Classic Poem

F AIRE A LBION , of the world, thou fairest Ile!
And thou Deare Yorkshire, thou my native Soyle,
My Nurse, my Mother! Oh, how can I pay
My Gratitude? Muse! teach me what to Say;
How shall I praise thee most? let me looke backe
To former Ages, and I heare em Speake
With almost wonder; what prodigious name
Can boast he Saw, he went, and overcame
Further then Some of ours? Third Edwards Son,
Son of brave Sire! how did he over run
The face of France? and Victorie Create
In his owne fortune; pardon, if I say't:
Hee was not Second, to those names wee heare
Pronounc'd with Admiration, and Feare.
Not that Great Alexander, nor the Name
Of Punicke Hannibal, nor Caesars Fame
Outshine his Glories; had he seene a Day
As large in Time, he'd beene as great as they.
Him Shall I praise? or his brave father most?
Or his great Grandsire? or of Richard boast,
That Richard Lions-heart; and from that Stemme
Bring downe the Glorie to fifth Harries name,
Or the fowerth Edward; these and many more
(Though not in Fame) in Blood inferior
Might I repeat; but better let them goe
To swell huge Chronicle in Folio.
How shall I praise thee most? in thy full peace!
Thy nat'rall Bounties, and the large increase
Which everie yeare forth brings; thy inborne wealth
Thy selfe existence, where wee need noe Stealth
Of Marchants to enrich us; but might rest
Safe in our Selves, with native bounties blest.
Shall I praise one, or All? for All are thine?
Noe more will I admire, the Southerne Shine
Nor Easterne perfumes, nor the wealth o th' west;
But thinke thee fairest, Sweetest, richest, Best;
Forgetting Chaucer, and Dan Lidgates Rhime,
Loe here, the Glorie, of our modern time,
A learned Age. Since great Elizaes reigne
And Peace came in; the proud Italian,
And justly proud in Poesie, will allow
The English (though not Equall) next him now.
The noble Sidney crown'd with liveing Bayes;
And Spencer cheif, (if a peculear praise
May pass, and from the rest not derogate)
The learned Jonson, whose Dramaticke State
Shall stand admir'd Example, to reduce
Things proper, to the light, or buskind Muse.
Many the present Age afford, of which
Heare Falkland, Digbie, Beaumond, Carew, rich
In their Composures Severall; with whom
Maye, Allein, Randolph, Shirley, Rutter come;
Sons of thy wombe all these; with whom may I
(Though in a weake, and humble Poesie)
Thy glories Celebrate, and quitt the Score
Nature obligeth me. I aske noe more;
Not that I covet fame; let those high names
Inherite all the Glorie, of their Thames,
And live to many ages, though I fall
In scorned Dust, and have noe name at all.
Suffice it I may sing upon thy flood,
Neglected Humber; or my Muse (less proud)
Sport in the Sedges, of my neighbouring Streame,
Poore as my verse, neither deserving name;
And may the village where I had my birth
Enclose as Due, my Bodie in her Earth.