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TO THE
NOBLE LORD
VVILLIAM
Earl of Devonshire
Concerning the Wonder of the Peak.
A POEM.
ON th' English Alps, where Darbies Peak doth rise,
High up in Hills, that Emulate the Skies,
And largely Waters all the Vales below,
With Rivers that still plentifully Flow,
Doth Chatsworth by swift Derwins Channel stand,
Fam'd for it's Pile, and Lord, for both are grand.
Slowly the River by its Gates doth pass,
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Here silent, as in Wonder of the place,
But does from Rocky precipices move
In rapid streams below it, and above.
A losty Mountain guards the house behind,
From the assaults of the rough Eastern wind;
Which does from far it's rugged Cliffs display,
And Sleep prolongs, by shutting out the day.
Behind, a pleasant Garden does appear;
Where the rich earth, breaths odours every where.
Where in the midst of Woods, the fruitful Tree
Fears without prune-hook, seeming now as free.
Where by the thick leav'd roof the Walls are made
Spite of the Sun were all his beams display'd
More cool than the fam'd Virgil's Beechen shade.
Where Art (it self dissembling) rough hewn stone
And craggy flints worn out by dropping on
Together joyning by the workmans tool)
Makes horrid rocks, and watry caverns cool.
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The Water that from native Cliffs had source
Once free and unconfin'd, throughout it's course,
By it's own Country Metal is led on
Captive to Rocks of Artificial stone.
There buried deep, it's streams it doubly throws
Into two circling Channels as it goes,
Through thousand cranies, which by art it does.
Then girds the Rock with many a hollow vain,
Frighting all under with surprising rain.
Thence turning it a Marble font does store,
Until it's lofty brims can hold no more.
And entring the house, obsequious is
To Cook and Butler, in their services.
And gushing up within the midst does spout
His Crystal waters ev'ry where about,
Fit for the hands, from the tall Cisterns out,
And though to this but four vents we assign,
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Calliroe's not so fair that spouts from nine.
The river turning off a little space,
Part of a garden's seen that fronts the place.
Two rowes of Crystal ponds here shine and dance
Which trembling wave the Sun beams as they glance,
In which vast shoales of fishes wanton float,
Not conscious of the prison where they'r shut.
How does it please when as the Nymphs fling in
The prey intic'd, to the bright flouds again,
T' observe the method that the wantons use,
First to inveigle men, and then refuse!
What can more gratefull or Surprising be,
Than gardens pend'lous on high mounts to see?
Within the midst of all the waters stand,
Caesarian Piles built by a womans hand.
Piles fit for Kings to build, and Monarchs rear,
In Cavendisian Lordships doe appear;
The petty products of a Female care.
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But of fam'd Shrewsoury's great Countess this
The least of thousand commendations is.
To whom vast Structures their foundations own;
Who got great wealth with great and good renown;
Who by her candor made all friends in power,
And with her bounty shin'd upon the lower;
Who left an Off-spring numerous and great
With which the joyful Nation's still repleat;
How Sweet it is upon the Sandy shore
Of Crystall Pooles, great Nature to explore!
Or to my Lord Small gifts of verse prefer,
Wherein those happy fields I may declare
Prest by the Muses, which still urgent are.
A more commodious soile they never knew,
Nor a more friendly Lord had title to.
From hence, on rising ground, appears a neat,
And fair ascent, up to the Pallace gate.
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Royall, August, sublime without tis seen;
Large, neat, commodious, splendid, rich within.
What thou may'st find in Marble figur'd out
Of Poets fables, or old Hero's stout,
Dwell not upon't; nor cement hard as stone,
Nor count the faithful Servants, one by one.
But the great Master celebrate my Muse.
To whome descended from an antient House,
Devon gives princely Titles, Derby Cares:
Who in a constant breast, discretion bears.
Magnificent, not lavish, still he spends
His riches freely, and amongst his Friends;
He of your Quire is the only grace,
He for the Muses finds a resting place,
And pleasant shades, and gratful leisure gives,
And he from them large Eloquence receives
With a discerning mind, 'twixt good, and ill.
