Song 28


The eight and twentieth Song.


Invention hence her Compasse steeres,
Towards Yorke the most renownd of Shires,
Makes the three Ridings in their Stories,
Each severally to shew their glories.
Ouse for her most-lovd Cities sake,
Doth her Dukes Title undertake;
His Floods then Humber welcomes in,
And showes how first he did begin.

he Muse from Blackstonedge, no whit dismaid at all,
With sight of the large Shire, on which shee was to fall,
(Whose Forrests, Hils, & Floods, then long for her arive
From Lancashire, that lookt her Beauties to contrive)
Doth set her selfe to sing, of that above the rest
A Kingdome that doth seeme, a Province at the least,
To them that thinke themselves no simple Shires to be;
But that wherein the world her greatnesse most may see,
And that which doth this Shire before the rest preferre,
Is of so many Floods, and great, that rise from her,
Except some silly few out of her Verge that flow,
So neere to other Shires, that it is hard to know,
If that their Springs be hers, or others them divide,
And those are onely found upon her Setting side.
Else be it noted well, remarkeable to all,
That those from her that flow, in her together fall.
Nor can small praise beseeme so beautious Brooks as these,
For from all other Nymphs these be the Nayades,
In Amphitrites Bower, that princely places hold,
To whom the Orkes of Sea dare not to be so bold,
As rudely once to touch, and wheresoere they come,
The Tritons with their Trumps proclaime them publique roome.
A great bravery of
Now whiles the Muse prepares these Floods along to lead,
The wide West-riding first, desires that shee may plead
The right that her belongs, which of the Muse she winnes,
When with the course of Don, thus she her Tract begins.
Thou first of all my Floods, whose Banks doe bound my South,
And offrest up thy Streame to mightie Humbers mouth,
The West Ridings
Of Ewe, and climing Elme, that crown’d with many a spray,
From thy cleare Fountaine first through many a Mead dost play,
Till Rother, whence the name of Rotheram first begun,
At that her christened Towne doth loose her in my Don,
Which proud of her recourse, tow’rds Doncaster doth drive,
Her greatst and chiefest towne, the name that doth derive
From Dons neere bordering Banks, when holding on her race,
Shee dancing in and out, indenteth Hatfield Chase,
Whose bravery hourely adds, new honors to her Banke:
When Sherwood sends her in slow Iddle, that made ranke
With her profuse excesse, shee largely it bestowes
On Marshland, whose swolne wombe with such abundance flowes,
As that her batning brest, her Fatlings sooner feeds,
And with more lavish waste, then oft the Grasier needs:
Whose soyle, as some report that be her Borderers note,
With th’water under earth undoubtedly doth flote:
For when the waters rise, it risen doth remaine
Much Ewe and Elme
upon the Bank of Don.
High whilst the Floods are high, and when they fall againe,
It falleth: but at last, when as my lively Don,
Along by Marshlands side, her lusty course hath runne,
The little wandring Went, wonne by the lowd report
Of the magnifique State, and height of Humbers Court,
Drawes on to meet with Don, at her approch to Aire:
Now speake I of a Flood, who thinks there’s none should dare
(Once) to compare with her, supposd by her discent,
The darling daughter borne of loftie Penigent,
Who from her fathers foot, by Skipton downe doth scud,
And leading thence to Leeds, that delicatest Flood,
Takes Caldor comming in by Wakefield, by whose force,
As from a lusty Flood, much strengthened in her course;
But Caldor as shee comes, and greater still doth wax,
A strange opinion held
by those of the
neighboring Villages.
And travelling along by Heading-Halifax,
Which Horton once was cald, but of a Virgins haire,
(A Martyr that was made, for Chastity, that there
was by her Lover slaine) being fastned to a tree:
The people that would needs it should a Relique be,
It Halifax since nam’d, which in the Northerne tongue,
Is Holy haire: but thence as Caldor comes along,
Beheading, which we
call Halifax Law.
