Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  Rechating with his home, which then the hunter cheeres,

  Whilst still the lustie stag his high-palm’d head upbeares,

  His body showing state, with unbent knees upright,

  Expressing (from all beasts) his courage in his flight.

  But when th’approaching foes still following he perceives, 131

  That hee his speed must trust, his usuall walke he leaves;

  And or’e the champaine flies: which when th’assembly find,

  Each followes, as his horse were footed with the wind.

  But beeing then imbost, the noble stately deere 135

  When he hath gotten ground (the kennell cast arere)

  Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing soyle:

  That serving not, then proves if he his sent can foyle,

  And makes amongst the heards, and flocks of shagwooll’d sheepe,

  Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keepe. 140

  But when as all his shifts his safety still denies,

  Put quite out of his walke, the wayes and fallowes tryes.

  Whom when the plow-man meets, his teame he letteth stand

  T’assaile him with his goad: so with his hooke in hand,

  The shepheard him pursues, and to his dog doth halow: 145

  When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow;

  Untill the noble deere through toyle bereav’d of strength,

  His long and sinewy legs then fayling him at length,

  The villages attempts, enrag’d, not giving way

  To any thing hee meets now at his sad decay. 150

  The cruell ravenous hounds and bloody hunters neer,

  This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but feare,

  Some banke or quick-set finds: to which his hanch oppos’d,

  He turnes upon his foes, that soone have him inclos’d,

  The churlish throated hounds then holding him at bay, 155

  And as their cruell fangs on his harsh skin they lay,

  With his sharp-poynted head he dealeth deadly wounds.

  The hunter, comming in to helpe his wearied hounds,

  He desperatly assailes; untill opprest by force,

  He who the mourner is to his owne dying corse, 160

  Upon the ruthlesse earth his precious teares lets fall.

  To forrests that belongs; but yet this is not all:

  With solitude what sorts, that here’s not wondrous rife?

  Whereas the hermit leades a sweet retyred life,

  From villages repleate with ragg’d and sweating clownes, 165

  And from the lothsome ayres of smoky cittied townes.

  Suppose twixt noone and night, the sunne his halfeway wrought

  (The shadowes to be large, by his descending brought)

  Who with a fervent eye lookes through the twyring glades,

  And his dispersed rayes commixeth with the shades,

  Exhaling the milch dewe, which there had tarried long, 171

  And on the ranker grasse till past the noone-sted hong;

  When as the hermet comes out of his homely cell,

  Where from all rude resort he happily doth dwell:

  Who in the strength of youth, a man at armes hath been; 175

  Or one who of this world the vilenesse having seene.

  Retyres him from it quite; and with a constant mind

  Mans beastliness so loathes, that flying humane kind,

  The black and darksome nights, the bright and gladsome dayes —

  Indifferent are to him, his hope on God that staies.

  Each little village yeelds his short and homely fare:

  To gather wind-falne sticks, his great’st and onely care;

  Which every aged tree still yeeldeth to his fire.

  This man, that is alone a King in his desire,

  By no proud ignorant lord is basely over-aw’d, 185

  Nor his false prayse affects, who grosly beeing claw’d,

  Stands like an itchy moyle; nor of a pin he wayes

  What fooles, abused kings, and humorous ladies raise.

  His free and noble thought, nere envies at the grace

  That often times is given unto a baud most base, 190

  Nor stirres it him to thinke on the impostour vile,

  Who seeming what hee’s not, doth sensually beguile

  The sottish purblind world: but absolutely free,

  His happy time he spends the works of God to see,

  In those so sundry hearbs which there in plenty growe: 195

  Whose sundry strange effects he onely seeks to knowe.

  And in a little maund, beeing made of oziars small,

  Which serveth him to doe full many a thing withall,

  He very choicely sorts his simples got abroad.

  Heere finds he on an oake rheume-purging polipode; 200

  And in some open place that to the sunne doth lye,

  He fumitorie gets, and eye-bright for the eye:

  The yarrow, where-with-all he stops the wound-made gore:

  The healing tutsan then, and plantan for a sore.

  And hard by them againe he holy vervaine finds, 205

  Which he about his head that hath the megrim binds.

  The wonder-working dill hee gets not farre from these,

  Which curious women use in many a nice disease.

  For them that are with newts, or snakes, or adders stong,

  He seeketh out an hearbe that’s called adders-tong;

  As Nature it ordain’d, its owne like hurt to cure, 211

  And sportive did her selfe to niceties inure.

  Valerian then he crops, and purposely doth stampe,

  T’apply unto the place that’s haled with the crampe.

  As century, to close the wideness of a wound: 215

  The belly hurt by birth, by mugwort to make sound.

  His chickweed cures the heat that in the face doth rise.

  For physick, some againe he inwardly applyes.

  For comforting the spleene and liver, gets for juce,

  Pale hore-hound, which he holds of most especiall use. 220

  So saxifrage is good, and harts-tongue for the stone,

  With agrimony, and that hearbe we call S. John.

  To him that hath a flux, of sheepheards purse he gives,

  And mous-eare unto him whom some sharpe rupture grieves.

