
Deliberate circumspection, than before:  
Two Hob-nail Peakrills, one on either side,  
Your arms supporting like a bashful Bride,  
Whilst a third steps before, kindly to meet  
With his broad shoulders your extended feet,  
And thus from Rock to Rock they slide you down,  
Till to their footing you may add your own:  
Which is at the great Torrent, roars below,  
From whence your Guides another Candle show  
Left in the hole above, whose distant light,  
Seems a Star peeping through a sullen night.   

You there with far less painful steps, but yet  
More dangerous still, the way you came repeat,  
Your Peake-bred Convoy of rude Men and Boys,  
All the way whooting with that dreadful noise,  
A man would think it were the dismal yell  
Of Souls tormented in the flames of Hell;  
And I almost believed it, by the face  
Our Masters give us of that unknown place.  
But being conducted with this Triumph back,  
Before y'are yet permitted leave to take  
Of this Infernal Mansion, you must see  
Where Master Poole, and his bold Yeomanry  
Took up their dark Apartments, which do lie  
Over the narrow pass you entered by,  
Up an ascent of easy mounting, where  
They show his Hall, his Parlour, Bedchamber,  
Withdrawing-Room, and Closet, and, to these,  
His Kitchen, and his other Offices,  
And all contrived to justify a Fable,  
That may indeed pass with the ignorant Rabble,  
And might serve him perhaps a day, or so  
When close pursued; but men of sense must know,  
Who of the place have took a serious view,  
None but the Devil himself could live there two.  
And I half think yourselves are glad to hear  
Your own deliverance to be so near;  
Then once more through the narrow passage strain,  
And you shall see the cheerful day again;  
When, after two hours' darkness, you will say  
The Sun appears dressed in a brighter Ray:  
Thus after long restraint, when once set free,  
Men better taste the air of Liberty.   

Six hundred paces hence, and Northward still,  
On the descent of such a little Hill,  
As by the rest of greater bulk, and same,  
Environed round, scarcely deserves that name,  
A Crystal 
* St. Anne's Well at the Buxtons, the second Wonder.  Fountain Springs in healing streams,  
Hot (though close shaded from the Sun's warm beams,  
By a malicious Roof, that covers it,  
So close, as not his prying eye t' admit  
(That elsewhere's privileged) here to behold  
His beamy Face, and locks of burning Gold,  
In the most flattering mirror, that below  
His travel round the spacious Globe can show)  
So fair a Nymph, and so supremely bright,  
The teeming Earth did never bring to light;  
Nor does she rush into the world with noise  
Like Neptune's ruder Sex of Roaring Boys;  
But boils and simmers up, as if the heat  
That warms her waves that motion did beget.  
But where's the Wonder? Eor it is well known  
Warm, and clear Fountains in the Peak are none.  
Which the whole Province through so abound,  
Each Yeoman almost has them in his ground.  
Take then the Wonder of this famous place;  
This tepid Fountain a Twin-Sister has,  
Of the same beauty and complexion,  
That, bubbling six foot off, joins both in one:  
But yet so cold withal, that who will stride  
When bathing, cross the Bath but half so wide,  
Shall in one body, which is strange, endure  
At once an Ague, and a Calenture.  
Strange, that two Sisters springing up at once,  
Should differ thus in constitutions;  
And would be stranger, could they be the same;  
That Love should one half of the heart inflame,  
Whilst th'other, senslless of a Lover's pain,  
Freezes itself, and him in cold disdain;  
Or that a Naiade, having careless played  
With some male wanton stream, and fruitful made,  
Should have her silver breasts, at once to flow,  
One with warm Milk, th'other with melted Snow.  
Yet for the Patients 'tis more proper still,  
Fit to inflame the blood is cold and i'll,  
And of the blood t'allay the glowing heat,  
Wild youth, and yet wilder desires beget.  
Hither the Sick, the Lame, and Barren come,  
And hence go healthful, sound, and fruitful home.  
Buxton's in beauty famous? but in this  
Much more, the Pilgrim never frustrate is,  
That comes to bright St. Anne, when he can get  
Nought but his pains from yellow 
* Bath in Somersetshire.  Somerset.  
Nor is our Saint, though sweetly humble, shut  
Within corpse walls of an indecent Hutt;  
But in the Centre of a Palace springs  
A Mansion proud enough for Saxon Kings;  
But by a Lady built, who rich and wise,  
Not only Houses raised, but Families,  
More, and more great, than England that does flow  
In Loyal Peers, can from one Fowtain show.  
But, either through the fault of th' Architect,  
The Workman's ignorance, knavery, or neglect;  
Or through the searching nature of the Air,  
Which almost always breathes in Tempests there;  
This Structure, which in expectation should  
Ages as many, as't has years have stood;  
Chinckt, and decayed so dangerously fast,  
And near a Ruin; till it came at last,  
To be thought worth the Noble 
* William Earl of Devonshire.  Owners care,  
New to rebuild, what Art could not repair,  
As he has done, and like himself, of late  
Much more commodious, and of greater state.   

North-East from hence three Peakish Miles at least,  
(Which who once measures will dread all the rest)  
At th' instep of just such another Hill,  
There creeps a Spring that makes a little 
† Weeding-wall; or Tydes-well, the third Wonder.  Rill,  
Which at first sight to curious Visiters,  
So small, and so contemptible appears,  
They'd think themselves abused, did they not stay  
To see wherein the wonder of it lay.  
This Fountain is so very very small,  
Th' Observer hardly can perceive it crawl  
Through the sedg, which scarcely in their beds  
Confess a Current by their waving heads.  
I'th' Chinks through which it issues to the day,  
It stagnant seems, and makes so little way,  
That Thistle-down without a breeze of Air,  
May lie at Hull, and be becalmed there;  
Which makes the wary Owner of the ground,  
For his Herds use the tardy Waves impound,  
In a low Cistern of so small content  
As stops so little of the Element  
For so important use, that when the Cup  
Is fullest crowned, a Cow may drink it up.  
Yet this so still, so very little Well,  
Which thus beheld seems so contemptible,  
No less of real Wonder does comprise,  
Than any of the other Rarities:  
For now, and then a hollow murmuring sound,  
Being first heard remotely under ground,  
The Spring immediately swells, and strait  
Boils up through several pores to such a height,  
As, overflowing soon the narrow Shoar,  
Below does in a little Torrent roar.  
Whilst, near the Fountain mouth, the water sings  
Through the secret Conduits of her Springs,  
With such a harmony of various Notes,  
As Grottoes yield, through narrow Brazen throats,  
When, by weight of higher streams, the lower  
Are upwards forced in an inverted shower.  
But the sweet music's short, three minutes space  
To highest mark this Oceanet does raise,  
And half that time retires the obbing waves,  
To the dark windings of their frigid Caves.   

