Then fare ye well Harrogate--dear to my heart, Be the joys you inspire and the health you impart, May your springs ever flow an immutable treasure, And the breeze that blows o'er you be freighted with pleasure; Farewell to your Doctors--more skilful and kind, Not a Spa on the Island can promise to find, But chiefly my own must I leave with regret, For a sigh to our parting is gratitude's debt, His suavity, modesty, knowledge, and truth, Where the wisdom of age, joins the candour of youth, Have made me so truly esteem and respect him, While I value true worth I can never neglect him. No more must I saunter along the Parade, Or fly for a tune to the gay Promenade, At Wilson's exhibit my knowledge or wit, Or step into Wright's for my picture to sit, At Robey's or Bachelor's loiter to chuse, A broach or a ring while I hear all the news, Or ride on the common and gladly inhale, The spirit of strength from the heath-scented gale But tho' to your pleasures I now bid adieu, Be assur'd that next year shall those pleasures renew, Renew and exceed for on Hymen's white wing, To these haunts so belov'd I my Agnes may bring, The hopes of that blessing my cares shall beguile, And I leave thee dear Harrogate now with a smile.
_Our respects to the beauties of Knaresbro' &c._ _Verse 342._--Knaresbro' is a considerable Town, situated on a rock almost encompassed by the river Nidd. Near the town are the ruins of an ancient magnificent castle built soon after the Conquest, and in one side of a neighbouring rock is a cell where an hermit lived, still called St. Robert's Chapel. The altar is cut out of one piece of solid rock, and on it are engraved the figures of three heads, supposed to represent the Trinity. This Robert founded himself a new order of monks, called Robertines, but it is probable that they soon diminished to nothing, as we do not meet with their name either in the Breviary or Baronius.
But the greatest curiosity at Knaresbro' is the petrifying spring commonly called the Dropping-Well. This natural curiosity is a spring that rises about two miles from the town, and after running above a mile under ground, comes to the top of a rock sixteen feet high, after which it drops through in fifty or sixty places into a bason below, formed by nature for its reception. Every drop has something of a musical sound as if it were small stones falling on brass, and near it are many pieces of moss reduced to a state of petrefaction; there is a fine walk on one side of the well shaded with tall trees that makes the whole extremely delightful.