It chanc’d shee in her Course on Kirkbey cast her eye,
Where merry Robbin Hood, that honest Thiefe doth lye,
Robin Hoods burying
The eight and twentieth Song. 141
Beholding fitly too before how Wakefield stood,
Shee doth not onely thinke of lustie Robin Hood,
But of his merry man, the Pindar of the Towne
Of Wakefield, George a Greene, whose fames so farre are blowne,
For their so valiant fight, that every free mans Song,
Can tell you of the same, quoth she be talk’d on long,
For yee were merry Lads, and those were merry dayes;
When Aire to Caldor calls, and bids her come her wayes,
Who likewise to her helpe, brings Hebden, a small Rill:
Thus Aire holds on her course tow’rds Humber, till she fill
Her fall with all the wealth that Don can her affoord.
Quoth the West-riding thus, with Rivers am I stor’d.
Next guide I on my Wharfe, the great’st in her degree,
And that I well may call the worthiest of the three,
Who her full fountaine takes from my wast Westerne wild,
(Whence all but Mountaineers, by Nature are exild)
On Langstrethdale, and lights at th’entrance of her race,
When keeping on her course, along through Barden Chase,
Shee watreth Wharfdales breast, which proudly beares her name;
For by that time shees growne a flood of wondrous fame,
When Washbrooke with her wealth her Mistris doth supply;
Thus Wharfe in her brave course imbracing Wetherby,
Small Cock, a sullen Brooke comes to her succour then,
Whose Banks receav’d the blood of many thousand men,
On sad Palme-Sunday slaine, that Towton-Field we call,
Whose Channell quite was chok’d with those that there did fall,
That Wharfe discolored was with gore, that then was shed,
The bloodiest field betwixt the White Rose, and the Red,
Of welneere fifteene fought in England first and last:
But whilst the goodly Wharfe doth thus tow’rds Humber haste,
From Wharnside Hill not farre, outflowes the nimble Nyde,
Through Nydersdale along, as neatly she doth glide
Tow’rds Knarsburg on her way, a pretty little Rill,
Call’d Kebeck, stowes her streame, her Mistris Banks to fill,
See to the 22. Song.
To intertaine the Whafe where that brave * Forrest stands,
Entitled by the Towne, who with upreared hands
Makes signes to her of joy, and doth with Garlands crowne
The River passing by; but Wharfe that hasteth downe
To meet her Mistris Ouse, her speedy course doth hie;
Dent, Rother, Rivell, Gret, so on my Set have I,
Which from their fountaines there all out of me do flow,
Yet from my bounty I on Lancashire bestow,
Because my rising soyle doth shute them to the West:
But for my Mountaines I, will with the Isle contest,
All other of the North in largenesse shall exceed,
That ages long before it finally decreed,
Knarsborough Forrest.
That Ingleborow Hill, Pendle, and Penigent,
Should named be the high’st betwixt our Tweed and Trent.
My Hills, brave Whelpston then, thou Wharnside, and thou Cam,
Since I West-Riding still your onely mother am;
All that Report can give, and justly is my due,
I as your naturall Dam, share equally with you;
And let me see a Hill that to the North doth stand,
The proudest of them all, that dare but lift a hand
O’r Penigent to peere; not Skiddo, that proud Mount,
Although of him so much, Rude Cumberland account,
Nor Cheviot, of whose height Northumberland doth boast
Pendle Hill is neere
upon the verge of this
Tract, but standeth in
* Albania to survey; nor those from Coast to Coast
That welneere runne in length, that rew of Mountaines tall,
By th’name of th’English Alpes, that our most learned call;
As soone shall those, or these remove out of their place,
As by their lofty lookes, my Penigent out-face:
Yee thus behold my Hills: my Forrests, Dales, and Chases
Upon my spacious breast note too how Nature places,
Farre up into my West, first Langstrethdale doth lye,
And on the Banke of Wharfe, my pleasant Bardon by,
With Wharfdale hard by her, as taking hand in hand:
Then lower tow’rds the Sea brave Knarsborough doth stand,
As higher to my North, my Niddersdale by Nyde,
And Bishopsdale above upon my Setting side,
Marshland, and Hatfield Chase, my Easterne part doe bound,
And Barnsdale there doth butt on Dons wel-watred ground:
And to my great disgrace, if any shall object
That I no wonder have that’s worthy of respect
In all my spacious Tract, let them (so wise) survey
My Ribbles rising Banks, their worst, and let them say;
At Giggleswick where I a Fountaine can you show,
That eight times in a day is sayd to ebbe and flow,
Who sometime was a Nymph, and in the Mountaines hye
Of Craven, whose blew heads for Caps put on the Skye,
Amongst * th’Oreads there, and Sylvans made abode,
(It was e’r humane foot upon those Hills had trod)
Of all the Mountaine kind and since she was most faire,
It was a Satyrs chance to see her silver haire
Flow loosely at her backe, as up a Cliffe she clame,
Her Beauties noting well, her Features, and her Frame,
And after her he goes; which when she did espie,
Before him like the winde, the nimble Nymph doth flie,
They hurry downe the Rocks, o’r Hill and Dale they drive;
To take her he doth straine, t’outstrip him shee doth strive,
The Metamorphosis of
that Fountaine.