To seek investigable Causes out,  
Serves not to clear, but to increase a doubt,  
And where the best of Nature's Spies but grope,  
For me, who worst can speculate, what hope  
To find the secret cause of these strange Tides?  
Which an impenetrable Mountain hides  
From all to view these Miracles that come,  
In dark recesses of her spacious Womb.  
And 
* Mr. Hobbs.  He who is in Nature the best read,  
Who the best hand has to the wisest head,  
Who best can think, and best his thoughts express,  
Does but, perhaps, more rationally guests,  
When he his fence delivers of these things,  
And Fancy sends to search these unknown Springs.   

He tells us first, these flowing waters are  
‛ Too sweet, their Fluxes too irregular,  
To owe to Neptune these fantastic turns;  
Nor yet does Phoebe with her silver horns,  
In these free-franchised, subterranean Caves  
Push into crowded Tides the frighted Waves.  
But that the Spring swelled by some smoking shower  
That teeming clouds on Tellus surface power,  
Marches amain with the confederate Force,  
Until some straighter passage in its course,  
Stops the tumultuous throng, which pressing fast,  
And forced on still to more precipitous haste,  
By the succeeding streams lies gargling there,  
Till, in that narrow throat, th'obstructed Air,  
Finding itself in too strict limits penned,  
Opposes so th' invading Element,  
As first to make the half choked gullet heave,  
And then disgorge the stream it can't receive.   

Than this, of this Peak-Wonder, I believe  
None a more plausible account can give.  
Though here it might be said, if this were so,  
It never would, but in wet weather flow;  
Yet in the greatest droughts the Earth abides,  
It never fails to yield less frequent Tides,  
Which always clear and unpolluted are,  
And nothing of the wash of Tempest share.  
But whether this a Wonder be; or no:  
'T will be one, Reader, if thou seest it flow;  
For having been there ten times, for the nonce,  
I never yet could see it flow but once,  
And that the last time too, which made me there.  
Take my last leave on't, as I now do here.   

Hence two miles' East, does a fourth Wonder lie.  
Worthy the greatest curiosity,  
Called 
* Eldenhole the Fourth Wonder.  Eldenhole; but such a dreadful place,  
As will procure a tender Muse her grace,  
In the description if she chance to fail,  
When my hand trembles, and my cheeks turn pale.  
Betwixt a verdant Mountains falling flanks,  
And within bounds of easy swelling banks,  
That him the Wonder in on either side,  
A formidable Scissure gapes so wide,  
Steep, black, and full of horror, that who dare  
Looks down into the Chasm, and keeps his hair  
From lifting off his hat, either has none,  
Or for more modish curls cashiers his own.  
It were injurious I must confess,  
By mine to measure braver Courages:  
But when I peep into't, I must declare,  
My heart still beats, and eyes with horror stare.  
And he, that standing on the brink of Hell,  
Can carry it so unconcerned, and well,  
As to betray no fear, is, certainly,  
A better Christian; or a worse than I   

This yawning mouth is thirty paces long,  
Scarce half so wide, within lined through with strong  
Continuous Walls of solid perpend stone:  
A Gulf wide, steep, black, and a dreadful one;  
Which few, that come to see it, dare come near,  
And the most daring still approach with fear.  
Having with terror, here beheld a space  
The ghastly aspect of this dangerous place;  
Critical Passengers usually sound,  
How deep the threatening gulf goes under ground,  
By tumbling down stones sought throughout the field,  
As great as the officious Boors can wield,  
Of which such Millions of Tuns are thrown,  
That in a Country, almost all of stone,  
About the place they something scarce are grown.  
But being brought, down they're condemned to go,  
When silence being made, and ears laid low,  
The first's turned off, which, as it parts the Air,  
A kind of sighing makes as if it were,  
Capable of that useless passion, Fear.  
Till the first hit strikes the astonished ear,  
Like Thunder underground; thence it invades,  
With louder thunders, those Tartarean shades,  
Which groan forth horror, at each ponderous stroke  
Th'unnatural issue gives the Parent Rock;  
Whilst, as it strikes, the sound by turns we note,  
When nearer slat, sharper when more remote,  
As the hard walls, on which it strikes, are found  
Fit to reverberate the bellowing sound:  
When, after falling long, it seems to hiss,  
Like the old Serpent in the dark Abyss:  
Till Echo, tired with posting, does refuse  
To carry to th'inquisitive Perdus,  
That couchant lie above, the trembling news.  
And there ends our Intelligence, how far  
It travels further, no one can declare;  
Though if it rested here the place might well  
Sure be accepted for a Miracle.   

Your Guide to all these Wonders, never fails  
To entertain you with ridic'lous tales  
Of this strange place, One of a Goose thrown in,  
Which out of Peaks-Arse two miles off, was seen  
Shell-naked sally, rifled of her plume;  
By which a man may lawfully presume,  
The owner was a woman grave, and wise,  
Could know her Goose again in that disguise.   

Another lying Tale the People tell,  
And without smiling, of a ponderous Bell  
By a long Rope let down the Pit to sound;  
When many hundred fathoms underground  
It stopped: but though they made their sinews crack  
All the men there could not once move it back;  
Till, after some short space, the plundered line  
With scores of curious knots made wondrous fine,  
Came up amain with easy motion:  
But for the Jangling Plummet, that was gone.   

But with these idle Fables feigned of old,  
Some modern truths, and sad ones too are told:  
One of that mercenary Fool exposed  
His Life for gold, t'explore what lies enclosed  
In this obscure Vacuity, and tell  
Of stranger sights than Theseus saw in Hell:  
But the poor Wretch paid for his thirst of gain:  
For being craned up with a distempered brain,  
A faltering tongue, and a wild staring look,  
(Whether by damps not known, or horror struck)  
Now this man was confederate with mischance  
Against his own Life, his whole inheritance,  
Which bats the pity human nature bears  
To poor involuntary Sufferers:  
But the sad tale of his severer fate  
Whose story's next, compassion must create  
He raving languished a few days, and then  
Died; peradventure to go down again.  
In savages and in the silent deep,  
Make the hard marble, that destroyed him, weep.   