  And for the laboring wretch that’s troubled with a cough, 225

  Or stopping of the breath, by fleagme that’s hard and tough,

  Campana heere he crops, approoved wondrous good:

  As comfrey unto him that’s brused, spetting blood;

  And from the falling-ill, by five-leafe doth restore,

  And melancholy cures by soveraigne hellebore. 230

  Of these most helpfull hearbs yet tell we but a few,

  To those unnumbred sorts of simples here that grew.

  Which justly to set downe, even Dodon short doth fall;

  Nor skilfull Gerard, yet, shall ever find them all.

  But from our hermit heere the Muse we must inforce, 235

  And zealously proceed in our intended course:

  How Arden of her rills and riverets doth dispose;

  By Alcester how Alne to Arro easely flowes;

  And mildly beeing mixt, to Avon hold their way:

  And likewise tow’rd the north, how lively-tripping Rhea, 240

  T’attend the lustier Tame, is from her fountaine sent:

  So little Cole and Blyth goe on with him to Trent.

  His Tamworth at the last, he in his way doth win:

  There playing him awhile, till Ancor should come in,

  Which trifleth twixt her banks, observing state, so slowe, 245

  As though into his armes she scorn’d her selfe to throwe:

  Yet Arden will’d her Tame to serve her on his knee;

  For by that nymph alone, they both should honor’d be.

  The forrest so much fal
ne from what she was before,

  That to her former height fate could her not restore;

  Though oft in her behalfe, the genius of the land 251

  Importuned the heavens with an auspicious hand.

  Yet granted at the last (the aged nymph to grace)

  They by a ladies birth would more renowne that place

  Then if her woods their heads above the hills should seat; 255

  And for that purpose, first made Coventry so great

  (A poore thatcht village then, or scarcely none at all,

  That could not once have dream’d of her now stately wall)

  And thither wisely brought that goodly virgin-band,

  Th’eleven thousand maids, chaste Ursula’s commaund, 260

  Whom then the Britaine Kings gave her full power to presse,

  For matches to their friends in Britanny the lesse.

  At whose departure thence, each by her just bequest

  Some speciall vertue gave, ordayning it to rest

  With one of their owne sex, that there her birth should have, 265

  Till fulnesse of the time which fate did choicely save;

  Untill the Saxons raigne, when Coventry at length,

  From her small, meane regard, recovered state and strength,

  By Leofrick her lord yet in base bondage held,

  The people from her marts by tollage who expeld:

  Whose Dutchesse, which desir’d this tribute to release, 271

  Their freedome often begg’d. The Duke, to make her cease,

  Told her that if shee would his losse so farre inforce,

  His will was, shee should ride starke nak’t upon a horse

  By day light through the street: which certainly he thought, 275

  In her heroick breast so deeply would have wrought,

  That in her former sute she would have left to deale.

  But that most princely dame, as one devour’d with zeale,

  Went on, and by that meane the cittie cleerly freed.

  The first part of whose name, Godiva, doth forereed 280

  Th’first syllable of hers, and Goodere halfe doth sound;

  For by agreeing words, great matters have been found.

  But further then this place the mysterie extends.

  What Arden had begun, in Ancor lastly ends:

  For in the British tongue, the Britaines could not find, 285

  Wherefore to her that name of Ancor was assign’d:

  Nor yet the Saxons since, nor times to come had known,

  But that her beeing heere, was by this name foreshown,

  As prophecying her. For, as the first did tell

  Her sir-name, so againe doth Ancor lively spell 290

  Her christned title Anne. And as those virgins there

  Did sanctifie that place: so holy Edith heere

  A recluse long time liv’d, in that faire Abbey plac’t

  Which Alured enricht, and Powlesworth highly grac’t.

  A Princesse being borne, and Abbesse, with those maids, 295

  All noble like her selfe, in bidding of their beads

  Their holinesse bequeath’d, upon her to descend

  Which there should after live: in whose deere selfe should end

  Th’intent of Ancors name, her comming that decreed,

  As hers (her place of birth) faire Coventry that freed.

  But whilst about this tale smooth Ancor tryfling stayes, 301

  Unto the lustier Tame as loth to come her waies,

  The flood intreats her thus; deere brooke, why doost thou wrong

  Our mutuall love so much, and tediously prolong

  Our mirthfull mariage-howre, for which I still prepare? 305

  Haste to my broader banks, my joy and onely care.

  For as of all my floods thou art the first in fame;

  When frankly thou shalt yeeld thine honor to my name,

  I will protect thy state; then doe not wrong thy kind.

  What pleasure hath the world that heere thou maist not find? 310

  Hence, Muse, divert thy course to Dunsmore, by that crosse

  Where those two mightie waies, the Watling and the Fosse,

  Our center seeme to cut. (The first doth hold her way,

  From Dover, to the farth’st of fruitfull Anglesey:

  The second south and north, from Michaels utmost Mount, 315

  To Cathnesse, which the furth’st of Scotland wee account.)

