Song 18


The eighteenth Song.


The Rother through the Weald doth rove,
Till he with Oxney fall in love:
Rumney, would with her wealth beguile,
And winne the River from the Ile.
Medway, with her attending Streames,
Goes forth to meet her Lord great Tames:
And where in bredth she her disperses,
Our Famous Captaines she rehearses,
With many of their valiant deeds.
Then with Kents praise the Muse proceeds.
And telles when Albion o’re Sea road,
How he his daughter-Iles bestow’d;
And how grim Goodwin fomes and frets:
Where to this Song, an end she sets.

ur Argas scarcely yet delivered of her sonne,
When as the River downe, through Andredsweald dooth run:
Nor can the aged Hill have comfort of her childe.
For, living in the Woods, her Rother waxed wilde;
His Banks with aged Okes, and Bushes over-growne,
That from the Sylvans kinde, he hardly could be knowne:
Yea, many a time the Nymphes, which hapt this Flood to see,
Fled from him, whom they sure a Satyre thought to be;
As Satyre-like he held all pleasures in disdaine,
And would not once vouchsafe, to look upon a Plaine;
Till chancing in his course he to view a goodly plot,
Which Albion in his youth, upon a Sea Nymph got,
For Oxney’s love he pines: who being wildly chaste,
And never woo’d before, was coy to be imbrac’t.
But, what obdurate heart, was ever so perverse,
Whom yet a lovers plaints, with patience, could not pearce?
For, in this conflict she being lastly overthrowne,
In-Iled in his Armes, he clips her for his owne,
Who being grosse and black, she lik’t the River well.
Of Rothers happy match, when Rumney Marsh heard tell,
Whyl’st in his youthfull course himselfe he doth apply,
And falleth in her sight into the Sea at Rye,
She thinketh with her selfe, how she a way might finde
To put the homely Ile quite out of Rothers minde;
Appearing to the Flood, most bravely like a Queene,
Clad (all) from head to foot, in gaudy Summers green;
Her mantle richly wrought, with sundry flowers and weeds;
Her moystfull temples bound, with wreaths of quivering reeds:
Which loosely flowing downe, upon her lusty thighes,
Most strongly seeme to tempt the Rivers amorous eyes.
And on her loynes a frock, with many a swelling pleate,
Embost with well-spread Horse, large Sheepe, and full-fed Neate.
Some wallowing in the grasse, there lie a while to batten;
Some sent away to kill; some thither brought to fatten;
With Villages amongst, oft powthred heere and there;
A description of Rumney
And (that the same more like to * Landskip should appeare)
With Lakes and lesser Foards, to mitigate the heate
(In Summer when the Fly doth prick the gadding Neate,
Forc’t from the Brakes, where late they brouz’d the veluet buds)
In which, they lick their Hides, and chew their savoury Cuds.
Of these her amourous toyes, when Oxney came to knowe,
Suspecting least in time her rivall she might growe,
Th’allu’rments of the Marsh, the jealous Ile do move,
That to a constant course, she thus perswades her Love:
With Rumney, though for dower I stand in no degree;
In this, to be belov’d yet liker farre then she:
Though I be browne, in me there doth no favour lack.
The foule is said deform’d: and she, extreamely black.
And though her rich attire, so curious be and rare,
From her there yet proceeds unwholsome putrid aire:
Where my complexion more sutes with the higher ground,
Upon the lusty Weald, where strength doth still abound.
The Wood-gods I refus’d, that su’d to me for grace,
Me in thy watry Armes, thee suffring to imbrace;
Where, to great Neptune she may one day be a pray:
The Sea-gods in her lap lie wallowing every day.
And what, though of her strength she seem to make no doubt?
Yet put unto the proofe shee’ll hardly hold him out.
With this perswasive speech which Oxney lately us’d,
With strange and sundry doubts, whilst Rother stood confus’d,
* The naturall expressing
of the surface of a Country in Painting.
Old * Andredsweald at length doth take her time to tell
The changes of the world, that since her youth befell,
When yet upon her soyle, scarce humane foote had trode;
A place where only then, the Sylvans made abode.
Where, feareless of the Hunt, the Hart securely stood,
And every where walkt free, a Burgesse of the Wood;
Untill those Danish routs, whom hunger-starv’d at home,
(Like Woolves pursuing prey) about the world did roame.
See to the XVII. Song.
The eighteenth Song. 285
And stemming the rude streame dividing us from France,
Into the spacious mouth of Rother fell (by chance)
§. That Lymen then was nam’d, when (with most irksome care)
The heavy Danish yoke, the servile English bare.
And when at last she found, there was no way to leave
Those, whom she had at first been forced to receive;
And by her great resort, she was through very need,
Constrained to provide her peopled Townes to feed.
She learn’d the churlish axe and twybill to prepare,
To steele the coulters edge, and sharpe the furrowing share:
And more industrious still, and only hating sloth,
A huswife she became, most skild in making cloth.
That now the Draper comes from London every yeare,
And of the Kentish sorts, make his provision there.
Whose skirts (tis said) at first that fiftie furlongs went,
Kentish Cloth.
Have lost their ancient bounds, now * limited in Kent.
Which strongly to approve, she Medway forth did bring,
From Sussex who (tis knowne) receives her silver Spring.