Nymphs of the
Like one his kind that knew, and greatly fear’d his Rape,
And to the * Topick gods by praying to escape,
The supposed Genius
of the place.
The eight and twentieth Song. 143
They turn’d her to a Spring, which as she then did pant,
When wearied with her course, her breath grew wondrous scant:
Even as the fearefull Nymph, then thicke and short did blow,
Now made by them a Spring, so doth shee ebbe and flow.
And neere the Streame of Nyde, another Spring have I,
As well as that, which may a wonders place supply,
Which of the forme it beares, men Dropping well doe call,
Because out of a Rock, it still in drops doth fall,
Neere to the foot whereof it makes a little Pon,
Which in as little space converteth Wood to Stone,
Chevin, and Kilnsey Crags, were they not here in me,
In any other place, right well might Wonders be,
For their Gygantick height, that Mountaines doe transcend?
But such are frequent here, and thus she makes an end.
When Your thus having heard the Genius of this Tract,
Her well-deserved praise so happily to act,
This River in her selfe that was extreamely loth,
The other to deferre, since that shee was to both
Indifferent, straitly wills West-riding there to cease;
And having made a signe to all the watry prease
For silence; which at once, when her commaund had wonne,
The proud North-Riding thus for her great selfe begunne.
Your, the chiefest River
of Yorkshire, who alter
her long course, by the
confluence of other
floods, gets the name of
My soveraigne Flood, quoth shee, in nature thou art bound
T’acknowledge me of three to be the worthiest ground:
For note of all those Floods, the wild West-Riding sends,
Ther’s scarcely any one thy greatnesse that attends,
Till thou hast passed Yorke, and drawest neere thy fall;
And when thou hast no need of their supplies at all,
Then come they flattring in, and will thy followers be;
So as you oftentimes these wretched worldlings see,
The North-Ridings
That whilst a man is poore, although some hopes depend
Upon his future age, yet ther’s not one will lend
A farthing to releeve his sad distressed state,
Not knowing what may yet befall him; but when Fate
Doth poure upon his head his long expected good,
Then shall you see those Slaves, aloofe before that stood,
And would have let him starve, like Spaniels to him crouch,
And with their glavering lips, his very feet to touch:
So doe they by thee Your; whereas the Floods in me,
That spring and have their Course, (even) give thy life to thee:
For till that thou and Swale, into one Banke doe take,
Meeting at Borough-Bridge, thy greatnesse there to make:
Till then the name of Ouse thou art not knowne to owe,
A tearme in former times the Ancients did bestow
On many a full-bankt Flood; but for my greater grace,
These Floods of which I speake, I now intend to trace
The Simily.
From their first springing Founts, beginning with the Your,
From Morvils mightie foot which rising, with the power
That Bant from Sea-mere brings, her somewhat more doth fill,
Neere Bishops-dale at hand, when Couer a cleere Rill,
Next commeth into Your, whereas that lustie Chace
For her lov’d Couers sake, doth lovingly embrace
Your as shee yeelds along, amongst the Parks and Groves,
In Middlehams amorous eye, as wandringly shee roves,
At Rippon meets with Skell, which makes to her amaine,
Whom when she hath receav’d into her Nymphish traine,
(Neere to that towne so fam’d, for Colts there to be bought,
For goodnesse farre and neere, by Horsemen that are sought)
Fore-right upon her way shee with a merryer gale,
To Borough Bridge makes on, to meet her sister Swale,
Rippon Fayre.
