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Upon the midlands now the industrious muse doth fall,
The shires which we the heart of England well may call.
 * * * * * * *
My native country thou, which so brave spirits hast bred,
If there be virtues yet remaining in the earth,
Or any good of thine thou bred'st into my birth,
Accept it as thine own, whilst now I sing of thee,
Of all thy later brood the unworthiest though I be.
—Drayton; Polyolbion.

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