Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

One man amongst the rest from this confusion breaks,

  And to the irefull Kings with courage boldly speakes;

  Yet cannot all this blood your rauenous out-rage fill?

  Is there no law, no bound, to your ambitious will,

  But what your swords admit? as Nature did ordaine

  Our liues for nothing else, but onely to maintaine

  Your murthers, sack, and spoyle? If by this wastfull warre

  The Land vnpeopled lye, some Nation shall from farre,

  By ruine of you both, into the Ile be brought,

  Obtayning that for which you twaine so long haue fought,

  Vnlesse then through your thirst of Emperie you meane

  Both Nations in these broyles shall be extinguisht cleane,

  Select you Champions fit, by them to proue your right,

  Or try it man to man your selues in single fight.

  When as those warlike Kings, prouokt with courage hie,

  It willingly accept in person by and by.

  And whilst they them prepare, the shapelesse concourse growes

  In little time so great, that their vnusuall flowes

  Surrounded Severns banks, whose streame amazed stood,

  Her Birlich to behold, in-Iled with her flood,

  That with refulgent Armes then flamed; whilst the Kings,

  Whose rage out of the hate of eithers Empire springs,

  Both armed, Cap á Pe, vpon their barred horse

  Together fiercely flew; that in their violent course

  (Like thunder when it speaks most horribly and lowd,

  Tearing the ful-stuft panch of some congealed clowd)

  Their strong hoofes strooke the earth: and with the fearfull shock,

  Their speares in splinters flew, their Beuers both vnlock.

  Canutus, of the two that furthest was from hope,

  Who found with what a Foe his fortune was to cope,

  Cryes, noble Edmond, hold; Let vs the Land diuide.

  Heere th’English and the Danes, from either equall side

  Were Ecchoes to his words, and all aloud doe cry,

  Courageous Kings diuide; twere pitty such should die.

  When now the neighboring Floods, will’d Wrekin to suppresse

  His style, or they were like to surfet with excesse.

  And time had brought about, that now they all began

  To listen to a long told Prophecie, which ran

  Of Moreland, that shee might liue prosperously to see

  A Riuer borne of her, who well might reccon’d be

  The third of this large Ile: which Saw did first arise

  From Arden, in those dayes deliuering prophecies.

  The Druids (as some say) by her instructed were.

  In many secret skills shee had been cond her lere.

  The ledden of the Birds most perfectly shee knew:

  And also from their flight strange Auguries shee drew;

  Supreamest in her place: whose circuit was extent

  From Avon to the Banks of Severne and to Trent:

  Where Empresse like shee sate with Natures bounties blest,

  And seru’d by many a Nymph; but two, of all the rest,

  That Staffordshire calls hers, there both of high account.

  The eld’st of which is Canke: though Needwood her surmount,

  In excellence of soyle, by beeing richly plac’t,

  Twixt Trent and batning Doue; and, equally imbrac’t

  By their abounding banks, participates their store;

  Of Britaines Forrests all (from th’lesse vnto the more)

  For finenesse of her turfe surpassing; and doth beare

  Her curled head so high, that Forrests farre and neere

  Oft grutch at her estate; her florishing to see,

  Of all their stately tyers disrobed when they bee.

  But (as the world goes now) ô wofull Canke the while,

  As braue a Wood-Nymph once as any of this Ile;

  Great Ardens eldest child: which, in her mothers ground

  Before fayre Feck’nhams selfe, her old age might haue crownd;

  When as those fallow Deere, and huge-hancht Stags that graz’d

  Vpon her shaggy Heaths, the passenger amaz’d

  To see their mighty Heards, with high-palmd heads to threat

  The woods of o’regrowne Oakes; as though they meant to set

  Their hornes to th’others heights. But now, both those and these

  Are by vile gaine deuour’d: So abiect are our daies.

  Shee now, vnlike herselfe, a Neatheards life doth liue,

  And her deiected mind to Country cares doth giue.

  But Muse, thou seem’st to leaue the Morelands too too long:

  Of whom report may speake (our mightie wastes among)

  Shee from her chilly site, as from her barren feed,

  For body, horne, and haire, as faire a Beast doth breed

  As scarcely this great Ile can equall: then of her,

  Why should’st thou all this while the prophecie defer?

  Who bearing many Springs, which pretty Riuers grew,

  Shee could not be content, vntill shee fully knew

  Which child it was of hers (borne vnder such a fate)

  As should in time be rays’d vnto that high estate.

  (I faine would haue you thinke, that this was long agoe,

  When many a Riuer, now that furiously doth flowe,

  Had scarcely learn’d to creepe) and therefore shee doth will

  Wise Arden, from the depth of her abundant skill,

  To tell her which of these her Rills it was shee ment.

  To satisfie her will, the Wisard answers; Trent.

  For, as a skilfull Seer, the aged Forrest wist,

  A more then vsuall power did in that name consist,

  Which thirty doth import; by which she thus divin’d,

  There should be found in her, of Fishes thirty kind;

  And thirty Abbeys great, in places fat and ranke,

  Should in succeeding time be builded on her banke;

  And thirtie seuerall Streames from many a sundry way,

  Vnto her greatnesse should their watry tribute pay.

