The Thirteenth Song

This Song our Shire of Warwick sounds;
Reviues old Ardens ancient bounds.
Through many shapes the Muse heere roues;
Now sporting in those shady Groues,
The tunes of Birds oft staies to heare:
Then, finding Herds of lustie Deare,
She Huntresse-like the Hart pursues;
And like a Hermit walks, to chuse
The Simples euery where that growe;
Comes Ancors glory next to showe;
Tells Guy of Warwicks famous deeds;
To th'Vale of Red-horse then proceeds,
To play her part the rest among;
There shutteth vp her thirteenth Song.

VPon the Mid-lands now th'industrious Muse doth fall;
That Shire which wee the hart of England well may call,
As shee her selfe extends (the midst which is decreed)
Betwixt S. Michaels Mount, and Barwick-bord'ring Tweed,
Braue Warwick; that abroad so long advanc't her Beare,
By her illustrious Earles renowned euery where;
Aboue her neighboring Shires which alwaies bore her head.
My natiue Country then, which so braue spirits hast bred,
If there be vertue yet remaining in thy earth,
Or any good of thine thou breathd'st into my birth,
Accept it as thine owne whilst now I sing of thee;
Of all thy later Brood th'vnworthiest though I bee.
Muse, first of Arden tell, whose foot-steps yet are found
In her rough wood-lands more then any other ground
That mighty Arden held euen in her height of pride;
Her one hand touching Trent, the other, Severns side.
The very sound of these, the Wood-Nymphs doth awake:
When thus of her owne selfe the ancient Forrest spake;
My many goodly sites when first I came to showe,
Here opened I the way to myne owne ouer-throwe:
For, when the world found out the fitnesse of my soyle,
The gripple wretch began immediatly to spoyle
My tall and goodly woods, and did my grounds inclose:
By which, in little time my bounds I came to lose.
When Britaine first her fields with Villages had fild,
Her people wexing still, and wanting where to build,
They oft dislodg'd the Hart, and set their houses, where
He in the Broome and Brakes had long time made his leyre.
Of all the Forrests heere within this mightie Ile,
If those old Britains then me Soueraigne did instile,
I needs must be the great'st; for greatnesse tis alone
That giues our kind the place: else were there many a one
For pleasantnes of shade that farre doth mee excell.
But, of our Forrests kind the quality to tell,
We equally partake with Wood-land as with Plaine,
Alike with Hill and Dale; and euery day maintaine
The sundry kinds of beasts vpon our copious wast's,
That men for profit breed, as well as those of chase,
Here Arden of her selfe ceast any more to showe;
And with her Sylvan ioyes the Muse along doth goe.
When Phoebus lifts his head out of the Winters waue,
No sooner doth the Earth her flowerie bosome braue,
At such time as the Yeere brings on the pleasant Spring,
But Hunts-vp to the Morne the feath'red Sylvans sing:
And in the lower Groue, as on the rising Knole,
Vpon the highest spray of euery mounting pole,
Those Quirristers are pearcht with many a speckled breast.
Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glittring East
Guilds euery lofty top, which late the humorous Night
Bespangled had with pearle, to please the Mornings sight:
On which the mirthfull Quires, with their cleere open throats,
Vnto the ioyfull Morne so straine their warbling notes,
That Hills and Valleys ring, and euen the ecchoing Ayre
Seemes all compos'd of sounds, about them euery where.
The Throstell, with shrill Sharps; as purposely he song
T'awake the lustlesse Sunne; or chyding, that so long
He was in comming forth, that should the thickets thrill:
The Woosell neere at hand, that hath a golden bill;
As Nature him had markt of purpose, t'let vs see
That from all other Birds his tunes should different bee:
For, with their vocall sounds, they sing to pleasant May;
Vpon his dulcet pype the Merle doth onely play.
When in the lower Brake, the Nightingale hard-by,
In such lamenting straines the ioyfull howres doth ply,
As though the other Birds shee to her tunes would draw.
And, but that Nature (by her all-constraining law)
Each Bird to her owne kind this season doth invite,
They else, alone to heare that Charmer of the Night
(The more to vse their eares) their voyces sure would spare,
That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare,
As man to set in Parts, at first had learn'd of her.