A Stranger, to this day from whence not known.  
Travelling this wild Country all alone,  
And by the Night surprised, by Destiny  
(If such a thing, and so unkind there be)  
Was guided to a Village near this place,  
Where ask at a house how far it was  
To such a Town, and being told so far;  
Will, you my friend, t'oblige a Traveller,  
Says the benighted Stranger, be so kind  
As to conduct me thither; you will bind  
My gratitude for ever, and in hand,  
Shall presently receive what you'll demand.  
The fellow humed, and hawed, and scratched his pate,  
And, to draw on good wages, said 'twas late,  
And grew so dark, that though he knew the way,  
He durst not be so confident, to say  
He might not miss it in so dark a night:  
But if his Worship would be pleased t'alight,  
And let him call a Friend, he made no doubt,  
But one of them would surely find it out.  
The Traveller well pleased at any rate,  
To have so expert Guides, dismounted strait,  
Giving his horse up to the treacherous slave,  
Who having housed him, forthwith fell to heave  
And poise the Portmanteau, which finding fraight  
At either end with lumps of tempting weight,  
The Devil and he made but a short dispute  
About the thing they soon did execute:  
For calling th'other Rogue, who long had been  
His complice in preceding acts of sin,  
He tells him of the prize, sets out the gain,  
Shows how secure and easy to obtain;  
Which pressed so home, where was so little need,  
The stranger's ruin quickly was decreed.  
Thus to the poor proscribed, the Villains go,  
And with joint confidence assure him so,  
That with his hap to meet such friends content,  
He put himself into their hands, and went.   

The guilty night, as if she would express  
Confederacy with such black purposes,  
The sparkling Hemisphere had overspread  
With darkest vapours from foul Lerna bred;  
The world was hushed, all save a sighing wind,  
That might have warned a more presaging mind,  
When these two Sons of Satan, thus agreed,  
With seeming wariness, and care proceed,  
All the while mixing their amusing chat,  
With frequent cautions of this step, and that;  
Till having some six hundred paces gone,  
Master here's but a scurvy grip, says one  
Of the damned Rogues (and he said very right)  
Pray for more safety, Sir, be pleased t' alight,  
And let him lead your Horse a little space,  
Till you are passed this one uneven place,  
You'll need to light no more, I'll warrant you;  
And still this instrument of Hell said true,  
Forthwith alights the innocent Trapan'd,  
One leads his Horse, the other takes his hand,  
And, with a show of care, conducts him thus  
To these steep thresholds of black Erebus:  
And there (O act of horror which outvies  
The direst of inhuman cruelties!)  
Let me (my Muse) repeat it without sin,  
The barbarous Villain pushed him headlong in.  
The frighted wretch, having no time to speak,  
Forced his distended throat in such a skriek,  
As, by the shrilness of the doleful cry,  
Pierced through, and through th'immense inanity,  
Informing so the half dead fallers Ear  
What he must suffer, what he had to fear  
When, at the very first befriending knock,  
His trembling brains smeared the Tarpeian Rock,  
The shattered carcase downward rattles fast,  
Whilst thence dismissed, the Soul with greater haste  
From those infernal mansions does remove  
And mounts to seek the happy seats above.  
What bloody Arab of the fellest breed,  
What but the yet more fell I— n seed,  
Could once have meditated such a Deed?  
But one of these Heaven's vengeance did ere long  
Call to account for this poor creatures wrong.  
Who hanged for other Crimes, amongst the rest  
This horrid murder at his death confessed:  
Whilst th'other Rogue, to justice foul disgrace,  
Yet lives, 'tis said unquestioned near the place.  
How deep this Gulf does travel under ground,  
Though there have been attempts, was never found:  
But I myself, with half the Peak surrounded,  
Eight hundred, fourscore, and four yards have sounded,  
And, though of these fourscore returned back wet,  
The Plummet drew, and found no bottom yet:  
Though when I went again another day,  
To make a further, and a new essay,  
I could not get the lead down half the way.   

Enough of Hell! From hence you forward ride,  
Still mounting up the Mountains groaning side,  
Till having gained the utmost height, your Eye  
Northward a mile a 
* Mamtor the fifth Wonder.  higher does descry,  
And steeper much, though from that prospect green,  
With a black, moorish Valley stretched between.  
Unlike in stature, and in substance, this  
To the Southeast is a great precipice,  
Not of firm Rock, like the rest here that shroud  
Their lowering Summits in a dewy cloud:  
But of a shaly Earth, that from the crown  
With a continual motion mouldering down,  
Spawns a less Hill of loser mould below,  
Which will in time tall as the Mother grow,  
And must perpetuate the Wonder so.  
Which Wonder is, That though this Hill ne'er cease  
To waste itself, it suffers no decrease:  
But 'twould a greater be, if those that pass  
Should miss the Atoms of so vast a Mass:  
Though Neighbours, if they nearer would inquire,  
Must needs perceive the pilling Cliff retire:  
And the most cursory beholder may  
Visibly see a manifest decay,  
By Jutting stones, that by the Earth left bare  
Hang on the trip suspended in the Air.  
This haughty Mountain by indulgent Fame  
Preferred t'a Wonder, Mam-Tor has to name;  
For in that Country Iargon's uncouth sense  
Expressing any craggy eminence,  
From Tower; but then why Mam I can't surmise;  
Unless because Mother to that does rise  
Out of her ruins; better than to speak,  
It might be called the Phoenix of the Peak;  
For when this Mountain by long wastings gone.  
Her ashes will, and not till then be one.  
Which ere I quit, I must beg leave to tell  
One story only of this Miracle.   

