Those numbers they will hit, out of their genuine vaine,
Which many wise and learn’d can hardly ere attaine.
O memorable Bards, of unmixt blood, which still
Posteritie shall praise for your so wondrous skill, 260
That in your noble songs, the long descents have kept
Of your great Heroes, else in Lethe that had slept,
With theirs whose ignorant pride your labours have disdain’d;
How much from time, and them, how bravelie have you gain’d!
Musician, Herault, Bard, thrice maist thou be renown’d, 265
And with three severall wreathes immortallie be crown’d;
Who, when to Penbrooke call’d before the English King,
And to thy powerfull harpe commaunded there to sing,
Of famous Arthur told’st, and where hee was interr’d;
In which, those retchlesse times had long and blindlie err’d, 270
And ignorance had brought the world to such a pass
As now, which scarce beleeves that Arthur ever was.
But when King Henry sent th’reported place to view,
He found that man of men: and what thou said’st was true.
Heere then I cannot chuse but bitterlie exclame 275
Against those fooles that all antiquitie defame,
Because they have found out, some credulous ages layd
Slight fictions with the truth, whilst truth on rumor stayd;
And that one forward time (perceiving the neglect
A former of her had) to purchase her respect, 280
With toyes then trimd her up, the drowsie world failure,
And lent her what it thought might appetite procure
To man, whose mind doth still varietie pursue;
And therefore to those things whose grounds were verie true,
Though naked yet and bare (not having to content
The weyward curious eare) gave Active ornament; 286
And fitter thought, the truth they should in question call,
Then coldlie sparing that, the truth should goe and all.
And surelie I suppose, that which this froward time
Doth scandalize her with to be her heynous crime,
That hath her most preserv’d: for, still where wit hath found 291
A thing most cleerlie true, it made that, fictions ground:
Which shee suppos’d might give sure colour to them both:
From which, as from a roote, this wondred error grow’th
At which our criticks gird, whose judgements are so strict, 295
And he the bravest man who most can contradict
That which decrepit age (which forced is to leane
Upon tradition) tells; esteeming it so meane,
As they it quite reject, and for some trifling thing
(Which time hath pind to truth) they all away will fling, 300
There men (for all the world) like our precisions bee,
Who for some crosse or saint they in the window see
Will pluck downe all the church: soule-blinded sots that creepe
In durt, and never saw the wonders of the deepe.
Therefore (in my conceit) most rightlie serv’d are they
That to the Roman trust (on his report that stay) 306
Our truth from him to learne, as ignorant of ours
As we were then of his; except t’were of his powers:
Who our wise Druides here unmercifullie slew;
Like whom, great Natures depths no men yet ever knew, 310
Nor with such dauntlesse spirits were ever yet inspir’d;
Who at their proud arrive th’ambitious Romans fir’d
When first they heard them preach the soules immortall state;
And even in Romes despight, and in contempt of fate,
Graspt hands with horrid death: which out of hate and pride 315
They slew, who through the world were reverenced beside.
To understand our state, no marvaile then though wee
Should so to Caesar seeke, in his reports to see
What ancientlie we were; when in our infant war,
Unskilfull of our tongue but by interpreter, 320
Hee nothing had of ours which our great Bards did sing,
Except some few poore words; and those againe to bring
Unto the Latine sounds, and easiness they us’d,
By their most filed speech, our British most abus’d.
But of our former state, beginning, our descent, 325
The warres we had at home, the conquests where we went,
He never understood. And though the Romans here
So noble trophies left, as verie worthie were
A people great as they, yet did they ours neglect,
Long rear’d ere they arriv’d. And where they doe object, 330
To prove our selves so great: even this the most of all
(Gainst their objection) seemes miraculous to mee,
That yet those should be found so generall as they bee;
The Roman, next the Pict, the Saxon, then the Dane,
All landing in this ile, each like a horrid raine 336
Deforming her; besides the sacrilegious wrack
Of many a noble booke, as impious hands should sack
The center, to extirp all knowledge, and exile
All brave and ancient things, for ever from this ile:
Expressing wondrous griefe, thus wandring Wye did sing. 341
But, backe, industrious Muse; obsequiously to bring
Cleere Severne from her sourse, and tell how she doth straine
Downe her delicious dales; with all the goodly traine,
Brought forth the first of all by Brugan: which to make 345
Her party worthy note, next, Dulas in doth take.
Moylvadian his much love to Severne then to showe,
Upon her southerne side, sends likewise (in a rowe)
Bright Biga, that brings on her friend and fellow Floyd;
Next, Dungum; Bacho then is busily imploy’d, 350
Tarranon, Camo, Hawes, with Becan, and the Rue,
In Severn’s soveraine bankes, that give attendance due.