To Philomell the next, the Linet we prefer;
And by that warbling bird, the Wood-Larke place we then,
The Red-sparrow, the Nope, the Red-breast, and the Wren,
The Yellow-pate: which though shee hurt the blooming tree,
Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pype then shee.
And of these chaunting Fowles, the Goldfinch not behind,
That hath so many sorts descending from her kind.
The Tydie for her notes as delicate as they,
The laughing Hecco, then the counterfetting lay,
The Softer, with the (Shrill some hid among the leaues,
Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaues)
Thus sing away the Morne, vntill the mounting Sunne,
Through thick exhaled fogs, his golden head hath runne,
And through the twisted tops of our close Couert creeps
To kisse the gentle Shade, this while that sweetly sleeps.
And neere to these our Thicks, the wild and frightfull Heards,
Not hearing other noyse but this of chattering Birds,
Feed fairely on the Launds; both sorts of seasoned Deere:
Here walke, the stately Red, the freckled Fallowe there:
The Bucks and lusty Stags amongst the Rascalls strew'd,
As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude.
Of all the Beasts which we for our veneriall name,
The Hart amongst the rest, the Hunters noblest game:
Of which most Princely Chase sith none did ere report,
Or by description touch, t'expresse that wondrous sport
(Yet might haue well beseem'd th'ancients nobler Songs)
To our old Arden heere, most fitly it belongs:
Yet shall shee not invoke the Muses to her ayde;
But thee Diana bright, a Goddesse and a mayd:
In many a huge-growne Wood, and many a shady Groue,
Which oft hast borne thy Bowe (great Huntresse) vs'd to roue
At many a cruell beast, and with thy darts to pierce
The Lyon, Panther, Ounce, the Beare, and Tiger fierce;
And following thy fleet Game, chaste mightie Forrests Queene,
With thy disheueld Nymphs attyr'd in youthfull greene,
About the Launds hast scowr'd, and Wastes both farre and neere,
Braue Huntresse: but no beast shall proue thy Quarries heere;
Saue those the best of Chase, the tall and lusty Red,
The Stag for goodly shape, and statelinesse of head,
Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds
The laboring Hunter tufts the thicke vnbarbed grounds
Where harbor'd is the Hart; there often from his feed
The dogs of him doe find; or thorough skilfull heed,
The Huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceaues,
Or entring of the thicke by pressing of the greaues
Where he hath gone to lodge. Now when the Hart doth heare
The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leyre,
He rouzing rusheth out, and through the Brakes doth driue,
As though vp by the roots the bushes he would riue.
And through the combrous thicks, as fearefully he makes,
Hee with his branched head, the tender Saplings shakes,
That sprinkling their moyst pearle doe seeme for him to weepe;
When after goes the Cry, with yellings lowd and deepe,
That all the Forrest rings, and euery neighbouring place:
And there is not a hound but falleth to the Chase.
Rechating with his horne, which then the Hunter cheeres,
Whilst still the lustie Stag his high-palm'd head vp-beares,
His body showing state, with vnbent knees vpright,
Expressing (from all beasts) his courage in his flight.
But when th'approaching foes still following he perceiues,
That hee his speed must trust, his vsuall walke he leaues;
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
When he hath gotten ground (the kennell cast arere)
Doth beat the Brooks and Ponds for sweet refreshing soyle:
That seruing not, then proues if he his sent can foyle,
And makes amongst the Heards, and flocks of shag-wooll'd Sheepe,
Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keepe.
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:
When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and Huntsmen follow;
Vntill the noble Deere through toyle bereau'd of strength,
His long and sinewy legs then fayling him at length,
The Villages attempts, enrag'd, not giuing way
To any thing hee meets now at his sad decay.
The cruell rauenous 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 vpon his foes, that soone haue him inclos'd.
The churlish throated hounds then holding him at bay,
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; vntill opprest by force,
He who the Mourner is to his owne dying Corse,
Vpon 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,
And from the lothsome ayres of smoky cittied Townes.
