As shee hath speciall cause before all other, who
For her bituminous Turfe, squar’d from her Mossy ground,
And Trees farre vnder earth, (by daily digging found,
As for the store of Oats, which her blacke Gleabe doth beare,
In euery one of these resembling Lancashire,
To her shee’l stoutly stick, as to her neerest kin,
And cries the day is ours, braue Lancashire doth win.
But yet this Isle of Man more seemes not to reioyce
For Lancashires good luck, nor with a louder voyce
To sound it to the Shores; then Furnesse whose sterne face,
With Mountaines set like Warts, which Nature as a grace
Bestow’d vpon this Tract, whose Browes doe looke so sterne,
That when the Nymphs of Sea did first her Front discerne,
Amazedly they fled, to Amphitrite’s Bower.
Her grim aspect to see, which seem’d to them so sower,
As it malign’d the Rule which mighty Neptune bare,
Whose Fells to that grim god, most sterne and dreadfull are,
With Hills whose hanging browes, with Rocks about are bound,
Whose weighty feet stand fixt in that blacke beachy ground,
Whereas those scattered trees, which naturally pertake,
The fatnesse of the soyle (in many a slimy Lake,
Their roots so deeply sok’d) send from their stocky bough,
A soft and sappy Gum, from which those Tree-geese grow,
Call’d Barnactes by vs, which like a Ielly first
To the beholder seeme, then by the fluxure nurst,
Still great and greater thriue, vntill you well may see
Them turn’d to perfect Fowles, when dropping from the tree
Into the Meery Pond, which vnder them doth lye,
Waxe ripe, and taking wing, away in flockes doe flye,
Which well our Ancients did among our Wonders place:
Besides by her strong Scite, she doth receaue this grace,
Before her neighbouring Tracts, (which Fournesse well may vaunt)
That when the Saxons here their forces first did plant,
And from the Inner-land the ancient Britains draue,
To their distrest estate it no lesse succour gaue,
Then the trans Seuern’d Hills, which their old stocke yet stores,
Which now we call the Welsh, or the Cornubian Shores.
What Countrey lets ye see those soyles within her Seat,
But shee in little hath, what it can shew in great?
As first without her selfe at Sea to make her strong,
(Yet how soe’r expos’d, doth still to her belong)
And fence her furthest poynt, from that rough Neptunes rage,
The Isle of Walney lyes, whose longitude doth swage
His when his waues, on Furnesse seeme to warre,
Whose crooked back is arm’d with many a rugged scarre
Against his boystrous shocks, which this defensiue Isle
Of Walney still assayle, that shee doth scorne the while,
Which to assist her hath the Pyle of Fouldra set,
And Fulney at her backe, a pretty Insulet,
Which all their forces bend, their Furnesse safe to keepe:
But to his inner earth, diuert we from the deepe,
Where those two mightie Meres, out-stretcht in length do wander,
The lesser Thurstan nam’d, the famouser Wynander,
So bounded with her Rocks, as Nature would desery,
By her how those great Seas Mediserranean lye.
To Sea-ward then shee hath her sundry Sands agen,
As that of Dudden first, then Leain, lastly Ken,
Of three bright Naiades nam’d, as Dudden on the West,
That Cumberland cuts off from this Shire, doth inuest
Those Sands with her proud Style, when Leuin from the Fells,
Besides her naturall source, with the abundance swells,
Which those two mighty Meres, vpon her either side
Contrribute by recourse, that out of very pride,
Shee leaues her ancient name, and Fosse her selfe doth call,
Till comming to the Sands, euen almost at her fall,
On them her ancient Style shee liberally bestowes.
Vpon the East from these, cleere Ken her beautie showes,
From Kendale comming in, which shee doth please to grace,
First with her famous Type, then lastly in her race,
Her name vpon those Sands doth liberally bequeath,
Whereas the Muse a while may sit her downe to breath,
And after walke along tow’rds Torkshire on her way,
On which shee strongly hopes to get a noble day.
POLY-OLBION: THE EIGHT AND TWENTIETH SONG
The Argument
Inuention hence her Compasse steeres,
Towards Yorke the most renown’d of Shires,
Makes the three Ridings in their Stories,
Each seuerally to shew their glories.
Ouse for her most-lou’d Cities sake,
Doth her Dukes Title vndertake;
His Floods then Humber welcomes in,
And showes how first he did begin.
THE Muse from Blackstonedge, no whit dismaid at all,
With sight of the large Shire, on which shee was to fall,
(Whose Forrests, Hils, & Floods, then long for her ariue
From Lancashire, that lookt her Beauties to contriue)
Doth set her selfe to sing, of that aboue the rest
A Kingdome that doth seeme, a Prouince at the least,
To them that thinke themselues no simple Shires to be;
But that wherein the world her greatnesse most may see,
And that which doth this Shire before the rest preferre,
Is of so many Floods, and great, that rise from her,
Except some silly few out of her Verge that flow,
So neere to other Shires, that it is hard to know,
If that their Springs be hers, or others them diuide,
And those are onely found vpon her Setting side.
Else be it noted well, remarkeable to all,
That those from her that flow, in her together fall.