  And then proceed to showe, how Avon from her spring,

  By Newnhams fount is blest; and how she, blandishing,

  By Dunsmore drives along. Whom Sow doth first assist,

  Which taketh Shirburn in, with Cune, a great while mist; 320

  Though Coventry from thence her name at first did raise,

  Now florishing with fanes, and proud piramides;

  Her walls in good repaire, her ports so bravely built,

  Her halls in good estate, her crosse so richly gilt,

  As scorning all the townes that stand within her view:

  Yet must shee not be griev’d, that Cune should claime her due. 326

  Tow’rds Warwick with this traine as Avon trips along;

  To Guy-cliffe beeing come, her nymphs thus bravely song;

  To thee renowned knight, continuall prayse wee owe,

  And at thy hallowed tombe thy yeerely obiits showe;

  Who, thy deere Phillis name and country to advance,

  Left’st Warwicks wealthy seate: and sayling into France 332

  At tilt, from his proud steed, Duke Otton threw’st to ground:

  And with th’invalewed prize of Blanch the beautious crown’d

  (The Almaine Emperors heire) high acts didst there atchieve: 335

  As Lovaine thou againe didst valiantly relieve.

  Thou in the Soldans blood thy worthy sword imbru’dst;

  And then in single fight, great Amerant subdu’dst.

  T’was thy Herculian hand, which happily destroy’d

  That dragon, which so long Northumberland annoy’d;

  And slew that cruell bore, which waste our woodlands layd, 341

  Whose tusks turn’d up our tilths, and dens in medowes made:

  Whose shoulder-blade remaines at Coventry till now;

  And, at our humble sute, did quell that monstrous cow

  The passengers that us’d from Dunsmore to affright.

  Of all our English (yet) O most renowned knight, 346

  That Colebrond overcam’st; at whose amazing fall

  The Danes remov’d their campe from Winchesters sieg’d wall.

  Thy statue Guy-cliffe keepes, the gazers eye to please;

  Warwick, thy mighty armes (thou English Hercules)

  Thy strong and massy sword, that never was controld:

  Which, as her ancient right, her Castle still shall hold. 352

  Scarce ended they their song, but Avons winding streame,

  By Warwick, entertaines the high-complection’d Leame;

  And as she thence along to Stratford on doth straine,

  Receiveth little Heile the next into her trainer 356

  Then taketh in the Stour, the brooke, of all the rest

  Which that most goodly Vale of Red-horse loveth best:

  A vally that enjoyes a verie great estate,

  Yet not so famous held as smaller, by her fate: 360

  Now, for report had been too partiall in her praise,

  Her just conceived greefe, faire Red-horse thus bewraies;

  Shall every vale be heard to boast her wealth? and I,

  The needie countries neere that with my corne supply

  As bravely as the best, shall onely I endure 365

  The dull and beastly world my glories to obscure;

  Neere way-lesse Ardens side, sith my rety’rd aboad

  Stood quite out of the way from every common road?

  Great Evshams fertill gleabe, what tongue hath not extold?

  As though to her alone belongd the garbe of gold.<
br />
  Of Bevers batfull earth, men seeme as though to faine, 371

  Reporting in what store shee multiplies her gratae:

  And folke such wondrous things of Alsburie will tell,

  As though aboundance strove her burthened wombe to swell.

  Her roome amongst the rest, so White-horse is decreed: 375

  Shee wants no setting forth: her brave Pegasian steed

  (The wonder of the West) exalted to the skies:

  My Red-horse of you all contemned onely lies.

  The fault is not in me, but in the wretched time:

  On whom, upon good cause, I well may lay the crime: 380

  Which as all noble things, so mee it doth neglect.

  But when th’industrious Muse shall purchase me respect

  Of countries neere my site, and win me forratae fame

  (The Eden of you all deservedly that am)

  I shall as much be praysd for delicacie then, 385

  As now in small account with vile and barbarous men.

  For, from the loftie Edge that on my side doth lye,

  Upon my spacious earth who casts a curious eye,

  As many goodly seates shall in my compasse see,

  As many sweet delights and rarities in mee 390

  As in the greatest vale: from where my head I couch

  At Cotswolds countries foot, till with my heeles I touch

  The North-hamptonian fields, and fatning pastures; where

  I ravish every eye with my inticing cheere.

  As still the yeere growes on, that Ceres once doth load 395

  The full earth with her store; my plentious bosome strow’d

  With all aboundant sweets: my frim and lustie flanke

  Her bravery then diplayes, with meadowes hugely ranke.

  The thick and well-growne fogge doth matt my smoother slades,

  And on the lower leas, as on the higher hades 400

  The daintie clover growes (of grasse the onely silke)

  That makes each udder strout abundantly with milke.

  As an unlettred man, at the desired sight

  Of some rare beautie moov’d with infinite delight,

  Not out of his owne spirit, but by that power divine,

  Which through a sparkling eye perspicuously doth shine, 406

  Feeles his hard temper yeeld, that hee in passion breakes,

  And things beyond his height, transported strangely speaks:

  So those that dwell in mee, and live by frugall toyle,

  When they in my defence are reasoning of my soyle,

  As rapted with my wealth and beauties, learned growe, 411

  And in wel-fitting tearmes, and noble language, showe

  The lordships in my lands, from Rolright (which remaines