(A wondrous holy Flood (which name she ever hath)
For when the Saxons first receav’d the Christian Faith,
Paulinus of old Yorke, the zealous Bishop then,
In Swales abundant streame Christned ten thousand men,
With women and their babes, a number more beside,
Upon one happy day, whereof shee boasts with pride)
Which springs not farre from whence Your hath her silver head;
And in her winding Banks along my bosome led,
As shee goes swooping by, to Swaledale whence shee springs,
That lovely name shee leaves, which foorth a Forrest brings,
The Vallies Style that beares, a braver Sylvan Mayd,
Scarce any Shire can show; when to my Rivers ayd,
Come Barney, Arske, and Marske, their soveraigne Swale to guide,
From Applegarths wide waste, and from New Forrest side.
Whose Fountaines by the Fawnes, and Satyrs, many a yeere,
With youthfull Greens were crownd, yet could not stay then there,
But they will serve the Swale, which in her wandring course,
A Nymph nam’d Holgat hath, and Risdale, all whose force,
Small though (God wot) it be, yet from their Southerne shore,
With that salute the Swale, as others did before,
The reason why Swale
is called Holy.
At Richmond and arive, which much doth grace the Flood,
For that her Precinct long amongst the Shires hath stood:
But Yorkshire wills the same her glory to resigne.
When passing thence the Swale, this mineon Flood of mine
Next takes into her traine, cleere Wiske, a wanton Gyrle,
As though her watry path were pav’d with Orient Pearle,
So wondrous sweet she seemes, in many a winding Gyre,
As though shee Gambolds made, or as she did desire,
Her Labyrinth-like turnes, and mad Meandred trace,
With marvell should amaze, and comming doth imbrace
Richmondshire within
* North-Alerton, by whom her honour is increast,
Whose Liberties include a County at the least,
A Countie within
The eight and twentieth Song. 145
To grace the wandring Wiske, then well upon her way,
Which by her count’nance thinks to carry all the sway;
When having her receav’d, Swale bonny Codbeck brings,
And Willowbeck with her, two pretty Rivellings,
And Bedall bids along, then almost at the Ouze,
Who with these Rills enrich’d begins her selfe to rouse.
When that great Forrest-Nymph faire Gautresse on her way,
Shee sees to stand prepar’d, with Garlands fresh and gay
To decke up Ouze, before her selfe to Yorke she show,
So out of my full wombe the Fosse doth likewise flow,
That meeting thee at Yorke, under the Cities side,
Her glories with thy selfe doth equally divide,
The East part watring still, as thou dost wash the West,
By whose Imbraces Yorke aboundantly is blest.
So many Rivers I continually maintaine,
As all those lesser Floods that into Darwin straine,
Their Fountaines find in me, the Ryedale naming Rye,
Fosse, Rycall, Hodbeck, Dow, with Semen, and them by
Cleere Costwy, which her selfe from Blackmore in doth bring,
And playing as shee slides through shady Pickering,
To Darwent homage doth; and Darwent that divides
The East-riding and me, upon her either sides,
Although that to us both, she most indifferent bee,
And seemeth to affect her equally with me,
From my Division yet her Fountaine doth derive,
And from my Blackmore here her Course doth first contrive.
Let my Demensions then be seriously pursude,
And let great Britaine see in my brave Latitude,
How in the high’st degree, by nature I am grac’d;
For tow’rds the Craven Hills, upon my West are plac’d
New-Forrest, Applegarth, and Swaledale, * Dryades all,
And lower towards the Ouze, if with my Floods ye fall,
The goodly Gautresse keeps chiefe of my Sylvan kind,
There stony Stanmore view, bleake with the Sleet and Wind,
Upon this Easterne side, so Ryedale darke and deepe,
Amongst whose Groves of yore, some say that Elves did keepe;
Then Pickering, whom the Fawnes beyond them all adore,
By whom not farre away lyes large-spred Blackimore,
The Cleeveland North from these, a State that doth maintaine,
Leaning her lustie side to the great Germane Maine,
Which if she were not heere confined thus in me,
A Shire even of her selfe might well be said to be.
