Collected Works of Michael Drayton

by Michael Drayton

  And to the northern hills shall lead her on along,

  Which now must wholly bee the subject of my song.

  POLY-OLBION: THE SEVEN AND TWENTIETH SONG

  The Argument

  The circuit of this Shire exprest,

  , and Ribble then contest;

  The Muse next to the Mosses flies,

  And to fayre Wyre her selfe applies,

  The Fishy Lun then doth shee bring,

  The praise of Lancashire to sing,

  The Isle of Man maintaines her plea,

  Then falling Eastward from that Sea,

  On rugged Furnesse, and his Fells,

  Of which this Canto lastly tells.

  SCARCE could the labouring Muse salute this liuely Shire,

  But strait such shouts arose from euery Mosse and Mere,

  And Riuers rushing downe, with such vnvsuall noyse,

  Vpon their peably sholes, seem’d to expresse their ioyes,

  That Mersey (in her course which happily confines

  Braue Chesshire from this Tract, two County Palatines)

  As rauish’d with the newes, along to Lerpoole ran,

  That all the Shores which lye to the Vergiuian,

  Resounded with the shouts, so that from Creeke to Creeke,

  So Iowd the Ecchoes cry’d, that they were heard to shreeke

  To Fournesse ridged Front, whereas the rocky Pile

  Of Foudra is at hand, to guard the out-layd Isle

  Of Walney, and those grosse foggy awooke;

  Thence flying to the East, with their reuerberance shooke

  The Clouds from Pendles head, (which as the people say,

  Prognosticates to them a happy Halcyon day)

  Rebounds on Blackstonedge, and there by falling fils

  Faire Mersey, making in from the Derbeian Hills.

  But whilst the actiue Muse thus nimbly goes about,

  Of this large Tract to lay the true Demensions out,

  The neat Lancastrain Nymphes, for beauty that excell,

  That for the Hornpipe round doe beare away the bell;

  Some that about the Banks of Erwell make abode,

  With some that haue their seat by Ribbles siluer road,

  In great contention fell, (that mighty difference grew)

  Which of those Floods deseru’d to haue the soueraigne due;

  So that all future spleene, and quarrels to preuent,

  That likely was to rise about their long discent,

  Before the neighbouring Nymphs, their right they meane to plead,

  And first thus for her selfe the louely Erwell sayd.

  Yee Lasses, quoth this Flood, haue long and blindly cr’d,

  That Ribble before me, so falsely haue prefer’d,

  That am a Natiue borne, and my descent doe bring,

  From ancient Gentry here, when Ribble from her Spring,

  An Alien knowne to be, and from the Mountaines rude

  Of Yorkshire getting strength, here boldly dares intrude

  Vpon my proper Earth, and through her mighty fall,

  Is not asham’d her selfe of Lancashire to call:

  Whereas of all the Nymphes that carefully attend

  My Mistris Merseys State, ther’s none that doth transcend

  My greatnesse with her grace, which doth me so preferre,

  That all is due to me, which doth belong to her.

  For though from Blackstonedze the Taume come tripping downe,

  And from that long-ridg’d Rocke, her fathers high renowne,

  Of Mersey thinks from me, the place alone to winne,

  With my attending Brooks, yet when I once come in,

  I out of count’nance quite doe put the Nymph, for note,

  As from my Fountaine I tow’rds mightier Mersey float,

  First Roch a dainty Rill, from Roch-dale her deare Dame,

  Who honored with the halfe of her sterne mothers name,

  Growes proud, yet glad her selfe into my Bankes to get,

  Which Spodden from her Spring, a pretty Riuelet,

  As her attendant brings, when Irck addes to my store,

  And Medlock to their much, by lending somewhat more,

  At Manchester doe meet, all kneeling to my State,

  Where braue I show my selfe; then with a prouder gate,

  Tow’rds Mersey making on, great Chatmosse at my fall,

  Lyes full of Turfe, and Marle, her vnctuous Minerall,

  And Blocks as blacke as Pitch, (with boring-Augars found)

  There at the generall Flood supposed to be drownd.

