Song 29


The nine and twentieth Song.


The Muse the Bishopricke assayes,
And to her fall sings downe the Teis,
Then takes shee to the dainty Wer,
And with all braveries fitted her.
Tyne tells the Victories by us got,
In foughten Fields against the Scot.
Then through Northumberland shee goes,
The Floods and Mountaines dotb dispose;
And with their glories doth proceed,
Not staying till shee come to Tweed.

he Muse this largest Shire of England having sung,
Yet seeing more then this did to her taske belong,
Looks still into the North, the Bishopricke and viewes,
Which with an eager eye, whilst wistly she pursues,
The Bishoprick of
Teis as a bordering Flood, (who thought her selfe divine)
Confining in her Course that Countie Palatine,
And Yorke the greatest Shire doth instantly begin,
To rouze her selfe; quoth shee, Doth every Rillet win
Applause for their small worth’s, and I that am a Queene,
With those poore Brooks compar’d, shall I alone be seene
Thus silently to passe, and not be heard to sing,
When as two Countries are contending for my Spring:
For Cumberland, to which the Cumri gave the name,
Accounts it to be hers, Northumberland the same,
Will needsly hers should bee, for that my Spring doth rise,
So equally twixt both, that he were very wise,
Could tell which of these two, me for her owne may claime.
But as in all these Tracts, there’s scarce a Flood of fame,
But shee some Vally hath, which her brave name doth beare:
My Teisdale, nam’d of me, so likewise have I heare,
At my first setting foorth, through which I nimbly slide;
Then Yorkshire which doth lye upon my Setting side,
Teis springeth out of
Stanmore, which lyeth
almost equally between
Cumberland, &
Me Lune and Bauder lends, as in the Song before
Th’industrious Muse hath shew’d; my * Dunelmenian shore,
Sends Huyd to helpe my course, with some few other Becks,
Which time (as it should seeme) so utterly neglects,
That they are namelesse yet; then doe I bid adiew,
To Barnards battelled Towers, and seriously pursue
My course to Neptunes Court, but as forthright I runne,
The Skern, a dainty Nymph, saluting Darlington,
Comes in to give me ayd, and being prowd and ranke,
Shee chanc’d to looke aside, and spieth neere her Banke,
Three blacke and horrid pits, which for their boyling heat,
(That from their lothsome brimms, doe breath a sulpherous sweat)
Hell-kettles rightly cald, that with the very sight,
This Water-Nymph, my Skern is put in such affright,
That with unusuall speed, she on her Course doth hast,
And rashly runnes her selfe into my widened waste.
In pompe I thus approch great Amphetrites state.
But whilst Teis undertooke her Story to relate,
Wer waxeth almost wood, that she so long should stand
Upon those loftie tearmes, as though both sea and land
Were tyde to heare her talke: quoth Wer, what wouldst thou say,
Vaine-glorious bragging Brooke, hadst thou so cleere a way
T’advance thee as I have, hadst thou such meanes and might,
How wouldst thou then exult? O then to what a height
Wouldst thou put up thy price? hadst thou but such a Trine
Of Rillets as I have, which naturally combine,
Their Springs thee to beget, as these of mine doe me,
In their consenting sounds, that doe so well agree?
As Kellop comming in from Kellop-Law her Syre,
A Mountaine much in fame, small Wellop doth require,
With her to walke along, which Burdop with her brings.
Thus from the full conflux of these three severall Springs
My greatnesse is begot, as Nature meant to show
My future strength and state; then forward doe I flow
Through my delicious Dale, with every pleasure rife,
And Wyresdale still may stand, with Teisdale for her life:
Comparing of their Scites, then casting on my Course,
So satiate with th’excesse of my first naturall source,
As petty Bournes and Becks, I scorne but once to call,
Wascrop a wearish Gyrle, of name the first of all,
That I vouchsafe for mine, untill that I arive
At Aukland, where with force me forward still to drive,
Cleere Gauntlesse gives her selfe, when I begin to gad,
And whirling in and out, as I were waxed mad,
I change my posture oft, to many a Snakie Gyre,
To my first fountaine now, as seeming to retyre:
The Bishoprick of
The nine and twentieth Song. 153
Then suddenly againe I turne my watry trayle,
Now I endent the earth, and then I it engrayle
With many a turne and trace, thus wandring up and downe,
Brave Durham I behold, that stately seated Towne,
That Dunholme hight of yore (even) from a Desart wonne,
Whose first foundation Zeale, and Piety begun,
By them who thither first Saint Cutberts body brought,
To save it from the Danes, by fire and sword that sought
Subversion of those things, that good and holy were,
With which beloved place, I seeme so pleased here,
As that I clip it close, and sweetly hug it in
My cleare and amorous armes, as jealous time should win
Me further off from it, as our divorce to be.
