MASTER

Come one brave Merchant's now the wind does serve, And sweetly blows a gale at West Southwest. Our yards a cross, our anchors on the pike, What shall we hence and take this merry gale? Meanwhile content your selves with silly cates, Our beds are boards, our feasts are full of mirth, We use no pomp, we are the Lords of see, When Princes sweated in care, we swink of glee. Orious shoulders and the pointers serve, To be our loadstars in the lingering night, The beauty's of Arcturus we behold, And though the Sailer is no bookman held, He knows more Art then ever bookmen read. March to the haven Merchant's, I follow you. Say on good friend, but briefly if you please, My passengers by this time are aboard. To Tharsus sir, and here in Jaffa haven Our ship is pressed and ready to depart. What not for money? pay ten silverlings, You are a welcome guest if so you please. Where is your budget let me bear it sir. The fair Triones with their glimmering light Smiled at the foot of clear Roots a rain, And in the wrath distinguishing the hours, The Loadstar of our course dispersed his clear, When to the seas with blithfull western blasts, We sailed amain, and let the bowling fly: Scarce had we gone ten leagues from sighed of land, But lo and host of black and sable clouds, Gan to eclipse Lucina's silver face, And with a hurling noise from forth the South, A gust of wind did rear the billows up, Then scantled we our sails with speedy hands, And took our drablers from our bonnets straight, And severed our bonnets from the courses, Our topsails up, we truss our spritsails in, But vainly strive they that resist the heavens. For lo the waves incense them more and more, Mounting with hideous roarings from the depth, Our Bark is battered by encountering storms, And welny stemmed by breaking of the floods, The steersman pale, and careful holds his helm, Wherein the trust of life and safety lay, Till all at once (a mortal tale to tell) Our sails were split by Bisas bitter blast, Our rudder broke and we bereft of hope, There might you see with pale and ghastly looks, The dead in thought, and doleful Merchant's lifts, Their eyes and hands unto their Countries Gods, The goods we cast in bowels of the sea, A sacrifice to suage proud Neptune's ire, Only alone a man of Israel, A passenger, did under hatches lie, And slept secure, when we for succour prayed: Him I awoke, and said why slumberest thou? Arise and pray, and call upon thy God, He will perhaps in pity look on us. Then cast we lots to know by whose amiss Our mischief come, according to the guise, And lo the lot did unto Jonas fallen, The Israelite of whom I told you last, Then question we his Country and his name, Who answered us, I am and Hebrew born, Who fear the Lord of heaven, who made the sea, And fled from him for which we all are plagued, So to assuage the fury of my God, Take me and cast my carcase in the sea, Then shall this stormy wind and billow cease. The heavens they know, the Hebrews God can tell, How loath we were to execute his will: But when no Oars nor labour might suffice, We heaved the hapless Jonas overboard. So ceased the storm, and calmed all the sea, And we by strength of oars recovered shore. And on his altars perfume these Turkey clothes, This gassampine and gold isle sacrifice. take them as you think them worth, we leave all to your conscience.