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And gain such experience; and spie too

Such countries and wonders as I do?
But prithee, good pilot, take heed what you do,

And fail not to touch at Peru,
With gold there the vessel to store,
And never, and never be poor,
And never be poor any more.

What do I mean? What thoughts do me misguide ?

As well upon a staffe may witches ride
Their fancied journeys in the air,

As I sail round the world in a chair;
"Tis true, but yet this chair which here you see,
For all its quiet now and gravity,

Has wand'red and has travell’d more

Then ever beast, or fish, or bird, or ever tree before ; In every air, in every sea 'tas been, 'T'is compasst all the earth, and all the heaven ’tas seen,

Let not the pope's itself with this compare,
This is the only universal chair.

The pious wandrers fleet, sav'd from the flame

(Which still the reliques did of Troy pursue,

And took them for its due)
A squadron of immortal nymphs became,

Still with their arms they row'd about the seas,

And still made new and greater voyages : Nor has the first poetique ship of Greece,

Though now a star, she so triumphant show,

And guides her sailing successors below, (Bright as her antient fraight, the shining fleece)

Yet to this day a quiet harbour found,
The tide of heaven still carries her around;
Only Drake's sacred vessel (which before
Had done, and had seen more
Then those have done or seen,
Even since they goddesses, and this a star has been,)
As a reward for all her labours past,

Is made the seat of rest at last.
Let the case now quite altered be;

And as thou went'st abroad the world to see,
Let the world now come to see thee.

The world will do't for curiosity,
Does no lesse than devotion pilgrims make,

And I myself, who now love quiet too,
As much almost as any chair can do,

Would yet a journey take
An old wheel of that charriot to see;
Which Phæton so rashly brake,

[Drake ? Yet what could that say more then these remains of

Great relique! thou too in this port-of-ease
Hast still one way of making voyages.
The breath of fame, like an auspicious gale

(The great trade wind which nere does fail) Still with full trimme, and spreading sail,

Shall drive thee round the world, and thou shalt run
As long around it as the sun.
The straights of time too narrow are for thee,
Launch forth into an undiscovered sea,
And steer the endless course of vast eternity.
Take for thy sail this verse, and for thy pilot me.


The following is taken from “ Wit and Drollery,” 12mo. Lond. 1656. Another copy is preserved in MS. No. 36, in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, fol. 296.

Sir Francis, Sir Francis, Sir Francis his son,
Sir Robert, and eke Sir William did come,
And eke the good Earle of Southampton,
Marcht on his way most gallantly ;
And then the Queen began to speak :
You are welcome home Sir Francis Drake;

came my L.Chamberlain,and with his white staffe, And all the people began for to laugh.

Gallants all of British blood,
Why do not ye saile on th' ocean food ?
I protest ye are not all worth a philberd,
Compared with Sir Humphry Gilberd.

THE QUEEN'S REASON. For he walkt forth in a rainy day, To the New-found-land he took his way, With many a gallant fresh and green; He never come home again. God bless the Queen

THE FAME OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. From a little duodecimo volume, printed at London in the year 1641, under the title of “Witt’s Recreations, augmented with ingenious conceites for the Wittie, and merrie medicines for the Melancholie.”

Sır DRAKE, whom well the world's end knew,

Which thou did compasse round,
And whom both poles of heaven once saw,

Which north and south do bound.

The starres above would make thee knowne,

If men here silent were; The sun himselfe cannot forget

His fellow-traveller.

THE TRIUMPH OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. It is probably a chimerical idea, but I cannot help thinking that there is some similarity between this song and one of the airy rhymes of the White Lady of Avenel. It is taken from the wellknown opera of “ Sir Francis Drake.”

Steersman. Aloof! and aloof! and steady I steer !

'Tis a boat to our wish,

And she slides like a fish
When chearily stem'd, and when you row clear.

She now has her trimme!

Away let her swim,
Mackrels are swift in the shine of the moon;

And herrings in gales when they wind us,
But, timeing our oars, so smoothly we run

That we leave them in shoals behind us.

Chorus. Then cry, one and all !

Amain ! for Whitehall. The Diegos wee'l board to rummidge their hould, And drawing our steel they must draw out their gold.

Steersman. Our master and's mate, with bacon and pease,

In cabins keep aboard ;

Each as warm as a lord:
No queen, lying-in, lies more at her ease.

Whilst we lie in wait

For reals of eight, And for some gold quoits, which fortune must send :

But, alas, how their ears will tingle, When finding, though still like Hectors we spend,

Yet still all our pockets shall jingle. Chorus. Then cry, one and all !

Amain, &c.

Steersman. Oh, how the purser shortly will wonder,

When he sums in his book

All the wealth we have took, And finds that wee'l give him none of the plunder;

He means to abate

The tyth for the state ;
Then for our owners some part he'l discount:

But his fingers are pitcht together ;
Where so much will stick, that little will mount,

When he reckons the shares of either.
Chorus. Then cry, one and all !

Amain, &c.

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