Next view his Consort wistly, view her Still,
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Descended from the Bruses antient line,
Whose Kingly Stock does in her visage shine.
Then view their Noble Off-spring; but above
The rest a Nymph, whom Jove himself may love.
With two Sweet Youths, who Angells might be said,
The common pledges of the Marriage bed.
These with their Parents may be wonder'd at;
What else of Miracles thou may'st repeat,
Fall short of these, and are not nigh so great.
Of the high Peak, are Seven wonders writ.
Two Fonts, two Caves, one Pallace, Mount▪ and Pit.
To wit that Stately Pallace we have nam'd
But now, is first among the seven fam'd.
O'th' rest discoursing, Some who long'd to know
The cause of things, to see them joyn to goe;
And I ('twas worth the while) amongst them too,
'Twas at the time the earth did tribute pay,
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And the hot Sun the dew had wip'd away
From off the stubble, when we first begun
Our journy, and to Guide us hired one:
Thus we set forwards from the gates, and make
Pilsly and Hassop in a rugged track.
From thence our horse with weary feet and slow
Towards a steep Hill's high top, doe climbing go;
And after many a tug and weary Strain,
Halfe breathless, they the Summity do gain,
Turning about with wonder we espy
The birds now lazily to creep, not fly.
And that the Pico of the Mountains brow
Had pierc'd the body of the Clouds quite through
Derwin appeares but as a crooked line,
And Chatsworth as a point it doth entwine.
W'had gone but little further, when we found
The Hills soft back, cut deep with many a wound.
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And did the earth in whitish ranks espie
Cast up in heaps, upon the surface lye.
Tis a high soil; but cover'd with a crust
Of brittle earth, soon crumbling into dust;
Which least by it's own weight it should fall down.
Nature hath propt it with a roof of Stone.
But the dark Prince of wealth divides throughout,
In thousand channels, which himself had cut,
In order'd ranks the Stone; and each so drawn
From th' Eastern point, unto the Western one
You'd think they felt not the effects alone
Of heat and warmth, but that they view'd the Sun.
The griping hand of Dis within these beds
Had stor'd of better mettals the crude seeds:
To be hereafter to perfection brought
By the Sun beams, as they upon them wrought,
Till then for to be guarded by the Stone,
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From all assaults sufficient Garrison.
But all in vain, for neither can the Sun
With oblique ray, bring to concoction
The rougher leaden lump; nor is the ground
Sufficient guardian, for it's treasure found.
For man (wealth's great invader wheresoe're
It hidden lies) with fire and Steel does tear
The bowels of the earth; and rends in twain
The Stony cover of the leaden vein.
And boldly dares, if poverty compel,
To rob th' Exchecquer, of the Prince of Hell.
Not alwayes without danger, two were caught
As in their Mothers womb they deeply wrought
By death; who suddenly o'rewhelm'd them there,
Where they themselves had digg'd a Sepulcher.
The inlets (which with narrow vents admit
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But hardly down those who are forc'd to it
By want, whose bellies are by hunger fit)
With beams of wood the Natives still distend,
And prop their way, as to the veins they bend.
A people expert in experienc'd wo,
Damn'd to the Mines, for many years ago;
That all may see they fell not unawares,
But were long sought for, by infernal snares.
Which now the main supporters take away
That did the earths weak brittle surface stay,
And gather to the neighbouring shades below
The souls, prest forth from their crust bodies now.
Bodies by bodies in these deeps we sound,
Thus arrows lost, are still by arrows found.
Before our feet, a Corps digg'd up we see,
Which minds us what we are, or ought to be.
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Much like the body we about us bring.
T'other lies buried in the earth, but still
Hopes an extraction when 'tis Heavens will.
Upon the earth that from the mine was thrown,
A lazy people drawn from e'ry Town,
To see the mournful spectacle came down.
Two women weeping in the croud we spi'd;
One for the loss of joyes that she had tri'd,
T'other for want of hopes are now denied.