Suppose twixt noone and night, the Sunne his halfe-way wrought
(The shadowes to be large, by his descending brought)
Who with a feruent eye lookes through the twyring glades,
And his dispersed rayes commixeth with the shades,
Exhaling the mil•h dewe, which there had tarried long,
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;
Or one who of this world the vilenesse hauing 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 euery aged tree still yeeldeth to his fire.
This man, that is alone a King in his desire,
By no proud ignorant Lord is basely ouer-aw'd,
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 giuen vnto a Baud most base,
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:
Whose sundry strange effects he onely seeks to knowe.
And in a little Maund, beeing made of Oziars small,
Which serueth 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;
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,
Which he about his head that hath the Megrim binds.
The wonder-working Dill hee gets not farre from these,
Which curious women vse 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,
And sportiue did her selfe to niceties invre.
Valerian then he crops, and purposely doth stampe,
T'apply vnto the place that's haled with the Crampe.
As Century, to close the wideness of a wound:
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 Liuer, gets for iuce,
Pale Hore-hound, which he holds of most especiall vse.
So Saxifrage is good, and Harts-tongue for the Stone,
With Agrimony, and that hearbe we call S. Iohn.
To him that hath a flux, of Sheepheards purse he giues,
And Mous-eare vnto him whom some sharpe rupture grieues.
And for the laboring wretch that's troubled with a cough,
Or stopping of the breath, by fleagme that's hard and tough,
Campana heere he crops, approoued wondrous good:
As Comfrey vnto him that's brused, spetting blood;
And from the Falling-ill, by Fiue-leafe doth restore,
And Melancholy cures by soueraigne Hellebore.
Of these most helpfull hearbs yet tell we but a few,
To those vnnumbred sorts of Simples here that grew.
Which iustly to set downe, euen Dodon short doth fall;
Nor skilfull Gerard, yet, shall euer find them all.
But from our Hermit heere the Muse we must inforce,
And zealously proceed in our intended course:
How Arden of her Rills and Riuerets 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 liuely-tripping Rhea,
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, obseruing state, so slowe,
As though into his armes she scorn'd her selfe to throwe:
Yet Arden will'd her Tame to serue her on his knee;
For by that Nymph alone, they both should honor'd be.
The Forrest so much falne 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
Importuned the Heauens 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 aboue the Hills should seat;
And for that purpose, first made Couentry so great
(A poore thatcht Village then, or scarcely none at all,
That could not once haue dream'd of her now stately wall)
And thither wisely brought that goodly Virgin-band,
Th'eleuen thousand maids, chaste Vrsula's Commaund,
Whom then the Britaine Kings gaue her full power to presse,
For matches to their friends in Britanny the lesse.
At whose departure thence, each by her iust bequest
Some speciall vertue gaue, ordayning it to rest
With one of their owne sex, that there her birth should haue,
Till fulnesse of the time which Fate did choicely saue;
Vntill the Saxons raigne, when Couentry at length,
From her small, meane regard, recouered 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,
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 vpon a horse
By day light through the street: which certainly he thought,
In her heroïck breast so deeply would haue wrought,
That in her former sute she would haue left to deale.
But that most princely Dame, as one deuour'd with zeale,
Went on, and by that meane the Cittie cleerly freed.
The first part of whose name, Godiua, doth forereed
Th'first syllable of her•, and Goodere halfe doth sound;
For by agreeing words, great matters haue 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,
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 fore-shown,
As prophecying her. For, as the first did tell
Her Sir-name, so againe doth Ancor liuely spell
Her Christned title Anne. And as those Virgins there
Did sanctifie that Place: so holy Edith heere
A Recluse long time liu'd, in that faire Abbey plac't
Which Alured enricht, and Powlesworth highly grac't.
A Princesse being borne, and Abbesse, with those Maids,
All Noble like her selfe, in bidding of their Beads
Their holinesse bequeath'd, vpon her to descend
Which there should after liue: in whose deere selfe should end
Th'intent of Ancors name, her comming that decreed,
As hers (her place of birth) faire Couentry that freed.
But whilst about this tale smooth Ancor tryfling stayes,
Vnto the lustier Tame as loth to come her waies,
The Flood intreats her thus; Deere Brooke, why doost thou wrong
Our mutuall loue so much, and tediously prolong
Our mirthfull mariage-howre, for which I still prepare?