Thus as she swoopes along, with all that goodly traine,
Upon her other banke by Newtowne: so againe
Comes Dulas (of whose name so many rivers bee, 355
As of none others is) with Mule, prepar’d to see
The confluence to their Queene, as on her course she makes:
Then at Mountgomery next cleere Kennet in she takes;
Where little Fledding fals into her broader banke;
Forkt Vurnway, bringing Tur, and Tanot: growing ranke, 360
She plyes her towards the Poole, from the Gomerian feelds;
Then which in all our Wales, there is no country yeelds
An excellenter horse, so full of naturall fire,
As one of Phoebus steeds had been that stalyons sire
Which first their race begun; or of th’Asturian kind,
Which some have held to be begotten by the wind, 366
Upon the mountaine mare; which strongly it receaves,
And in a little time her pregnant part upheaves.
But, leave we this to such as after wonders long:
The Muse prepares her selfe unto another song.
POLY-OLBION: THE SEVENTH SONG
The Argument
The Muse from Cambria comes againe,
To view the Forrest of faire Deane;
Sees Severne; when the Higre takes her,
How Feuer-like the sicknes shakes her;
Makes mightie Maluerne speake his mind
In honour of the Mountaine kind;
Thence wafted with a merry gale,
Sees Lemster, and the Golden Vale;
Sports with the Nymphs, themselues that ply
At th’wedding of the Lug and Wy;
Viewing the Herefordian pride
Along on Severns setting side,
That small Wigornian part survaies:
Where for a while herselfe shee staies.
HIGH matters call our Muse, inviting her to see
As well the lower Lands, as those where latelie shee
The Camhrian Mountaines clome, & (looking from aloft)
Survaid coy Severns course: but now to shores more soft
Shee shapes her prosperous saile; and in this loftie Song,
The Herefor dian floods invites with her along,
That fraught from plentious Powse, with their superfluous waste,
Manure the batfull March, vntill they be imbrac’t
In Sabrins Soueraigne armes: with whose tumultuous waues
Shut vp in narrower bounds, the Higre wildly raues;
And frights the stragling flocks, the neighbouring shores to flie,
A farre as from the Maine it comes with hideous cry,
And on the angry front the curled foame doth bring,
The billowes gainst the banks when fiercely it doth fling;
Hurles vp the slimie ooze, and makes the scalie brood
Leape madding to the Land affrighted from the flood;
Oreturnes the toyling Barge, whose steresman doth not lanch,
And thrusts the furrowing beake into her irefull panch:
As when we haplie see a sicklie woman fall
Into a fit of that which wee the Mother call,
When from the grieued wombe shee feeles the paine arise,
Breakes into grieuous sighes, with intermixed cries,
Bereaued of her sense; and strugling still with those
That gainst her rising paine their vtmost strength oppose,
Starts, tosses, tumbles, strikes, turnes, touses, spurnes and spraules,
Casting with furious lims her holders to the walles;
But that the horrid pangs torments the grieued so,
One well might muse fro whence this suddaine strength should grow.
Here (Queene of Forrests all, that West of Severne lie)
Her broad and bushie top Deane holdeth vp so hie,
The lesser are not seene, shee is so tall and large.
And standing in such state vpon the winding marge,
Within her hollow woods the Satyres that did wonne
In gloomie secret shades, not pierc’t with Sommers sunne,
Vnder a false pretence the Nymphs to entertaine,
Oft rauished the choice of Sabrins watry traine;
And from their Mistris banks them taking as a prey,
Vnto their wooddie Caues haue carried them away:
Then from her inner Groues for succour when they cri’d,
Shee retchlesse of their wrongs (her Satyres scapes to hide)
Vnto their iust complaint not once her eare enclines:
So fruitfuli in her Woods, and wealthy in her Mines,
That Leden which her way doth through the Desert make,
Though neere to Deane ally’d, determin’d to for sake
Her course, and her cleere lims amongst the bushes hide,
Least by the Syluans (should she chance to be espide)
Shee might vnmaidned goe vnto her Soueraigne Flood:
So manie were the rapes done on the watry brood,
That Sabrine to her Sire (great Neptune) forc’t to sue,
The ryots to represse of this outrageous crue,
His armed Orks hee sent her milder streame to keepe,
To driue them back to Deane that troubled all the Deepe.
Whilst Malverne (king of Hills) faire Severne ouer-lookes
(Attended on in state with tributarie Brookes)
And how the fertill fields of Hereford doe lie.
And from his many heads, with many an amorous eye
Beholds his goodlie site, how towards the pleasant rise,
Abounding in excesse, the Vale of Eusham lies,
The Mountaines euery way about him that doe stand,
Of whom hee’s daily seene, and seeing doth command;
On tiptoes set aloft, this proudlie vttereth hee:
Olympus, fayr’st of Hills, that Heauen art said to bee,
I not envie thy state, nor lesse my selfe doe make;
Nor to possesse thy name, mine owne would I forsake:
Nor would I, as thou doost, ambitiouslie aspire
To thrust my forked top into th’ethereall fire.
For, didst thou taste the sweets that on my face doe breathe,
Aboue thou wouldst not seeke what I enioy beneath:
Besides, the sundry soyles I euery where survay,
Make me, if better not, thy equall euerie way.
