‘Much wrong’d, nor yet prefer’d for wonders with the rest.’
But the laborious muse, upon her journey prest,
Thus uttereth to herself; ‘To guide my course aright,
‘What mound or steddy mere is offered to my sight,
‘Upon this out-strecht arm, whilst sailing here at ease,
‘Betwixt the southern waste, and the Sabrinian seas,
‘I view those wanton brooks, that waxing still do wane;
‘That scarcely can conceive, but brought to bed again;
‘Scarce rising from the spring, (that is their natural mother)
‘To grow into a stream, but buried in another.’