Ones flame continual use had near expir'd,
T'other with itch of novelty was fir'd.
Both mourn, because that both their joyes have lost,
But she who last had tasted them, the most.
Let them still mourn. We in our way go on,
And now four thousand paces we had gone,
By our horse feet we count, as oft the Stone
In equal space each foot precedeing still
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In equal space each foot proceeding still
Before its fellow, now hath felt their heel.
Our shadowes go before, and shortest shew
What course the Sun bear's, and what course we go,
Many small Villages on either side
We leave behind us, as we onward ride,
The last is Hope; the rest I'le not rehearse,
Their names are too too cumbersome for verse.
On hollow ground, repleat with mines below,
And fill'd with mortals, high aloft we go.
The horse with hasty feet beats on the soil,
Redoubled eccho's from their hoofs recoil.
And in an hours space, or thereabout,
To a steep Mountains precipice we're brought,
It was great odds we did not headlong go
Into the neighbouring village stood below.
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But we with winding steps, and wary foot
Strive as we may with safety, come unto't.
First we the Sun upon our right hand place,
Then turning to the left, with a soft pace
We downwards going to our feet confide.
Then again mounting on the Hills left side
Into the Village we securely ride,
Which built on a high Rock commands the sight
Of all the Passengers that travel by't;
Call'd from the Castle near it, Castleton.
Not famous for the warlike Deeds there done,
Not great, nor built with Art, not ever could
Against the Canon-shot it self uphold,
Nor yet impregnable to those of old;
But ancient and built up of Stone it bears
The injuries of time, and weather dares.
Under the Lords, that kept the mines of yore
It might of Thieves repulse the sudden power.
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Behind a ruin'd mountain does appear
Swelling into two parts, which turgent are
As when we bend our bodies to the ground,
The buttocks amply sticking out are found.
I'th' midst there is a Cave: and on each hand
A lofty Rock does as supporter stand
Of a vast weight of earth, which else would fall,
So to the midst with safety guards us all,
And now we're come (I blushing must rehearse)
As most does stile it to the Devils Arse;
Peaks Arse the Natives.
A noble Cave between two Rocks appears,
Unto the Sun unknown, but to the Stars
Fearing to be immerg'd, and both the Bears
Turn'd, it its mouth with horrour does present:
Just like a furnace, or as Hell they paint,
Swallowing with open Jawes the Damned croud
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After the sentence is pronounc'd aloud.
On horseback we our entrance make, and spy
Horses within, and haycocks mounted high.
But we with wonder and amaze admire
The tall prodigious Rocky Hemisphere,
How without prop 'tis capable to bear
So vast a weight, how it the mountain stayes,
And the eternal Geometrician praise,
Through the thick Arch, we see the water stain'd
To fall in drops, which on the earth retain'd,
Even then to their own Country the Sea,
Seek out returns with much perplexity;
In little Channels even then they search
For fellow streams, to fortifie their march.
From whence they teaching, we these notions get,
Rivers proceed not from the earth's receipt
Of the salt billowes by the sandy shoars,
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Which still imbibe them at their hollow pores,
As if the straitned waters were forc'd up,
The Main being taller than the mountain's top;
But by the Suns hot rayes the Sea on high
Mounts up in vapours, which do wandring fly
Drove by the winds, which cooling still as soon
As the heat fails them, or the Sun goes down,
In num'rous tears descend unto the earth,
From which collected, Rivers have their birth.
To view the dark recesses of the Cave
We thought it not amiss good lights to have.
Dismounting, a she-Native of the place
Leads us on forwards, with a gentle pace,
Handsome enough, and Girle enough she was;
Who with her steady foot, and accent clear,
As guide emboldens us with many a cheer.
Making our entrance with a confus'd light,
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Two Rocks with crooked backs drive from our sigh
The beams of day, and bending down below,
On all four force us through their Arch to go.
Sometimes erect, then grov'ling tow'rds the ground,
In figures both of beasts, and men, we're found.
Until at length the slow and humble source
Of a dark River crossing, stopt our course.