Nor lesse hath Pickering Leigh, her libertie then this,
North-Alerton a Shire so likewise reckoned is;
And Richmond of the rest, the greatest in estate,
A Countie justly call’d, that them accommodate;
Nymphs of the Woods.
So I North-Riding am, for spaciousnesse renown’d,
Our mother Yorkshires eld’st, who worthily is crown’d
The Queene of all the Shires, on this side Trent, for we
The Ridings severall parts of her vaste greatnesse be,
In us, so we againe have severall seats, whose bounds
Doe measure from their sides so many miles of grounds,
That they are called Shires; like to some mightie King,
May Yorkshire be compar’d, (the lik’st of any thing)
Who hath Kings that attend, and to his State retaine,
And yet so great, that they have under them againe
Great Princes, that to them be subject, so have we
Shires subject unto us, yet wee her subjects be;
Although these be ynough sufficiently to show,
That I the other two for bravery quite out-goe:
Yet looke yee up along into my Setting side,
A Simily of Yorkshire.
Where Teis first from my bounds, rich * Dunelme doth divide,
And you shall see those Rills, that with their watry prease,
Their most beloved Teis so plenteously increase,
The cleere yet lesser Lune, the Bauder, and the Gret,
All out of me doe flow; then turne ye from the Set,
And looke but tow’rds the Rise, upon the German Maine,
Those Rarities, and see, that I in me containe;
My Scarborough, which looks as though in heaven it stood,
The Bishoprick of
To those that lye below, from th’ Bay of Robin Hood,
Even to the fall of Teis; let me but see the man,
That in one Tract can show the wonders that I can,
Like Whitbies selfe I thinke, ther’s none can shew but I,
O’r whose attractive earth there may no Wild-geese flie,
But presently they fall from off their wings to ground:
If this no wonder be, wher’s there a wonder found,
And stones like Serpents there, yet may yee more behold,
That in their naturall Gyres are up together rold.
The Rocks by Mouligrave too, my glories forth to set,
Out of their cranied Cleeves, can give you perfect Jet,
And upon Huntclipnab, you every where may find,
(As though nice Nature lov’d to vary in this kind)
Stones of a Spherick forme of sundry Mickles fram’d,
That well they Globes of stone, or bullets might be nam’d
For any Ordnance fit: which broke with Hammers blowes,
Doe headlesse Snakes of stone, within their Rounds enclose.
Marke Gisboroughs gay Scite, where Nature seemes so nice,
As in the same shee makes a second Paradice,
Whose Soyle imbroydered is, with so rare sundry Flowers,
Her large Okes so long greene, as Summer there her Bowers,
Had set up all the yeare, her ayre for health refin’d,
Her earth with Allome veines most richly intermin’d.
A Catalogue of the
wonders of the North-
The eight and twentieth Song. 147
In other places these might Rarities be thought,
So common but in me, that I esteeme as nought.
Then could I reckon up my Ricall, making on
By Rydale, towards her dear-lov’d Darwent, who’s not gone
Farre from her pearly Springs, but under-ground she goes;
As up towards Craven Hills, I many have of those,
Amongst the cranied Cleeves, that through the caverns creepe,
And dimbles hid from day, into the earth so deepe,
That oftentimes their sight, the senses doth appall,
Which for their horrid course, the people Helbecks call,
Which may for ought I see, be with my Wonders set,
And with much marvell seene: that I am not in debt
To none that neigboureth me; nor ought can they me lend.