Of late a Country fellow, it seems one  
Who had more courage, than discretion;  
Untempted; or by wager; or by price,  
And obstinately deaf to all Advice,  
Would needs attempt to climb this precipice.  
Thus then resolved th' Enceladus sets out,  
With a Peak heart Heaven-defying stout,  
A daring look, and vast Colossean strides,  
To storm the frowning Mountains mouldering sides.  
Wherein the first steps of th' Adventurers proof,  
Were easy, and encouraging enough,  
Scarce Pent-house-steep, and every step did brand  
Assured footing in the yielding sand;  
And higher though much steeper; yet the Hill  
By leaning backward gave him footing still;  
Though still more tickle, and unsafe, as higher  
The hare-brained fool did in's attempt aspire.  
But being arrived to the stupendious place  
Where the Cliffs beetle brows orelook his Base,  
The jutting front with threatening ruins there  
Bad stand unto the bold Adventurer.  
Then from that stupifying height, too late,  
Th' astonished wretch saw his approaching Fate,  
Thence first he downward cast his woeful eyes,  
Sadly to view the dangerous precipice,  
Which the bold stormer with such horror struck,  
As all his Limbs with a cold trembling shakes,  
With so unseasonable an Ague fit,  
That hands, and feet were ready hold to quit,  
And to the Fool their Master's Fate submit.  
How to advance a step he could not tell,  
And to descend was as impossible:  
But thus environed with black despair,  
He hung suspended in the liquid Air.  
He then would fain have prayed: but Authors say,  
Few of the Province guifted are that way,  
And that to swear, curse, slander, and forswear  
More natural is to your Peak Highlander;  
Though there are many virtuous people there.  
But be it how it will, the fellow hung  
On stretcht-out sinews so exceeding long,  
Till ready to drop off, Necessity  
Bad mount, and live; or else fall down, and die  
With last effort he upward then 'gan crawl,  
To rise; or from a nobler height to fall;  
And as he forward strove begun to try  
This, and that hanging stone's stability,  
To prove their firmness, and to feel what hold  
The Earthbound ends had in the crumbling mould.  
Some of which hanging Tables as he still  
Made further progress up the trickling Hill,  
He found so lose they threatened as he went,  
To sweep him off, and be his Monument.  
But 'tis most certain that some other end,  
In Fates dark leaves for the rash Fool is penned,  
Not by a fall so noble, and so high,  
Though by a slip perhaps 'twixt Earth, and Sky;  
For, to th' Spectators wonder, and his own,  
He panting gained at last the Mountain's Crown.   

Hence an uneven mile below, in sight  
Of this strange Cliff, and almost opposite,  
Lies Castleton a place of noted fame,  
Which from the Castl there derives its name.  
Entering the Village presently y'are met  
With a clear swift, and murmuring Rivulet,  
Towards whose source if up the stream you look  
On your right hand close by, your Eye is struck  
With a stupendious Rock, raising so high  
His craggy Temples towards the Azure Sky  
That if we this should with the rest compare,  
They Hillocks, Molehills, Warts, and Pebbles are.  
This, as if King of all the Mountains round,  
Is on the top with an old Tower crowned,  
An Antic thing, fit to make people stare:  
But of no use, either in Peace; or War.  
Under this Castle yawns a dreadful 
* Peake's-Arse the sixth Wonder.  Cave,  
Whose sight may well astonish the most brave,  
And make him pause, ere further he proceed  
T'explore what in those gloomy vaults lie hid.  
The Brook, which from one mighty Spring does flow,  
Through a deep stony Channel runs below,  
Whilst o'er a Path level, and broad enough  
For human Feet; or for the armed Hoof,  
Above you, and below all precipice,  
You still advance towards the Court of Dis.  
Over this causeway as you forward go,  
On your right hand cross the deep course below,  
You see the Fountains long imprisoned streams,  
Leap out to wanton in the Sun's warm beams.  
There through a marble Pipe some two foot wide,  
And deeper than a Pikes-length can decide,  
Sick of long wand'ring in those envious caves,  
She here disgorges her tumultuous waves,  
With such a force, that if you coit a stone  
Any thing flat, although a heavy one,  
Though the fall makes it sink, it will amain,  
Like squeamish Patients throw it up again,  
As a pale leaf, killed by the winter's frown;  
Nor, till it gain an Edge, receive it down.  
So that it seems by the strange force it has,  
Rising from such a ponderous Mountains base,  
As if pressed down with the great weight, it thence  
Derived this supernatural violence.  
Above the Spring, the Channel goes up still,  
Dry now: but which the Cave does sometimes fill  
With such a roaring, and high swelling Tide,  
The tallest First-rate-Frigat there may ride.   

Now to the Cave we come, wherein is found  
A new strange thing, a Village under ground;  
Houses, and Barns for Men, and Beasts behoof,  
With distinct Walls, under one solid Roof.  
Stacks both of Hay, and Turf, which yields a scent  
Can only fume from Satan's fundament;  
For this black Cave lives in the voice of fame  
To the same sense by a yet coarser Name.   

The Subterranean People ready stand,  
A Candle each, most two in either hand  
To guide, who are to penetrate inclined,  
The intestinum rectum of the Fiend.  
Thus, by a blinking and promiscuous light,  
We now begin to travel into Night,  
Hoping indeed to see the Sun again;  
Though none of us can tell, or how, or when.  
Now in your way a soft descent you meet,  
Where the sand takes th'impression of your feet,  
And which, ere many yards you measured have,  
Brings you into the level of the Cave.  
Some paces hence the roof comes down so low,  
The humblest statures are compelled to bow,  
First low, then lower; till at last we go  
On four feet now who walked but now on two;  
Then strait it lets you upright rise, and then  
Forces you to stoop down, and creep again;  
Till to a silent Brook at last you come,  
Whose lympid waves dart rays about the room:  
But there the Rock its bosom bows so low,  
That few Adventurers further press to go;  
Yet we must through; or else how can we give  
Of this strange place a perfect Narrative?  
But how's the question; for the water's deep,  
The bottom dipping, slippery, and steep,  
Where if you slip, in ill hour you came hither,  
You shoot under a Rock the Lord knows whither.  
Then 'tis twelve paces broad, to that so low  
The Rock does towards the water's surface bow,  
That who will pass in double dangers bound,  
Rising he breaks his scull, he's stooping drowned.  
Thrice I the pass attempted with desire,  
And thrice I did ingloriously retire;  
Till shame did that my courage failed to do,  
And, maugre difficulties, forced me through.  
As my foot choked upon the further shore,  
My heart began to rise, was sunk before,  
And as soon felt a new access of pain,  
Now I was here, how to get back again.  
And with good cause; for if (as sometimes here  
By mounts of Sand within it does appear,  
A rapid current Navigably deep  
The sides, and bottom of the Cave does sweep)  
There now should the least rill of water come  
To fill the forenamed very little room,  
And higher should, but poor six inches, swell,  
'Twould render all Retreat impossible.  
But that thought comes too late, and they who take  
A voyage once over the Stigyan Lake  
(Where Souls for ever usually remain)  
Have better luck if they return again.   