Nor can small praise beseeme so beaurious Brooks as these,
For from all other Nymphs these be the Nayades,
In Amphitrites Bower, that princely places hold,
To whom the Orkes of Sea dare not to be so bold,
As rudely once to touch, and wheresoere they come,
The Tritons with their Trumps proclaime them publique roome.
Now whiles the Muse prepares these Floods along to lead,
The wide West-riding first, desires that shee may plead
The right that her belongs, which of the Muse she winnes,
When with the course of Don, thus she her Tract begins.
Thou first of all my Floods, whose Banks doe bound my South,
And offrest vp thy Streame to mightie Humbers mouth,
Of Ewe, and climing Elme, that crown’d with many a spray,
From thy cleare Fountaine first through many a Mead dost play,
Till Rother, whence the name of Rotheram first begun,
At that her christened Towne doth loose her in my Don,
Which proud of her recourse, tow’rds Doncaster doth driue,
Her greatst and chiefest towne, the name that doth deriue
From Don’s neere bordering Banks, when holding on her race,
Shee dancing in and out, indenteth ‘ Chase,
Whose brauery adds, new honors to her Banke:
When Sherwood sends her in slow Iddie, that made ranke
With her profuse excesse, shee largely it bestowes
On Marshland, whose swolne wombe with such abundance flowes,
As that her batning brest, her Fatlings sooner feeds,
And with more lauish waste then oft the Grasier nee
ds:
Whose soyle, as some report that be her Borderers note,
With th’water vnder earth vndoubtedly doth flote:
For when the waters rise, it risen doth remaine
High whilst the Floods are high, and when they fall againe,
It falleth: but at last, when as my linely Don,
Along by Marshlands side, her lusty course hath runne,
The little wandring Went, wonne by the lowd report
Of the magnifique State, and height of Humbers Court,
Drawes on to meet with Don, at her approch to Aire:
Now speake I of a Flood, who thinks there’s none should dare
(Once) to compare with her, supposd by her discent,
The darling daughter borne of loftie Penigent,
Who from her fathers foot, by Skipton downe doth scud,
And leading thence to Leeds, that delicatest Flood,
Takes Caldor comming in by Wakefield, by whose force,
As from a lusty Flood, much strengthened in her course;
But Caldor as shee comes, and greater still doth wax,
And trauelling along by Heading Halifax,
Which Horton once was cald, but of a Virgins haire,
(A Martyr that was made, for Chastity, that there
was by her Louer slaine) being fastned to a tree:
The people that would needs it should a Relique be,
It Halifax since nam’d, which in the Northerne tongue,
Is Holy haire: but thence as Caldor comes along,
It chanc’d shee in her Course on Kirkbey cast her eye,
Where merry Robbin Hood, that honest Thiefe doth lye,
Beholding fitly too before how Wakefield stood,
Shee doth not onely thinke of lustie Robin Hood,
But of his merry man, the Pindar of the Towne
Of Wakefield, George a Greene, whose sames so farre are blowne,
For their so valiant fight, that euery free mans Song,
Can tell you of the same, quoth she be talk’d on long,
For yee were merry Lads, and those were merry dayes;
When Aire to Caldor calls, and bids her come her wayes,
Who likewise to her helpe, brings Hebden, a small Rill:
Thus Aire holds on her course tow’rds Humber, till she fill
Her fall with all the wealth that Don can her affoord.
Quoth the West-riding thus, with Riuers am I stor’d.
Next guide I on my Wharfe, the great’st in her degree,
And that I well may call the worthicst of the three,
Who her full fountaine takes from my wast Westerne wild,
(Whence all but Mountaineers, by Nature are exild)
On Langstrethdale, and lights at th’entrance of her race,
When keeping on her course, along through Barden Chase,
Shee watreth Wharfdales breast, which proudly beares her name;
For by that time shees growne a flood of wondrous fame,
When Washbrooke with her wealth her Mistris doth supply;
Thus Wharfe in her braue course imbracing Wetherby,
Small Cock, a sullen Brooke comes to her succour then,
Whose Banks receau’d the blood of many thousand men,
On sad Palme Sunday slaine, that Towton-Field we call,
Whose Channell quite was chok’d with those that there did fall,
That Wharfe discolored was with gore, that then was shed,
The bloodiest field betwixt the White Rose, and the Red,
Of welneere fifteene fought in England first and last:
But whilst the goodly doth thus tow’rds Humber haste,
From Wharnside Hill not farre, outflowes the nimble Nyde,
Through Nydersdale along, as neatly she doth glide
Tow’rds Knarsburg on her way, a pretty little Rill,
Call’d Kebeck, stowes her streame, her Mistris Banks to fill,
To intertaine the Whafe where that braue Forrest stands,
Entitled by the Towne, who with vpreared hands
Makes signes to her of ioy, and doth with Garlands crowne
The Riuer passing by; but Wharfe that hasteth downe
To meet her Mistris Ouse, her speedy course doth hie;
Dent, Rother, Riuell, Gret, so on my Set haue I,
Which from their fountaines there all out of me do flow,
Yet from my bounty I on Lancashire bestow,
Because my rising soyle doth shute them to the West:
But for my Mountaines I, will with the Isle contest,
All other of the North in largenesse shall exceed,
That ages long before it finally decreed,
That Ingleborow Hill, Pendle, and Penigent,
Should named be the high’st betwixt our Tweed and Trent.