And more, in our defence, to answere those, with spight
That tearme vs barren, rude, and voide of all delight;
Wee Mountaines, to the Land, like Warts or Wens to bee,
By which, fair’st liuing things disfigur’d oft they see;
This stronglie to performe, a well stuft braine would need.
And manie Hills there be, if they this Cause would heed,
Hauing their rising tops familiar with the skie
(From whence all wit proceeds) that fitter were then I
The taske to vnder-take. As not a man that sees
Mounchdenny, Bloreneh hill, with Breedon, and the Clees,
And many more as great, and neerer me then they,
But thinks, in our defence they far much more could say.
Yet, falling to my lot, This stoutlie I maintaine
Gainst Forrests, Valleys, Fields, Groues, Riuers, Pasture, Plaine,
And all their flatter kind (so much that doe relie
Vpon their feedings, flocks, and their fertilitie)
The Mountaine is the King: and he it is alone
Aboue the other soyles that Nature doth in-throne.
For Mountaines be like Men of braue heroïque mind,
With eyes erect to heauen, of whence themselues they find;
Whereas the lowlie Vale, as earthlie, like it selfe,
Doth neuer further looke then how to purchase pelfe.
And of their batfull sites, the Vales that boast them thus,
Nere had been what they are, had it not been for vs:
For, from the rising banks that stronglie mound them in,
The Valley (as betwixt) her name did first begin:
And almost not a Brooke, if shee her banks doe fill,
But hath her plentious Spring from Mountaine or from Hill.
If Mead, or lower Slade, grieue at the roome we take,
Knowe that the snowe or raine, descending oft, doth make
The fruitfully Valley fat, with what from vs doth glide,
Who with our Winters waste maintaine their Sommers pride.
And to you lower Lands if terrible wee seeme,
And couer’d oft with clowds; it is your foggy steame
The powerfull Sunne exhales, that in the cooler day
Vnto this Region comne, about our tops doth stay.
And, what’s the Groue, so much that thinks her to be grac’t,
If not aboue the rest vpon the Mountaine plac’t,
Where shee her curled head vnto the eye may showe.
For, in the easie Vale if shee be set belowe,
What is shee but obscure? and her more dampie shade
And covert, but a Den for beasts of rayin made?
Besides, wee are the Marks, which looking from an hie,
The trauailer beholds, and with a cheerfull eye
Doth thereby shape his course, and freshlie doth pursue
The way which long before lay tedious in his view.
What Forrest, Flood, or Field, that standeth not in awe
Of Sina, or shall see the sight that Mountaine saw?
To none but to a Hill such grace was euer giuen:
As on his back tis said, great Atlas beares vp heauen.
So Latmus by the wise Endymion is r
enown’d;
That Hill, on whose high top he was the first that found
Pale Phoebes wandring course; so skilfull in her Sphere,
As some stick not to say that he enioy’d her there.
And those chaste maids, begot on Memorie by Ioue,
Not Tempe onelie loue delighting in their Groue;
Nor Helicon their Brooke, in whose delicious brims,
They oft are vs’d to bathe their cleere and crystall lims;
But high Parnassus haue, their Mountaine, whereon they
Vpon their golden Lutes continuallie doe play.
Of these I more could tell, to proue the place our owne,
Then by his spatious Maps are by Ortellius showne.
For Mountaines this suffice. Which scarcelie had he told;
Along the fertill fields, when Malverne might behold
The Herefordian Floods, farre distant though they bee:
For great men, as we find, a great way off can see.
First, Frome with forhead cleare, by Bromyard that doth glide;
And taking Loden in, their mixed streames doe guide,
To meet their Soueraigne Lug, from the Radnorian Plaine
At Prestayn comming in; where hee doth entertaine
The Wadell, as along he vnder Derfold goes:
Her full and lustie side to whom the Forrest showes,
As to allure faire Lug, aboad with her to make.
Lug little Oney first, then Arro in doth take,
At Lemster, for her Wooll whose Staple doth excell,
And seemes to ouer-match the golden Phrygian Fell.
Had this our Colchos been vnto the Ancients knowne,
When Honor was her selfe, and in her glorie showne,
He then that did commaund the Infantry of Greece,
Had onely to our Ile adventur’d for this Fleece.
Where liues the man so dull, on Britains furthest shore,
To whom did neuer sound the name of Lemster Ore?
That with the Silke-wormes web for smalness doth compare:
Wherein, the Winder showes his workmanship so rare
As doth the Fleece excell, and mocks her looser clew;
As neatlie bottom’d vp as Nature forth it drew;
Of each in high’st accompt, and reckoned here as fine,
As there th’ Appulian fleece, or dainty Tarentyne.
From thence his louely selfe for Wye he doth dispose,
To view the goodly flockes on each hand as he goes;
And makes his iourney short, with strange and sundry tales,
Of all their wondrous things; and, not the least, of Wales;
Of that prodigious Spring (him neighbouring as he past)
That little Fishes bones continually doth cast.