Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  Twice driuing out the Dane when he invasion brought.

  Whose no lesse valiant sonne, againe at Conway fought

  With Danes and Mercians mixt, and on their hatefull head

  Down-showr’d their dire reuenge whom they had murthered.

  And, wer’t not that of vs the English would report

  (Abusing of our Tongue in most malicious sort

  As often-times they doe) that more then any, wee

  (The Welsh, as they vs tearme) loue glorifi’d to bee,

  Heere could I else recount the slaught’red Saxons gore

  Our swords at Crosford spilt on Severns wandring shore;

  And Griffith here produce, Lewellins valiant sonne

  (May wee belieue our Bards) who fiue pitcht Battels wonne;

  And to reuenge the wrongs the envious English wrought,

  His well-train’d martiall troupes into the Marches brought

  As farre as Wor’ster walls: nor thence did he retire,

  Till Powse lay wel-neere spent in our reuengefull fire;

  As Hereford layd waste: and from their plentious soyles,

  Brought back with him to Wales his prisoners and his spoyles.

  Thus as we valiant were, when valour might vs steed:

  With those so much that dar’d, wee had them that decreed.

  For, what Mulmutian lawes, or , euer were

  More excellent then those which our good Howell heere

  Ordayn’d to gouerne Wales? which still with vs remaine.

  And when all-powerfull Fate had brought to passe againe,

  That as the Saxons earst did from the Britains win;

  Vpon them so (at last) the Normans comming in,

  Tooke from those Tyrants heere, what treacherously they got

  (To the perfidious French, which th’angry heauens allot)

  Nere could that Conquerors sword (which roughly did decide

  His right in England heere, and prostrated her pride)

  Vs to subiection stoope, or make vs Britains beare

  Th’vnwieldy Norman yoke: nor basely could we feare

  His Conquest, entring Wales; but (with stout courage) ours

  Defi’d him to his face, with all his English powers.

  And when in his revenge, proud Rufus hither came

  (With vowes) vs to subvert; with slaughter and with shame,

  O’re Severn him we sent, to gather stronger ayde.

  So, when to Englands power, Albania hers had lay’d,

  By Henry Beauclarke brought (for all his diuelish wit,

  By which he raught the Wreath) hee not prevail’d awhit:

  And through our rugged straits when he so rudely prest,

  Had not his proued Maile sare surely to his breast,

  A skilfull British hand his life had him bereft,

  As his sterne brothers hart, by Tirrills hand was cleft.

  And let the English thus which vilifie our name,

  If it their greatnes please, report vnto our shame

  The foyle our Gwyneth gaue at Flints so deadly fight,

  To Maud the Empresse sonne, that there he put to flight;

  And from the English power th’imperiall Ensigne tooke:

  About his plumed head which valiant Owen shooke.

  As when that King againe, his fortune to advance

  Aboue his former foyle, procur’d fresh powers from France,

  A surely-leveld shaft if Sent-cleare had not seene,

  And in the very loose, not thrust himselfe betweene

  His Soueraigne and the shaft, he our reuenge had tri’d:

  Thus, to preserue the King, the noble subiect dy’d.

  As Madock his braue sonne, may come the rest among;

  Who, like the God-like race from which his Grandsires sprong,

  Whilst heere his Brothers ty’d in sad domestick strife,

  On their vnnaturall breasts bent eithers murtherous knife;

  This braue aduenturous Youth, in hote pursute of fame,

  With such as his great spirit did with high deeds inflame,

  Put forth his well-rigg’d Fleet to seeke him forraine ground,

  And sayled West so long, vntill that world he found

  To Christians then vnknowne (saue this adventrous crue)

  Long ere Columbus liv’d, or it Visputius knew;

  And put the now-nam’d Welsh on India’s parched face,

  Vnto the endlesse praise of Brutes renowned race,

  Ere the Iberian Powers had toucht her long-sought Bay,

  Or any eare had heard the sound of Florida.

