Classic Poem

Like as the painefull Marchant venterer,
That is to leave his sweetest native soyle,
Being bound unto some strangy Countrie far,
Whome hope of gaine doth restles make to toyle;
Taking his leave of his deare Familie,
Through feare and hope, makes them to live and die.

But afterward when he hath crost the Seas,
Fraughting his ship with richest marchandise,
He then begins to frolicke, Hearts at ease,
And hoyseth up his sailes in cheerefull wise,
Searching by skill the shortest cut to take,
Of this his wearie journey, end to make.

When being almost tired, at the last
He is in kenning of his wished Home,
And when having of his Native Aire a taste,
Twixt joy and griefe, his very soule doth grone,
For griefe, his Countrie he so long did mis,
For joy, that Home he now returned is,

So fare I: for when I doe call to minde
The time in which my Libertie was lost,
I shed salt teares, to thinke how I did binde
My selfe, being free, as slave unto my cost:
But when I hope one day I shall be free,
(Through my sweet Saint) my hart doth leap for glee.