Classic Poem

The Nymph turnd home. He fell to felling downe,
And twentie trees he stoopt in litle space,
Plaind, usde his Plumb, did all with artfull grace.
In meane time did Calypso wimbles bring.
He bor'd, closde, naild, and orderd every thing.
And looke how much a ship-wright will allow
A ship of burthen (one that best doth know
What fits his Art), so large a Keele he cast —
Wroguth up her decks and hatches, side-boords, mast,
With willow watlings armd her to resist
The billowes' outrage, added all she mist —
Sail-yards and sterne for guide. The Nymph then brought
Linnen for sailes, which with dispatch he wrought —
Gables, and halsters, tacklings. All the Frame
In foure dayes' space to full perfection came.
The fifth day they dismist him from the shore,
Weeds, neate and odorous, gave him, victles' store,
Wine and strong waters, and a prosperous wind.
To which Ulysses (fit to be divin'd)
His sailes exposd, and hoised. Off he gat . . .