  And with that Croggens name let th’English vs disgrace;

  When there are to be seene, yet, in that ancient place

  Fro whence that name they fetch, their coquer’d Grandsires Graues:

  which each ignorant sot, vniustly vs depraues.

  And when that Tyrant Iohn had our subversion vow’d,

  To his vnbridled will our necks we neuer bow’d:

  Nor to his mightie sonne; whose host wee did inforce

  (His succours cutting off) to eate their war-like horse.

  Vntill all-ruling Heauen would haue vs to resigne:

  When that braue Prince, the last of all the British Line,

  Lewellin, Griffiths sonne, vnluckily was slaine,

  As Fate had spar’d our fall till Edward Long shanks raigne.

  Yet to the stock of Brute so true wee euer were,

  We would permit no Prince, vnleffe a natiue here.

  Which, that most prudent King perceiuing, wisely thought

  To satisfie our wills, and to Carnarvan brought

  His Queene be’ing great with child, euen ready downe to lie;

  Then to his purpos’d end doth all his powers apply.

  Through euery part of Wales hee to the Nobles sent,

  That they vnto his Court should come incontinent,

  Of things that much concern’d the Country to debate:

  But now behold the power of vnauoyded Fate.

  When thus vnto his will he fitly them had wonne,

  At her expected houre the Queene brought forth a sonne.

  And to this great designe, all hapning as he would,

  He (his intended course that clearkly manage could)

  Thus queintly traines vs on: Since he perceiu’d vs prone

  Here onely to be rul’d by Princes of our owne,

  Our naturalnes therein he greatly did approue;

  And publiquely protests, that for the ancient loue

  He euer bare to Wales, they all should plainly see,

  That he had found out one, their soueraigne Lord to bee;

  Com’n of the race of Kings, and (in their Country borne)

  Could not one English word: of which he durst be sworne.

  Besides, his vpright heart, and innocence was such,

  As that (he was assur’d) blacke Enuie could not tuch

  His spotlesse life in ought. Poore we (that not espic

  His subtilty herein) in plaine simplicity,

  Soone bound our selues by oath, his choice not to refuse:

  When as that craftie King, his little childe doth chuse,

  Yong Edward, borne in Wales, and of Carnaruan call’d.

  Thus by the English craft, we Britans were enthrall’d:

  Yet in thine owne behalfe, deare Country dare to say,

  Thou long as powerfull wert as England cuery way.

  And if she ouermuch should seeke thee to imbase,

  Tell her thou art the Nurse of all the British race,

  And he that was by heauenappointed to vnite

  (After that tedious warre) the red Rose and the white,

  A Tudor was of thine, and natiue of thy Mon,

  From whom descends that King now sitting on her Throane.

  This speech, by Snowdon made, so luckie was to please

  Both parties, and both with such content t’appease;

  That as before they for soueraignty and place,

 
; They onely now contend, which most should other grace.

  Into the Irish Sea, then all those Itilles that ronne,

  In Snowdons praise to speake, immediatly begon;

  Lewenny, Lynan next, then Gwelly gaue it out,

  And Kerriog her compecre, soone told it all about:

  So did their sister Nymphs, that into Mena straine;

  The flood that doth diuide Mon from the in Maine.

  It Gorway greatly prais’d, and Seint it lowdly song.

  So, mighty Snowdous speech was through Carnaruan rong;

  That scarcely such a noise to Mon from Mena came,

  When with his puissant troupes for conquest of the same,

  On Bridges made of , the Roman powers her sought,

  Or Edward to her sacke his English Armies brought:

  That Mona strangely stird great Snowdons praise to heare,

  Although the stock of Troy to her was euer deare;

  Yet (from her proper worth) as shee before all other

  Was call’d (in former times) her Country Cambria’s mother,

  Perswaded was thereby her praises to pursue,

  Or by neglect, to lose what to her selfe was due,

  A signe to Neptune sent, his boystrous rage to slake;

  Which suddainly becalm’d, thus ofher selfe she spake;

  What one of all the Iles to Cambria doth belong

  (To Britaine, I might say, and yet not doe her wrong)

  Doth equall me in soyle, so good for grasse and graine?

  As should my Wales (where still Brutes ofspring doth remaine)

  That mighty store of men, yet more of beasts doth breed,

  By famine or by warre constrained be to need,

  And Englands neighboring Shires their succour would denie;

  My onely selfe her wants could plentiously supply.

  What Iland is therefound vpon the Irish coast,

  In which that Kingdome seemes to be delighted most

  (And seeke you all along the rough Vergiuian shore,

  Where the incountring rydes outrageously doe )

  That bowes not at my beck, as they to me did owe

  The dutie subiects should vnto their Soueraigne showe;

  So that th’Eubonian Man, a kingdome long time knowne,

  Which wisely hath been rul’d by Princes of her owne,

  In my alliance ioyes, as in th Albanian Seas

  The Arrans, and by them the scatt’red Eubides

  Reioyce euen at my name; and put on mirthfull cheere,

  When of my goode state, they by the Sea-Nymphs heare.

  Sometimes within my shades, in many an ancient wood,

  Whose often-twined tops, great Phoebus fires withstood,

  The fearelesse British Priests, vnder an aged Oake,

  Taking a milk-white Bull, vnstrained with the yoke,

  And with an Axe of gold, from that Ioue-sacred tree

  The Misslero cut downe; then with a bended

  On th’vnhew’d , put to the hallowed fires:

  And whilst in the sharpe flame the trembling flesh expires,

  As their strong furie mou’d (when all the rest )

  Pronouncing their desires the sacrifice before,

  Vp to th’eternall heauen their bloodied hands did reare:

  And, whilst the woods euen as with feare,

  Preacht to the beardlesse youth, the soules immortall state;

  To other bodies still how it should transmigrate,

  That to contempt of death them strongly might excite.

  To dwell in my blacke shades the Wood-gods did delight,

  Vntroden with resort that long so gloomy were,

  As when the Roman came, it strooke him sad with feare

  To looke vpon my face, which then was call’d the Darke;

  Vntill in after time, the English for a marke

  Gaue me this hatefull name, which I must euer beare,

  And Anglesey from them am called euery where.

  My Brooks (to whose sweet brimmes the Syluans did resort,

  Inglyding through my shades, to mightie Neptunes Court,

  Of their huge Oakes bereft) to heauen so open lie,

  That now ther’s not a roote discern’d by any eye:

  My Brent, a pretty Beck, attending Menas mouth,

  With those her sister Rills, that beare vpon the South,

  Guint, forth along with her Lewenny that doth draw;

  And next to them againe, the fat and moory Frawe,

  Which with my Princes Court I some-time pleas’d to grace,

  As those that to the West directly runne their race.

  Smooth Allo in her fall, that Lynon in doth take;

  Mathanon, that amaine doth tow’rds Moylroniad make,

  The Sea-calfes to behold that bleach them on her shore,

  Which Gweger to her gets, as to increase her store.

  Then Dulas to the North that straineth, as to see

  The Ile that breedeth Mice: whose store so lothsome bee,

  That shee in Neptunes brack her blewish head doth hide.

  When now the wearied Muse her burthen hauing ply’d,

  Her selfe a while betakes to bathe her in the Sound;

  And quitting in her course the goodly Monian ground,

  Assayes the Penmenmaur, and her cleere eyes doth throwe

  On Conway, tow’rds the East, to England back to goe:

  Where finding Denbigh fayre, and Flint not out of sight,

  Cryes yet afresh for Wales, and for Brutes ancient right.

  POLY-OLBION: THE TENTH SONG

  The Argument

  The serious Muse her selfe applyes

  To Merlins ancient prophecies,

  At Dinas Emris; where hee show’d

  How Fate the Britaines rule be stow’d.

  To Conway next she turnes her tale,

  And sings her Cluyds renowned Vale;

  Then of Saint Winifrid doth tell,

  And all the wonders of her Well;

  Makes Dee, Bruit’s historie pursue:

  At which, shee bids her Wales Adieu.

