Drayton

Hail to thee, Michael ! true, pains-taking wight.
So various that 'tis hard to praise thee right ;
For driest fact and finest faery fable
Employ'd thy genius indefatigable.
What bard more zealous of our England's glory,
More deeply versed in all her antique story,
Recorded feat, tradition quaint and hoary ?
What muse like thine so patiently would plod
From shire to shire in pilgrim sandal shod,
Calling to life and voice, and conscious will.
The shifting streamlet and the sluggish hill ?
Great genealogist of earth and water,
The very Plutarch of insensate matter.