‘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.’ When Chore doth call her on, that wholly doth betake Herself unto the Loo; transform’d into a lake, Through that impatient love she had to entertain The lustful Neptune oft; whom when his wracks restrain, Impatient of the wrong, impetuously he raves: And in his rageful flow, the furious King of waves Breaks foaming o’er the beach, whom nothing seems to cool, Till he have wrought his will on that capacious pool: Where Menedge, by his brooks, a[61] chersonese is cast, Widening the slender shore to ease it in the waste; A promont jutting out into the dropping south, That with his threatning cliffs in horrid Neptune’s mouth, Derides him and his pow’r: nor cares how him he greets. Next Roseland (as his friend, the mightier Menedge) meets Great Neptune when he swells, and rageth at the rocks (Set out into those seas) inforcing through his shocks Those arms of sea that thrust into the tinny strand, By their meandred creeks indenting of that land, Whose fame by every tongue is for her minerals hurl’d, Near from the mid-day’s point, thro’ out the western world. Here Vale a lively flood, her nobler name that gives To[62] Falmouth; and by whom it famous ever lives, Whose entrance is from sea so intricately wound, Her haven angled so about her harb’rous sound, That in her quiet bay a hundred ships may ride, Yet not the tallest mast be of the tall’st descry’d; Her bravery to this nymph when neighbouring rivers told, Her mind to them again she briefly doth unfold: ‘Let[63] Camel of her course and curious windings boast, ‘In that her greatness reigns sole mistress of that coast ‘Twixt Tamer and that bay, where Hayle pours forth her pride, ‘And let us (nobler nymphs) upon the mid-day side ‘Be frolic with the best. Thou Foy, before us all, ‘By thine own named town made famous in thy fall, ‘As Low amongst us here; a most delicious brook, ‘With all our sister nymphs, that to the noonsted look, ‘Which gliding from the hills, upon the tinny ore, ‘Betwixt your high-rear’d banks, resort to this our shore; ‘Lov’d streams, let us exult, and think ourselves no less ‘Than those upon their side, the setting that possess.’ Which Camel over-heard: but what doth she respect Their taunts, her proper course that loosly doth neglect? As frantic, ever since her British Arthur’s blood, By Mordred’s murtherous hand was mingled with her flood. For as that river best might boast that conqueror’s breath, So sadly she bemoans his too untimely death; Who after twelve proud fields against the Saxon fought, Yet back unto her banks by fate was lastly brought: