Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  That phisick oft forbids the patient them for food,

  But mine more ayrie are, and make fine spirits and blood:

  For neere this batning isle, in me is to be seene, 335

  More then on any earth, the Plover gray, and greene,

  The corne-land-loving Quayle, the daintiest of our bits,

  The Rayle, which seldome comes, but upon rich mens spits:

  The Puet, Godwit, Stint, the pallat that allure,

  The miser and doe make a wastfull epicure: 340

  The Knot, that called was Canutus bird of old,

  Of that great King of Danes, his name that still doth hold,

  His apetite to please, that farre and neere was sought,

  For him (as some have sayd) from Denmarke hither brought:

  The Dotterell, which we thinke a very daintie dish.

  Whose taking makes such sport, as man no more can wish; 346

  For as you creepe, or cowre, or lye, or stoupe, or goe,

  So marking you (with care) the apish bird doth doe,

  And acting every thing, doth never marke the net,

  Till he be in the snare, which men for him have set.

  The big-boan’d Bustard then, whose body beare that size, 351

  That he against the wind must runne, e’re he can rise:

  The Shouler, which so shakes the ayre with saily wings,

  That ever as he flyes, you still would thinke he sings.

  These fowles, with other soyles, although they frequent be, 355

  Yet are they found most sweet and delicate in me.

  Thus whilst shee seemes t’extoll in her peculiar praise,

  The Muse which seem’d too slacke, in these too lowpitcht layes,

  For nobler height prepares, her oblique course, and casts

  A new booke to begin, an end of this shee hasts. 360

  POLY-OLBION: THE SIXE AND TWENTIETH SONG

  The Argument

  THREE shires at once this song assayes,

  By various and unusuall wayes.

  At Nottingham first comming in,

  The Vale of Bever doth begin;

  Tow’rds Lester then her course shee holds, 5

  And sayling o’r the pleasant oulds,

  Shee fetcheth Soare downe from her springs,

  By Charnwood, which to Trent shee brings,

  Then showes the braveries of that flood,

  Makes Sherwood sing her Robin Hood; 10

  Then rouzes up the aged Peake,

  And of her wonders makes her speaker

  Thence Darwin downe by Darby tends,

  And at her fall, to Trent, it ends.

  Now scarcely on this tract the Muse had entrance made,

  Enclining to the south, but Bevers batning slade

  Receiveth her to guest, whose comming had too long

  Put off her rightfull praise, when thus her selfe she sung.

  Three shires there are (quoth she) in me their parts that claime, 5

  Large Lincolne, Rutland rich, and th’norths eye Nottingham.

  But in the last of these since most of me doth lye,

  To that my most-lov’d shire my selfe I must apply.

  Not Evsham that proud nymph, although she still pretend

  Her selfe the first of vales, and though abroad she send 10

  Her awfull dread command, that all should tribute pay

  To her as our great Queene; nor White-horse, though her clay

  Of silver seeme to be, new melted, nor the vale

  Of Alsbury, whose grasse seemes given out by tale,

  For it so silken is, nor any of our kind, 15

  Or what, or where they be, or howsoere inclind,

  Me Bever shall outbrave, that in my state doe scorne,

  By any of them all (once) to be overborne,

  With theirs, doe but compare the country where I lye,

  My hill, and oulds will say, they are the islands eye.

  Consider next my scite, and say it doth excell; 21

  Then come unto my soyle, and you shall see it swell,

  With every grasse and graine, that Britaine forth can bring:

  I challenge any vale, to shew me but that thing

  I cannot shew to her, (that truly is mine owne) 25

  Besides I dare thus boast, that I as farre am knowne,

  As any of them all, the south their names doth sound,

  The spacious north doth mee, that there is scarcely found

  A roomth for any else, it is so fild with mine,

  Which but a little wants of making me divine: 30

  Nor barren am of brookes, for that I still reteine

  Two neat and daintie rills, the little Snyte, and Deane,

  That from the lovely oulds, their beautious parent sprang

  From the Lecestrian fields, come on with me along,

  Till both within one banke, they on my north are meint, 35

  And where I end, they fall, at Newarck, into Trent.

  Hence wandring as the Muse delightfully beholds

  The beautie of the large, and goodly full-flockd oulds,

  Shee on the left hand leaves old Lecester, and flyes,

  Untill the fertile earth glut her insatiate eyes, 40

  From rich to richer still, that riseth her before,

  Until! shee come to cease upon the head of Soare,

  Where Fosse, and Watling cut each other in their course

  At Sharnford, where at first her soft and gentle sourse,

  To her but shallow bankes, beginneth to repayre, 45

  Of all this beautious isle, the delicatest ayre;

  Whence softly sallying out, as loath the place to leave,

  Shee Sence a pretty rill doth courteously receive:

  For Swift, a little brooke, which certainly shee thought

  Downe to the banks of Trent, would safely her have brought, 50

  Because their native springs so neerely were allyde,

  Her sister Soare forsooke, and wholly her applide

  To Avon, as with her continually to keepe,

  And wayt on her along to the Sabrinian deepe.