Hence like a lustie Flood most absolutely free,
None mixing then with me, as I doe mix with none,
But scorning a Colleague, nor neere me any one,
To Neptunes Court I come; for note along the Strond,
From Hartlepoole (even) to the poynt of Sunderland,
As farre as * Wardenlaws can possibly survey;
There’s not a Flood of note hath entrance to the sea.
Here ended shee her Speech, when as the goodly Tyne,
(Northumberland that parts from this Shire Palatine)
Which patiently had heard, looke as before the Wer
Had taken up the Teis, so Tyne now takes up her,
For her so tedious talke, Good Lord (quoth she) had I
No other thing wherein my labor to imply,
But to set out my selfe, how much (well) could I say,
In mine owne proper praise, in this kind every way
As skilfull as the best; I could if I did please,
Of my two Fountaines tell, which of their sundry wayes,
The South and North are nam’d, entitled both of Tyne,
As how the prosperous Springs of these two Floods of mine
Are distant thirty miles, how that the South-Tyne nam’d,
From Stanmore takes her Spring, for Mines of Brasse that’s fam’d,
How that nam’d of the North, is out of Wheel-fell sprung,
Amongst these English Alpes, which as they runne along,
England, and Scotland here impartially divide.
How South-Tyne setting out from Cumberland is plide,
With Hartley which her hasts, and Tippall that doth strive,
By her more sturdy Streame, the Tyne along to drive;
How th’Allans, th’East, and West, their bounties to her bring,
Two faire and full-brim’d Floods, how also from her Spring,
My other North-nam’d Tyne, through Tyndale maketh in,
Which Shele her Hand-mayd hath, and as she hasts to twin
With th’other from the South, her sister, how cleere Rhead,
With Perop comes prepar’d, and Cherlop, me to lead,
A Mountaine on that
part of the Shire.
Through Ridsdale on my way, as farre as Exham, then
Dowell me Homage doth, with blood of Englishmen,
Whose Streame was deeply dy’d in that most cruell warre
Of Lancaster and Yorke. Now having gone so farre,
Their strengths me their deare Tyne, doe wondrously enrich,
As how cleere Darwent drawes downe to Newcastle, which
The honour hath alone to entertaine me there,
As of those mighty ships, that in my mouth I beare,
Fraught with my country Coale, of this * Newcastle nam’d,
For which both farre and neere, that place no lesse is fam’d,
Then India for her Mynes; should I at large declare
My glories, in which Time commands me to bee spare,
And I but slightly touch, which stood I to report,
As freely as I might, yee both would fall too short
Of me; but know that Tyne hath greater things in hand:
For, to tricke up our selves, whilst trifling thus we stand,
Bewitch’d with our owne praise, at all we never note,
How the Albanian Floods now lately set afloat,
With th’honour to them done, take heart, and lowdly crie
Defiance to us all, on this side Tweed that lye;
And hearke the high-brow’d Hills alowd begin to ring,
With sound of things that Forth prepared is to sing:
When once the Muse arives on the Albanian shore;
And therefore to make up our forces here before
The on-set they begin, the Battels wee have got,
Both on our earth and theirs, against the valiant Scot,
I undertake to tell; then Muses I intreat
Your ayd, whilst I these Fights in order shall repeat.
When mighty Malcolme here had with a violent hand,
(As he had oft before) destroy’d Northumberland,
In Rufus troubled Raigne, the warlike Mowbray then,
This Earledome that possest, with halfe the power of men,
For conquest which that King from Scotland hither drew,
At Anwick in the field their Armies overthrew;
Newcastle Coale.
Where Malcolme and his sonne, brave Edward both were found,
Slaine on that bloody field: So on the English ground,
When David King of Scots, and Henry his sterne sonne,
Entitled by those times, the Earle of Huntingdon,
Had forradg’d all the North, beyond the River Teis,
In Stephens troubled raigne, in as tumultuous dayes
As England ever knew, the Archbishop of Yorke,
The Battell of Anwicke.
Stout Thurstan, and with him joynd in that warlike work,
Ralfe, (both for wit and Armes) of Durham Bishop then
Renownd, that called were the valiant Clergy men,
With th’Earle of Aubemarle, Especk, and Peverell, Knights,
And of the Lacies two, oft try’d in bloody fights,
See to the 18. Song.