A stream whose Channel ran tili now beneath
The earth, here under the low Arch does breath.
And winding in its Channel to and fro,
Not alwayes does irrevocably go.
Sometimes it bosomes you within its bay,
Then jetting out, it drives you far away.
Thus far we go; beyond it none can have
The least admittance, who e're credit gave
To the old Womans Fable of the Father,
Who did forsooth well fraught with lights swim o∣ver
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A little ford, but durst not further roame,
Lest sunk in night, he ne're should backward come;
But we return, and with wet feet tread o're
The Sand again, that we had trod before.
The night and shades we now behind us leave,
And the blest day-light once again receive.
Got out, as is the pole a Mountain tall
Lifts up his head, like an old ruin'd Wall
Ready made weak by breaches now to fall.
Tis said eternally the Sand falls down,
Without the hills least diminution;
Strange this if true; and yet the Pyrami'd
Of falling sand, still gathering to a head,
Gives tacite Items that the Flux begun
By some great ruine, and will ever run
Until the mountains top and that be one.
And though the most call't Mam Tor, nev'rtheless
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Maim'd for the cliff I rather should express.
Which does in English a torn Rock denote,
And the decrepit hill gives favour to't.
Turn'd to the left a thousand pace or so,
To the Peak-Forrest without Tree we go,
Hem'd in with Stony fence the naked Deer
Cold Winter pinches, not a leaf does here
To shelter them upon these hills appear.
Summers fierce heat does scorch them, not a shade
From the Suns ray, to cover them is had.
Many the bloody wantonness of man
Destroy's with Dog his lov'd companion.
Many the changes when the Heavens frown,
Some Elden with wide jawes does swallow down.
Of the torn earth a dire hiatus 'tis
Which should I labour truly to express,
The Ancients I to councel call in vain,
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For no such thing the Poets e're could feign,
How e're my Muse, we some essayes must make.
And first the figure of its mouth let's take:
Let the apt fimily be but compleat,
To small things, so, thou may'st compare what's great:
Tell me, tell't me alone, tell't in my ear.
Whisper't, that none but thou and I may hear;
She's dumb, as conscious of the form obscene.
Upon the side of a fair hill that's green,
Its rim descending with the mountain's seen.
Driving off herds that graze around it far,
And sucking with dark lungs the pliant air.
While from the edge we prostrate view't, the sight
O'th' vast abyss does each of us afright.
With fear and dread the bold spectator spies.
No bounds to stop the progress of his ey's.
And though the stony battlements assure.
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Whos' ere leans on them, may have sight secure,
Yet still distrust our fearful minds invades,
And we retire from the dreadful shades.
But through the field we diligently search
For stones; thrown in, long is their silent march,
At lenght by stroaks their Journies end they speak,
(If any end, they in their journies make.)
Cast in they sink, and in their sinking knock,
After long pauses, on a hidden Rock.
Thence tilting, ten times they the stroaks repeat
In vain, not center'd on a bottome yet.
And now so oft deceiv'd, we strive at length
Whole towers to throw in, had we but strength,
Whole buildings, roofs and all, vast mountains tall,
(Hid they been there, for 'twould have swallow'd all)
But a vast weighty stone, such we could get,
We by main strength, force from its Native seat.
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And rowling it along th'enclining land,
Upon the sacred brink, we let it stand.
Then this repeat. Thou God to shades below,
Praefect in chief of torments, see we go
Of our chance certain, and high seats of glee,
(if they say true are rob'd in black like thee)
This torment add unto those many more
Thou hast invented, for the damn'd in store.
In thy dominions if a soul thou hast
Fam'd for rebellion, or for breach of trust,
Beneath this Chasme let it streight be put.
Say it be Simon; or Iscariot.
Or place the Gyants in a trice you'l see,
Bruis'd they the shadows, of a shade will be.
But O ye Soul's who shut up with them sweat
Known and belov'd by us, make quick retrat,
And slight not our advice. This said the stone
We drop, whcih circled in thick mist is thrown
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Against a Rock, the Cavern groans the while,
Loud sighs are vented from the shaken Pile.