Haste to my broader banks, my ioy 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?
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 Douer, to the farth'st of fruitfull Anglesey:
The second South and North, from Michaels vtmost Mount,
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 driues along. Whom Sow doth first assist,
Which taketh Shirburn in, with Cune, a great while mist;
Though Couentry from thence her name at first did raise,
Now florishing with Fanes, and proud Piramides;
Her walls in good repaire, her Ports so brauely 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 grieu'd, that Cune should claime her due.
Tow'rds Warwick with this traine as Avon trips along,
To Guy-cliffe beeing come, her Nymphs thus brauely song;
To thee renowned Knight, continuall prayse wee owe,
And at thy hallowed Tombe thy yeerely Obijts showe;
Who, thy deere Phillis name and Country to advance,
Left'st Warwicks wealthy seate: and sayling into France,
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 atchieue:
As Lovaine thou againe didst valiantly relieue.
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 wood-lands layd,
Whose tusks turn'd vp our Tilths, and Dens in Medowes made:
Whose shoulder-blade remaines at Couentry till now;
And, at our humble sute, did quell that monstrous Cow
The passengers that vs'd from Dunsmore to affright.
Of all our English (yet) ô most renowned Knight,
That Colebrond ouercam'st: at whose amazing fall
The Danes remou'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 masly sword, that neuer was controld:
Which, as her ancient right, her Castle still shall hold.
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,
Receiueth little Heile the next into her traine:
Then taketh in the Stour, the Brooke, of all the rest
Which that most goodly Vale of Red-horse loueth best;
A Vally that enioyes a verie great estate,
Yet not so famous held as smaller, by her fate:
Now, for Report had been too partiall in her praise,
Her iust conceiued greefe, faire Red-horse thus bewraies;
Shall euery Vale be heard to boast her wealth? and I,
The needie Countries neere that with my Corne supply
As brauely as the best, shall onely I endure
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 euery common road?
Great Eushams fertill Gleabe, what tongue hath not extold?
As though to her alone belongd the Garbe of Gold.
Of Beuers batfull earth, men seeme as though to faine,
Reporting in what store shee multiplies her graine:
And folke such wondrous things of Alsburie will tell,
As though Aboundance stroue her burthened wombe to swell.
Her roome amongst the rest, so White-horse is decreed:
Shee wants no setting forth: her braue 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, vpon good cause, I well may lay the crime:
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 forraine fame
(The Eden of you all deseruedly that am)
I shall as much be praysd for delicacie then,
As now in small account with vile and barbarous men.
For, from the loftie Edge that on my side doth lye,
Vpon 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
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 rauish euery eye with my inticing cheere.
As still the Yeere growes on, that Ceres once doth load
The full Earth with her store; my plentious bosome strow'd
With all aboundant sweets: my frim and lustie flanke
Her brauery then displayes, 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
The daintie Clouer growes (of grasse the onely silke)
That makes each Vdder strout abundantly with milke.
As an vnlettred man, at the desired sight
Of some rare beautie moou'd with infinite delight,
Not out of his owne spirit, but by that power diuine,
Which through a sparkling eye perspicuously doth shine,
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 liue by frugall toyle,
When they in my defence are reasoning of my soyle,
As rapted with my wealth and beauties, learned growe,
And in wel-fitting tearmes, and noble language, showe
The Lordships in my Lands, from Rolright (which remaines
A witnesse of that day we wonne vpon the Danes)
To Tawcester wel-neere: twixt which, they vse to tell
Of places which they say doe Rumneys selfe excell.
Of Dasset they dare boast, and giue Wormlighton prize,
As of that fertill Flat by Bishopton that lies.
For showing of my bounds, if men may rightly ghesse
By my continued forme which best doth me expresse,
On either of my sides and by the rising grounds,
Which in one fashion hold, as my most certaine Mounds,
In length neere thirtie miles I am discern'd to bee.
Thus Red-horse ends her tale; and I therewith agree
To finish heere my Song: the Muse some ease doth aske,
As wearied with the toyle in this her serious taske.