Classic Poem

The forest so much fallen from what she was before,
That to her former height Fate could not her restore;
Though oft in her behalf, the Genius of the land
Importuned the Heavens with an auspicious hand.
Yet granted at the last (the aged Nymph to grace)
They by a lady's birth would more renown that place
Than if her woods their heads above the hills should seat;
And for that purpose, first made Coventry so great
(A poor thatched village then, or scarcely none at all,
That could not once have dreamed of her now stately wall)
And thither wisely brought that goodly virgin-band,
Th'eleven thousand maids, chaste Ursula's command,
Whom then the Britain Kings gave her full power to press,
For matches to their friends in Britany the less.
At whose departure thence, each by her just bequest
Some special virtue gave, ordaining it to rest
With one of their own sex, that there her birth should have,
Till fullness of the time which Fate did choicely save;
Until the Saxon's reign, when Coventry at length,
From her small, mean regard, recovered state and strength,
By Leofric her Lord yet in base bondage held,
The people from her marts by tollage who expelled:
Whose Dutchess, which desired this tribute to release,
Their freedom often begged. The Duke, to make her cease,
Told her that if she would his loss so far enforce,
His will was, she should ride stark naked upon a horse
By daylight through the street: which certainly he thought,
In her heroic breast so deeply would have wrought,
That in her former suit she would have left to deal.
But that most princely dame, as one devoured with zeal,
Went on, and by that mean the city clearly freed.