From Rock to Rock, the sound goes downward still,
Less heard by us but the more heard by Hell,
The third and fourth percussion's nearer made,
With awful sound affright each list'ning shade.
In short against Avernus craggy throat
At the eleventh stroak, it whispers out
Its journey only; what 'tis more you hear
After that blow, brought faintly to your ear,
Does but the Image of a sound appear.
Away the shades, swift as the winds do glide,
In vaults of Erebus strive to be hid,
In silence the mean while descends the Stone;
Through the infernal Spheres it post doth run
And passes them in order one by one.
Into the confines of dread Dis it goes
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And empty seats in Limbo overthrows.
From thence by intense flames it moves in hast,
And Souls red hot in Heaven to be plac'd
(Purge from their dross as are the Pipes by fire
Tobacco er'st had sullied) and the Sphere
Of Infants unregenerate it flyes.
(Unconscious of its fault which tortur'd cryes)
Thence sinking to the utmost Hell it goes
And center passes; where the wise suppose
Or Aristotles Sect should top, and so
Ascending to the t'other side does go.
Now the affrighted Ghosts turn back again
Freed from the object which had giv'n them pain.
Amongst which number Sysiphus alone
Does the approach lament of such a Stone,
More busky and more weighty than his own
'Tis said great Dudly to this Cave came down
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In fam'd Eliza's Reigna a Peer well known.
He a poor Peasant, for a petty price
With Rope around his middle does entice,
And pole in hand, like to Sarissa tight,
And basket full of Stones down to be let
And pendulous to hang i'th' midst o'th' Cave;
Thence casting stones intelligence to have
By listning, of the depth of this vast hole.
The trembling wretch descending with his pole
Puts by the Stones, that else might on him rowl.
By their rebounds casts up a space immence,
Where every stroak does death to him dispence
Fearing the thread on which his life depends
Chance might cut off, e're Fate should give com∣mands
After a hundred yards he had below
I'th' earth been drown'd, far as the Rope would go
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And long enough hung by't within the Cave;
To th' Earl (who now impatient was to have
His answer) He's drawn up, but whether fear
Immoderate distracted him, or 'twere
From the swift motion as the Rope might wreath,
Or Spectrums from his fear, or Hell beneath
Frighted the wretch, or the Souls cittadel
Were storm'd or taken by some Imp of Hell,
For certain 'twas he rav'd; this his wild eyes,
His paleness, trembling, all things verifies.
Where venting something none could understand,
Enthusiastick hints ne're to be scand,
He ceasing dies after eight daies were gone.
But th' Earl inform'd, how far the Cave went down
He trembling from it hasts, not willing now,
Nor yet this way, down to the shades to go.
From hence within a Vale that hidden lyes;
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A thousand paces off, a Fount doth rise.
From the low caverns of a grassie hill;
With double mouth it's waters gushing still.
Which since th' admir'd flux o'th' greater Sea
Doth by report in its small Channel play,
We thought it good (although the Sun made haste
And drove his Chariot quick into the West)
To stay a while, and haply so to see
When that the wonder of the Flux would be
With fame co-witnesses o'th rarity.
That which boils up with trembling waters bright
O'th' two the bigger, cheifly worth our sight,
A font receives not equal unto those
Are made by art, but yet by much out goes
What Fountain head; ere from wild chance arose.
Thence flowes, unless what doth at bottom keep
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Two Cubits broad, three long, one Cubit deep.
One when no more then's own it doth contain,
But to it by the forreign floud doth gain.
A mark is by the swelling waters made,
Which gives the stony brink a signal shade.
Which by its blackness to have ebb'd of late
Discerning it uneasie seem'd to wait
So long until the tide again came on.
So we our Horse heads turn for to be gone.
When we're call'd back by th' gushing waters noise,
And see them plainly on the Stones to rise.
Now the full Fountains waters boil apace,
As when fierce fires we under Cauldrons place,
The water cannot rest that is above,
But shuns the mettle, and does volant prove.
