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All self-praise set apart, determineth to sing
And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befel, When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath been laid,
How he hath cousen'd them, that him would have betray'd;
How often he hath come to Nottingham disguis’d,
Of Tuck the merry friar, which many a sermon made
They not an arrow drew, but was a cloth yard long.
With broad-arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft, At marks full forty score, they us'd to prick, and rove, Yet higher than the breast, for compass never strove; Yet at the farthest mark a foot could hardly win: At long-buts, short, and hoyles, each one could cleave the pin:
Their arrows finelypair'd, for timber, and for feather, With birch and brazil piec'd, to fly in any weather; And shot they with the round, the square, or forked pile,
The loose gave such a twang, as might be heard a
He from the husband's bed no married woman wan,
The Nottinghamian field, and Derbian doth divide, And northward from her springs, haps Scardale forth to find,
Which like her mistress Peake, is naturally inclin'd To thrust forth ragged cleeves, with which she scattered lies
As busy nature here could not herself suffice,
Which of a lowly dale, although the name it bear, You by the rocks might think, that it a mountain [express'd,
From which it takes the name of Scardale, which Is the hard vale of rocks, of Chesterfield possess'd, By her which is instil'd: where Rother from her rist, Ibber, and Crawley hath, and Gunno, that assist Her weaker wand'ring stream tow'rds Yorkshire as she wends, [sends,
So Scardale tow'rds the same, that lovely Iddle That helps the fertile seat of Axholme to inisle: But to th' unwearied Muse the Peake appears the
She cast, and oft to th' earth bow'd down her aged
With sitting in the works, and poring o'er the
The spirits that haunt the mines, she could command and tame,
And bind them as she list in Saturn's dreadful name: She mill-stones from the quarrs, with sharpen'd picks could get, [to whet.
And dainty whet-stones make, the dull-edg'd tools Wherefore the Peake as proud of her laborious toil, As others of their corn, or goodness of their soil, Thinking the time was long, till she her tale had told, Her wonders one by one, thus plainly doth unfold: 'My dreadful daughters born, your mother's dear delight, [her might Great nature's chiefest work, wherein she shew'd
Ye dark and hollow caves, the portraitures of hell, Where fogs and misty damps continually do dwell; O ye my lovely joys, my darlings, in whose eyes, Horror assumes her seat, from whose abiding flies Thick vapours, that like rugs still hang the troubled Ye of your mother Peake the hope and only care: [air, Othou my first and best, of thy black entrance nam'd O be thou not asham'd,
Nor think thyself disgrac'd or hurt thereby at all, Since from thy horror first men us'd thee so to call: For as amongst the Moors, the jettiest black are deem'd
The beautiful'st of them; so are your kind esteem'd The more ye gloomy are, more fearful and obscure, (That hardly any eye your sternness may endure) The more ye famous are, and what name men can hit, That best may ye express, that best doth ye befit: For he that will attempt thy black and darksome jaws, [flaws, In midst of summer meets with winter's stormy Cold dews, that over head from thy foul roof distil, And meeteth under foot with a dead sullen rill, That Acheron itself a man would think he were Immediately to pass, and staid for Charon there; Thy floor, dread cave, yet flat, though very rough it be
With often winding turns: then come thou next to
Of which amongst the rest, one being outlaw'd here, For his strong refuge took this dark and uncouth place,
An heir-loom ever since, to that succeeding race: Whose entrance though depress'd below a moun
Besides so very strait, that who will see't must creep
Of strange and sundry forms, both in the roof and floor,
As nature show'd in thee, what ne'er was seen before. For Elden thou my third, a wonder I prefer Before the other two, which perpendicular Dive'st down into the ground, as if an entrance were Through earth to lead to hell, ye well might judge it here. [found, Whose depth is so immense, and wondrously proAs that long line which serves the deepest sea to sound,
Her bottom never wrought, as though the vast deThrough this terrestrial globe directly pointing went Our Antipodes to see, and with her gloomy eyes, To glote upon those stars, to us that never rise; That down into this hole if that a stone ye throw, Ap acre's length from thence (some say that) ye may go,
And coming back thereto, with a still list'ning ear, May hear a sound as though that stone then falling