  Thus chiefe of Merseys traine, away with her I runne,

  When in her prosperous course shee watreth Warrington,

  And her faire siluer load in Lerpoole downe doth lay,

  A Road none more renownd in the Vergiuian Sea.

  Yee lustie Lasses then, in Lancashire that dwell,

  For Beautie that are sayd to beare away the Bell,

  Your Countries Horn-pipe, yee so minsingly that tread,

  As ye the Eg-pye loue, and Apple Cherry-red;

  In all your mirthfull Songs, and merry meetings tell,

  That Erwell euery way doth Ribble farre excell.

  Her well-disposed speech had Erwell scarcely done,

  But swift report there with imediatly doth runne

  To the Virgiuian Shores, among the Mosses deepe,

  Where Alt a neighboring Nymph for very ioy doth weepe,

  That Symonds-wood, from whence the Flood assumes her Spring,

  Excited with the same, was lowdly heard to ring;

  And ouer all the Moores, with shrill re-ecchoing sounds,

  The drooping Fogs to driue from those grosse wat’y grounds,

  Where those that toyle for Turffe, with peating Spades doc find

  Fish liuing in that earth (contrary to their kind)

  Which but that Pontus, and Heraclia likewise showes,

  The like in their like earth, that with like moisture flowes,

  And that such Fish as these, had not been likewise found,

  Within farre firmer earth, the Paphlagonian ground,

  A Wonder of this Isle, this well might haue been thought

  But Ribbell that this while for her aduantage wrought,

  Of what shee had to say, doth well her selfe aduise,

  And to braue Erwels speech, thus boldly she replies.

  With that, whereby the most thou thinkst me to disgrace,

  That I an Alien am, (not rightly of this place)

  My greatest glory is, and Lancashire therefore,

  To Nature for my Birth, beholding is the more;

  That Yorkshire, which all Shires for largenesse doth exceed,

  A kingdome to be cald, that well deserues (indeed)

  And not a Fountaine hath, that from her wombe doth flow

  Within her spacious selfe, but that she can bestow;

  To Lancaster yet lends, me Ribbell, from her store,

  Which adds to my renowne, and makes her Bountie more.

  From Penigents proud foot, as from my source I slide,

  That Mountaine my proud Syre, in height of all his pride,

  Takes pleasure in my Course, as in his first-borne Flood:

  And Ingleborow Hill of that Olympian Brood,

  With Pendle, of the North the highest Hills that be,

  Doe wistly me behold, and are beheld of me,

  These Mountaines make me proud, to gaze on me that stand:

  So Long-ridge, once ariu’d on the Lancastrian Land,

  Salutes me, and with smiles, me to his soyle inuites,

  So haue I many a Flood, that forward me excites,

  As Hodder, that from home attends me from my Spring;

  Then Caldor comming downe, from Blackstonedze doth bring

  Me eas’ly on my way, to Preston the greatst Towne,

  Where with my Banks are blest; where at my going downe,

  Cleere Darwen on along me to the Sea doth driue,

  And in my
spacious fall no sooner I arriue,

  But Sauock to the North, from Longridge making way,

  To this my greatnesse adds, when in my ample Bay,

  Swart Dulas comming in, from Wiggin with her ayds,

  Short Taud, and Dartow small, two little Country Mayds,

  (In those low watry lands, and Moory Mosses bred)

  Doe see mee safely layd in mighty Neptunes bed;

  And cutting in my course, euen through the very heart

  Of this renowned Shire, so equally it part,

  As Nature should haue said, Loe thus I meant to doe;

  This Flood diuides this Shire thus equally in two.

  Ye Mayds, the Horne-pipe then, so minsingly that tread,

  As yee the Egg-pye loue, and Apple Cherry-red;

  In all your mirthfull Songs, and merry meetings tell,

  That Ribbell euery way, your Erwell doth excell.