When Darwent bad her stay, and there her speech to end,
For that East-Riding cald, her proper cause to plead:
For Darwent a true Nymph, a most impartiall Mayd,
And like to both ally’d, doth will the last should have
That priviledge, which time to both the former gave,
And wills th’East-Riding then, in her owne cause to speake,
Who mildly thus begins; Although I be but weake,
To those two former parts, yet what I seeme to want
In largenesse, for that I am in my Compasse scant,
Yet for my Scite I know, that I them both excell;
For marke me how I lye, yea note me very well,
How in the East I raigne, (of which my name I take)
And my broad side doe beare up to the German Lake,
Which bravely I survey; then turne ye and behold
The East-Ridings
Upon my pleasant breast, that large and spacious Ould
Of Yorke that takes the name, that with delighted eyes,
When he beholds the Sunne out of the Seas to rise,
With pleasure feeds his Flocks, for which he scarse gives place
To Cotswold, and for what becomes a Pastorall grace,
Doth goe beyond him quite; then note upon my South,
How all along the Shore, to mighty Humbers mouth,
Rich Holdernesse I have, excelling for her graine,
By whose much plentie I, not onely doe maintaine
My selfe in good estate, but Shires farre off that lye,
Up Humber that to Hull, come every day to buy,
To me beholding are; besides, the neighbouring Townes,
Upon the Verge whereof, to part her, and the Downes,
Hull downe to Humber hasts, and takes into her Banke
Some lesse but lively Rills, with waters waxing ranke,
Shee Beverley salutes, whose beauties so delight
The fayre-enamoured Flood, as ravisht with the sight,
Yorks Ould.
That shee could ever stay, that gorgeous Phane to view,
But that the Brooks, and Bournes, so hotly her pursue,
The Church of
To Kingston and convey, whom Hull doth newly name,
Of Humber-bordring Hull, who hath not heard the fame:
And for great Humbers selfe, I challenge him for mine:
For whereas Fowlwy first, and Shelfleet doe combine,
By meeting in their course, so courteously to twin,
Gainst whom on th’other side, the goodly Trent comes in,
From that especiall place, great Humber hath his raigne,
Beyond which hee’s mine owne: so I my Course maintaine,
From Kilnseys pyle-like poynt, along the Easterne shore,
And laugh at Neptunes rage, when lowdl’est he doth rore,
The marks how farre he
is called Humber.
Till Flamborough jutt foorth into the German Sea.
And as th’East-Riding more yet ready was to say,
Ouse in her owne behalfe doth interrupt her speech,
And of th’Imperious land doth liberty beseech,
Since she had passed Yorke, and in her wandring race,
By that faire Cities scite, received had such grace,
Shee might for it declame, but more to honor Yorke,
Shee who supposd the same to bee her onely worke,
Still to renowne those Dukes, who strongly did pretend
A title to the Crowne, as those who did descend
From them that had the right, doth this Oration make,
And to uphold their claime, thus to the Floods she spake.
The length of the East-
Riding upon the Sea.
They very idly erre, who thinke that blood then spilt,
In that long-lasting warre, proceeded from the guilt,
Of the proud Yorkists part; for let them understand,
That Richard Duke of Yorke, whose brave and martiall hand
Ouzes Oration.
The Title undertooke, by tyranny and might,
Sought not t’attaine the Crowne, but from succesfull right,
Which still upheld his claime, by which his valiant sonne,
Great Edward Earle of March, the Garland after wonne:
For Richard Duke of Yorke, at Wakefield Battell slaine,
Who first that title broach’d, in the sixt Henries raigne,
From Edmond a fift sonne of Edward did descend,
That justly he thereby no title could pretend,
Before them com’n from Gaunt, well knowne of all to be,
The fourth to Edward borne, and therefore a degree
Before him to the Crowne; but that which did preferre
His title, was the match with Dame Anne Mortimer,
Of Roger Earle of March the daughter, that his claime,
From Clarence the third sonne of great King Edward came,
Which Anne deriv’d alone, the right before all other,
Of the delapsed Crowne, from Philip her faire mother,
Daughter and onely heire of Clarence, and the Bride
To Edmond Earle of March; this Anne her daughter tide
In wedlocke to the Earle of Cambridge, whence the right
Of Richard as I said, which fell at Wakefield fight,
The title of the house of
Yorke to the Crowne.
