from Britannia's Pastorals

As Tavy creepes upon
The Westerne vales of fertile Albion,
Here dashes roughly on an aged Rocke,
That his extended passage doth up locke;
There intricately 'mongst the Woods doth wander,
Losing himselfe in many a wry Meander:
Here amorously bent, clips some faire Mead;
And then disperst in Rils, doth measures tread
Upon her bosome 'mongst her flowery ranks:
There in another place beares downe the banks
Of some day-labouring wretch: here meets a rill,
And with their forces ioyn'd cuts out a Mill
Into an Iland, then in iocund guise
Survayes his conquest, lauds his enterprise:
Here digs a Cave at some high Mountaines foot:
There undermines an Oake, tears up his root:
Thence rushing to some Country-farme at hand,
Breaks o'er the Yeomans mounds, sweepes from his land
His Harvest hope of Wheat, of Rye, or Pease:
And makes that channell which was Shepherds lease.