  Heere ended shee againe, when Mertons Mosse and Mere,

  With Ribbels sole reply so much reuiued were,

  That all the Shores resound the Riuers good successe,

  And wondrous ioy there was all ouer Andernesse,

  Which straight conuayd the newes into the vpper land,

  Where Pendle, Penigent, and Ingleborow stand

  Like Gyants, and the rest doe proudly ouerlooke;

  Or Atlas-like as though they onely vndertooke

  To vnder-prop high Heauen, or the wide Welkin dar’d,

  Who in their Ribbles praise (be sure) no speeches spar’d;

  That the loud sounds from them downe to the Forrests fell,

  To Bowland braue in state, and Wyersdale, which as well,

  As any Syluan Nymphes, their beautious Scites may boast,

  Whose Eccho’s sent the same all round about the Coast,

  That there was not a Nymph to Iollity inclind,

  Or of the wooddy brood, or of the watry kind,

  But at their fingers ends, they Ribbels Song could say,

  And perfectly the Note vpon the Bag-pipe play.

  That Wyre, when once she knew how well these Floods had sped,

  (When their reports abroad in euery place was spred)

  It vex’d her very heart, their eminence to see,

  Their equall (at the least) who thought her selfe to be,

  Determins at the last to Neptunes Court to goe,

  Before his ample State, with humblenesse to show

  The wrongs she had sustain’d by her proud sisters spight,

  And offring them no wrong, to doe her greatnesse right;

  Arising but a Rill at first from Wyersdales lap,

  Yet still receiuing strength from her full Mothers pap,

  As downe to Seaward she, her serious course doth ply,

  Takes Caldor comming in, to beare her company.

  From Woolfcrags Cliffy foot, a Hill to her at hand,

  By that fayre Forrest knowne, within her Verge to stand.

  So Bowland from her breast sends Brock her to attend,

  As she a Forrest is, so likewise doth shee send

  Her child, on Wyresdales Flood, the dainty Wyre to wayt,

  With her assisting Rills, when Wyre is once repleat:

  Shee in her crooked course to Seaward softly slides,

  Where Pellins mighty Mosse, and Mertons, on her sides

  Their boggy breasts out lay, and Skipton downe doth crawle,

  To entertaine this Wyer, attained to her fall:

  When whilst each wandring flood seem’d setled to admire,

  First Erwell, Ribbell then, and last of all this Wyre,

  That mighty wagers would haue willingly been layd,

  (But that these matters were with much discretion staid)

  Some broyles about these Brooks had surely been begun.

  When Coker a coy Nymph, that cleerely seemes to shun

  All popular applause, who from her Christall head,

  In Wyresdale, neere where Wyre is by her fountaine fed,

  That by their naturall birth, they seeme (in deed) to twin,

  Yet for her sisters pride shee careth not a pin,

  Of none, and being help’d, she likewise helpeth none,

  But to the Irish Sea goes gently downe alone

  Of any vndisturbd, till comming to her Sound,

  Endangered by the Sands, with many a loftie bound,

  Shee leaps against the Tydes, and cries to Christall Lon,

  The Flood that names the Towne, from whence the Shire begun,

  Her title first to take, and loudly tells the Flood,

  That if a little while she thus but trifling stood,

  These pettie Brooks would bee before her still preferd.

  Which the long-wandring Lon, with good aduisement heard,

  As shee comes ambling on from Westmerland, where first

  Arising from her head, amongst the Mountaines nurst,

  By many a pretty spring, that howerly getting strength,

  Ariuing in her Course in Lancashire at length,

  To Lonsdale showes her selfe, and louingly doth play

  With her deare daughter Dale, which her frim Cheeke doth lay

  To her cleere mothers Breast, as minsingly she traces,

  And oft imbracing her, she oft againe imbraces,

  And on her Darling smiles, with euery little gale.

  When Lac the most lou’d child of this delicious Dale,

  And Wemming on the way, present their eithers Spring.

  Next them she Henbourne hath, and Robourne, which do bring

  Their bounties in one banke, their Mistris to preferre,

  That shee with greater state may come to Lancaster,

  Of her which takes the name, which likewise to the Shire,

  The Soueraigne title lends, and eminency, where

  To giue to this her Towne, what rightly doth belong,

  Of this most famous Shire, our Lun thus frames her Song.