The nine and twentieth Song. 155
Twixt Alverton and Yorke, the doubtfull battell got,
On David and his sonne, whilst of th’invading Scot,
Ten thousand strew’d the earth, and whilst they lay to bleed,
Ours followed them that fled, beyond our sister Tweed.
The Battell of Alverton.
And when * Fitz-Empresse next in Normandy, and here,
And his rebellious sonnes in high combustions were,
Henry the second.
William the Scottish King, taking advantage then,
And entring with an Host of eighty thousand men,
As farre as Kendall came, where Captaines then of ours,
Which ayd in Yorkshire raisd, with the Northumbrian powers,
His forces overthrew, and him a prisoner led.
So Longshanks, Scolands scourge, him to that Country sped,
Provoked by the Scots, that England did invade,
And on the Borders here such spoyle and havock made,
That all the land lay waste betwixt the Tweed and me.
This most coragious King, from them his owne to free,
Before proud Berwick set his puisant army downe,
And tooke it by strong siege, since when that warlike towne,
As Cautionary long the English after held.
But tell me all you Floods, when was there such a Field
The second Battell at
By any Nation yet, as by the English wonne,
Upon the Scottish power, as that of Halidon,
Seaven Earles, nine hundred Horse, and of Foot-souldiers more,
Neere twenty thousand slaine, so that the Scottish gore
Ranne downe the Hill in streames (even) in Albanias sight.
By our third Edwards prowesse, that most renowned Knight,
As famous was that Fight of his against the Scot,
As that against the French, which he at Cressy got.
And when that conquering King did afterward advance
His Title, and had past his warlike powers to France,
And David King of Scots heere entred to invade,
To which the King of France did that false Lord perswade,
Against his given Faith, from France to draw his Bands,
To keepe his owne at home, or to fill both his hands
With warre in both the Realmes: was ever such a losse,
The Battell at Halidon.
To Scotland yet befell, as that at Nevills Crosse,
Where fifteene thousand Scots their soules at once forsooke,
Where stout John Copland then, King David prisoner tooke,
I’th head of all his troups, that bravely there was seene.
When English Philip, that brave Amazonian Queene,
Encouraging her men, from troupe to troupe did ride,
And where our Cleargy had their ancient Valour tride:
Thus often comming in, they have gone out too short.
The Battell at Nevils
And next to this the fight of Nesbit I report,
When Hebborn that stout Scot, and his had all their hire,
Which in t’our Marches came, and with invasive fire,
The Battell of Nesbit.
Our Villages laid waste, for which defeat of ours,
When doughty Douglasse came with the Albanian powers.
At Holmdon doe but see, the blow our Hotspurre gave
To that bold daring Scot, before him how he drave
His Armie, and with shot of our brave English Bowes,
Did wound them on the backs, whose brests were hurt with blows,
Ten thousand put to sword, with many a Lord and Knight,
Some prisoners, wounded some, some others slaine outright,
And entring Scotland then, all Tividale o’r-ran.
Or who a braver field then th’Earle of Surrey wan,
Where their King James the fourth himselfe so bravely bore,
That since that age wherein he liv’d, nor those before,
Yet never such a King in such a Battell saw,
Amongst his fighting friends, where whilst he breath could draw,
Hee bravely fought on foot, where Flodden Hill was strew’d
With bodies of his men, welneere to mammocks hew’d,
That on the Mountaines side, they covered neere a mile,
Where those two valiant Earles of Lenox and Arguyle,
Were with their Soveraigne slaine, Abbots, and Bishops there,
Which had put Armor on, in hope away to beare
The Victory with them, before the English fell.
The Battell of Flodden.
But now of other Fields, it fits the Muse to tell,
As when the Noble Duke of Norfolke made a Road
To Scotland, and therein his hostile fire bestow’d
On welneere thirtie Townes, and staying there so long,
Till victuall waxed weake, the Winter waxing strong,
Returning over Tweed, his Booties home to bring,
Which to the very heart did vex the Scottish King,
The fortune of the Duke extreamely that did grutch,
Remaining there so long, and doing there so much,
Thinking to spoyle and waste, in England as before,
The English men had done on the Albanian shore,
And gathering up his force, before the English fled
To Scotlands utmost bounds, thence into England sped,
When that brave Bastard sonne of Dacres, and his friend,
John Musgrave, which had charge the Marches to attend,
With Wharton, a proud Knight, with scarce foure hundred Horse,
Encountring on the Plaine with all the Scottish force,
Thence from the Field with them, so many prisoners brought,
Which in that furious fight were by the English caught,
That there was scarce a Page or Lackey but had store,
Earles, Barrons, Knights, Esquires, two hundred there and more,
Of ordinary men, seven hundred made to yeeld,
There scarcely hath been heard, of such a foughten field,
That James the fifth to thinke, that but so very few,
His universall power so strangely should subdue,
A Road into Scotland
by the Duke of
The nine and twentieth Song. 157
So tooke the same to heart, that it abridg’d his life.
