Was on the earth layd dead, where as for fiue miles space
In length, and foure in bredth, the English in the chase,
With carkeises of Scots, strew’d all their naturall ground,
The number of the slaine were fourteene thousand found,
And fifteene hundred more ta’n Prisoners by our men.
So th’Earle of Sussex next to Scotland sent agen,
To punish them by warre, which on the Borders here,
Not onely rob’d and spoyl’d, but that assistants were
To those two puisant Earles, Northumberland, who rose
With Westmerland his Peere, suggested by the foes
To great Eliza’s raigne, and peacefull gouernment;
Wherefore that puisant Queene him to Albania sent,
Who fiftie Rock-reard Pyles and Castles hauing cast
Farre lower then their Scites, and with strong fires
Three hundred townes, their wealth, with him worth carrying
To England ouer Tweed, when now the floods besought (brought
The Tyne to hold her tongue, when presently began
A rumour which each where through all the Country ran,
Of this proud Riuers speech, the Hills and Floods among,
And Lowes, a Forrest-Nymph, the same so lowdly sung,
That it through Tindale straight, and quite through ran,
And sounded shriller there, then when it first began,
That those high Alpine Hills, as in a row they stand,
Receiu’d the sounds, which thus went on from hand to hand.
The high-rcar’d Red-Squire first, to Aumond Hill it told,
When Aumond great therewith, nor for his life could hold,
To Kembelspeth againe, the businesse but relate,
To Black-Brea he againe, a Mountaine holding state
With any of them all, to Cocklaw he it gaue;
And Cocklaw it againe, to Cheuiot, who did raue
With the report thereof, hee from his mighty stand,
Resounded it againe through all Northumberland,
That White-Squire lastly caught, and it to Berwick sent,
That braue and warlike Towne, from thence incontinent,
The sound from out the South, into Albania came,
And many a lustie Flood, did with her praise inflame,
Affrighting much the Forth, who from her trance awooke,
And to her natiue strength her presently betooke,
Against the Muse should come to the Albanian Coast.
But Pictswall all this while, as though he had been lost,
Not mention’d by the Muse, began to fret and fume,
That euery petty Brooke thus proudly should presume
To talke; and he whom first the Romans did inuent,
And of their greatnesse yet, the longst-liu’d monument,
Should this be ouer-trod; wherefore his wrong to wreake,
In their proud presence thus, doth aged Pictswall speake.
Me thinks that Offa’s ditch in Cambria should not dare
To thinke himselfe my match, who with such cost and care
The Romans did erect, and for my safeguard set
Their Legions, from my spoyle the proling Pict to let,
That often In roads made, our earth from them to win,
By Adrian beaten back, so he to keepe them in,
To Sea from East to West, begun me first a wall
Of eightie myles in length, twixt Tyne and Edens fall:
Long making mee they were, and long did me maintaine.
Nor yet that Trench which tracts the Westerne Wiltshire Plaine,
Of Woden, Wansdyke cal’d, should paralell with me,
Comparing our descents, which shall appeare to be
Mere vpstarts, basely borne; for when I was in hand,
The Saxon had not then set foot vpon this land,
Till my declining age, and after many a yeare,
Of whose poore petty Kings, those the small labors were.
That on Newmarket-Heath, made vp as though but now,
Who for the Deuils worke the vulgar dare auow,
Tradition telling none, who truly it began,
Where many a reuerent Booke can tell you of my Man,
And when I first decayd, Seuerus going on,
What Adrian built of turfe, he builded new of stone,
And after many a time, the Britans me repayr’d,
To keepe me still in plight, nor cost they euer spar’d.
Townes stood vpon my length, where Garrisons were laid,
Their limits to defend; and for my greater ayd,
With turrets I was built-where Sentinels were plac’d,
To watch vpon the Pict; so me my Makers grac’d,
With hollow Pipes of Brasse, along me still that went,
By which they in one Fort still to another sent,
By speaking in the same, to tell them what to doe,
And so from Sea to Sea could I be whispered through:
Vpon my thicknesse, three march’d eas’ly breast to breast,
Twelue foot was I in height, such glory I possest.
Old Pictswall with much pride thus finishing his plea,
Had in his vtmost course attain’d the Easterne Sea,
Yet there was Hill nor Flood once heard to clap a hand;
For the Northumbrian Nymphs had come to vnderstand,
That Tyne exulting late o’r Scotland in her Song,
(Which ouer all that Realme report had loudly rung)
The Calidonian Forth so highly had displeas’d,
And many an other Flood, (which could not be appeas’d)
That they had vow’d reuenge, and Proclamation made,
That in a learned warre the foe they would inuade,
And like stout Floods stand free from this supputed shame,
Or conquered giue themselues vp to the English name:
Which these Northumbrian Nymphs, with doubt & terror strook,
Which knew they from the foe, for nothing were to looke,
But what by skill they got, and with much care should keepe,
And therefore they consult by meeting in the Deepe,
To be deliuered from the ancient enemies tage,
That they would all vpon a solemne Pilgrimage
Vnto the Holy-Isle, the vertue of which place,
They knew could very much auaile them in this case:
For many a blessed Saint in former ages there,
Secluded from the world, to Abstinence and Prayer,
Had giuen vp themselues, which in the German Maine,
And from the shore not farre, did in it selfe conteine
Sufficient things for food, which from those holy men,
That to deuotion liu’d, and sanctimony then,
It Holy-Isle was call’d, for which they all prepare,
As I shall tell you how, and what their number are.