  Thus with her hand-mayd Sence, the Soare doth eas’ly slide 55

  By Lecester, where yet her mines show her pride,

  Demolisht many yeares, that of the great foundation

  Of her long buried walls, men hardly see the station;

  Yet of some pieces found, so sure the cyment locks

  The stones, that they remaine like perdurable rocks:

  Where whilst the lovely Soare, with many a deare imbrace, 61

  Is solacing her selfe with this delightfull place,

  The forrest, which the name of that brave towne doth beare,

  With many a goodly wreath, crownes her disheveld hayre,

  And in her gallant greene, her lusty livery showes 65

  Her selfe to this faire flood, which mildly as shee flowes,

  Reciprocally likes her length and breadth to see,

  As also how shee keepes her fertile purlues free:

  The herds of fallow deere shee on the launds doth feed,

  As having in her selfe to furnish every need. 70

  But now since gentle Soare, such leasure seemes to take,

  The Muse in her behalfe this strong defence doth make,

  Against the neighbour floods, for that which tax her so,

  And her a channell call, because she is so slow.

  The cause is that shee lyes upon so low a flat, 75

  Where Nature most of all befriended her in that,

  The longer to enjoy the good she doth possesse:

  For had those (with such speed that forward seeme to presse)

  So many dainty meads, and pastures theirs to be,

  They then would wish themselves to be so slow as she, 80

  Who well may be compar’d to some young tender mayd,

  Entring some princes court, which is for pompe arayd,

  Who led from roome to roome amazed is to see

 
; The furnitures and states, which all imbroyderies be,

  The rich and sumptuous beds, with tester-covering plumes, 85

  And various as the sutes, so various the perfumes,

  Large galleries, where piece with piece doth seeme to strive,

  Of pictures done to life, landskip, and perspective,

  Thence goodly gardens sees, where antique statues stand

  In stone and copper, cut by many a skilfull hand, 90

  Where every thing to gaze, her more and more entices,

  Thinking at once shee sees a thousand paradices,

  Goes softly on, as though before she saw the last,

  She long’d againe to see, what she had slightly past.

  So the enticing soyle the Soare along doth lead, 95

  As wondring in her selfe, at many a spacious mead;

  When Chamwood from the rocks salutes her wished sight,

  (Of many a wood-god woo’d) her darling and delight,

  Whose beautie whilst that Soare is pawsing to behold

  Cleere Wreakin comming in, from Waltham on the Ould, 100

  Brings Eye, a pretty brooke, to beare her silver traine,

  Which on by Melton make, and tripping o’r the plaine,

  Here finding her surpriz’d with proud Mount-Sorrels sight,

  By quickning of her course, more eas’ly doth invite

  Her to the goodly Trent, where as she goes along 105

  By Loughborough, she thus of that faire forrest sung.

  O Charnwood, be thou cald the choycest of thy kind,

  The like in any place, what flood hath hapt to find?

  No tract in all this isle, the proudest let her be,

  Can shew a sylvan nymph, for beautie like to thee:

  The satyrs, and the fawnes, by Dian set to keepe, 111

  Rough hilles, and forrest holts, were sadly seene to weepe,

  When thy high-palmed harts the sport of bowes and hounds,

  By gripple borderers hands, were banished thy grounds.

  The Driades that were wont about thy lawnes to rove,

  To trip from wood to wood, and scud from grove to grove, 116

  On Sharpley that were seene, and Cadmans aged rocks,

  Against the rising sunne, to brayd their silver locks;

  And with the harmelesse elves, on heathy Bardons height,

  By Cynthia’s colder beames to play them night by night, 120

  Exil’d their sweet aboad, to poore bare commons fled,

  675

  They with the okes that liv’d, now with the okes are dead.

  Who will describe to life, a forrest, let him take

  Thy surface to himselfe, nor shall he need to make

  An other forme at all, where oft in thee is found 125

  Fine sharpe but easie hills, which reverently are crownd

  With aged antique rocks, to which the goats and sheepe,

  (To him that stands remoat) doe softly seeme to creepe,

  To gnaw the little shrubs, on their steepe sides that grow;

  Upon whose other part, on some descending brow,

  Huge stones are hanging out, as though they downe would drop, 131

  Where under-growing okes, on their old shoulders prop

  The others hory heads, which still seeme to decline,

  And in a dimble neere, (even as a place divine,

  For contemplation fit) an ivy-seeled bower, 135

  As Nature had therein ordayn’d some sylvan power;

  As men may very oft at great assemblies see,

  Where many of most choyce, and wondred beauties be:

  For stature one doth seeme the best away to beare;

  Another for her shape, to stand beyond compare; 140

  Another for the fine composure of a face:

  Another short of these, yet for a modest grace

  Before them all preferd; amongst the rest yet one,

  Adjudg’d by all to bee, so perfect paragon,

  That all those parts in her together simply dwell, 145

  For which the other doe so severally excell.

  My Chamwood like the last, hath in her selfe alone,

  What excellent can be in any forrest showne,

  On whom when thus the Soare had these high praises spent,

  She easily slid away into her soveraigne Trent, 150

  Who having wandred long, at length began to leave

  Her native countries bounds, and kindly doth receive

  The lesser Tame, and Messe, the Messe a daintie rill,

  Neere Charnwood rising first, where she begins to fill

  Her banks, which all her course on both sides doe abound 155

  With heath and finny olds, and often gleaby ground,

  Till Croxals fertill earth doth comfort her at last

  When shee is entring Trent; but I was like t’ave past

  The other Sence, whose source doth rise not farre from hers,

  By Ancor, that her selfe to famous Trent prefers, 160

  The second of that name, allotted to this shire,

  A name but hardly found in any place but here;

  Nor is to many knowne, this country that frequent.

  But Muse returne at last, attend the princely Trent,

  Who straining on in state, the norths imperious flood,

  The third of England cald, with many a daintie wood,

  Being crown’d to Burton comes, to Needwood where she showes 167

  Her selfe in all her pompe; and as from thence she flowes,

  Shee takes into her traine rich Dove, and Darwin cleere,

  Darwin, whose fount and fall are both in Darbysheere; 170

  And of those thirtie floods, that wayt the Trent upon,

  Doth stand without compare, the very paragon.

  Thus wandring at her will, as uncontrould shee ranges,

  Her often varying forme, as variously and changes.

  First Erwash, and then Lyne, sweet Sherwood sends her in; 175

  Then looking wyde, as one that newly wak’d had bin,

  Saluted from the north, with Nottinghams proud height,

  So strongly is surpriz’d, and taken with the sight,

  That shee from running wild, but hardly can refraine,

  To view in how great state, as she along doth straine,

  That brave exalted seat, beholdeth her in pride, 181

  As how the large-spread meads upon the other side,

  All flourishing in flowers, and rich embroyderies drest,

  In which she sees her selfe above her neighbours blest.

  As rap’d with the delights, that her this prospect brings, 185

  In her peculiar praise, loe thus the river sings.

  What should I care at all, from what my name I take,

  That thirtie doth import, that thirty rivers make;

  My greatnesse what it is, or thirty abbayes great,

  That on my fruitfull banks, times formerly did seat: 190

  Or thirtie kinds of fish, that in my streames doe live,

  To me this name of Trent did from that number give.

  What reack I: let great Thames, since by his fortune he

  Is soveraigne of us all that here in Britaine be;

  From Isis, and old Tame, his pedigree derive: 195

  And for the second place, proud Seveme that doth strive,

  Fetch her discent from Wales, from that proud mountaine sprung,

  Plinillimon, whose praise is frequent them among,

  As of that princely mayd, whose name she boasts to beare,

  Bright Sabrin, which she holds as her undoubted heyre. 200

  Let these imperious floods draw downe their long discent

  From these so famous stocks, and only say of Trent,

  That Moorelands barren earth me first to light did bring,

  Which though she be but browne, my cleere complexiond spring,

  Gain’d with the nymphs such grace, that when I first did rise, 205

  The Naiades on my brim, danc�
��d wanton hydagies,

  And on her spacious breast, with heaths that doth abound

  Encircled my faire fount with many a lustie round:

  And of the British floods, though but the third I be.

  Yet Thames, and Severne both in this come short of me, 210

  For that I am the mere of England, that divides

  The north part from the south, on my so either sides,

  That reckoning how these tracts in compasse be extent,

  Men bound them on the north, or on the south of Trent;

  Their banks are barren sands, if but compar’d with mine, 215

  Through my perspicuous breast, the pearly pebbles shine:

  I throw my christall armes along the flowry vallies.

  Which lying sleeke, and smooth, as any garden-allies,

  Doe give me leave to play, whilst they doe court my streame,

  And crowne my winding banks with many an anademe: 220

  My silver-scaled skuls about my streames doe sweepe.

  Now in the shallow foords, now in the falling deepe:

  So that of every kind, the new-spawn’d numerous frie

  Seeme in me as the sands that on my shore doe lye.

  The Barbell, then which fish, a braver doth not swimme, 225

  Nor greater for the ford within my spacious brimme,

  Nor (newly taken) more the curious taste doth please;

  The Greling, whose great spawne is big as any pease;

  The Pearch with pricking finnes, against the Pike prepar’d,

  As Nature had thereon bestow’d this stronger guard,

  His daintinesse to keepe, (each curious pallats proofe) 231

  From his vile ravenous foe: next him I name the Ruffe,

  His very neere ally, and both for scale and fin,

  In taste, and for his bayte (indeed) his next of kin;

  The pretty slender Dare, of many cald the Dace, 235

  Within my liquid glasse, when Phoebus lookes his face,

  Oft swiftly as he swimmes, his silver belly showes,

  But with such nimble slight, that ere yee can disclose

  His shape, out of your sight like lightning he is shot.

  The Trout by Nature markt with many a crimson spot, 240

  As though shee curious were in him above the rest,

  And of fresh-water fish, did note him for the best;

  The Roche, whose common kind to every flood doth fall;

  The Chub, (whose neater name) which some a Chevin call,

  Food to the tyrant Pyke, (most being in his power)

  Who for their numerous store he most doth them devoure; 246

  The lustie Salmon then, from Neptunes watry realme,

  When as his season serves, stemming my tydefull streame,