Michael Drayton

PLYNILLIMON’S high praise no longer, Muse, defer,

What once the Druids told, how great those floods should be

That here (most mighty hill) derive themselves from thee.

The bards with fury rapt, the British youth among,

Unto the charming harp thy future honor song        5

In brave and lofty strains; that in excess of joy,

The beldam and the girl, the grandsire and the boy,

With shouts and yearning cries, the troubled air did load

(As when with crowned cups unto the Elian god

Those priests his orgies held; or when the old world saw        10

Full Phœbe’s face eclipsed, and thinking her to daw,

Whom they supposed fallen in some inchanted swound),

Of beaten tinkling brass still plied her with the sound),

That all the Cambrian hills, which high’st their heads do bear

With most obsequious shows of low subjected fear,        15

Should to thy greatness stoop: and all the brooks that be

Do homage to those floods that issued out of thee.