With those the farthest off, the first I will begin,
As Pont a pearlesse Brook, brings Blyth which putteth in
With her, then Wansbeck next in wading to the Maine,
Neere Morpet meets with Font, which followeth in her traine;
Next them the little Lyne alone doth goe along,
When Cocket commeth downe, and with her such a throng,
As that they seeme to threat the Ocean; for with her
Comes Ridley, Ridland next, with Vsway, which preferre
Their Fountaines to her Flood, who for her greater fame,
Hath at her fall an Isle, call’d Cocket, of her name,
As that great Neptune should take notice of her state;
Then Alne by Anwicke comes, and with as proud a gate,
As Cocket came before, for whom at her faire fall,
(In brauery as to show, that she past them all)
The famous Isle of Ferne, and Staples aptly stand,
And at her comming foorth, doe kisse her Christall hand.
Whilst these resolu’d v
pon their Pilgrimage, proceed,
Till for the loue shee beares to her deare Mistris Tweed,
Of Bramish leaues the name, by which shee hath her birth;
And though shee keepe her course vpon the English earth,
Yet Bowbent, a bright Nymph, from Scotland comming in,
To goe with her to Tweed, the wanton Flood doth winne.
Though at this headstrong Stream, proud Flodden from his height,
Doth daily seeme to fret, yet takes he much delight
Her louelinesse to view, as on to Tweed she straines,
Where whilst this Mountaine much for her sweet sake sustaines,
This Canto we conclude, and fresh about must cast,
Of all the English Tracts, to consummate the last.
POLY-OLBION: THE THIRTIETH SONG
The Argument
OF Westmerland the Muse now sings,
And fetching Eden from her springs,
Sets her along, and Kendall then
Surveying, beareth backe agen;
And diming Skidows loftie hill, 5
By many a river, many a rill,
To Cumberland, where in her way,
Shee Copland calls, and doth display
Her beauties, backe to Eden goes,
Whose floods, and fall shee aptly showes. 10
Yet cheerely on my Muse, no whit at all dismay’d,
But look aloft tow’rds heaven, to him whose powerfull ayd;
Hath led thee on thus long, and through so sundry soiles,
Steep mountains, forrests rough, deepe rivers, that thy toyles
Most sweet refreshings seeme, and still thee comfort sent, 5
Against the bestiall rout, and boorish rabblement
Of those rude vulgar sots, whose braines are onely slime,
Borne to the doting world, in this last yron time,
So stony, and so dull, that Orpheus which (men say)
By the inticing straines of his melodious lay, 10
Drew rocks and aged trees, to whether he would please;
He might as well have moov’d the universe as these;
But leave this frie of hell in their owne filth defilde,
And seriously pursue the sterne Westmerian wilde,
First ceazing in our song, the south part of the shire,
Where Westmerland to west, by wide Wynander mere,
The Eboracean fields her to the rising bound, 17
Where Can first creeping forth, her feet hath scarcely found,
But gives that dale her name, where Kendale towne doth stand,
For making of our cloth scarce match’d in all the land, 20
Then keeping on her course, though having in her traine,
But Sput, a little brooke, then Winster doth retaine,
Tow’rds the Vergivian sea, by her two mighty falls,
(Which the brave Roman tongue, her Catadupse calls)
This eager river seemes outragiously to rore, 25
And counterfeiting Nyle, to deafe the neighboring shore,
To which she by the sound apparantly doth show,
The season foule or faire, as then the wind doth blow:
For when they to the north, the noyse doe easliest heare,
They constantly affirme the weather will be cleere; 30
And when they to the south, againe they boldly say,
It will be clouds or raine the next approaching day.
To the Hibernick Gulfe, when soone the river hasts,
And to those queachy sands, from whence her selfe she casts,
She likewise leaves her name as every place where she,
In her cleare course doth come, by her should honored be. 36
But backe into the north from hence our course doth lye,
As from this fall of Can, still keeping in our eye,
The source of long-liv’d Lun, I long-liv’d doe her call;
For of the British floods, scarce one amongst them all, 40
Such state as to her selfe, the destinies assigne,
By christning in her course a Countie Palatine
For Luncaster so nam’d, the fort upon the Lun,
And Lancashire the name from Lancaster begun:
Yet though shee be a flood, such glory that doth gaine, 45
In that the British crowne doth to her state pertaine,
Yet Westmerland alone, not onely boasts her birth,
But for her greater good the kind Westmerian earth,
Cleere Burbeck her bequeaths, and Barrow to attend
Her grace, till shee her name to Lancaster doe lend.
