The Basse

Far North if Fables lie not thear's a land
Wher those whom we call Pigmeis doe command
Who yearly gainst the Cranes doe wage a warr
And sometimes beat, yet sometimes conquered are
And though they be not past a Cubit high
Their Army not consists in Infantry
But each is mounted if the tale say true
Upon the husband to the bleating ewe
Lanciers at least for soe provides the Soyle
Them Bullrushes wherwith their Foes to foyle
Whither an Ile or Continent this be
The Poets fictions doe not well agree
Only by circomstance it most appeers
These nations both of them are Ilanders
For were they other they could not remain
But be by Greater neighbouring powers tain.
It was my fortune lately to have been
In Caledonias Lowden, whence is seen
With ease neer to the steep Tantallon shore
A Rock i'th'Sea: you'ld judg it t'be noe more
Though't provd an Iland when my curious mind
Meeting with opportunety and wind
Had brought me thither, and the self same on
Wherof I formerly made mention
For thear beseegd by Foules of evry sort
Who seemd to me stil scaling of the fort
A Lord within I found (one passage free)
Who seemd the giant of the land to be
For He two Cubits had attaind in haight
And booted was ready to ride to faight
Upon the summet were his Steeds at grass
And this the place which now men call the Bass
The Cranes are changd to Sollen-Geese and bear
Noe Fewd, but proffit to Him evry year
See what Time bringes to pass: Now Heer He bides
Securer than he could elsewher besides
And (more than Alexander) is content
T'intoombe Himself alive, in's monument
Proportioned to His pitch: for Fortune found
He was too little for soe great a ground
As formerly'he possest, and plac't Him thear
Amongst the Geese as in His propper Sphear.