Who towar’ds the lordly Tames, as she along doth straine,
Where Teise, cleere Beule, and Len, beare up her limber traine
As she removes in state: so for her more renowne,
* The Weald of Kent.
Her only name she leaves, t’her only * christned Towne;
And Rochester doth reach, in entring to the Bowre
Of that most matchless Tames, her princely Paramoure.
Whose bosome doth so please her Soveraigne (with her pride)
Whereas the royall Fleet continually doth ride,
That where she told her Tames, she did intend to sing
What to the English Name immortall praise should bring;
To grace his goodly Queen, Tames presently proclaimes,
That all the Kentish Floods, resigning him their names,
Should presently repaire unto his mighty Hall,
And by the posting Tides, towards London sends to call
Cleere Ravensburne (though small, remembred them among)
At Detford entring. Whence as down she comes along,
She Darent thither warnes: who calles her sister Cray,
Which hasten to the Court with all the speed they may.
And but that Medway then of Tames obtain’d such grace,
Except her country Nymphs, that none should be in place,
More Rivers from each part, had instantly been there,
* Maidstone. i. Medways
Then at their marriage, first, by * Spenser numbred were.
This Medway still had nurst those navies in her Road,
Our Armies that had oft to conquest borne abroad;
And not a man of ours, for Armes hath famous been,
Whom she not going out, or comming in hath seen:
Or by some passing Ship, hath newes to her been brought,
What brave exploits they did; as where, and how, they fought.
* In the Faiery Queene.
Wherefore, for audience now, she to th’assembly calls,
The Captains to recite when seriously she fals.
Of noble warriors now, saith she, shall be my Song;
Of those renowned spirits, that from the Conquest sprong,
Of th’English Norman blood: which, matchless for their might,
Have with their flaming swords, in many a dreadfull fight,
Illustrated this Ile, and bore her fame so farre;
Our Heroes, which the first wanne, in that Holy warre,
Such feare from every foe, and made the East more red,
With splendor of their Armes, then when from Tithons bed
The blushing Dawne doth break; towards which our fame begon,
By Robert (Curt-hose call’d) the Conquerours eldest sonne,
Who with great Godfrey and that holy Hermit went
The Sepulcher to free, with most devout intent.
And to that title which the Norman William got,
When in our Conquest heere, he strove t’include the Scot,
The Generall of our power, that stout and warlike Earle,
Who English being borne, was stil’d of Aubemerle;
Those Lacyes then no lesse courageous, which had there
The leading of the day, all, brave Commanders were.
Sir Walter Especk, matcht with Peverell, which as farre
Adventur’d for our fame: who in that Bishops warre,
Immortall honour got to Stephens troubled raigne:
That day ten thousand Scots upon the field were slaine.
The Earle of Strigule then our Strong-bowe, first that wonne
Wilde Ireland with the sword (which, to the glorious sunne,
Lifts up his nobler name) amongst the rest may stand.
In Cure de Lyon’s charge unto the Holy-land,
Our Earle of Lester, next, to rank with them we bring:
And Turnham, he that took th’impost’rous Ciprian King.
Strong Tuchet chose to weeld the English standard there;
Poole, Gourney, Nevill, Gray, Lyle, Ferres, Mortimer:
And more, for want of pens whose deeds not brought to light,
It grieves my zealous soule, I can not do them right.
The noble Penbrooke then, who Strong-bowe did succeed,
Like his brave Grand-sire, made th’revolting Irish bleed,
When yeelding oft, they oft their due subjection broke;
And when the Britans scorn’d, to beare the English yoke,
Lewellin Prince of Wales in Battell overthrewe,
Nine thousand valiant Welsh and either took or slew.
Earle Richard, his brave sonne, of Strong-bowes matchless straine,
As he a Marshall was, did in himselfe retaine
The nature of that word, being Martiall, like his name:
Who, as his valiant Sire, the Irish oft did tame.
With him we may compare Marisco (King of Men)
That Lord chiefe Justice was of Ireland, whereas then
Peter, the Hermit.
The eighteenth Song. 287
Those two brave Burrowes, John, and Richard, had their place,
Which through the bloodied Bogs, those Irish oft did chase;
Whose deeds may with the best deservedly be read.
As those two Lacyes then, our English Powers that led:
Which twenty thousand, there, did in one Battell quell,
Amongst whome (troden down) the King of Conaugh fell.
Then Richard, that lov’d Earle of Cornwall, here we set:
Who, rightly of the race of great Plantaginet,
Our English Armies shipt, to gaine that hallowed ground,
With Long-sword the brave sonne of beautious Rosamond:
The Pagans through the breasts, like thunderbolts that shot;
And in the utmost East such admiration got,
That the shril-sounding blast, and terrour of our fame
Hath often conquered, where, our swords yet never came:
As Gifford, not forgot, their stout associate there.
So in the warres with Wales, of ours as famous here,
Guy Beuchamp, that great Earle of Warwick, place shall have:
From whom, the Cambrian Hils the Welsh-men could not save;
Whom he, their generall plague, impetuously pursu’d,
And in the British gore his slaughtering sword imbru’d.
In order as they rise (next Beuchamp) we preferre
The Lord John Gifford, matcht with Edmond Mortimer;
Men rightly moulded up, for high adventrous deeds.