The eight and twentieth Song. 149
Descended to his sonne, brave Edward after King,
(Henry the sixt depos’d) thus did the Yorkists bring
Their title from a straine, before the line of Gaunt,
Whose issue they by Armes did worthily supplant.
By this the Ouze perceav’d great Humber to looke grim;
(For evermore shee hath a speciall eye to him)
As though he much disdain’d each one should thus be heard,
And he their onely King, untill the last defer’d,
At which hee seem’d to frowne; wherefore the Ouze off breaks,
And to his confluent Floods, thus mighty Humber speaks.
Let Trent her tribute pay, which from their severall founts,
For thirtie Floods of name, to me her King that counts,
Be much of me belov’d, brave River; and from me,
Receive those glorious Rites that Fame can give to thee.
And thou Marsh-drowning Don, and all those that repaire
With thee, that bringst to me thy easie ambling Aire,
Embodying in one Banke: and Wharfe, which by thy fall
Dost much augment my Ouze, let me embrace you all,
My brave West-Riding Brooks, your King you need not scorne,
Proud Nyades neither yee, North-Riders that are borne;
My yellow-sanded Your, and thou my sister Swale,
That dauncing come to Ouze, through many a daintie Dale,
Doe greatly me inrich, cleare Darwent driving downe
From Cleeveland; and thou Hull, that highly dost renowne
Th’East-Riding by thy rise, doe homage to your King,
And let the Sea-Nymphs thus of mighty Humber sing;
That full an hundred Floods my watry Court maintaine,
Which either of themselves, or in their greaters traine,
Their Tribute pay to me; and for my princely name,
From Humber King of Hunns, as anciently it came;
So still I sticke to him: for from that Easterne King
Once in me drown’d, as I my Pedigree doe bring:
So his great name receives no prejudice thereby;
For as he was a King, so know ye all that I
Am King of all the Floods, that North of Trent doe flow;
Then let the idle world no more such cost bestow,
Nor of the muddy Nyle, so great a Wonder make,
Though with her bellowing fall, shee violently take
The neighbouring people deafe; nor Ganges so much praise,
That where he narrowest is, eight miles in broadnesse layes
His bosome, nor so much hereafter shall be spoke
Of that (but lately found) Guyanian Orenoque,
The Oration of
Whose * Cateract a noyse so horrible doth keepe,
That it even Neptune frights; what Flood comes to the Deepe,
Then Humber that is heard more horribly to rore?
A fall of water.
For when my * Higre comes, I make my either shore The roring of the
Even tremble with the sound, that I afarre doe send.
No sooner of this speech had Humber made an end,
But the applauding. Floods sent foorth so shrill a shout,
That they were eas’ly heard all Holdernesse about,
Above the Beachy Brack, amongst the Marshes rude,
When the East-Riding her Oration to conclude,
Goes on; My Sisters boast that they have little Shires
Their subjects, I can shew the like of mine for theirs;
waters, at the comming
in of the Tyde.
My Howdon hath as large a Circuit, and as free,
On Ouse, and Humbers banks, and as much graceth me,
My Latitude compar’d with those that me oppugne:
Not Richmond nor her like, that doth to them belong,
Doth grace them more then this doth me, upon my coast,
And for their wondrous things, whereof so much they boast,
Upon my Easterne side, which jutts upon the Sea,
A Liberty in the East-
Amongst the white-scalp’d Cleeves, this wonder see they may,
The Mullet, and the Awke, (my Fowlers there doe finde)
Of all great Britain brood, Birds of the strangest kind,
That building in the Rocks, being taken with the hand,
And cast beyond the Cliffe, that poynteth to the land,
Fall instantly to ground, as though it were a stone,
But put out to the Sea, they instantly are gone,
And flye a league or two before they doe returne,
As onely by that ayre, they on their wings were borne.
Then my Prophetick Spring at Veipsey, I may show,
That some yeares is dry’d up, some yeares againe doth flow;
But when it breaketh out with an immoderate birth,
It tells the following yeare of a penurious dearth.
Here ended shee her speech, the Ridings all made friends,
And from my tyred hand, my labored Canto ends.
Some wonders of the