  First, that most precious thing, and pleasing most to man,

  Who from him (made of earth) imediatly began,

  His shee selfe woman, which the goodliest of this Isle,

  This country hath brought forth, that much doth grace my stile;

  Why should those Ancients else, which so much knowing were,

  When they the Blazons gaue to euery seuerall Shire,

  Fayre women as mine owne, haue titled due to me?

  Besides in all this Isle, there no such Cattell be,

  For largenesse, Horne, and Haire, as these of Lancashire;

  So that from euery part of England farre and neere,

  Men haunt her Marts for Store, as from her Race to breed.

  And for the third, wherein she doth all Shires exceed,

  Be those great race of Hounds, the deepest mouth’d of all

  The other of this kind, which we our Hunters call,

  Which from their bellowing throats vpon a sent so roare,

  That you would surely thinke, that the firme earth they tore

  With their wide yawning chaps, or rent the Clouds in sunder,

  As though by their lowd crie they meant to mocke the thunder.

  Besides, her Natiues haue been anciently esteem’d,

  For Bow-men neere our best, and euer haue been deem’d

  So loyall, that the Guard of our preceding Kings,

  Of them did most consist; but yet mongst all these things,

  Euen almost euer since the English Crowne was set

  Vpon the lawfull head, of our Plantaginet,

  In Honor, next the first, our Dukedome was allow’d,

  And alwayes with the greatst, reuenewes was endow’d:

  And after when it hapt, France-conquering Edwards blood

  Diuided in it selfe, here for the Garland ;

  The right Lancastrian Line, it from Yorks Issue bare;

  The Red-rose, our braue Badge, which in their Helmets ware,

  In many a bloody field, at many a doubtfull fight,

  Against the House of Yorke, whi
ch bare for theirs the White.

  And for my selfe there’s not the Tiuy, nor the Wye,

  Nor any of those Nymphs, that to the Southward lye,

  For Salmon me excels; and for this name of Lun,

  That I am Christned by, the Britaines it begun,

  Which Fulnesse doth import, of waters still encrease:

  To Neptune lowting low, when Christall Lun doth cease,

  And Conder comming in, conducts her by the hand,

  Till lastly shee salute the poynt of Sunderland,

  And leaues our dainty Lun to Amphitrites care.

  So blyth and bonny now the Lads and Lasses are,

  That euer as anon the Bag-pipe vp doth blow,

  Cast in a gallant Round about the Harth they goe,

  And at each pause they kisse, was neuer seene such rule

  In any place but heere, at Boon-fire, or at Yeule;

  And euery village smokes at Wakes with lusty cheere,

  Then Hey they cry for Lun, and Hey for Lancashire;

  That one high Hill was heard to tell it to his brother,

  That instantly againe to tell it to some other:

  From Hill againe to Vale, from Vale to Hill it went,

  The High-lands they againe, it to the lower sent,

  The mud-exhausted Meres, and Mosses deepe among,

  With the report thereof, each Road, and Harbor rung;

  The Sea-Nymphs with their Song, so great a coyle doe keepe,

  They cease not to resound it ouer all the Deepe,

  And acted it each day before the Isle of Man,

  Who like an Empresse sits in the Virgiuian,

  By her that hath the Calse, long Walney, and the Pyle,

  As Hand-may ds to attend on her their Soueraigne Isle,

  To whom, so many though the Hebrides doe show,

  Acknowlege, that to her they due subiection owe:

  With Corne and Cattell stor’d, and what for hers is good,

  (That we, nor Ireland, need not scorne her neighbourhood)

  Her midst with Mountaines set, of which, from Sceafels height,

  A cleere and perfect eye, the weather being bright,

  (Be Neptunes visage ne’r so terrible and sterne)

  The Scotch, the Irish Shores, and th’English may discerne;

  And what an Empire can, the same this Island brings

  Her Pedigrecs to show, her right successiue Kings,

  Her Chronicles and can as easily rehearce,

  And with all forraine parts to haue had free commerce;

  Her Municipiall Lawes, and Customes very old,

  Belonging to her State, which strongly shee doth hold:

  This Island, with the Song of Lun is taken so,

  As shee hath speciall cause before all other, who