In kenning of the Shore
50(Thanks to God first giuen,)
O you the happy'st men,
Be Frolike then,
Let Cannons roare,
Frighting the wide Heauen.
And in Regions farre
Such Heroes bring yee foorth,
As those from whom We came,
And plant Our name,
Vnder that Starre
60Not knowne vnto our North.
And as there Plenty growes
Of Lawrell euery where,
Apollo's Sacred tree,
You may it see,
A Poets Browes
To crowne, that may sing there.
Thy Voyages attend,
Industrious Hacklvit,
Whose Reading shall inflame
70Men to seeke Fame,
And much commend
To after-Times thy Wit.
An Ode Written In The Peake
This while we are abroad,
Shall we not touch our Lyre?
Shall we not sing an Ode?
Shall that holy Fire,
In vs that strongly glow'd,
In this cold Ayre expire?
Long since the Summer layd
Her lustie Brau'rie downe,
The Autumne halfe is way'd,
10And Boreas 'gins to frowne,
Since now I did behold
Great Brvtes first builded Towne.
Though in the vtmost Peake,
A while we doe remaine,
Amongst the Mountaines bleake
Expos'd to Sleet and Raine,
No Sport our Houres shall breake,
To exercise our Vaine.
What though bright Phœbvs Beames
20Refresh the Southerne Ground,
And though the Princely Thames
With beautious Nymphs abound,
And by old Camber's Streames
Be many Wonders found;
Yet many Riuers cleare
Here glide in Siluer Swathes,
And what of all most deare,
Buckston's delicious Bathes,
Strong Ale and Noble Cheare,
30T' asswage breeme Winters scathes.