our local Suffolk poets, James Bird (I saw him
but once, when I walked into his house, about twelve miles from Wrentham,
having run away from home at the ripe age of ten, and told him I had come
to see him, as he was a poet; and I well remember how then, much to my
chagrin, he gave me plum-pudding for dinner, and sent me to play with his
boys till a cart was found in which the prodigal was compelled to
return), wrote and published a poetical romance, called 'Dunwich; or, a
Tale of the Splendid City;' and Agnes Strickland also made it the subject
of her melodious verse, commencing:

'Oft gazing on thy craggy brow,
We muse on glories o'er.
Fair Dunwich! Thou art lonely now,
Renowned and sought no more.'

Never has a splendid city more utterly collapsed. After a long ride over
sandy lanes and fields, you come to the edge of a cliff, on which stand a
few houses. There is all that remains of the Dunwich where the first
Bishop of East Anglia taught the Christian faith, and where was born John
Daye, the printer of the works of Parker, Latimer, and Fox, who, in the
reign of Mary, became, as most real men did then, a prisoner and an exile
for the truth. He has also the reputation of being the first in England
who printed in the Saxon character. In the records of type-founding the
name of Daye stands with that of the most illustrious. When the Company
of Stationers obtained their charter from Philip and Mary, he was the
first person admitted to their livery. In 1580 he was master of the
company, to which he bequeathed property at his death. The following is
the inscription which marks the place of his burial in Little Bradley,
Suffolk:

'Here lyes the DAYE that darkness could not blynd,
When Popish fogges had overcast the sunne;
This DAYE the cruel night did leave behind,
To view and show what bloudie actes were donne.
He set a FOX to write how martyrs runne
By death to lyfe, FOX ventured paynes and health.
To give them light Daye spent in print his wealth,
But GOD with gayne returned his wealth agayne,
And gave to him as he gave to the poore.
Two wyfes he had partakers of his payne:
Each wyfe twelve babes, and each of them one more,
Als was the last increaser of his store;
Who, mourning long for being left alone,
Sett up this tombe, herself turned to a stone.'

Unlike Covehithe, Dunwich has a history. In the re