In this renowned rank of warriors then succeeds
Walwin, who with such skill our Armies oft did guide;
In many a dangerous straight, that had his knowledge tride.
And in that fierce assault, which caus’d the fatall flight,
Where the distressed Welsh resign’d their Ancient right,
Stout Frampton: by whose hand, their Prince Lewellin fell.
Then followeth (as the first who haue deserved as well)
Great Saint-John; from the French, which twice recovered Guyne:
And he, all him before that cleerely did out-shine,
Warren, the puissant Earle of Surrey, which led forth
Our English Armyes oft into our utmost North;
And oft of his approach made Scotland quake to heare,
When Tweed hath sunk downe flat, within her Banks for feare.
On him there shall attend, that most adventurous Twhing,
That at Scambekin fight, the English off did bring
Before the furious Scot, that else were like to fall.
As Basset, last of these, yet not the least of all
Those most renowned spirits that Fowkerk bravely fought;
Where Long-shanks, to our lore, Albania lastly brought.
As, when our Edward first his title did advance,
And led his English hence, to winne his right in France,
That most deserving Earle of Darby we preferre,
Henries third valiant sonne, the Earle of Lancaster,
That only Mars of Men; who (as a generall scurge,
Sent by just-judging Heaven, outrageous France to purge)
At Cagant plagu’d the Power of Flemmings that she rais’d,
Against the English force: which as a hand-sell seas’d,
Into her very heart he marcht in warlike wise;
Took Bergera, Langobeck, Mountdurant, and Mountguyse;
Leau, Poudra, and Punach, Mount-Segre, Forsa, wonne;
Mountpesans, and Beumount, the Ryall, Aiguillon,
Rochmillon, Mauleon, Franch, and Angolisme surpriz’d;
With Castles, Cities, Forts, nor Provinces suffic’d.
Then took the Earle of Leyle: to conduct whom there came
Nine Vicounts, Lords, and Earls, astonisht at his name.
To Gascoyne then he goes (to plague her, being prest)
And manfully himselfe of Mirabell possest;
Surgeres, and Alnoy, Benoon, and Mortaine strooke:
And with a fearefull siege, he Taleburg lastly took;
With prosperous successe, in lesser time did winne
Maximien, Lusingham, Mount-Sorrell, and Bovin;
Sackt Poytiers: which did, then, that Countries treasure hold;
That not a man of ours would touch what was not gold.
With whom our * Maney here deservedly doth stand,
Which first Inventor was of that courageous band,
Who clos’d their left eyes up; as, never to be freed,
Till there they had atchiev’d some high adventurous deed.
He first into the preasse at Cagant conflict flue;
And from amidst a grove of gleaves, and halberds drew
Great Darby beaten downe; t’amaze the men of warre,
When he for England cri’d, S. George, and Lancaster:
And as mine author tells (in his high courage, proud)
Before his going forth, unto his Mistresse vow’d,
He would begin the war: and, to make good the same,
Then setting foot in France, there first with hostile flame
Forc’t Mortain, from her Towers, the neighbouring Townes to light;
That suddainly they caught a Fever with the fright.
Thin Castle (neere the Towne of Cambray) ours he made;
* S r Walter Maney.
And when the Spanish powers came Britanne to invade,
Both of their aydes and spoyles, them utterly bereft.
This English Lyon, there, the Spaniards never left,
Till from all aire of France, he made their Lewes fly.
And Fame her selfe, to him, so amply did apply,
That when the most unjust Calicians had forethought,
Into that Towne (then ours) the French-men to have brought,
Little Brittanne in France.
The King of England’s selfe, and his renowned sonne
(By those perfidious French to see what would be done)
Under his Guydon marcht, as private souldiers there.
So had we still of ours, in France that famous were;
Edward III. and the Black-Prince.
The eighteenth Song. 289
Warwick, of England then High-constable that was,
As other of that race, heere well I cannot passe;
That brave and god-like brood of Beuchamps, which so long
Them Earles of Warwick held; so hardy, great, and strong,
That after of that name it to an Adage grew,
If any man himselfe adventrous hapt to shew,
Bold Beuchampe men him tearm’d, if none so bold as hee.
With those our Beuchamps, may our Bourchers reckned bee.
Of which, that valiant Lord, most famous in those dayes,
That hazarded in France so many dangerous frayes:
Whose blade in all the fights betwixt the French and us,
Like to a Blazing-starre was ever ominous;
A man, as if by Mars upon Bellona got.
Next him, stout Cobham comes, that with as prosprous lot
Th’English men hath led; by whose auspicious hand,
We often have been known the Frenchmen to command.
And Harcourt, though by birth an Alien; yet, ours wonne,
By England after held her deere adopted sonne:
Which oft upon our part was bravely prov’d to doe,
Who with the hard’st attempts Fame earnestly did wooe:
To Paris-ward, that when the Amyens fled by stealth
(Within her mightie walls to have inclos’d their wealth)
Before her bulwarkt gates the Burgesses hee tooke;
Whilst the Parisians, thence that sadly stood to looke,
And saw their faithfull friends so wofully bestead,
Not once durst issue out to helpe them, for their head.
And our John Copland; heere courageously at home
(Whilst every where in France, those farre abroad doe roame)
That at New-castle fight (the Battell of the Queene,
Where most the English harts were to their Soveraigne seene)
Tooke David King of Scots, his prisoner in the fight.
Nor could these warres imploy our onely men of might:
But as the Queene by these did mightie things atchieve;
So those, to Britaine sent the Countesse to relieve,
As any yet of ours, two knights as much that dar’d,
Stout Dangorn, and with him strong Hartwell honor shar’d;
The dreaded Charles de Bloyes, that at Rochdarren bet,
And on the Royall seat, the Countesse Mountfort set.
In each place where they came so fortunate were ours.
Then, Audley, most renown’d amongst those valiant powers,
That with the Prince of Wales at conquer’d Poyters fought;
Such wonders that in Armes before both Armies wrought;
The first that charg’d the French; and, all that dreadfull day,
Through still renewing worlds of danger made his way;
The man that scorn’d to take a prisoner (through his pride)
But by plaine downe-right death the title to decide.
Bold Beuchamp; a
And after the retreat, that famous Battell done,
Wherein, rich spacious France was by the English wonne,
Five hundred marks in Fee, that noblest Prince bestow’d
For his so brave attempts, through his high courage show’d.
Which to his foure Esquires * hee freely gave, who there
Vy’d valour with their Lord; and in despight of feare,
Oft fetcht that day from death, where wounds gap’t wide as hell;
And cryes, and parting groanes, whereas the Frenchmen fell,
Even made the Victors greeve, so horrible they were.
Our Dabridgcourt the next shall be remembred heere,
At Poyters who brake in upon the Alman Horse
Through his too forward speed: but, taken by their force,
And after, by the turne of that so doubtfull fight,
Beeing reskew’d by his friends in Poyters fearfull sight,
Then like a Lyon rang’d about th’Enemies host:
And where he might suppose the danger to be most,
Like Lightning entred there, to his French-foes dismay,
To gratifie his friends which reskew’d him that day.
Then Chandos: whose great deeds found Fame so much to doo,
That she was lastly forc’d, him for her ease to wooe;
That Minion of drad Mars, which almost over-shone
All those before him were, and for him none scarce known,
At Cambray’s scaled wall his credit first that wonne;
And by the high exployts in France by him were done,
Had all so over-aw’d, that by his very name
He could remove a siege: and Citties where he came
Would at his Summons yeeld. That man, the most belov’d,
In all the wayes of warre so skilfull and approv’d,
* The honorable bountie
of the Lord Audley.
The * Prince at Poyters chose his person to assist.
This stout Herculean stem, this noble Martialist,
In battell twixt brave Bloys and noble Mountfort, try’d
At Array, then the right of Britaine to decyde,
Rag’d like a furious storme beyond the power of man,
Where valiant Charles was slaine, and the sterne English wan
The royall British rule to Mountforts nobler name.
Hee tooke strong Tarryers in, and Anjou oft did tame.
Gavaches he regayn’d, and us Rochmador got.
Where ever lay’d hee siege that he invested not?
As this brave Warrior was, so no lesse deere to us,
The rivall in his fame, his onely æmulus,
Renown’d Sir Robert Knowles, that in his glories shar’d,
His chivalry and oft in present perills dar’d;
As Nature should with Time, at once by these consent
To showe, that all their store they idly had not spent.
Hee Vermandoise or’e-ranne with skill and courage hie:
Notoriously hee plagu’d revolting Picardy:
* The Black-Prince.
The eighteenth Song. 291
That up to Paris walls did all before him win,
And dar’d her at her gates (the King that time within)
A man that all his deeds did dedicate to fame.
Then those stout Percyes, John, and Thomas, men of name.
The valiant Gourney, next, deservedly we grace,
And Howet, that with him assumes as high a place.
Strong Trivet, all whose ends at great adventures shot:
That conquer’d us Mount Pin, and Castle Carcilot,
As famous in the French, as in the Belgique warre;
Who tooke the Lord Brimewe; and with the great Navarre,
In Papaloon, attain’d an everlasting praise.
Courageous Carill next, then whom those glorious daies
Produc’t not any spirit that through more dangers swam.
That princely Thomas, next, the Earle of Buckingham,
To Britany through France that our stout English brought,
Which under his Commaund with such high fortune fought
As put the world in feare Rome from her cynders rose,
And of this Earth againe meant onely to dispose.
Thrice valiant Hackwood then, out-shining all the rest,
From London at the first a poore meane souldier prest
(That time but very young) to those great warres in France,
By his brave service there himselfe did so advance,
That afterward, the heat of those great Battels done
(In which he to his name immortall glory wonne)
Leading sixe thousand Horse, let his brave Guydon flie.
So, passing through East France, and entring Lombardie,
By th’greatnes of his fame, attayn’d so high Commaund,
That to his charge he got the white Italian Band.
With * Mountferato then in all his warres he went:
Whose cleere report abroad by Fames shrill trumpet sent,
Wrought, that with rich rewards him Milan after won,
To ayde her, in her warres with Mantua then begon;
* The Marquesse of
By * Barnaby, there made the Milanezes guide:
His daughter, who, to him, faire Domina, affy’d.
For Gregory then the twelfth, he dangerous Battels strooke,
And with a noble siege revolted Pavia tooke.
And there, as Fortune rose, or as she did decline,
Now with the Pisan serv’d, then with the Florentine:
The use of th’English Bowes to Italy that brought;
By which he, in those warres, seem’d wonders to have wrought.
Our Henry Hotspur next, for hie atchievements meet,
Who with the thundring noyse of his swift Coursers feet,
Astund the earth, that day, that he in Holmdon’s strife
Tooke Douglas, with the Earles of Anguish, and of Fyfe.
And whilst those hardy Scots, upon the firme earth bled,
With his revengefull sword swicht after them that fled.
* Brother to Galeazo,
Vicount of Millan.
Then Calverley, which kept us Calice with such skill,
His honor’d roome shall have our Catalogue to fill:
Who, when th’rebellious French, their liberty to gaine,
From us our ancient right unjustly did detaine
(T’let Bullen understand our just conceived ire)
Her Suburbs, and her Ships, sent up to heaven in fire;
Estaples then tooke in that day shee held her Faire,
Whose Marchandise he let his souldiers freely share;
And got us back Saint Marks, which loosely wee had lost.
Amongst these famous men, of us deserving most,
In these of great’st report, we gloriously prefer,
For that his navall fight, John Duke of Excester;
The puissant Fleet of Jeane (which France to her did call)
Who mercilesly sunk, and slew her Admirall.
And one, for single fight, amongst our Martiall men,
Deserves remembrance heere as worthily agen;
Our Clifford, that brave, young, and most courageous Squire:
Who thoroughly provokt, and in a great desire
Unto the English name a high report to win,
Slew Bockmell hand to hand at Castle Jocelin,
Suppos’d the noblest spirit that France could then produce.
Now, forward to thy taske proceed industrious Muse,
To him, above them all, our Power that did advance;
John Duke of Bedford, stil’d the fire-brand to sad France:
Who to remove the Foe from sieged Harflew, sent,
Affrighted them like death; and as at Sea he went,
The huge French Navie fier’d, when horrid Neptune ror’d,
The whilst those mightie Ships out of their scuppers pour’d
Their trayterous cluttred gore upon his wrinkled face.
Hee tooke strong Ivery in: and like his kingly race,
There downe before Vernoyle the English Standard stuck:
And having on his Helme his conquering Brothers luck,
Alanzon on the field and doughty Douglasse layd,
Which brought the Scottish power unto the Dauphins ayde;
And with his fatall sword, gave France her fill of death,
Till wearied with her wounds, shee gasping lay for breath.
Then, as if powerfull Heaven our part did there abet,
Still did one noble spirit, a nobler spirit beget.
So, Salsbury arose; from whom, as from a sourse
All valour seem’d to flowe, and to maintaine her force.
From whom not all their Forts could hold our trecherous Foes.
Pontmelance hee regayn’d, which ours before did lose.
Against the envious French, at Cravant, then came on;
As sometime at the siege of high-rear’d Ilion,
The Gods descending, mixt with mortalls in the fight:
And in his leading, show’d such valour and such might,
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As though his hand had held a more then earthly power;
Tooke Stuart in the field, and Generall Vantadour,
The French and Scottish force, that day which bravely led;
Where few at all escap’t, and yet the wounded fled.
Mount Aguilon, and Mouns, great Salsbury surpriz’d:
§. What time (I thinke in hell) that instrument devis’d,
The first appear’d in France, as a prodigious birth
To plague the wretched world, sent from the envious Earth;
Whose very roring seem’d the mighty Round to shake,
As though of all againe it would a Chaos make.
This famous Generall then got Gwerland to our use,
And Malicorne made ours, with Loupland, and La Suise,
Saint Bernards Fort, S. Kales, S. Susan, Mayon, Lyle,
The Hermitage, Mountseure, Baugency, and Yanvile.
Then he (in all her shapes that dreadfull Warre had seene,
And that with Danger oft so conversant had beene,
As for her threats at last he seem’d not once to care,
And Fortune to her face adventurously durst dare)
The Earle of Suffolke, Poole, the Marshall that great day
At Agincourt, where France before us prostrate lay
(Our Battells every where that Hector-like supply’d,
And marcht o’re murthered pyles of Frenchmen as they dy’d)
Invested Aubemerle, rich Cowcy making ours,
And at the Bishops Parke or’ethrew the Dolphins powers.
Through whose long time in warre, his credit so increast,
That hee supply’d the roume of Salsbury deceast.
In this our warlike rank, the two stout Astons then,
Sir Richard, and Sir John, so truly valiant men,
That Ages yet to come shall hardly over-top am,
Umfrevill, Peachy, Branch, Mountgomery, Felton, Popham.
All men of great Commaund, and highly that deserv’d:
Courageous Ramston next, so faithfully that serv’d
At Paris, and S. James de Beneon, where we gave
The French those deadly foyles, that Ages since deprave
The credit of those times, with these so wondrous things,
The memory of which, great Warwick forward brings.
Who (as though in his blood he conquest did inherit,
Or in the very name there were some secret spirit)
Being chosen for these warres in our great Regents place
(A deadly Foe to France, like his brave Roman race)
The Castilets of Loyre, of Maiet, and of Lund,
Mountdublian, and the strong Pountorson beat to ground.
Then hee, above them all, himselfe that sought to raise,
Upon some Mountaine top, like a Piramides;
Our Talbot, to the French so terrible in warre,
That with his very name their Babes they us’d to scarre,
Great Ordinance.
Took-in the strong Lavall, all Main and over-ran,
As the betray’d Mons he from the Marshall wan,
And from the treacherous Foe our valiant Suffolke free’d.
His sharpe and dreadfull sword made France so oft to bleed,
Till fainting with her wounds, she on her wrack did fall;
Tooke Joïng, where he hung her Traytors on the wall;
And with as faire successe wan Beumont upon Oyse,
The newe Towne in Esmoy, and Crispin in Valoyes:
Creile, with Saint Maxines bridge; and at Avranches ayde,
Before whose batter’d walls the Foe was strongly lay’d,
Marcht in, as of the siege at all he had not knowne;
And happily reliev’d the hardly-gotten Roan:
Who at the very hint came with auspicious feet,
Whereas the trayt’rous French he miserably beet.
And having over-spred all Picardy with warre,
Proud Burgaine to the Field hee lastly sent to darre,
Which with his English friends so oft his fayth had broake:
Whose Countries he made mourne in clowds of smouldring smoak;
Then Gysors he againe, then did Saint Denise, raze.
His Parallel, with him, the valiant Scales we praise;
Which oft put sword to sword, and foot to foot did set:
And that the first alone the Garland might not get,
With him hath hand in hand leapt into Dangers jawes;
And oft would forward put, where Talbot stood to pause:
Equalitie in fame, which with an equall lot,
Both at Saint Denise siege, and batt’red Guysors got.
Before Pont-Orsons walls, who, when great Warwick lay
(And he with souldiers sent a forraging for pray)
Six thousand French or’e-threw with halfe their numbred powers,
And absolutely made both Main and Anjou ours.
To Willoughby the next, the place by turne doth fall;
Whose courage likely was to beare it from them all:
With admiration oft on whom they stood to looke,
Saint Valeries proud gates that off the hindges shooke:
In Burgondy that forc’t the recreant French to flie,
And beat the Rebells downe disordering Normandy:
That Amiens neere layd waste (whose strengths her could not save)
And the perfidious French out of the Country drave.
With these, another troupe of noble spirits there sprong,
That with the formost preast into the warlike throng.
The first of whom we place that stout Sir Phillip Hall,
So famous in the fight against the Count S. Paul,
That Crotoy us regain’d: and in the conflict twixt
The English and the French, that with the Scot were mixt,
On proud Charles Cleremont won that admirable day.
Strong Fastolph with this man compare we justly may,
The eighteenth Song. 295
By Salsbury who oft beeing seriously imploy’d
In many a brave attempt, the generall Foe annoy’d;
With excellent successe in Main and Anjou fought:
And many a Bulwarke there into our keeping brought;
And, chosen to goe forth with Vadamont in warre,
Most resolutely tooke proud Renate, Duke of Barre.
The valiant Draytons then, Sir Richard, and Sir John,
By any English spirits yet hardly over-gone;
The fame they got in France, with costly wounds that bought:
In Gascony and Guyne, who oft and stoutly fought.
Then, valiant Mathew Gough: for whom the English were
Much bound to noble Wales in all our Battels there,
Or sieging or besieg’d that never fayl’d our force,
Oft hazarding his blood in many a desperate course.
Hee beat the Bastard Balme with his selected band,
And at his Castle-gate surpriz’d him hand to hand,
And spight of all his power away him prisoner bare.
Our hardy Burdet then with him we will compare,
Besieg’d within Saint James de Beneon, issuing out,
Crying Salsbury, S. George, with such a horrid shout,
That cleft the wandring clowds; and with his valiant crew
Upon the envied French like hungry Lyons flew,
And Arthur Earle of Eure and Richmont tooke in fight:
Then following them (in heat) the Armie put to flight:
The Britan, French, and Scot, receiv’d a generall sack,
As, flying, one fell still upon anothers back;
Where our sixe hundred slew so many thousands more.
At our so good successe that once a French-man swore
That God was wholly turn’d unto the English side,
And to assist the French, the divell had deny’d.
Then heere our Kerrill claimes his roome amongst the rest,
Who justly if compar’d might match our very best.
Hee in our warres in France with our great Talbot oft,
With Willoughby and Scales, now downe, and then aloft,
Endur’d the sundry turnes of often varying Fate;
At Cleremont seiz’d the Earle before his Citty gate,
Eight hundred faithlesse French who tooke or put to sword;
And, by his valour, twice to Artoyse us restor’d.
In this our service then great Arondell doth ensue,
The Marshall Bousack who in Beuvoys overthrew;
And, in despight of France and all her power, did win
The Castles Darle, Nellay, S. Lawrence, Bomelin;
Tooke Silly, and Count Lore at Sellerin subdu’d,
Where with her owners blood, her buildings hee imbru’d:
Revolted Loveers sackt, and manfully supprest
Those Rebells, that so oft did Normandy molest.
As Poynings, such high prayse in Gelderland that got,
On the Savoyan side, that with our English shot
Strooke warlike Aiske, and Straule, when Flanders shooke with feare.
As Howard, by whose hand we so renowned were:
Whose great successe at Sea, much fam’d our English Fleet:
That in a navall fight the Scottish Barton beet;
And setting foote in France, her horribly did fright:
(As if great Chandos ghost, or feared Talbots spright
Had com’n to be their scourge, their fame againe to earne)
Who having stoutly sack’t both Narbin and Deverne,
The Castles of De Boyes, of Fringes, tooke us there,
Of Columburge, of Rewe, of Dorlans, and Daveere;
In Scotland, and againe the Marches East to West,
Did with invasive warre most terribly infest.
A nobler of that name, the Earle of Surry then,
That famous Hëroe fit both for the Speare and Pen
(From Floddens doubtfull fight, that forward Scottish King
In his victorious troupe who home with him did bring)
Rebellious Ireland scourg’d, in Britany and wan
Us Morles. Happy time, that bredst so brave a man!
To Cobham, next, the place deservedly doth fall:
In France who then imploy’d with our great Admirall,
In his succesfull Road blew Sellois up in fire,
Tooke Bottingham and Bruce, with Samkerke and Mansier.
Our Peachy, nor our Carre, nor Thomas, shall be hid,
That at the Field of Spurres by Tirwyn stoutly did.
Sands, Guyldford, Palmer, Lyle, Fitzwilliams, and with them,
Brave Dacres, Musgrave, Bray, Coe, Wharton, Jerningham,
Great Martialists, and men that were renowned farre
At Sea; some in the French, some in the Scottish warre.
Courageous Randolph then, that serv’d with great Command,
Before Newhaven first, and then in Ireland.
The long-renown’d Lord Gray, whose spirit we oft did try;
A man that with drad Mars stood in account most hie.
Sir Thomas Morgan then, much fame to us that wan,
When in our Maiden raigne the Belgique warre began:
Who with our friends the Dutch, for England stoutly stood,
When Netherland first learn’d to lavish gold and blood.
Sir Roger Williams next (of both which, Wales might vaunt)
His marshall Compere then, and brave Commilitant:
Whose conflicts, with the French and Spanish manly fought,
Much honor to their names, and to the Britaines brought.
Th’Lord Willoughby may well be reccond with the rest,
Inferiour not a whit to any of our best;
A man so made for warre, as though from Pallas sprong.
Sir Richard Bingham then our valiant men among,
The eighteenth Song. 297
Himselfe in Belgia well, and Ireland, who did beare;
Our onely Schooles of Warre this later time that were.
As, Stanly, whose brave act at Zutphens service done,
Much glory to the day, and him his Knighthood wonne.
Our noblest Norrice next, whose fame shall never die
Whilst Belgia shall be knowne; or there’s a Britany:
In whose brave height of spirit, Time seem’d as to restore
Those, who to th’English name such honor gayn’d of yore.
Great Essex, of our Peeres the last that ere we knew;
Th’old worlds Heroës lyves who likely’st did renew;
The souldiers onely hope, who stoutly serv’d in France;
And on the Towers of Cales as proudly did advance
Our English Ensignes then, and made Iberia quake,
When as our warlike Fleet road on the surging Lake,
T’receive that Citties spoyle, which set her batter’d gate
Wide ope, t’affrighted Spayne to see her wretched state.
Next, Charles, Lord Mountjoy, sent to Ireland to suppresse
The envious Rebell there; by whose most faire successe,
The trowzed Irish led by their unjust Tyrone,
And the proud Spanish force, were justly overthrowne.
That still Kinsall shall keepe and faithfull record beare,
What by the English prowesse was executed there.
Sir Edw. Stanley.
Then liv’d those valiant Veres, both men of great Command
In our imployments long: whose either Marshall hand
Reacht at the highest wreath, it from the top to get,
Which on the proudest head, Fame yet had ever set.
Sir Francis, and Sir
Our p Dokwray, q Morgan next, Sir Samuell Bagnall, then
Stout r Lambert, such as well deserve a living pen;
True Martialists and Knights, of noble spirit and wit.
The valiant Cicill, last, for great imployment fit,
Deservedly in warre the lat’st of ours that rose:
Whose honor every howre, and fame still greater growes.
When now the Kentish Nymphs doe interrupt her Song,
By letting Medway knowe shee tarried had too long
Upon this warlike troupe, and all upon them layd,
Yet for their nobler Kent shee nought or little said.
When as the pliant Muse, straight turning her about,
And comming to the Land as Medway goeth out,
Saluting the deare soyle, ô famous Kent, quoth shee,
What Country hath this Ile that can compare with thee,
Which hast within thy selfe as much as thou canst wish?
Thy Conyes, Venson, Fruit; thy sorts of Fowle and Fish:
As what with strength comports, thy Hay, thy Corne, thy Wood:
Nor any thing doth want, that any where is good.
Where Thames-ward to the shore, which shoots upon the rise,
Rich Tenham undertakes thy Closets to suffize
p Sir Henry.
q Sir Edmond.
r Sir Oliver.
With Cherries, which wee say, the Sommer in doth bring,
Wherewith Pomona crownes the plump and lustfull Spring;
From whose deepe ruddy cheeke, sweet Zephyre kisses steales,
With their delicious touch his love-sicke hart that heales.
Whose golden Gardens seeme th’Hesperides to mock:
Nor there the Damzon wants, nor daintie Abricock,
Nor Pippin, which we hold of kernell-fruits the king,
The Apple-Orendge; then the savory Russetting:
The Peare-maine, which to France long ere to us was knowne,
Which carefull Frut’rers now have denizend our owne.