When near the Font from the aforesaid head
A rivulet does suddainly proceed,
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And pouring from above its streams deep in,
Helps the augmenting waters to attain
There wonted height, which got, decrease again
When streight the rivulet that with such force
Powr'd from above it's waters, stops its course.
And the dry Earth now thirsty grown for more
Drinks off the cups she had disgorg'd before.
Part of the Channel now dispers'd doth flow
Forth from the well, part under ground doth go.
Small thefts of Moss from off the Stones were there,
Grass, Chaff, torn bits of paper, and such geer.
Or what 'tis else its shallow stream can bear,
That we fling in, returning it doth come
Together with it, to earths hollow womb.
And now the humble Fount so low was grown
It scarce retain'd the waters were its own.
When as the tides return, again they swell,
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Again to wonted Feavers trembling boil,
Increas't by forreign flouds so far to gain
Their bounds, and Tropick stations to attain,
Lading their shoars still with a fresh supply
So far, and then again they falling fly.
But the encreasing shades forbid our stay
Which monstrous grown Gigantick forms betray.
Our journey we hast on, but as we go,
We searching strive by ev'ry sign to know
From what hid cause, so great a strife should Spring.
For neither saltness, nor yet any thing.
That's common to the Water of the Sea
Are in this Fountain ever found to be.
On the Moons influence it don't depend,
Nor does it at set times its flouds extend,
(As does the Sea) unto these tides there is
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No Rules from any Ephemerides.
What then should be the cause? in short 'tis this.
The water which from under ground doth rise
And with its forreign stream fills up the Well,
Does not come thither brought by 'ts own Cannel,
And willingly anothers right invades.
But while the footsteps of the floud that leads
It followes, seeking through the womb of earth
For Fountains, whence its waters may have birth,
On subterraneous Caves its flouds do fall,
With narrow vent, and entrances but small.
Hither as oft as that the waters flow,
With swelling tides, and stop the vents below
With their swift currents, suddenly the air
Shut up within, does for the place prepare
Defence against the waters, and deny
Their entrance, having no where for to fly.
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And as there's nought then air inclos'd more strong,
It bears against the watry croud that throng;
Then as thick troops through narrow portal strain.
The first stick at the threshold, the remain
In a condenced croud before the gates
Make a full stand; part urges on their mates,
Part wandring seek out for some other way;
So the excluded waters at their stay
Impatient grown, and swelling, go astray;
Then roving, to this Font are slowly brought,
Hence 'tis with show'rs when the earth is fraught,
The fluxes happen ever and anon,
As now, three times they rise, three times go down;
With constant droughts but when the earth hath been
Bu••nt monthly then the wonder scarce is seen.
Now out of sight daies waggoner was gone,
And the Antipodes had shun upon.
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The Sun burnt clouds but glimmer to the sight,
When at fam'd Buxton's hot bath we alight.
Unto St. Ann the Fountain sacred is:
With waters hot and cold its sources rise,
And in its Sulphur-veins there's med'cine lies.
This cures the Palsied members of the Old.
And cherishes the Nerves grown stiff and cold.
Crutches the Lame unto its brink convey,
Returning the ungrates fling them away.
The Barren hither to be fruitful come,
And without help of Spouse, go pregnant home,
Into a Cistern square, the water flowes;
And seldome higher than five foot it goes,
The prying gazer's view the Walls prevent,
To th' R••in the Roof is an impediment.
One common Wall with open doors doth joyn.
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While therefore turfie fewel does prepare
Our supper, jointly we resolved are
Our wearied limbs in the warm bath to cheer.
Soon stripp'd, the clearer waters round us glide,
And our naked limbs, with Christal covers hide,
Upon our face we swim, then backward try,
But fail. 'Tis known some others may outvy.
After an hours sport i'th' troubled floud,
Come out, dry sheets does our wet bodies shroud.