Being o'er this dangerous pass, above us now  
Are high-roofed Vaults: oh, for a Golden bough  
To charm the Train of that infernal God  
Who in these Caverns makes his dark abode!  
The Cave is here not only high; but wide,  
Stretching itself so far from side, to side,  
As if (past these blind Creeks) we now were come  
Into the hollow of the mountains Womb.  
The stately walls of differing Fabric are,  
One sloping, th' other perpendicular,  
I Fabric say, because on the right hand,  
If you will climb the Acherontic strand,  
A curious Portal greets the wondering eye,  
Where Architectures chiefest Symmetry  
Is every where observed, and serves to show  
The poor 
* The Castle over it.  design above to this below.  
Two Tuscan Columns jutting from the wall,  
With each his proper Base, and Capital,  
Support a well turned Arch, and of one piece,  
With all its Mouldings, Freeze, and Coronice.  
Oh, who that sees these things, but must reflect  
With wonder on th' Almighty Architect,  
Whose works all humane Art so far excel?  
For doubtless he that Heaven made, made Hell.  
This leads into a handsome Room, wherein  
A Basin stands with waters Crystalline,  
To welcome such, as, once at least, shall grace  
With unknown light this solitary place.  
On this side many more small Grottoes are,  
Which, were the first away, would all seem rare:  
But, that once seen, we may the rest pass by,  
As hardly worth our curiosity.  
But we must back, ere we can forward go,  
Into the Channel we forsook below;  
Through which the rugged pass does only lie  
TO a further, and complete discovery.  
Being returned, we now again proceed  
Through a Vale that's salebrous indeed,  
Squeezing our guts, bruising our flesh and bones,  
To thrust betwixt massy, and pointed stones  
Some three, some four, and others five foot high,  
Puffing, and sweeting in our industry;  
Till after three, or fourscore paces more,  
We reach the second River's marble shore,  
Four times as broad, as that we passed before.  
The water's margin here goes down so steep,  
That at first step you chop in middle deep;  
But, though the way be cumbersome, and rough,  
'Tis no where more, and foardable enough.  
This, as the other clear, differs in this,  
That bottom is of Sand, this stony is,  
And here withal the water is so strong,  
That as you raise one foot to move along,  
Without good heed, you will have much ado  
To fix the other foot from rising too,  
And yet there is no current here, nor spring  
T' occasion such an unexpected thing;  
For, though the Country People are so wise  
To call these Rivers, they're but Stagnancies,  
Left by the flood; which, when retired again,  
The Cave does in her hollow lap retain.  
As here through cobbling stones we stumbling wade,  
The narrowing Cave cast such a dreadful shade,  
That being thence unable to discover,  
With all our lights how far the Lake was over,  
We made a halt, and, as the rest desired,  
I now half willing was to have retired,  
And had not Resolution then stepped in,  
The great Adventure had not finished been.  
But o'er we got, and from our clothes there reigned  
A welcome shower upon the thirsty Sand,  
Of which we here vast Mountains saw by Seas  
Of Torrents washed from distant Provinces;  
For the hard ribs of the Caves native stone  
So solid is, that that I'm sure yields none.  
Over these Hills we forward still contend,  
Wishing, and longing for our Journeys end,  
Till now again we saw the Rock descend  
Forming a Roof so even, smooth, and sleek,  
Without, or crack, or seam, or chink, or nick,  
Some twenty paces long, and ten foot high,  
As the Mechanic Trowel may defy.  
I'th' midst of which a Cupolo does rise,  
(As if to crown the other rarities)  
In th'exact hollow of a weighty Bell,  
Which does in beauty very much excel  
All jere saw before, excepting none,  
Though I have been at Lincoln, and at Roan.  
Just beyond this a purling Rill we meet,  
Which, though scarce deep enough to wet our feet,  
Had they been dry, must be a River too,  
And has more title than the other two;  
Because this runs, which neither of them do.  
Though every Kennel that we see does pour  
More liberal streams in every Thunder-showr.  
Just where 'tis met, as if to shun the light,  
It under ground vanishes out of sight;  
We take the obvious stream to be our guide,  
Sand-hills, and Rocks by turns on either side,  
Plashing through water, and through slabby Sand,  
Tilla vast Sand-hill once more bids us stand;  
For here again, who ere shall try will know,  
The humorous Rock descends so very low,  
That the swollen floods when they in fury rave  
Throw up this Mount, that almost chokes the Cave.  
Where, though the Brook offered to guide us still,  
Through a blind Creek o'th' right hand of this Hill;  
We thought it not prudence to follow it,  
Unlikely we conceived our bulks t'admit:  
But stormed the Hill, which rising fast, and steep  
So near the Rock we on all four must creep,  
It on the other side as fast does dip;  
And to reward us for the mighty pain,  
Brought us unto our little Nymph again.  
Which we some paces followed still, when there  
A sudden noise striking th' astonished ear,  
We neither could guests what, nor tell from whence,  
Struck us into amazement, and suspense.  
We stood all mute, and pallid with the sight;  
A paleness so increased by paler light,  
That every wand a Caduce did appear,  
As we a Caravan of dead folks were:  
But really so terrible a sound  
Sure ne'er was heard above, or under ground.  
To which the difficulties we had had,  
And horror of the place did so much add,  
That it was long before a word came out  
To ask a question, or resolve a doubt.  
But, by some one, the silence being broke,  
We altogether in confusion spoke:  
But all cross purpose, not a word of sense,  
Either to get, or give intelligence.  
So when a tall, and richly laden Ship,  
Ploughing the Sea with all her sails a-trip,  
Suddenly strikes upon some unseen Rock,  
Her seams laid open by the ponderous shock,  
The Passengers, and Seamen tear their throats  
In confused cries, and undistinguished Notes.  
Some thought a flood was just now breaking in,  
Some that Pyracmon had at th'anvil been,  
With Brontes forging thunderbolts for jove,  
Or for some Hero arms i'th' world above;  
Some said it thundered; others this, and that,  
Every one feared; but not a man knew what.  
Till at the last, a little calmer grown,  
Again we listened, then spoke one by one;  
Began to think, and temp'rately debate,  
What we were best to do in this estate.  
The major Vote was quickly to retire,  
Which also those opposed it, did desire;  
Though in the end we all agreed to see  
What the great cause of this strange noise might be,  
Nor were we long in doubt; for ere we had  
But twenty paces further progress made,  
Before our eyes we saw it plain appear,  
And then were out of countenance at our fear.  
On the right hand an open passage lies  
Where once again the Roof does sloping rise  
In a steep craggy, and a lubric shore,  
As high at least, as any where before;  
Where from the very top of all the Hill,  
A murmuring fountain does her streams distil,  
Which thence descending with a headlong wave,  
Roars in remoter windings of the Cave;  
Though here it does in gentle whispers brawl  
Through little stones, and is scarce heard at all.  
The water falling down so silent here,  
And roaring louder than the Thunderer  
At a remoter distance, seems, as if  
The Crystal stream, that trickles from the Cliff,  
Were a Catarrh, that falling from the Brain  
Upon his leathern lungs, did thus constrain  
The Fiend to cough so very loud, and tear  
His marble throat, and fright th' Adventurer.  
But if this liquid Cave does any where  
Deserve the title of a Grot, 'tis here,  
For here as from her Urn the Nymph doer pour,  
The water breaks on Rocks in such a shower,  
Sparkling quite round the place, as made us doubt  
'Twould hazard spitting all our Candles out,  
Which had it happened so, we fairly might  
Have bid unto the World a long good night.  
Wherefore it did concern us to make haste,  
And thus we have the third famed River past.   