My Hills, braue Whelpston then, thou Wharnside, and thou Cam,
Since I West-Riding still your onely mother am;
All that Report can giue, and iustly is my due,
I as your naturall Dam, share equally with you;
And let me see a Hill that to the North doth stand,
The proudest of them all, that dare but lift a hand
O’r Penigent to peere; not Skiddo, that proud Mount,
Although of him so much, Rude Cumberland account,
Nor Cheuiot, of whose height Northumberland doth boast
Albania to suruey; nor those from Coast to Coast
That welneere runne in length, that rew of Mountaines tall,
By th’name of th’English Alpes, that our most learned call;
As soone shall those, or these remoue out of their place,
As by their lofty lookes, my Penigent out face:
Yee thus behold my Hills: my Forrests, Dales, and Chases
Vpon my spacious breast note too how Nature places,
Farre vp into my West, first Langstrethdale doth lye,
And on the Banke of Wharfe, my pleasant Bardon by,
With Wharfdale hard by her, as taking hand in hand:
Then lower tow’rds the Sea braue Knarsborough doth stand,
As higher to my North, my Niddersdale by Nyde,
And Bishopsdale aboue vpon my Setting side,
Marshland, and Hatfield Chase, my Easterne part doe bound,
And Barnsdale there doth butt on Dons wel-watred ground:
And to my great disgrace, if any shall obiect
That I no wonder haue that’s worthy of respect
In all my spacious Tract, let them (so wise) suruey
My Ribbles rising Banks, their worst, and let them say;
At Giggleswick where I a Fountaine can you show,
That eight times in a day is sayd to ebbe and flow,
Who sometime was a Nymph, and in the Mountaines hye
Of Crauen, whose blew heads for Caps put on the Skye,
Amongst th’Oread’s there, and Syluans made abode,
(It was e’r humane foot vpon those Hills had trod)
Of all the Mountaine kind and since she was most faire,
It was a Satyrs chance to see her siluer haire
Flow loosely at her backe, as vp a Cliffe she clame,
Her Beauties noting well, her Features, and her Frame,
And after her he goes; which when she did espie,
Before him like the winde, the nimble Nymph doth flie,
They hurry downe the Rocks, o’r Hill and Dale they driue;
To take her he doth straine, t’outstrip him shee doth striue,
Like one his kind that knew, and greatly fear’d his Rape,
And to the Topick gods by praying to escape,
They turn’d her to a Spring, which as she then did pant,
When wearied with her course, her breath grew wondrous scant:
Euen as the fearefull Nymph, then thicke and short did blow,
Now made by them a Spring, so doth shee ebbe and flow.
And neere the Streame of Nyde, another Spring haue I,
As well as tha
t, which may a wonders place supply,
Which of the forme it beares, men Dropping well doe call,
Because out of a Rock, it still in drops doth fall,
Neere to the foot whereof it makes a little Pon,
Which in as little space conuerteth Wood to Stone,
Cheuin, and Kilnsey Crags, were they not here in me,
In any other place, right well might Wonders be,
For their Gygantick height, that Mountaines doe transcend?
But such are frequent here, and thus she makes an end.
When Your thus hauing heard the Genius of this Tract,
Her well-deserued praise so happily to act,
This Riuer in her selfe that was extreamely loth,
The other to deferre, since that shee was to both
Indifferent, straitly wills West-riding there to cease;
And hauing made a signe to all the watry prease
For silence; which at once, when her commaund had wonne,
The proud North-Riding thus for her great selfe begunne.
My soueraigne Flood, quoth shee, in nature thou art bound
T’acknowledge me of three to be the worthiest ground:
For note of all those Floods, the wild West-Riding sends,
Ther’s scarcely any one thy greatnesse that attends,
Till thou hast passed Yorke, and drawest neere thy fall;
And when thou hast no need of their supplies at all,
Then come they flattring in, and will thy followers be;
So as you oftentimes these wretched worldlings see,
That whilst a man is poore, although some hopes depend
Vpon his future age, yet ther’s not one will lend
A farthing to releeue his sad distressed state,
Not knowing what may yet befall him; but when Fate
Doth poure vpon his head his long expected good,
Then shall you see those Slaues, aloofe before that stood,
And would haue let him starue, like Spaniels to him crouch,
And with their glauering lips, his very feet to touch:
So doe they by thee Your; whereas the Floods in me,
That spring and haue their Course, (euen) giue thy life to thee:
For till that thou and Swale, into one Banke doe take,
Meeting at Borough-Bridge, thy greatnesse there to make:
Till then the name of Ouse thou art not knowne to owe,
A tearme in former times the Ancients did bestow
On many a full-bankt Flood; but for my greater grace,
These Floods of which I speake, I now intend to trace
From their first springing Founts, beginning with the Your,
From Moruils mightie foot which rising, with the power
That Bant from Sea-mere brings, her somewhat more doth fill,
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 126