  A While thus taking breath, our way yet faire in view,

  The Muse her former course doth seriously pursue.

  From Penmens craggy height to try her saily wings,

  Her selfe long hauing bath’d in the delicious Springs

  (That trembling from his top through long-worne crannies creepe,

  To spend their liquid store on the insatiate Deepe)

  Shee meets with Conway first, which lyeth next at hand:

  Whose precious orient Pearle that breedeth in her sand,

  Aboue the other floods of Britaine doth her grace:

  Into the Irish Sea which making out her race,

  Supply’d by many a Mere (through many seuerall Rills

  Into her bosome pour’d) her plentiously fhee fills.

  O goodly Riuer! neere vnto thy sacred Spring

  Prophetique Merlin sate, when to the British King

  The changes long to come, auspiciously he told.

  Most happy were thy Nymphs, that wondring did behold,

  His grauer wrinkled brow, amazed and did heare

  The dreadfull words he spake, that so ambiguous were.

  Thrice happy Brooks, I say, that (euery way about)

  Thy tributaries be: as is that Towne, where-out

  Into the Sea thou fall’st, which Conway of thy name

  Perpetually is call’d, to register thy fame.

  For thou, cleere Conway, heard’st wise Merlin first relate

  The Destinies Decree, of Britains future fate;

  Which truly he fore-told proud Vortiger should lose:

  As, when him from his seat the Saxons should depose:

  The forces that should heere from Armorick arriue,

  Yet farre too weake from hence the enemie to driue:

  And to that mightie King, which rashly vnder-tooke

  A strong-wall’d Tower to reare, those earthly spirits that shooke


  The great foundation still, in Dragons horrid shape,

  That dreaming Wisard told; making the Mountaine gape

  With his most powerfull charmes, to view those Caverns deepe;

  And from the top of Brith, so high and wondrous steepe,

  Where Dinas Emr is stood, shew’d where the Serpents fought,

  The White that tore the Red; from whence the Prophet wrought

  The Britains sad decay then shortly to ensue.

  O! happy yee that heard the man who all things knew

  Vntill the generall Doome, through all the world admyr’d:

  By whose Prophetick Sawes yee all became inspyr’d;

  As well the forked Neage, that neer’st her Fountaine springs,

  With her beloued maid, Melandidar, that brings

  Her flowe, where Conway forth into the Sea doth slide

  (That to their Mistris make from the Denbighian side)

  As those that from the hills of proud Carnarvan fall.

  This scarce the Muse had said, but Cluyd doth quickly call

  Her great recourse, to come and gard her while shee glide

  Along the goodly Vale (which with her wealthy pride

  Much beautifies her banks; so naturally her owne,

  That Dyffren Cluyd by her both farre and neere is knowne)

  With high embatteld hills that each way is enclos’d

  But onely on the North: and to the North dispos’d,

  Fierce Bore as finds accesse to court the dainty Vale:

  Who, whisp’ring in her eare with many a want on tale,

  Allures her to his loue (his Leman her to make)

  As one that in himselfe much suffreth for her sake.

  The Orcades, and all those d Eubides imbrac’t

  In Neptunes aged armes, to Neptune seeming chast,

  Yet prostitute themselues to Bore as; who neglects

  The Calidonian Downes, nor ought at all respects

  The other in-land Dales, abroad that scattred lie,

  Some on the English earth, and some in Albany;

  But, courting Dyffren Cluyd, her beautie doth prefer.

  Such dalliance as alone the North-wind hath with her,

  Orithya not enioy’d, from Thrace when hee her tooke,

  And in his saylie plumes the trembling Virgin shooke:

  But through the extreame loue hee to this Vale doth beare,

  Growes iealous at the length, and mightily doth feare

  Great Neptune, whom he sees to smug his horrid face:

  And, fearing least the God should so obtaine her grace,

  From the Septentrion cold, in the breem freezing ayre,

  Where the bleake North-wind keeps, still dominering there,

  From Shetland stradling wide, his foote on Thuly sets: