Song 20


The twentieth Song.


The Muse that part of Suffolke sings,
That lyes to Norfolke, and then brings
The bright Norfolcean Nymphes, to ghest
To Loving-land, to Neptunes Feast;
To Ouze the lesse then downe shee takes,
Where shee a Flight at River makes:
And thence to Marsh-land shee descends,
With whose free praise this Song shee ends.

rom Suffolke rose a sound, through the Norfolcean shore
That ran it selfe, the like had not bin heard before:
For he that doth of Sea the powerful Trident weld,
His Tritons made proclaime, a * Nymphall to be held A meeting,
or Feast of
In honor of himselfe, in Loving-land, where he
The most selected Nymphes appointed had to be.
Those Seamayds that about his secret walkes doe dwell,
Which tend his mightie heards of Whales, and Fishes fell,
As of the Rivers those, amongst the Meadowes ranke,
That play in every Foar’d, and sport on every banke,
Were summon’d to be there, in paine of Neptunes hate:
For he would have his Feast, observ’d with god-like state,
When those Suffolcean Floods, that sided not with Stoure,
Their streames but of themselves into the Ocean powre,
As Or, through all the coast a Flood of wondrous fame,
Whose honored fall begets a * Haven of her name.
And Blyth a daintie Brooke, their speedy course doe cast,
For Neptune with the rest, to Loving-land to hast:
When Waveney in her way, on this Septentriall side,
That these two Easterne Shires doth equally divide,
Orford Haven.
From * Laphamford leads on, her streame into the East,
By Bungey, then along by Beckles, when possest
The place of her Spring.
Of Loving-land, ’bout which her limber Armes she throwes,
With Neptune taking hands, betwixt them who inclose,
And her an Iland make, fam’d for her scite so farre.
But leave her Muse awhile, and let us on with Yar,
Which Gariena some, some Hier, some Yar doe name;
Who rising from her spring not farre from Walsingham,
Through the Norfolcean fields seemes wantonly to play,
To Norwich comes at length, towards Yarmouth on her way,
Where Wentsum from the South, and Bariden doe beare
Up with her, by whose wealth she much is honored there,
To intertaine her Yar, that in her state doth stand,
At Gatesend not far
With Townes of high’st account, the fourth of all the land:
That hospitable place to the Industrious Dutch,
Norwich, in place the 4.
city of England.
Whose skill in making Stuffes, and workmanship is such,
(For refuge hither come) as they our ayd deserve,
By labour sore that live, whilst oft the English starve;
On Roots, and Pulse that feed, on Beefe and Mutton spare,
So frugally they live, not gluttons as we are.
But from my former Theame, since thus I have digrest,
Ile borrow more of Time, untill my Nymphs be drest:
And since these Foods fall out so fitly in my way,
A little while to them I will convert my Lay.
The Dutch a most
industrious people.
The Colewort, Colifloure, and Cabidge in their season,
The Rouncefall, great Beanes, and early ripening Peason;
The Onion, Scallion, Leeke, which Housewives highly rate;
Their kinsman Garlicke then, the poore mans Mithridate;
The savory Parsnip next, and Carret pleasing food;
The Skirret (which some say) in Sallats stirres the blood;
The Turnip, tasting well to Clownes in Winter weather.
Thus in our verse we put, Roots, Hearbs, and Fruits together.
The great moyst Pumpion then, that on the ground doth lie,
A purer of his kind, the sweet Muske-million by;
Which dainty pallats now, because they would not want,
Have kindly learnt to set, as yearely to transplant:
The Radish somewhat hote, yet urine doth provoke;
The Cucumber as cold, the heating Artichoke;
The Citrons, which our soyle not easly doth affourd;
The Rampion rare as that, the hardly gotten Gourd.
But in these triviall things, Muse, wander not too long,
But now to nimble Yar, turne we our active Song,
Which in her winding course, from Norwich to the Mayne,
By many a stately seat lasciviously doth straine,
Roots and Garden-fruits of
this Iland.
To Yarmouth till she come, her onely christned Towne,
Whose fishing through the Realme, doth her so much renowne,
Where those that with their nets still haunt the boundles lake,
Her such a sumptuous feast of salted Herrings make,
So called by the falling of
Yar into the Sea.
The twentieth Song. 13
As they had rob’d the Sea of all his former store,
And past that very howre, it could produce no more.
Her owne selves Harbour here, when Yar doth hardly win,
But kindly she againe, saluted is by Thrin,
A faire Norfolcean Nymph, which gratifies her fall.
Now are the * Tritons heard, to Loving-land to call,
Which Neptunes great commaunds, before them bravely beare,
Commanding all the Nymphs of high account that were,
Which in fat Holland lurke amongst the queachy plashes,
Or play them on the sands, upon the fomy washes,
As all the watry brood, which haunt the German deepes,
Upon whose briny Curles, the dewy morning weepes,
To Loving-land to come, and in their best attires,
That meeting to observe, as now the time requires.
When Erix, Neptunes sonne by Venus, to the shore
To see them safely brought, their Herault came before,
And for a Mace he held in his huge hand, the horne
Of that so-much-esteem’d, sea-honoring Unicorne.
Supposed to be
Trumpeters to Neptune.
Next Proto wondrous swift, led all the rest the way,
Then she which makes the calmes, the mild Cymodice,
With god-like Dorida, and Galatea faire,
With daintie Nets of pearle, cast o’r their braided haire:
Analiis which the Sea doth salt, and seasoned keepe;
And Batheas, most supreame and soveraigne in the deepe,
Brings Cyane, to the waves which that greene colour gives;
Then Atmis, which in Fogs and mistie vapours lives:
Phrinax, the Billowes rough, and surges that bestrides,
And Rothion, that by her on the wilde waters rides;
With Icthias, that of Frye the keeping doth retaine,
As Pholoë, most that rules the Monsters of the Maine:
Which brought to beare them out, if any need should fall,
The Dolphin, Sea-horse, Gramp, the Wherlpoole, and the Whall.
An hundred more besides, I readily could name,
With these as Neptune wil’d, to Loving-land that came.
These Nymphs trick’d up in tyers, the Sea-gods to delight:
The vertuall properties
incident to waters, as well
Seas, as Rivers, expressed
by their names in the
persons of Nymphs, as
hath bin used by the
Of Currall of each kind, the blacke, the red, the white;
With many sundry shels, the Scallop large, and faire;
The Cockle small and round; the Periwinkle spare,
The Oyster, wherein oft the pearle is found to breed,
The Mussell, which retaines that daintie Orient seed:
In Chaines and Bracelets made, with linkes of sundry twists,
Some worne about their wasts, their necks, some on the wrists.
Great store of Amber there, and Jeat they did not misse;
Their lips they sweetned had with costly Ambergris.
The delicacies of the Sea.
Scarcely the * Neriad’s thus arrived from the Seas,
But from the fresher streames the brighter * Niades,
Nymphs of Rivers.
To Loving-land make haste with all the speed they may,
For feare their fellow-Nymphes should for their comming stay.
Glico the running Streames in sweetnesse still that keepes,
And Clymene which rules, when they surround their deepes.
Spio, in hollow bankes, the waters that doth hide:
With Opis that doth beare them backward with the Tyde.
Semaia that for sights doth keepe the water cleare:
Zanthe their yellow sands, that maketh to appeare,
Then Drymo for the Okes that shaddow every banke,
Phylodice, the boughs for Garlands fresh and ranke.
Which the cleare Naiades make them * Anadems withall,
When they are cald to daunse in Neptunes mightie hall.
Then Ligea, which maintaines the Birds harmonious layes,
Which sing on Rivers banks amongst the slender sprayes,
With Rhodia, which for them doth nurse the Roseat sets,
Ioida, which preserves the azure Violets.
Anthea, of the flowers, that hath the generall charge,
And Syrinx of the Reeds, that grow upon the Marge.
Some of these lovely Nymphes wore on their flaxen haire
Fine Chaplets made of Flaggs, that fully flowred were:
With Water-cans againe, some wantonly them dight,
Whose larger leafe and flower, gave wonderfull delight
To those that wistly view’d their Beauties: some againe,
That soveraigne places held amongst the watry traine,
Of Cat-tayles made them Crownes, which from the Sedge doth grow,
Which neatly woven were, and some to grace the show,
Of Lady-smocks most white, doe rob each neighbouring Mead,
Wherewith their looser locks most curiously they breyd.
Now thus together com’n, they friendly doe devise,
Some of light toyes, and some of matters grave and wise.
But to breake off their speech, her reed when Syrinx sounds,
Some cast themselves in Rings, and fell to Hornepipe rounds:
They ceasing, as againe to others turnes it falls,
They lustie Galiards tread, some others Jiggs, and Braules.
This done, upon the banke together being set,
Proceeding in the cause, for which they thus were met,
Coronets of Flowers.
In mightie Neptunes praise, these Sea-borne Virgins sing:
Let earth, and ayre, say they with the high praises ring,
Of Saturne by his Ops, the most renowned * Sonne,
From all the gods but Jove, the Diadem that wonne,
Whose ofspring wise and strong, deare Nymphes let us relate,
On mountaines of vast waves, know he that sits in state,
And with his Trident rules, the universall streame,
To be the onely syre of mightie Polypheme.
On fayre Thoosa got old Phorcus loved child,
Who in a fained shape that god of Sea beguild.
The Song of the Sea-
Nymphs in praise of
The twentieth Song. 15
Three thousand princely sonnes, and lovely Nymphs as we,
Were to great Neptune borne, of which we sparing be:
Some by his goodly Queene, some in his Lemmans bed;
Chryasor grim begot, on sterne Medusas head.
Swart Brontes, for his owne so mightie Neptune takes,
One of the Cyclops strong, Joves Thunder-bolts that makes.
Great Neptune, Nelius got, (if you for wisedome seeke)
Who was old Nestors syre, the grav’st and wisest Greeke.
Or from this King of waves, of such thou lov’st to heare,
Of famous Nations first, that mightie Founders were;
Then Cadmus, who the plot of ancient Thebes contriv’d,
From Neptune God of Sea, his Pedigree deriv’d,
By Agenor his old Syer, who rul’d Phenicia long:
So Inachus, the chiefe of Argives great and strong
Claim’d kinred of this King, and by some beautious Neece,
So did Pelasgus too, who peopled ancient Greece.
A world of mightie Kings and Princes I could name,
From our god Neptune sprung; let this suffice, his fame
Incompasseth the world; those Starres which never rise,
Above the lower South, are never from his eyes:
As those againe to him doe every day appeare,
Continually that keepe the Northerne Hemisphere;
Who like a mightie King, doth cast his Watched robe,
Farre wider then the land, quite round about the Globe.
Where is there one to him that may compared be,
That both the Poles at once continually doth see;
And Gyant-like with heaven as often maketh warres;
The Ilands (in his power) as numberlesse as Starres,
He washeth at his will, and with his mightie hands,
He makes the even shores, oft mountainous with Sands:
Whose creatures, which observe his wide Emperiall seat,
Like his immeasured selfe, are infinite and great.
Thus ended they their Song, and off th’assembly brake,
When quickly towards the west, the Muse her way doth take;
Whereas the swelling soyle, as from one banke doth bring
This * Waveney sung before, and * Ouse the lesse, whose spring
Towards Ouse the greater poynts, and downe by Thetford glides,
Where shee cleere Thet receives, her glory that divides,
With her new-named Towne, as wondrous glad that shee,
For frequency of late, so much esteemd should be:
Where since these confluent Floods, so fit for Hauking lye,
And store of Fowle intice skil’d Falkoners there to flye.
The fountaines of these
rivers, not farre asunder,
yet one running
Northward, the other to
the East.
Now of a flight at Brooke shall my description be:
What subject can be found, that lies not faire to me.
Of simple Shepheards now, my Muse exactly sings,
And then of courtly Loves, and the affaires of Kings.
A description of a flight at River.
Then in a Buskind straine, the warlike speare and shield,
And instantly againe of the disports of Field;
What can this Ile produce, that lyes from my report,
Industrious Muse, proceed then to thy Hawking sport.
When making for the Brooke, the Falkoner doth espie
On River, Plash, or Mere, where store of Fowle doth lye:
Whence forced over land, by skilfull Falconers trade:
A faire convenient flight, may easily be made.
He whistleth off his Hawkes, whose nimble pineons streight,
Doe worke themselves by turnes, into a stately height:
And if that after * check, the one or both doe goe,
Sometimes he them the Lure, sometimes doth water show;
The trembling Fowle that heare the Jigging Hawk-bels ring,
And find it is too late, to trust then to their wing,
Lye flat upon the flood, whilst the high-mounted Hawks,
Then being lords alone, in their etheriall walkes,
Aloft so bravely stirre, their bells so thicke that shake;
After Pigeons, Crowes, or
such like.
Which when the Falkoner sees, that scarce one * plane they make:
The gallant’st Birds saith he, that ever flew on wing,
And sweares there is a Flight, were worthy of a King.
Then making to the Flood, to force the Fowles to rise,
The fierce and eager Hawkes, downe thrilling from the Skies,
When they sore as Kites
Make sundry * Canceleers e’r they the Fowle can reach,
Which then to save their lives, their wings doe lively stretch.
But when the whizzing Bels the silent ayre doe cleave,
And that their greatest speed, them vainly doe deceive;
And the sharpe cruell Hawkes, they at their backs doe view,
Crossing the ayre in their
Themselves for very feare they instantly * ineawe.
The Hawkes get up againe into their former place;
And ranging here and there, in that their ayery race:
Still as the fearefull Fowle attempt to scape away,
With many a stouping brave, them in againe they lay.
But when the Falkoners take their Hawking-poles in hand,
And crossing of the Brooke, doe put it over land:
The Hawke gives it a souse, that makes it to rebound,
Well neere the height of man, sometime above the ground;
Oft takes a leg, or wing, oft takes away the head,
And oft from necke to tayle, the backe in two doth shread.
With many a Wo ho ho, and jocond Lure againe,
When he his quarry makes upon the grassy plaine.
But to my Floods againe: when as this Ouze the lesse
Hath taken in cleere Thet, with farre more free accesse
To Ouze the great shee goes, her Queene that commeth crown’d,
As such a River fits, so many miles renown’d;
And poynting to the North, her Christall front she dashes
Against the swelling sands of the surrounded Washes;
Lay the Fowles againe
into the water.
The twentieth Song. 17
And Neptune in her Armes, so amply doth imbrace,
As she would rob his Queene, faire Thetis of her place.
Which when rich Marsh-land sees, least she should loose her state,
With that faire River thus, shee gently doth debate.
Disdaine me not, deare Flood, in thy excessive pride,
There’s scarcely any soyle that sitteth by thy side,
Whose Turfe so batfull is, or beares so deepe a swath;
Nor is there any Marsh in all Great Britaine, hath
So many goodly seats, or that can truely show
Such Rarities as I: so that all Marshes owe
Much honor to my name, for that exceeding grace,
Which they receive by me, so soveraigne in my place.
Though Rumney, as some say, for finenesse of her grasse,
And for her daintie scite, all other doth surpasse:
Yet are those Seas but poore, and Rivers that confine
Her greatnesse but meane Rills, be they compar’d with mine.
Nor hardly doth shee tyth th’aboundant Fowle and Fish,
Which Nature gives to me, as I my selfe can wish.
As Amphitrite oft, calls me her sweet and faire,
And sends the Northrene winds to curle my braided haire,
And makes the * Washes stand, to watch and ward me still,
Lest that rough god of Sea, on me should worke his will.
Old Wisbitch to my grace, my circuit sits within,
And neere my banks I have the neighbourhood of Lyn.
Both Townes of strength and state, my profits still that vent:
No Marsh hath more of Sea, none more of continent.
Thus Marsh-land ends her speech, as one that throughly knew,
What was her proper praise, and what was Ouzes due.
With that the zealous Muse, in her Poetique rage,
To Walsingham would needs have gone a Pilgrimage,
To view those farthest shores, whence little Niger flowes
Into the Northrene Maine, and see the gleabe where growes
That Saffron, (which men say) this land hath not the like,
All Europe that excels: but here she sayle doth strike.
For that Apollo pluckt her easly by the eare;
And told her in that part of Norfolke, if there were
Ought worthy of respect, it was not in her way,
When for the greater Ouze, her wing she doth display.
The Washes, lying
betweene Marsh-land, and
the Sea.