A boy or tweyne anone up-styen,
And overthwart the sayle-yerde lyen;-
'Y how! taylia!' the remenaunt cryen,
And pull with all theyr myght.
'Bestowe the boote, bote-swayne, anon,
That our pylgryms may pley thereon;
For som ar lyke to cowgh and grone,
Or hit be full mydnyght.'
'Hale the bowelyne! now, vere the shete!
Cooke, make redy anoon our mete,
Our pylgryms have no lust to ete,
I pray God yeve hem rest.
'Go to the helm! what, howe! no nere!
Steward, felow! a pot of bere!'
'Ye shall have, sir, with good chere,
Anone all of the best.'
'Y howe! trussa! hale in the brayles!
Thow halyst nat, be God, thow fayles!
O se howe well owre good shyp sayles!'
And thus they say among.
'Hale in the wartake!' 'Hit shall be done.' 'Steward! cover the boorde anone,
And set bred and salt thereone,
And tary nat to long.'
remenaunt] remainder, others.
bestowe] place. lust] desire. yeve] give.
no nearer (to the wind).
Then cometh oone and seyth, be mery;
Ye shall have a storme or a pery.'
'Holde thow thy pese! thow canst no whery,
Thow medlyst wondyr sore.'
Thys menewhyle the pylgryms ly,
And have theyr bowlys fast them by,
And cry aftyr hote malvesy,
"Thow helpe for to restore.'
And som wold have a saltyd tost,
For they myght ete neyther sode ne rost;
A man myght sone pay for theyr cost,
As for oo day or twayne.
Som layde theyr bookys on theyr kne,
And rad so long they myght nat se;—
'Allas! myne hede woll cleve on thre!'
Thus seyth another certayne.
Then commeth oure owner lyke a lorde,
And speketh many a royall worde,
And dresseth hym to the hygh borde
To see all thyng be well.
Anone he calleth a carpentere,
And biddyth hym bryng with hym hys gere,
To make the cabans here and there,
A sak of strawe were there ryght good,
For som must lyg them in theyr hood;
I had as lefe be in the wood,
Without mete or drynk.
For when that we shall go to bedde,
The pumpe was nygh our beddes hede,
A man were as good to be dede,
As smell thereof the stynk.
LUSTELY, lustely, lustely let us saile forthe,
The winde trim doth serve us, it blowes from the north.
All things we have ready, and nothing we want,
To furnish our ship that rideth hereby;
Victals and weapons thei be nothing skant,
Like worthie mariners ourselves we will trie.
Lustely, lustely, &c.
Her flagges be new trimmed, set flanting alofte,
Our ship for swift swimmyng, oh, she doeth excell;
Wee feare no enemies, we have escaped them ofte;
Of all ships that swimmeth she beareth the bell.
Lustely, lustely, &c.
And here is a maister excelleth in skill,
And our maisters mate he is not to seeke;
And here is a boteswaine will do his good will,
And here is a ship boye, we never had leeke.
Lustely, lustely, &c.
If fortune then faile not, and our next voiage prove,
Wee will returne merely and make good cheare,
And hold all together as friends linkt in love,
The cannes shal be filled with wine, ale and beere.
Lustely, lustely, &c.
In Prais of Seafaringe Men, in Hope of Good Fortune
WHOE siekes the waie to win renowne,
Or flies with winges of hie desire,
Whoe seikes to wear the lawrea(t) crouen,
Or hath the mind that would espire,
Lett him his native soylle eschew,
Lett him go rainge and seeke a newe.
Eche hawtie harte is well contente,
With everie chance that shal betyde;
No hap can hinder his entente;
He steadfast standes, though fortune slide.
The sunn, quoth he, doth shine as well
Abrod, as earst where I did dwell.
In chaynge of streames each fish can live,
Eche foule content with everie ayre,
Eche hautie hart remainethe still,
And not be dround in depe dispaire
Wherfor I judg all landes alieke,
To hautie hartes who fortune sieke.
Too pas the seaes som thinkes a toille,
Sum thinkes it strange abrod to rome,
Sum thinkes it a grefe to leave their soylle,
Their parents, cynfolke, and their whome.
Thinke soe who list, I like it nott;
I must abrod to trie my lott.
Whoe list at whome at carte to drudge,
And carke and care for worldlie trashe,
With buckled sheoes let him goe trudge,
Instead of launce a whip to slashe;
A mynd that's base his kind will show,
Of caronn sweete to feed a crowe.
If Jasonn of that mynd had bine,
The Gresions when they cam to Troye,
Had never so the Trogian's foylde,
Nor never put them to such anoye :
Wherfore who lust to live at whome,
To purchus fame I will go rome.
Another of Seafardingers, describing
WHAT pen can well reporte the plighte
Of those that travell on the sea?
To pas the werie winters nighte
With stormie cloudes wisshinge for daie,
With waves that toss them to and fro,-
Thair pore estate is hard to show.
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