Up the old Channel still we forward tend,  
Wondering, and longing when our search should end;  
For we were all grown weary of the night,  
And wished to see the long forsaken light.  
And, Reader, now the happy time draws near  
To end your trouble, as it did our fear:  
For many paces more we had not gone,  
Before we came to a large vault of stone  
Curiously arched, and walled on either side,  
Some thirty paces long, and thirteen wide,  
Scarce ten foot high, which does deprive the place  
Unhappily of due proportion's grace.  
This full of water stands, but yet so clear  
That through it the bottom does appear  
So smooth, and even laid with glittering Sand,  
That the most timorous will not make a stand:  
But boldly step into't, to see the end  
To which all these so strange Meanders tend.  
The first step's ankle deep, the next may be  
To the leg, and no where past the knee,  
Saving, that at the very end of all,  
Where the Rock meets us with an even wall,  
Under the foot, and in the midst of it,  
There is a pretty semicircular pit,  
About some four foot wide, and six foot deep,  
Which underneath the Basis dipping steep,  
And the impending Rock at least three foot  
Descending with a sharp round Peak into't.  
Shuts up the Cave, and, with our own desire  
Kindly complying, bids us to retire.  
Nor did we there make any longer stay,  
Than only stooping with our sticks t'essay  
If pottering this, and that way, we could find  
How deep it went; or which way it did wind.  
Though 'twas in vain; for the low bending Rock  
Did those ridiculous endeavours mock.  
This the fourth River is, although of more  
Than three, and one unfoardable, before  
None ever heard, and if a further shore,  
Belong to this, none ever past it o'er;  
Nothing with Legs, and Arms can come unto't,  
They must be Finns, and 'tis a Fish must do't.  
But I am well assured none ever was  
Till now so far in this unwholesome place,  
From whence with falls, and knocks though almost lame,  
We faster much retreated, than we came,  
And measuring it, as we returned again,  
Found it five hundred paces by the Chain.  
We now once more behold the cheerful Sun,  
And one would think 'twere time we here had done:  
But ere I go I must one story tell  
Concerns the place; so great a Miracle  
As can't omitted be without offence,  
It being an effect of Providence.   

The Tower that stands on tiptoe in the Air,  
And o'er the Channel perpendicular,  
Is on a Hill by't self, though not so high  
By infinite degrees, as one close by,  
A narrow Valley interposed between:  
But this is all a Crag, the other green.  
On every side from this old Castle down,  
Is perfect Cliff, except towards the Town,  
Where the ascent is steep; but in the Rock,  
Forced by the ponderous Hammers conquering stroke,  
A winding way from the rough Mountain's foot.  
Was made the only Avenue unto't.  
'Tis true, that, just over the Cave, the Hill  
In an extended ridg continueth still:  
But to so small a Neck's contracted there,  
The Tower blocks the pass up with one square.  
And yet that once there has a Passage been  
Into the Fort this way, is to be seen  
By ribs of Arches standing of freestone,  
On which a Bridge has formerly been thrown  
Over a Graff parts the Hills double-crown:  
But if by Art, or Nature made, not known;  
It now with Docks, and Thistles is oregrown.  
On one hand of this Bridge, a Cliff does fall  
o'er the Caves' mouth steep, as a perpend wall,  
On th'other hand one very near as steep  
Looks down into the Vale; but not so deep;  
For I am most assured, that we did go  
Under the Vale when in the Cave below,  
And the whole distance not twelve paces is  
Betwixt the one, and th'other Precipice.  
This Valley (which by the 
* The Valley on the backside of the Castle called the Cave and the Caves-Way.  Caves-way is known,)  
Is one of the chief passes to the Town,  
And where it more remotely does begin  
Gently to dimple these two Hills between,  
Falls with so easy a descent, as ne'er  
Could trouble the most Southern Traveller:  
But that o'erslipped, his neck must dearly pay  
The rashness, if he will attempt that way.   

