Lest any breathing space might haue been lost,
I follow’d him vnto that rockie coast,
Ouer whose mountaine tops the daie’s great guide,
The golden sunne appeares each morning tide.
34.
And there where Medway with his siluer streames
Runs gliding downe the lowlie dales of Kent,
Vntill he meetes his elder brother Thames,
Vpon a hill I pight my warlike tent,
Expecting how the foes, that night stood bent,