‘There may’st thou live admir’d, the mistress of the lake.’
Wise Ock she doth obey, returning, and doth take
The Taw; which from her fount forc’d on with amorous gales,
And eas’ly ambling down through the Devonian dales,
Brings with her Moul and Bray, her banks that gently bathe;
Which on her dainty breast, in many a silver swathe,
She bears unto that bay where Barstaple beholds
How her beloved Taw clear Towridge there enfolds.
The confluence of these brooks divulg’d in Dertmoor, bred
Distrust in her sad breast, that she so largely spread,