  This, Moreland greatly lik’t: yet in that tender loue,

  Which shee had euer borne vnto her darling Doue,

  Shee could haue wisht it his: because the daintie grasse

  That growes vpon his banke, all other doth surpasse.

  But, subiect he must be: as Sow, which from her Spring,

  At Stafford meeteth Penk, which shee along doth bring

  To Trent by Tixall grac’t, the Astons ancient seat;

  Which oft the Muse hath found her safe and sweet retreat.

  The noble Owners now of which beloued place,

  Good fortunes them and theirs with honor’d titles grace:

  May heauen still blesse that House, till happy Floods you see

  Your selues more grac’t by it, then it by you can bee.

  Whose bounty, still my Muse so freely shall confesse,

  As when she shall want words, her signes shall it expresse.

  So Blyth beares easely downe tow’rds her deere Soueraigne Trent:

  But nothing in the world giues Moreland such content

  As her owne darling Doue his confluence to behold

  Of Floods in sundry straines: as, crankling Many-fold

  The first that lends him force: of whose meandred waies,

  And labyrinth-like turnes (as in the Mores shee straies)

  Shee first receiu’d her name, by growing strangely mad,

  Or’e-gone with loue of Hanse, a dapper More-land Lad.

  Who neere their crystall springs as in those wasts they playd,

  Bewitcht the wanton hart of that delicious mayd:

  Which instantly was turn’d so much from beeing coy,

  That shee might seeme to doat vpon the Morish boy.

  Who closely stole away (perceiuing her intent)

  With his
deare Lord the Doue, in quest of Princely Trent,

  With many other Floods (as, Churnet, in his traine

  That draweth Dunsmore on, with Yendon, then cleere Taine,

  That comes alone to Doue) of which, Hanse one would bee.

  And for himselfe he faine of Many-fold would free

  (Thinking this amorous Nymph by some meanes to beguile)

  He closely vnder earth convayes his head a while.

  But, when the Riuer feares some policie of his,

  And her beloued Hanse immediatly doth miss,

  Distracted in her course, improuidently rash,

  Shee oft against the Cleeues her crystall front doth dash:

  Now forward, then againe shee backward seemes to beare;

  As, like to lose her selfe by straggling heere and there.

  Hanse, that this while suppos’d him quite out of her sight,

  No sooner thrusts his head into the cheerfull light,

  But Many-fold that still the Run-away doth watch,

  Him (ere he was aware) about the neck doth catch:

  And, as the angry Hanse would faine her hold remoue,

  They struggling tumble downe into their Lord, the Doue.

  Thus though th’industrious Muse hath been imploy’d so long,

  Yet is shee loth to doe poore little Smest all wrong,

  That from her Wilfrunes Spring neere Hampton plyes, to pour

  The wealth shee there receiues, into her friendly Stowr.

  Nor shall the little Bourne haue cause the Muse to blame,

  From these Staffordian Heathes that striues to catch the Tame:

  Whom shee in her next Song shall greet with mirthfull cheere,

  So happily arriu’d now in her natiue Shire.

  POLY-OLBION: THE THIRTEENTH SONG

  The Argument

  THIS song our shire of Warwick sounds;

  Revives old Ardens ancient bounds.

  Through many shapes the Muse heere roves;

  Now sporting in those shady groves,

  The tunes of birds oft staies to heare: 5

  Then, finding herds of lustie deare,

  She huntresse-like the hart pursues;

  And like a hermit walks, to chuse

  The simples every where that growe;

  Comes Ancors glory next to showe; 10

  Tells Guy of Warwicks famous deeds;

  To th’Vale of Red-horse then proceeds,

  To play her part the rest among;

  There shutteth up her thirteenth song.

  UPON the mid-lands now th’industrious Muse doth fall;

  That shire which wee the hart of England well may call,

  As shee her selfe extends (the midst which is decreed)

  Betwixt S. Michaels Mount, and Barwick-bord’ring Tweed,

  Brave Warwick; that abroad so long advanc’t her beare, 5

  By her illustrious Earles renowned every where;

  Above her neighboring shires which alwaies bore her head.

  My native country then, which so brave spirits hast bred,

  If there be vertue yet remaining in thy earth,

  Or any good of thine thou breathd’st into my birth,

  Accept it as thine owne whilst now I sing of thee; 11

  Of all thy later brood th’unworthiest though I bee.

  Muse, first of Arden tell, whose foot-steps yet are found

  In her rough wood-lands more then any other ground

  That mighty Arden held even in her height of pride; 15

  Her one hand touching Trent, the other, Severns side.