With all the speed we can, to Cumberland we hye, 51
(Still longing to salute the utmost Albany)
By Eden, issuing out of Husseat-Morvill Hill,
And pointing to the north, as then a little rill,
There simply takes her leave of her sweet sister Swale,
Borne to the selfe same sire, but with a stronger gale,
Tow’rds Humber hyes her course, but Eden making on, 57
Through Malerstrang hard by, a forrest woe begone
In love with Edens eyes, of the cleere Naiades kind,
Whom thus the wood-nymph greets: What passage shalt thou find, 60
My most beloved brook, in making to thy bay,
That wandring art to wend through many a crooked way,
Farre under hanging hills, through many a cragged strait,
And few the watry kind, upon thee to await,
Opposed in thy course with many a rugged cliffe, 65
Besides the northern winds against thy streame so stiffe,
As by maine strength they meant to stop thee in thy course,
And send thee easly back to Morvill to thy source.
O my bright lovely brooke, whose name doth beare the sound
Of Gods first garden-plot, th’imparadized ground,
Wherein he placed man, from whence by sinne he fell. 71
O little blessed brooke, how doth my bosome swell,
With love I beare to thee, the day cannot suffice
For Malerstang to gaze upon thy beautious eyes.
This sayd, the forrest rubd her rugged front the while, 75
Cleere Eden looking back, regreets her with a smile,
And simply takes her leave, to get into the maine;
When Below a bright nymph, from Stanmore downe doth straine
To Eden, as along to Appleby shee makes,
Which passing, to her traine, next Troutbeck in shee takes, 80
And Levenant, then these, a somewhat lesser rill,
When Glenkwin greets her well, and happily to fill,
Her more abundant banks, from Ulls, a mightie mere
On Cumberlands confines, comes Eymot neat and cleere, 84
And Loder doth allure, with whom she haps to meet,
Which at her comming in, doth thus her mistris greet.
Quoth shee, thus for my selfe I say, that where I swell
Up from my fountaine first, there is a tyding-well,
That daily ebbs and flowes, (as writers doe report)
The old Euripus doth, or in the selfe same sort, 90
The Venedocian fount, or the Demetian spring,
Or that which the cold Peake doth with her wonders bring,
Why should not Loder then, her mistris Eden please,
With this, as other floods delighted are with these.
When Eden, though shee seem’d to make unusuall haste, 95
About cleere Loders neck, yet lovingly doth cast
Her oft infolding armes, as Westmerland shee leaves,
Where Cumberland againe as kindly her receives.
Yet up her watry hands, to Winfield forrest holds
In her rough wooddy armes, which amorously infolds
Cleere Eden comming by, with all her watry store,
In her darke shades, and seemes her parting to deplore. 102
But southward sallying hence, to those seabordring sands,
Where D
udden driving downe to the Lancastrian lands,
This Cumberland cuts out, and strongly doth confine, 105
This meeting there with that, both meerly maratine,
Where many a daintie rill out of her native dale,
To the Virgivian makes, with many a pleasant gale;
As Eske her farth’st, so first, a coy bred Cumbrian iasse,
Who commeth to her road, renowned Ravenglasse,
By Devock driven along, (which from a large-brim’d lake, 111
To hye her to the sea, with greater haste doth make)
Meets Nyte, a nimble brooke, their rendevous that keepe
In Ravenglasse, when soone into the blewish deepe
Comes Irt, of all the rest, though small, the richest girle, 115
Her costly bosome strew’d with precious orient pearle,
Bred in her shining shels, which to the deaw doth yawne,
Which deaw they sucking in, conceave that lusty spawne,
Of which when they grow great, and to their fulnesse swell,
They cast, which those at hand there gathering, dearly sell. 120
This cleare pearle-paved Irt, Bleng to her harbor brings,
From Copland comming downe, a forrest-nymph, which sings
Her owne praise, and those floods, their fountains that derive
From her, which to extoll, the forrest thus doth strive.
Yee northeme Dryades all adorn’d with mountaines steepe, 125
Upon whose hoary heads cold winter long doth keepe,
Where often rising hils, deepe dales and many make,
Where many a pleasant spring, and many a largespread lake,
Their cleere beginnings keepe, and doe their names bestow
Upon those humble vales, through which they eas’ly flow. 130
Whereas the mountaine nymphs, and those that doe frequent
The fountaines, fields, and groves, with wondrous meriment,
By moone-shine many a night, doe give each other chase,
At hood-winke, barley-breake, at tick, or prisonbase,
With tricks, and antique toyes, that one another mocke, 135
That skip from crag to crag, and leaps from rocke to rocke.
Then Copland, of this tract a corner, I would know,
What place can there be found in Britan, that doth show
A surface more austere, more steme from every way.
That who doth it behold, he cannot chuse but say,
Th’aspect of these grim hills, these darke and mistie dales, 141
From clouds scarce ever cleer’d, with the strongst northern gales,
Tell in their mighty roots, some minerall there doth lye,
The islands generall want, whose plenty might supply:
Wherefore as some suppose of copper mynes in me,
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 129