Such foyles by th’English given, amongst the Scots were rife.
These on the English earth, the English men did gaine;
But when their breach of faith did many times constraine
Our Nation to invade, and carry conquests in
To Scotland; then behold, what our successe hath bin,
Even in the latter end of our eight Henries dayes,
Who Seymor sent by Land, and Dudley sent by Seas,
With his full forces then, O Forth, then didst thou beare,
That Navy on thy Streame, whose Bulke was fraught with feare,
When Edenbrough and Leeth, into the ayre were blowne
With Powders sulphurous smoke, & twenty townes were throwne
Upon the trampled earth, and into ashes trod;
As int’ Albania when we made a second Road,
In our sixt Edwards dayes, when those two Martiall men,
Which conquered there before, were thither sent agen:
But for their high desarts, with greater Titles grac’d,
The first created Duke of Somerset, the last
The Earle of Warwicke made, at Muscleborough Field,
Where many a doughty Scot that did disdaine to yeeld,
Was on the earth layd dead, where as for five miles space
In length, and foure in bredth, the English in the chase,
With carkeises of Scots, strew’d all their naturall ground,
The number of the slaine were fourteene thousand found,
And fifteene hundred more ta’n Prisoners by our men.
The Siege of Leeth.
So th’Earle of Sussex next to Scotland sent agen,
To punish them by warre, which on the Borders here,
Not onely rob’d and spoyl’d, but that assistants were
To those two puisant Earles, Northumberland, who rose
With Westmerland his Peere, suggested by the foes
To great Elizas raigne, and peacefull government;
Wherefore that puisant Queene him to Albania sent,
Who fiftie Rock-reard Pyles and Castles having cast
Farre lower then their Scites, and with strong fires defac’d
Three hundred townes, their wealth, with him worth carrying brought
To England over Tweed, when now the floods besought
The Tyne to hold her tongue, when presently began
A rumour which each where through all the Country ran,
Of this proud Rivers speech, the Hills and Floods among,
And Lowes, a Forrest-Nymph, the same so lowdly sung,
That it through Tindale straight, and quite through Ridsdale ran,
The Road into Scotland
by the Earle of Sussex.
And sounded shriller there, then when it first began,
That those high Alpine Hills, as in a row they stand,
Receiv’d the sounds, which thus went on from hand to hand.
The high-rear’d Red-Squire first, to Aumond Hill it told,
When Aumond great therewith, nor for his life could hold,
A repetition of the Hils
Northumberland and
Scotland, as they lye
from South to North.
To Kembelspeth againe, the businesse but relate,
To Black-Brea he againe, a Mountaine holding state
With any of them all, to Cocklaw he it gave;
And Cocklaw it againe, to Cheviot, who did rave
With the report thereof, hee from his mighty stand,
Resounded it againe through all Northumberland,
That White-Squire lastly caught, and it to Berwick sent,
That brave and warlike Towne, from thence incontinent,
The sound from out the South, into Albania came,
And many a lustie Flood, did with her praise inflame,
Affrighting much the Forth, who from her trance awooke,
And to her native strength her presently betooke,
Against the Muse should come to the Albanian Coast.
But Pictswall all this while, as though he had been lost,
Not mention’d by the Muse, began to fret and fume,
That every petty Brooke thus proudly should presume
To talke; and he whom first the Romans did invent,
And of their greatnesse yet, the longst-liv’d monument,
Should this be over-trod; wherefore his wrong to wreake,
In their proud presence thus, doth aged Pictswall speake.
Me thinks that Offas ditch in Cambria should not dare
To thinke himselfe my match, who with such cost and care
The Romans did erect, and for my safeguard set
Their Legions, from my spoyle the proling Pict to let,
That often In-roads made, our earth from them to win,
By Adrian beaten back, so he to keepe them in,
To Sea from East to West, begun me first a wall
Of eightie myles in length, twixt Tyne and Edens fall:
Long making mee they were, and long did me maintaine.