Yet for her caves, and holes, Peake only not excels, But that I can again produce those wondrous wells Of Buckston, as I have, that most delicious fount, Which men the second Bath of England do account, Which in the primer reigns, when first this well began [Anne,
To have her virtues known unto the blest Saint Was consecrated then, which the same temper hath, As that most dainty spring, which at the famous Bath Is by the cross instil'd, whose fame I much prefer, In that I do compare my daintiest spring to her, Nice sicknesses to cure, as also to prevent, [quent; And supple their clear skins, which ladies oft freMost full, most fair, most sweet, and most delicious
To this a second fount, that in her natural course,
I answer those, that her shall so no wonder call,
A little hill I have, a wonder yet more strange,
To which the stag pursu'd, as to the thicket flees;
That hardly are put down by those of Lancashire) Which on her mountains side, and in her bottoms [to gaze,
On whose delightful course, whilst Unknidge stands
And look on her his fill, doth on his tiptoes get, [set, He Nowstoll plainly sees, which likewise from the Salutes her, and like friends, to Heaven-hill far [say: Thus from their lofty tops, were plainly heard to 'Fair hill be not so proud of thy so pleasant scite, Who for thou giv'st the eye such wonderful delight, From any mountain near, that glorious name of Heaven,
Thy bravery to express, was to thy greatness given: Nor cast thine eye so much on things that be above: For sawest thou as we do, our Darwin thou would'st love
Her more than any thing, that so doth thee allure; When Darwin that by this her travel could endure, Takes Now into her train (from Nowstoll her great sire, [gyre.
Which shews to take her name) with many a winding Then wand'ring through the wilds, at length the pretty Wye, [doth ply From her black mother Poole, her nimbler course Tow'rds Darwin, and along from Bakewell with
Lathkell a little brook, and Headford, whose poor springs
But hardly them the name of riverets can afford; When Burbrook with the strength, that nature her
Although but very small, yet much doth Darwin At Worksworth on her way, when from the mines
[east, Brown Ecclesborne comes in, then Amber from the Of all the Derbian nymphs of Darwin lov'd the best, (A delicater flood from fountain never flow'd) Then coming to the town, on which she first bestow'd Her natural British name, her Derby, so again, Her to that ancient seat doth kindly entertain, Where Marten-Brook, although an easy shallow rill, There offereth all she hath, her mistress' banks to fill, And all too little thinks that was on Darwin spent ; From hence as she departs, in travelling to Trent Back goes the active Muse,tow'rds Lancashire amain, Where matter rests enough her vigour to maintain, And to the northern hills shall lead her on along, Which now must wholly be the subject of my song.'
AN ODE WRITTEN IN THE PEAK.
This while we are abroad,
Shall we not touch our lyre? Shall we not sing an Ode? Shall that holy fire, In us that strongly glow'd, In this cold air expire ?
Long since the summer laid
Her lusty brav'ry down,
The autumn half is way'd,
And Boreas 'gins to frown,
Since now I did behold
Great Brute's first builded town.
Though in the utmost Peak
Awhile we do remain, Amongst the mountains bleak
Expos'd to sleet and rain, No sport our hours shall break
To exercise our vein.
What though bright Phœbus' beams
With beauteous nymphs abound,
Yet many rivers clear
Here glide in silver swathes, And what of all most dear,
Buxton's delicious baths, Strong ale and noble cheer,
T'assuage breem winter's scathes.
Those grim and horrid caves,
Whose looks affright the day, Wherein nice Nature saves
What she would not bewray, Our better leisure craves, And doth invite our lay.
In places far or near,
Or famous, or obscure, Where wholesome is the air,
Or where the most impure, All times, and every where,
The Muse is still in ure.
THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT.
Longer will tarry ;
And taking many a fort,
Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
To the king sending;
SAMUEL DANIEL-A. D. 1562-1619.
TO THE LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS
He that of such a height hath built his mind,
He looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars
To serve his ends, and make his courses hold.
Yet seeing thus the course of things must run,
K of man,
Thus, madam, fares that and compar'd A rest for his di
glory with her sufferings:
By whom, I see, you labour all you can
The world can cast; that cannot cast that mind
And whereas none rejoice more in revenge,
Still roll; where all th' aspects of misery
And how turmoil'd they are that level lie
Whose ends you see; and what can be the best
This concord, madam, of a well-tun'd mind