A Country-fellow some years since, who was  
Nothing a stranger to the tickle pass,  
Being by h's Master sent some friends to guide  
o'er those wild Mountains of the Forest wide,  
By them was so rewarded, as to make  
Him, who had guided them, his way mistake:  
For coming back, when Night the day had closed  
Careless, and drunk enough may be supposed,  
He learnedly the Pass did overshoot,  
Thinking he was not yet arrived unto't:  
But trotted on along the Mountain's ridge,  
Until he came almost unto the Bridge  
Close by the Tower, which though it could not be  
Thirty yards off, it seems he could not see,  
To that degree either the Mists or Night;  
Or his Potation did obstruct his sight.  
But here he thought to turn into the Vale,  
Although his Mare who, having had no Ale,  
Was unto both their safeties more awake,  
At first refused the dangerous step to take;  
Like unto peevish Balaam's faithful Ass,  
Who more clear-sighted than the Prophet was,  
Proving her rider so, for once at least,  
If not the greater Ass, the greater Beast.  
But being spurred up to the place again,  
Angry it seems her counsel was not ta'en,  
She took a greater leap against her will,  
Than Pegasus from the ' other bi-top Hill,  
With all th'advantage that he had of Wing,  
When from his Pinch started the Poet's Spring.  
And from the giddy height, the Lord knew whither,  
Down with a vengeance they both went together.  
Where they did part, himself could ne'er declare;  
If on some Rub by th'way; or in the Air:  
But at the bottom he was left for dead,  
With a good Memorandum on his head,  
That laid him so asleep, he did not wake  
Till with the cold his bones began to ache:  
And then he stirred, rolling his heavy eye  
Towards the vault of the enameled sky,  
Which now thick set with sparkling Stars he sees,  
That but of late had been no friends of his,  
And, by the favour of the twinkling light,  
The Castle too appeared above in sight.  
By which he faintly recollected where  
His Worship was, though not how he came there:  
But this small sense did opportunely come  
To help him make a shift to stumble home.  
Thither he comes, and knocking at the door  
(Though not so hard as he was knocked before)  
His Master hears at first, and cries Who's there:  
Why (poorly cries the other) I am here.  
Up starts the Master strait, and lets him in;  
I'th' Name of God (quoth he) where hast thou been,  
That thou'rt thus late? to which the wise Reply  
Was this, Nay Master what the Devil know I?  
But somewhere I have had a lungeous faugh  
I'm sure O that, and, Master, that's neat awe.  
A Candle than was lighted when his sconce  
Did represent Rawhead, and Bloody-bones.  
A lungeous fall indeed, the Master said,  
Thy very looks would make a man afraid,  
Thou hast drank deep, thy Hogshead on the tilt,  
But where's my Mare? No matter where hoo's kilt,  
Replies the man, i'th' morninck send, and see,  
The Devil's power go with these Torrs for me.  
His Dame was called, and he soon got to bed,  
Where she did wash, and dress his great Calves-head.  
So well, that in the morning 'twas his care  
To go, and flay, not to fetch home his Mare:  
But she had shared his fortune, and was found  
Grazing within the Valley safe and sound,  
Sans hurt, or blemish, save a little strip  
Of hair and skin rippled upon her hip.  
The hat, saddle and cloth, denoted well,  
As they were scattered found, just where they fell,  
And yet as oft, as I the place do view,  
I scarce believe, although I know this true:  
But whosoe'er shall happen to come there,  
Will not reprove what I've delivered here;  
Since with his Eyes he may the place behold,  
And hear this truth affirmed, that I have told.   

Southward from hence ten miles, where Derwent laves  
His broken Shores with never clearing waves,  
There stands a stately, and stupendious 
* Chatworth the Seventh Wonder.  Pile  
Like the proud Regent of the British Isle,  
Shedding her beams over the barren Vale,  
Which else bleak winds, and nipping Frosts assail  
With such perpetual War, there would appear  
Nothing but Winter ten months of the year.   

This Palace, with wild prospects girded round,  
Stands in the middle of a falling ground,  
At a black Mountain's foot, whose craggy brow  
Secures from Eastern-Tempests all below,  
Under whose shelter Trees and Flowers grow,  
With early Blossom, maugre native snow;  
Which elsewhere round a Tyranny maintains,  
And binds cramped Nature long in Crystal-Chains.  
The Fabrick's noble Front faces the Pest,  
Turning her fair broad shoulders to the East,  
On the Southside the stately Gardens lie,  
Where the scorned Peak rivals proud Italy.  
And on the North several inferior plots  
For servile use do scattered lie in spots.   

The outward Gate stands near enough, to look  
Her Oval Front in the objected Brook;  
But that she has better reflection  
From a large Mirror nearer of her own.  
For a fair Lake, from wash of Floods unmixed,  
Before it lies, an Area spread betwixt.  
Over this Pond, opposite to the Gate,  
A Bridge of a quaint structure, strength, and state,  
Invites you to pass over it, where dry  
You trample may on shoals of wanton Fry,  
With which those breeding waters do abound,  
And better Carp are no where to be found.  
A Tower of Antic Model the Bridge foot  
From the Peak-rabble does securely shut,  
Which, by stone stairs, delivers you below  
Into the sweetest Walks the world can stow.  
There Wood and Water, Sun and Shade contend,  
Which shall the most delight, and most befriend;  
There Grass, and Gravel in one path you meet,  
For Lady's tend'rer, and men's harder feet.  
Here into open Lakes the Sun may pry,  
A privilege the closer Groves deny,  
Or if confederate winds do make them yield  
He then but chequers what he cannot gild.  
The Ponds, which here in double order shine,  
Are some of them so large, and all so fine,  
That Neptune in his progress once did please  
To frolic in these artificial Seas;  
Of which a noble Monument we find,  
His Royal Chariot left, it seems, behind;  
Whose wheels and body moored up with a Chain,  
Like Drake's old Hulk at Deptford, still remain.  
No place on Earth was ere discovered yet,  
For contemplation, or delight so fit.  
The Groves, whose curled brows shade every Lake,  
Do every where such waving Landscapes make,  
As Painters baffled Art is far above,  
Who waves, and leaves could never yet make move.  
Hither the warbling People of the Air  
From their remoter Colonies repair,  
And in these shades, now setting up their rests,  
Like Caesar's Swiss, burn their old native nests.  
The Muses too perch on the bending sprays  
And in these thickets chant their charming Lays;  
No wonder then if the 
† Mr. Hobbs his the Mir. Pec.  Heroic Song  
That here took birth, and voice do flourish long.   

To view from hence the glittering Pile above  
(Which must at once wonder create, and love)  
Environed round with Nature's shames, and Ills,  
Black Heaths, wild Rocks, bleak Craggs, and naked Hills,  
And the whole Prospect so inform, and rude?  
Who is it, but must presently conclude?  
That this is Paradise, which seated stands  
In midst of Deserts, and of barren Sands.  
So a bright Diamond would look, if set  
In a vile socket of ignoble jet,  
And such a face the newborn Nature took,  
When out of Chaos by the Fiat struck.  
Doubtless, if any where, there never yet  
So brave a Structure on such ground was set,  
Which sure the Foundress built, to reconcile  
This to the other members of the Isle,  
And would therein, first her own Grandeur show,  
And then what Art could, spite of Nature, do.   