The Renat: which though first it from the Pippin came,
Growne through his pureness nice, assumes that curious name,
Upon the Pippin stock, the Pippin beeing set;
As on the Gentle, when the Gentle doth beget
(Both by the Sire and Dame beeing anciently descended)
The issue borne of them, his blood hath much amended.
The Sweeting, for whose sake the Plow-boyes oft make warre:
The Wilding, Costard, then the wel-known Pomwater,
And sundry other fruits, of good, yet severall taste,
That have their sundry names in sundry Countries plac’t:
Unto whose deare increase the Gardiner spends his life,
With Percer, Wimble, Sawe, his Mallet, and his Knife;
Oft covereth, oft doth bare the dry and moystned root,
As faintly they mislike, or as they kindly sute:
And their selected plants doth workman-like bestowe,
That in true order they conveniently may growe.
And kils the slimie Snayle, the Worme, and labouring Ant,
Which many times annoy the graft and tender Plant:
Or else maintaines the plot much starved with the wet,
Wherein his daintiest fruits in kernels he doth set:
Or scrapeth off the mosse, the Trees that oft annoy.
But, with these tryfling things why idly doe I toy,
Who any way the time intend not to prolong?
To those Thamisian Iles now nimbly turnes my Song,
Faire Shepey and the Greane sufficiently supply’d,
To beautifie the place where Medway showes her pride.
But Greane seemes most of all the Medway to adore,
And Tenet, standing forth to the f Rhutupian shore,
By mightie Albion plac’t till his returne againe
From Gaul; where, after, he by Hercules was slaine.
For, Earth-borne Albion then great Neptunes eldest sonne,
Ambicious of the fame by sterne Alcides wonne,
Would over (needs) to Gaul, with him to hazard fight,
Twelve Labors which before accomplisht by his might;
His Daughters then but young (on whom was all his care)
Which Doris, Thetis Nymph, unto the Gyant bare:
f Neere Sand-wich.
The eighteenth Song. 299
With whom those Iles he left; and will’d her for his sake,
That in their Grandsires Court shee much of them would make:
But Tenet, th’eldst of three, when Albion was to goe,
Which lov’d her Father best, and loth to leave him so,
There at the Giant raught; which was perceiv’d by chance:
This loving Ile would else have followed him to France;
To make the chanell wide that then he forced was,
§. Whereas (some say) before he us’d on foot to passe.
Thus Tenet being stay’d, and surely setled there,
Who nothing lesse then want and idlenes could beare,
Doth onely give her selfe to tillage of the ground.
With sundry sorts of Graine whilst thus shee doth abound,
She falls in love with Stour, which comming downe by Wye,
And towards the goodly Ile, his feet doth nimbly ply.
To Canterbury then as kindly he resorts,
His famous Country thus he gloriously reports;
O noble Kent, quoth he, this praise doth thee belong,
The hard’st to be controld, impatientest of wrong.
Who, when the Norman first with pride and horror sway’d,
Threw’st off the servile yoke upon the English lay’d;
And with a high resolve, most bravely didst restore
That libertie so long enjoy’d by thee before.
§. Not suffring forraine Lawes should thy free Customes bind,
Then onely showd’st thy selfe of th’ancient Saxon kind.
Of all the English Shires be thou surnam’d the Free,
§. And formost ever plac’t, when they shall reckned bee.
And let this Towne, which Chiefe of thy rich Country is,
Of all the British Sees be still Metropolis.
Which having said, the Stour to Tenet him doth hie,
Her in his loving armes imbracing by and by,
Into the mouth of Tames one arme that forth doth lay,
The other thrusting out into the Celtique Sea.
§. Grym Goodwin all this while seems grievously to lowre,
Nor cares he of a strawe for Tennet, nor her Stour;
Still bearing in his mind a mortall hate to France
Since mighty Albions fall by warres incertaine chance.
Who, since his wisht revenge not all this while is had,
Twixt very griefe and rage is fall’n extreamly mad;
That when the rouling Tyde doth stirre him with her waves,
Straight foming at the mouth, impatiently he raves,
And strives to swallow up the Sea-marks in his Deepe,
That warne the wandring ships out of his jawes to keepe.
The Surgions of the Sea doe all their skill apply,
If possibly, to cure his greevous maladie:
As Amphitrites Nymphs their very utmost prove,
By all the meanes they could, his madnes to remove.
From Greenwich to these Sands, some Scurvigrasse doe bring,
That inwardly apply’d’s a wondrous soveraigne thing.
From Shepey, Sea-mosse some, to coole his boyling blood;
Some, his ill-seasond mouth that wisely understood,
Rob Dovers neighboring Cleeves of Sampyre, to excite
His dull and sickly taste, and stirre up appetite.
Now, Shepey, when shee found shee could no further wade
After her mightie Sire, betakes her to his trade,
With Sheephooke in her hand, her goodly flocks to heed,
And cherisheth the kind of those choice Kentish breed.
Of Villages shee holds as husbandly a port,
As any British Ile that neighboreth Neptunes Court.
But Greane, as much as shee her Father that did love
(And, then the Inner Land, no further could remove)
In such continuall griefe for Albion doth abide,
That almost under-flood shee weepeth every Tide.
Simples frequent in these