Then each again is cloth'd in's own array,
And the spread table speaks our suppers stay,
Night the mean time breaks forth from ëry glade
And conqu'ress covers all with darksome shade,
Till in by Candle-light our meats convey'd.
Where a small bowl, but not whole baths of broth
At our request is plac'd to be supt off.
The Mutton taken from't apart is laid;
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From the same Sheep a smoaking loyn is had
Hot drawn from off the Spit, With a young fowl
From the demolish'd egg was lately stole.
And butter'd Pease by Spoonfuls. But rich Wine
In vain we seek; Ale in black pots that shine,
Good nappy Ale we drink. Thus supt, afar
We with Tobacco drive off sleep and care.
Aurora's Charriot had not driven on
And by her march spoke the approaching Sun,
By the eclipse of Stars that now were gone,
When we arose from sleep, again repair
To the warm bath, and amply tinged are
Now double dip't in its all healing floud,
Then once again, we our wet bodies shroud
Now dewy grown within our beds, and so
After nine hours sleep arise and go.
One thing remain'd, but highly worth our view,
Pool's hole, a Care so call'd, and near us too.
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Pool was a famous thief, and as we're told
Equal to Cacus, and perchance as old.
Shrowded within this darksome hid retrieve
By spoils of those he robb'd, he us'd to live,
And towards his den poor travellers deceive;
But murder he with thefts did introduce
Thus they, and thus the Author lay abstruce.
This to behold a skilful guide we take,
And Captain in our darksome journeys make.
To a green hill on foot then bend our way
From Buxton near a thousand paces lay,
At bottom of the Hill to th' hollow ground
Stooping by a small vent a way is found;
More passable the further in you go.
At length we all with crablike gesture slow,
And light in hand, the passage do get through,
And with it gain an upright posture too,
A monstrous, horrid, shapeless den appears
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Where the divided night, gives greater fears.
Now on the Court of the great Pool we look
Horrid, and rough with Rocks. The Ceiling struck
Shines with bright fiery sparks. We further yet
With mounted lights go on, and wary feet.
Vast, slippery, moist, and Stones to climb full hard
Loose, once to fall, now therefore to be fear'd,
Mountains and vallyes wild o'th' Stony Cave
We pass, with a blind River which each wave
With murmures flings, against the Rocks it meets
To th'top of a steep Mountain who doth get
From the low River rising, may with sweat,
And wearied hands, and weari'd feet, mount on
(Bolder by far than we) the utmost Stone
Of this dark Cave; three stadiums distant from
The entrance, by which to it we did come.
This Cave by Gorgon with her snaky hair
You'd think was first possest; so all things there
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Turn'd into Stone for nothing does appear
That is not Rock. What from the ceiling high
Like hams of Bacon pendulous you spy,
Will scarce yield to the teeth; stone they are both
That is no Lyon mounts his main so rough,
And sets as a fierce tenant o'th' dark den,
But a meer yellow Stone. That grave old Man
That leaning lyes on his hard Rocky bed,
Himfelf may truly part of it be said.
Those Stars from the clear roof that shine so bright
Are nought but Stones which sparkle 'gainst the light.
The drop which hangs upon the pointed Stone
Is that so to? it is or will be one.
Took up between our fingers it is seen
To be nor Stone, nor Water, but between.
Of such a substance as a leaven'd Mass.
But on the flying water as we gaze,
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Our lights perswade us now grown tow'rds decay,
To haste from the Caves labarinth away.
But turning first on the left hand, behold
The bed-chamber of Pool the robber bold;
All of plain Stone, ne're water'd with the dew,
Furnish'd with bed and chamber-pot we view.
And thence returning, to the day get clear.
Laborious climbing and of falls the fear,
Our wearied joints had now bedew'd with sweat,
Our creeping hands with the moist earth were wet.
When ready crouds at the Caves mouth attend
And waters mixt with flowers re-commend
Our hands to wash. Something indeed there is
Expected for these their civilties.
And justly too, were we wash'd ne're so clean,
Something of Dirtiness would still remain,
Unless by some rewards (although not great)
Their courtesies we should remunerate.