When boistering windes begins to blowe
On cruell costes, from haven wee,
The foggie mysts soe dimes the shore,
The rocks and sandes we maie not see,
Nor have no rome on seas to trie,
But praie to God and yeld to die.
When shauldes and sandie bankes apears,
What pillot can direct his course?
When fominge tides draueth us so nere,
Alas! what fortenn can be worse?
Then ankers haald must be our staie,
Or ellce we falle into decaye.
We wander still from loffe to lie,
And findes no steadfast wind to blow;
We still remaine in jeopardie,
Each perelos poynt is hard to showe ;
In time we hope to find redresse,
That longe have lived in hevines.
O pinchinge, werie, lothsome lyfe,
That travell still in far exsylle,
The dangers great on sease be ryfe,
Whose recompence doth yeld but toylle!
O Fortune, graunte me mie desire,—
A hapie end I doe require.
When freats and states have had their fill,
And gentill calm the cost will clere,
Then hautie hartes shall have their will,
That longe has wept with morning cheere;
And leave the seaes with thair anoy,
At home at ease to live in joy.
shauldes] shallows. haald] hold.
'I rue to see the raging of the seas' I RUE to see the raging of the seas,
When nothing may king Eolus' wrath appease.
Boreas' blastes asunder rendes our sayles:
Our tacklings breake, our ankers likewise fayles.
The surging seas, they battred have my shippe,
And eke mine oares avayle me not a chippe.
The ropes are slackte, the mast standes nothing strong:
Thus am I tost the surging seas along.
The waves beate in, my bark to overflowe;
The rugged seas my ship will overthrowe.
Yea, driven I am, sometimes against a rocke,
Sometimes against a whale his back I locke.
When Neptune thus and Eol falles to stryfe,
Then stand I most in daunger of my lyfe.
And when the winde beginneth moste to rage,
Then out I caste (my barke for to asswage)
Each thing of waight, and then if sea at will
I chaunce to have, I lesse regard mine ill.
If shipwrack once I suffer in my lyfe,
Farewell my goodes, farewell my gentle wife:
Adewe my friends, adewe my children all,
For nought prevayles, though on your helpe I call.
First goe I to the bottome of the seas,
And thrice I rise, but nothing for mine ease.
For why? at length when last of all I fall,
My winde doth fayle wherewith I burst my gall.
My body then, so full as it may be
With water store, then may each men me see
All borne aloft amid the fomyng froth,
And dryven to lande, if Neptune waxeth wrothe.
But yet, if so I cunnyng have to swimme,
When first I fall into the water brimme,
With streaking armes, and eke with playing feete,
My part I play, the water floudes to grete.
And then, perchaunce, some shippe comes sayling by,
Which saves my life, if me they doe espie,
Perchaunce, likewise, I drowne before they come,
Perchaunce the crampe my feet it maketh numme.
If so it dothe, then sure I am to die,
In this distresse the sea will ayde denie.
Wherefore I wishe, who well may live by land,
And him forbid the sea to take in hande.
"We be three poor Mariners'
WE be three poor Mariners, newly come from the Seas, We spend our lives in jeopardy, while others live at ease. Shall we go dance the Round, around?
shall we go dance the Round?
And he that is a Bully-boy,
come, pledge me on this ground!
We care not for those Martial-men that do our states
But we care for those Merchant-men that do our states
To them we dance this Round, around;
to them we dance this Round;
And he that is a Bully-boy,
come, pledge me on this ground!
streaking] stretching.
The Praise of Saylors
here set forth, with the hard fortunes which do befall them on the Seas, when Landmen sleep in their Beds
To a pleasant New Tune
As I lay musing in my bed,
full warm and well at ease,
I thought upon the Lodgings hard
poor Sailors had at Seas.
They bide it out with hunger and cold,
and many a bitter blast,
times constrain'd they are,
for to cut down their Mast.
Their Victuals and their Ordnance,
and ought else that they have, They throw it over-board with speed, and seek their lives to save.
Whenas the raging Seas do fome,
and lofty winds do blow,
The Saylors they go to the top,
when Landmen stay below.
Our Masters mate takes helm in hand,
his course he steers full well,
Whenas the lofty winds do blow
and raging Seas do swell.
Our Master to his Compass goes,
so well he plies his charge,
He sends a youth unto the main,
for to unsling the Yards.
The Boatson he's under the Deck,
a man of courage bold,
To th' top, to th' top, my lively Lads, hold fast, my hearts of gold.
The Pylot he stands on the Chain,
with a line and lead to sound,
To see how far, and near they are,
from any dangerous ground.
It is a testimonial good,
we are not far from Land, There sits a Mermaid on the Rock, with comb and glass in hand.
Our Captain he is on the Poop, a man of might and power, And looks how raging Seas do gape, our bodies to devour.
Our Royal Ship is run to rack,
that was so stout and trim, And some are put into their shifts, either to sink or swim.
Our Ship that was before so good,
and eke likewise so trim,
Is now with rageing Seas grown leakt and water fast comes in.
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