  The very sound of these, the wood-nymphs doth awake:

  When thus of her owne selfe the ancient forrest spake;

  My many goodly sites when first I came to showe,

  Here opened I the way to myne owne over-throwe: 20

  For, when the world found out the fitnesse of my soyle,

  The gripple wretch began immediatly to spoyle

  My tall and goodly woods, and did my grounds inclose:

  By which, in little time my bounds I came to lose. 24

  When Britaine first her fields with villages had fild,

  Her people wexing still, and wanting where to build,

  They oft dislodg’d the hart, and set their houses, where

  He in the broome and brakes had long time made his leyre.

  Of all the forrests heere within this mightie ile,

  If those old Britains then me soveraigne did instile,

  I needs must be the great’st; for greatnesse tis alone

  That gives our kind the place: else were there many a one 32

  For pleasantnes of shade that farre doth mee excell.

  But, of our forrests kind the quality to tell,

  We equally partake with wood-land as with plaine, 35

  Alike with hill and dale; and every day maintaine

  The sundry kinds of beasts upon our copious wast’s,

  That men for profit breed, as well as those of chase.

  Here Arden of her selfe ceast any more to showe;

  And with her sylvarrjoyes the Muse along doth goe.

  When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winters wave, 41

  No sooner doth the earth her flowerie bosome brave,

  At such time as the yeere brings on the pleasant spring,

  But hunts-up to the mome the feath’red sylvans sing:

  And in the lower grove, as in the — rising knole, 45

  Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole,

  Those quirristers are pearcht with many a speckled breast.

  Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glittring east

  Guilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night

  Bespangled had with pearle, to please the mornings sight: 50

  On which the mirthfull quires, with their cleere open throats,

  Unto the joyfull morne so straine their warbling notes,

  That hills and valleys ring, and even the ecchoing ayre

  Seemes all compos’d of sounds, about them every where. 54

  The throstell, with shrill sharps; as purposely he song

  T’awake the lustlesse sunne; or chyding, that so long

  He was in comming forth, that should the thickets thrill:

  The woosell neere at hand, that hath a golden bill;

  As Nature him had markt of purpose, t’let us see

  That from all other birds his tunes should different bee: 60

  For, with their vocall sounds, they sing to pleasant May;

  Upon his dulcet pype the merle both onely play.

  When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard-by,

  In such lamenting straines the joyfull howres doth ply,

  As though the other birds shee to her tunes would draw. 65

  And, but that Nature (by her all-constraining law)

  Each bird to her owne kind this season doth invite,

  They else, alone to heare that charmer of the night

  (The more to use their eares) their voyces sure would spare,

  That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, 70

  As man to set in parts, at first had learn’d of her.

  To Philomell the next, the linet we prefer;

  And by that warbling bird, the wood-larke place we then,

  The red-sparrow, the nope, the red-breast, and the wren,

  The yellow-pate: which though shee hurt the blooming tree, 75

  Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pype then shee.

  And of these chaunting fowles, the goldfinch not behind,

  That hath so many sorts descending from her kind.

  The tydie for her notes as delicate as they,

  The laughing hecco, then the counterfetting jay, 80

  The softer, with the shrill (some hid among the leaves,

  Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves)

  Thus sing away the morne, untill the mounting sunne,

  Through thick exhaled fogs, his golden head hath runne,

&nbs
p; And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps 85

  To kisse the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps.

  And neere to these our thicks, the wild and frightfull heards,

  Not hearing other noyse but this of chattering birds,

  Feed fairely on the launds; both sorts of seasoned deere:

  Here walke, the stately red, the freckled fallowe there.

  The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascalls strew’d,

  As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude.

  Of all the beasts which we for our veneriall name,

  The hart amongst the rest, the hunters noblest game:

  Of which most princely chase sith none did ere report, 95

  Or by description touch, t’expresse that wondrous sport

  (Yet might have well beseem’d th’ancients nobler songs)

  To our old Arden heere, most fitly it belongs:

  Yet shall shee not invoke the Muses to her ayde;

  But thee Diana bright, a goddesse and a mayd: 100

  In many a huge-growne wood, and many a shady grove,

  Which oft hast borne thy bowe (great huntresse) us’d to rove

  At many a cruell beast, and with thy darts to pierce

  The lyon, panther, ounce, the beare, and tiger fierce;

  And following thy fleet game, chaste mightie forests Queene, 105

  With thy disheveld nymphs attyr’d in youthfull greene,

  About the launds hast scowr’d, and wastes both farre and neere,

  Brave huntresse: but no beast shall prove thy quarries heere;

  Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red,

  The stag for goodly shape, and statelinesse of head,

  Is fitt’st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds 111

  The laboring hunter tufts the thicke unbarbed grounds

  Where harbor’d is the hart; there often from his feed

  The dogs of him doe find; or thorough skilfull heed,

  The huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceaves, 115

  Or entring of the thicke by pressing of the greaves

  Where he hath gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth heare

  The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leyre,

  He rouzing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive,

  As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive.

  And through the combrous thicks, as fearefully he makes, 121

  Hee with his branched head, the tender saplings shakes,

  That sprinkling their moyst pearle doe seeme for him to weepe;

  When after goes the cry, with yellings lowd and deepe,

  That all the forrest rings, and every neighbouring place: 125

  And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase.