Classic Poem

Hoise up the saile, cry'd they who understand
No word that carry's kindnesse for the land:
Such sons of clamour, that I wonder not
They love the sea, whom sure some storme begot.
Had he who doubted motion these Men seen,
Or heard their tongues, he had convinced been:
For had our barke mov'd halfe as fast as they,
We had not need cast anchor by the way.
One of the rest, pretending to more wit,
Some small Italian spoke, but murther'd it;
For I (thankes to Saburra's letters) knew
How to distinguish twixt the false and true;
But to oppose them there as mad would be
As contradicting a presbyterie
Let it be Dutch, quoth I, e'en what you please;
For him that spoke it might be bread and cheese
So softly moves our Barke, which none controules,
As are the meetings of agreeing soules;
And the moon beames did on the water play,
As if at midnight twould create a day.
The amourous wave, that shar'd in such dispence,
Exprest at once delight and reverence.
Such trepidation we in lovers spye,
Under th oppression of a mistresse eye.
But then the wind so high did rise and roare,
Some vow'd they'd never trust the traytor more.
Behold the fate that doth all gloryes sweep,
Writt in the dangerous wonders of the deep:
And yet behold man's easy folly more,
How soon we curse what late we did adore
Sure he that first himselfe did thus convey,
Had some strong passion that he would obey.
The barke wrought hard, but found it was in vaine
To make its partie good against the maine,
Tost and retreated, till at last we see
She must be fast if e're she would be free
We gravely anchor cast, and patiently
Lye prisoners to the weather's crueltie
We had not wind nor tide, nor ought but griefe,
Till a kind spring tide was our first reliefe.
Then we float merrily, forgetting quite
The sad confinement of the stormy night
Ere we had lost those thoughts, we run aground,
And then how vaine to be secure we found
Now they were all surpriz'd: well, if we must,
Yet none shall say that dust is gone to dust.
But we are off now, and the civill tide
Assisted us the Tempest to outride
But what most pleas'd my mind upon the way,
Was the ships posture which in harbour lay:
Which so close to a rocky grove were fix'd,
That the trees branches with the tackling mix'd.
One would have thought it was, as then it stood,
A growing navy, or a floating wood.
But I have done at last, and do confesse
My voyage taught me so much tediousnesse;
In short, the heavens must needs propitious be,
Because Lucasia was concern'd for me.