But let me lead you in, 'tis worth the pains  
T'examine what this Princely House contains,  
Which, if without so glorious to be seen,  
Honour and Virtue, make it shine within.  
The forenamed outward Gate than leads into  
A spacious Court, whence open to the view  
The noble Front of the whole Edifice,  
In a surprising height, is seen to rise.  
Even with the Gatehouse, upon either hand  
A neat square Turret in the corners stand,  
On each side Plaits of ever-springing green,  
With an ascending Pavier-Walk between▪  
In the green Plate which on the right hand lies,  
A Fountain of strange structure, high doth rise,  
Upon whose slender top, there is a vast,  
I'd almost said, prodigious Basin placed;  
And, without doubt, the Model of this Piece.  
Came from some other place, than Rome, or Greece,  
For such a Sea suspended in the Air,  
I never saw in any place, but there.  
Which should it break, or fall, I doubt we should  
Begin to reckon from the second Flood.  
Though this divert the eye; yet all the while  
Your feet still move towards th'attractive Pile,  
Till fair round Stairs, some fifteen griefs high,  
Land you upon a Terrace, that doth lie  
Of goodly breath along the Buildings square,  
Well paved, and fenced with Rail, and Baluster.  
From hence in some three steps the inner-Gate  
Rises in greater Beauty, Art, and State,  
Than the proud Palace of the Sun, and all  
Vain Poet's stuff vainer Romance withal▪  
A vice that much the gallic muse infects,  
And of good Writers, makes vile Architects.  
This to the Lodge admits, and two steps more  
Set you upon a level axler floor,  
Which paves the inner Court, a curious place  
Formed by the amorous structure's kind embrace.  
I'th' Centre of this shady Court doth rise  
Another Fountain, of a acquaint device  
Which large-limb Heroes, with Majestic port  
In their habiliments of War support.  
Hence, cross the Court, through a fine Portico  
Into the Body of the House you go,  
Where a proud Hall does not at all abate  
Any thing promised by the outward State,  
And where the Reader we entreat will please  
By the large Foot, to measure Hercules;  
For sure a vain, and endless work it were  
T'insist upon every particular.  
And should I be so mad to go about  
To give account of every thing throughout,  
The Rooms of State, Stair cases, Galleries,  
Lodgings, Apartments, Closets, Offices;  
Or to describe the splendours undertake  
Which every glorious Room, a Heaven make,  
The Picture, Sculpture, Carving, Graving, Guilding,  
'Twould be as long in Writing as Building.  
Yet Chatsworth, though thy pristine lineaments  
Were beautiful, and great to all intents:  
I needs must say, for I have seen both Faces,  
thou'rt much more lovely in the modern graces:  
Thy now great 
* The present Countess of Devonshire.  Mistress has adorned thee in,  
Than when thought fine enough to hold a 
† The Queen of Scots.  Queen.  
Thy 
* The Countess of Shrewsbury.  Foundress dressed thee in such Robes, as they  
In those old fashioned Times, reputed gay,  
Of which new stripped, and the old rustling pride  
Of Ruff, and Farthingale now laid aside,  
Thy shapes appear, and thou thyself art seen  
A very Christian, and a modish Queen:  
Which (though old friends part ill) is recompense  
For a few Goth, and Vandal ornaments  
And all these glories glitter to the sight  
By the advantage of a clearer light.  
The Glaziers work before substantial was  
I must confess, thrice as much lead, as glass,  
Which in the Sun's Meridian, cast a light,  
As it had been within an hour of night.  
The windows now look like so many Suns,  
Illustrating the noble Room at once:  
The primitive Casements modelled were no doubt  
By that through which the Pigeon was thrust out,  
Where now whole Sashes are but one great eye,  
T'examine, and admire thy beauties by.  
And, if we hence look out, we shall see there  
The Gardens too i'th' Reformation share  
Upon a Terrace, as most Houses high,  
Though from this prospect humble to your eye,  
A stately Plate, both regular, and vast  
Suiting the rest, was by the Foundress cast,  
In those incurious times, under the Rose  
Designed, as one may saucily suppose,  
For Lilies, Pionies, daffodils, and Roses  
To garnish Chimneys, and make Sunday Posies,  
Where Gooseberries as good, as ever grew  
'Tis like were set; for Winter-greens the Yew,  
Holly, and Box: for then these things were new.  
With oh! the honest Rosemary and Bays,  
So much esteemed in those good Wassail days.   

Now in the middle of this great Parterre,  
A Fountain darts her streams into the Air  
Twenty foot high; till by the Winds depressed,  
Unable longer upward to contest,  
They fall again in tears for grief, and ire  
They cannot reach the place they did aspire.  
As if the Sun melted the waxen wings  
Of these Icarian temerarious springs▪  
For braving thus his generative ray,  
When their true motion lies another way.  
Th'ambitious Element repulsed so  
Rallies, and saves her routed waves below,  
In a large Basin of Diameter  
Such as old Rome's expensive Lakes did bear,  
Where a Pacifick Sea expanded lies,  
A liquid Theatre for Naumachies;  
And where in case of such a Pageant War,  
Romans in statue still spectators are.   

Where the ground swells nearer the Hill above,  
And where once stood a 
* An Artificial Rock, so called.  Cragg and Cherry Grove,  
(Which of renown than shared a mighty part)  
In stead of such a barbarous piece of Art,  
Such poor contrived, dwarfish and ragged shades,  
'tis now adorned with Fountains and Cascades,  
Terass on Terass with their Staircases  
Of brave, and great contrivance, and to these  
Statues, Walks, Grass-plats, and a Grove indeed  
Where silent Lovers may lie down and bleed.  
And though all things were, for that Age, before  
In truth so great, that nothing could be more;  
Yet now they with much greater lustre stand,  
Touched up, and finished by a better hand.   

But that which crowns all this, and does impart  
A Lustre far beyond the power of Art,  
Is the great Owner, He, whose noble mind  
For such a Fortune only was designed.  
Whose bounties as the Ocean's bosom wide,  
Flow in a constant, unexhausted Tide  
Of Hospitality and free Access,  
Liberal Condescension, Cheerfulness,  
Honour and Truth, as every of them strove  
At once to captivate Respect and Love:  
And all with such Order performed, and Grace  
As rivett Wonder to the stately place.   

But I must give my Muse the Hola here,  
Respect must check her in the wild Career;  
For when we impotently do commend,  
The thing well meant, ill done, must needs offend;  
His Virtues are above my Character,  
Too great for Fame to speak; or Verse to bear.   
FINIS.