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Title: A Hymn To His Ladies Birth-Place
Author: Michael Drayton [
More Titles by Drayton]
Coventry, that do'st adorn
The Country wherein I was born,
Yet therein lies not thy praise
Why I should crown thy Towers with Bays:
'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds
Thy Ports, nor thy proud Pyramids,
Nor thy Trophies of the Boar,
But that She which I adore,
Which scarce Goodness self can pair,
First their breathing blest thy Air;
IDEA, in which Name I hide
Her, in my heart Deified,
For what good, Man's mind can see,
Only her IDEAS be;
She, in whom the Virtues came
In Womans shape, and took her Name,
She so far past Imitation,
As but Nature our Creation
Could not alter, she had aimed,
More then Woman to have framed:
She, whose truely written Story,
To thy poor Name shall add more glory,
Then if it should haue been thy Chance,
T' have bred our Kings that Conquered France.
Had She been born the former Age,
That house had been a Pilgrimage,
And reputed more Divine,
Then Walsingham or BECKETS Shrine.
That Princess, to whom thou do'st owe
Thy Freedom, whose Clear blushing snow,
The envious Sun saw, when as she
Naked rode to make Thee free,
Was but her Type, as to foretell,
Thou should'st bring forth one, should excel
Her Bounty, by whom thou should'st have
More Honour, then she Freedom gave;
And that great Queen, which but of late
Ruled this Land in Peace and State,
Had not been, but Heaven had sworn,
A Maid should reign, when she was born.
Of thy Streets, which thou hold'st best,
And most frequent of the rest,
Happy Mich-Park every year,
On the fourth of August there,
Let thy Maids from FLORA'S bowers,
With their Choice and daintiest flowers
Deck Thee up, and from their store,
With brave Garlands crown that dore.
The old Man passing by that way,
To his Son in time shall say,
There was that Lady born, which long
To after-Ages shall be sung;
Who unawares being passed by,
Back to that House shall cast his Eye,
Speaking my Verses as he goes,
And with a Sigh shut every Close.
Dear City, travelling by thee,
When thy rising Spires I see,
Destined her place of Birth;
Yet me thinks the very Earth
Hallowed is, so far as I
Can thee possibly descry:
Then thou dwelling in this place,
Hearing some rude Hinde disgrace
Thy City with some scury thing,
Which some Jester forth did bring,
Speak these Lines where thou do'st come,
And strike the Slave for ever dumbe.
[The end]
Michael Drayton's poem: Hymn To His Ladies Birth-Place
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