Nor yet that Trench which tracts the Westerne Wiltshire Plaine,
Of Woden, Wansdyke cal’d, should paralell with me,
Comparing our descents, which shall appeare to be
Mere upstarts, basely borne; for when I was in hand,
The Saxon had not then set foot upon this land,
Till my declining age, and after many a yeare,
Of whose poore petty Kings, those the small labors were.
Picts wall.
That on Newmarket-Heath, made up as though but now,
Who for the Devils worke the vulgar dare avow,
Tradition telling none, who truly it began,
Where many a reverent Booke can tell you of my Man,
And when I first decayd, Severus going on,
What Adrian built of turfe, he builded new of stone,
And after many a time, the Britans me repayr’d,
To keepe me still in plight, nor cost they ever spar’d.
Townes stood upon my length, where Garrisons were laid,
Their limits to defend; and for my greater ayd,
See to the 28. Song.
The nine and twentieth Song. 159
With turrets I was built where Sentinels were plac’d,
To watch upon the Pict; so me my Makers grac’d,
With hollow Pipes of Brasse, along me still that went,
By which they in one Fort still to another sent,
By speaking in the same, to tell them what to doe,
And so from Sea to Sea could I be whispered through:
Upon my thicknesse, three march’d eas’ly breast to breast,
Twelve foot was I in height, such glory I possest.
Old Pictswall with much pride thus finishing his plea,
Had in his utmost course attain’d the Easterne Sea,
Yet there was Hill nor Flood once heard to clap a hand;
For the Northumbrian Nymphs had come to understand,
That Tyne exulting late o’r Scotland in her Song,
(Which over all that Realme report had loudly rung)
The Calidonian * Forth so highly had displeas’d,
And many an other Flood, (which could not be appeas’d)
That they had vow’d revenge, and Proclamation made,
That in a learned warre the foe they would invade,
And like stout Floods stand free from this supputed shame,
Or conquered give themselves up to the English name:
Which these Northumbrian Nymphs, with doubt & terror strook,
Which knew they from the foe, for nothing were to looke,
But what by skill they got, and with much care should keepe,
And therefore they consult by meeting in the Deepe,
To be delivered from the ancient enemies rage,
That they would all upon a solemne Pilgrimage
Unto the Holy-Isle, the vertue of which place,
They knew could very much availe them in this case:
For many a blessed Saint in former ages there,
Secluded from the world, to Abstinence and Prayer,
Had given up themselves, which in the German Maine,
The great River on
which Edenborough
And from the shore not farre, did in it selfe conteine
Sufficient things for food, which from those holy men,
That to devotion liv’d, and sanctimony then,
It Holy-Isle was call’d, for which they all prepare,
The Holy Island.
As I shall tell you how, and what their number are.
With those the farthest off, the first I will begin,
As Pont a pearlesse Brook, brings Blyth which putteth in
With her, then Wansbeck next in wading to the Maine,
Neere Morpet meets with Font, which followeth in her traine;
Next them the little Lyne alone doth goe along,
When Cocket commeth downe, and with her such a throng,
As that they seeme to threat the Ocean; for with her
Comes Ridley, Ridland next, with Usway, which preferre
Their Fountaines to her Flood, who for her greater fame,
Hath at her fall an Isle, call’d Cocket, of her name,
A Catalogue of the
Rivers of
Northumberland, as
they run into the
German sea, upon the
East part of the
countrey betwixt the
Fals of Tyne and
As that great Neptune should take notice of her state;
Then Alne by Anwicke comes, and with as proud a gate,
As Cocket came before, for whom at her faire fall,
(In bravery as to show, that she surpast them all)
The famous Isle of Ferne, and Staples aptly stand,
And at her comming foorth, doe kisse her Christall hand.
Whilst these resolv’d upon their Pilgrimage, proceed,
Till for the love shee beares to her deare Mistris Tweed,
Of Bramish leaves the name, by which shee hath her birth;
And though shee keepe her course upon the English earth,
Yet Bowbent, a bright Nymph, from Scotland comming in,
To goe with her to Tweed, the wanton Flood doth winne.
Though at this headstrong Stream, proud Flodden from his height,
Doth daily seeme to fret, yet takes he much delight
Her lovelinesse to view, as on to Tweed she straines,
Where whilst this Mountaine much for her sweet sake sustaines,
This Canto we conclude, and fresh about must cast,
Of all the English Tracts, to consummate the last.