Posts tagged ‘1630’

Wednesday, 30 August 2017

A Chaine of Pearle: The Eight Pearle. Science by Diana Primrose

Among the virtues intellectual,
The van is led by that we Science call;
A pearl more precious than the Egyptian queen
Quaff’d off to Antony: of more esteem
Than Indian gold, or most resplendent gems,
Which ravish us with their translucent beams.
How many arts and sciences did deck
This Heroina! who still had at beck
The Muses and the Graces, when that she
Gave audience in state and majesty:
Then did the goddess Eloquence inspire
Her royal breast: Apollo with his lyre
Ne’er made such music; on her sacred lips
Angels enthroned, most heavenly manna sips.
Then might you see her nectar-flowing vein
Surround the hearers; in which sugar’d stream
She able was to drown a world of men,
And drown’d with sweetness to revive again.
Alasco, the ambassador Polonian,
Who perorated like a mere Slavonian,
And in rude rambling Rhetoric did roll,
She did with Attic eloquence control.
Her speeches to our Academians,
Well shew’d she knew among Athenians
How to deliver such well-tuned words
As with such places punctually accords.
But with what Oratory-ravishments
Did she imparadise her Parliaments!
Her last most princely speech doth verify,
How highly she did England dignify.
Her loyal Commons how did she embrace,
And entertain with a most royal grace!

From: http://www.poetryexplorer.net/poem.php?id=10116830

Date: 1630

By: Diana Primrose (fl. 1630)

Saturday, 20 June 2015

Saylors for My Money by Martin Parker

A new Ditty composed in the praise of Saylors and Sea affaires, breifly shewing the nature of so worthy a calling, and effects of their industry.

To the tune of the Joviall Cobler.

Countrie men of England,
who live at home with ease:
And litle thinke what dangers,
Are incident o’th Seas:
Give eare unto the Saylor
Who unto you will shew:
His case,
His case:
How ere the winde doth blow.

He that is a Saylor
Must have a valiant heart:
For when he is upon the sea,
He is not like to start:
But must with noble courage,
All dangers undergoe.
Resolve,
Resolve:
How ere the wind doth blow.

Our calling is laborious,
And subject to much woe:
But we must still contented be:
With what falls to our share.
Wee must not be faint hearted▪
Come tempest raine or snow:
Nor shrinke:
Nor shrinke:
How ere the winde doth blowe.

Sometimes one Neptunes bosome
Our ship is tost with waves
And every minite we expect,
The sea must be our graves
Somtimes on high she mounteth
Then falls againe as low:
with waves:
with waves:
When stormie winds do blow.

Then with unfained prayers,
As Christian duty bindes,
Wée turne unto ye Lord of hosts,
With all our hearts and minds,
To him we flée for succour,
For he we surely know,
can save:
can save,
How ere the wind doth blow.

Then he who breaks the rage:
The rough and blustrous seas
When his disciples were afraid
Will straght ye stormes apease.
And give us cause to thanke
On bended knees full low:
who saves:
who saves,
How ere the wind doth blow.

Our enemies approaching,
When wée on sea espie,
Wée must resolve incontinent
To fight, although we die,
With noble resolution
Wee must oppose our foe,
in fight,
in fight:
How ere the wind doe blow.

And when by Gods assistance,
Our foes are put to’th foile,
To animate our courages,
Wée all have share o’th spoile,
Our foes into the Ocean,
Wee back to back do throw,
to sinke,
or swimme,
How ere the wind doth blow.

The Second part.
To the same tune.

Thus wée gallant seamen,
In midst of greatest dangers,
Doe alwaies prove our valour,
Wée never are no changers:
But what soe ere betide us,
Wée stoutly undergoe,
resolv’d,
resolv’d,
How ere the wind doth blow.

If fortune doe befriend us.
In what we take in hand,
Wée proue our selves still generous
When ere we come to land,
Ther’s few that shall out brave us
Though neere so great in show,
wée spend
and lend,
How ere the wind doth blow.

We travell to the Indies,
From them we bring som spice
Here we buy rich Marchandise
At very little prize;
And many wealthy prises,
We conquer from the foe:
In fight:
In fight,
How ere the wind doth blow.

Into our native Country,
With wealth we doe returne:
And cheere our wives and children,
Who for our absence mourne.
Then doe we bravely flourish,
And where so ere we goe:
We roare:
We roare:
How ere the wind doth blow.

For when we have received
Our wages for our paynes:
The Vintners and the Tapsters
By us have golden gaines.
We call for liquor roundly,
And pay before we goe:
and sing:
and drinke,
How ere the wind doth blow.

Wée bravely are respected,
When we walke up and downe,
For if wée méete good company,
Wée care not for a crowne,
Ther’s none more frée then saylors
Where ere he come or goe,
th’elle roare
o’th shore,
How ere the wind doth blow.

Then who would live in England
And norish vice with ease,
When hée that is in povertie,
May riches get o’th seas:
Lets saile unto the Indies,
Where golden grasse doth grow
to sea,
to sea,
How ere the wind doth blow.

From: http://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A08979.0001.001?rgn=main;view=fulltext;q1=Sailors+–+Poetry

Date: ?1630

By: Martin Parker (c1600-c1656)

Saturday, 2 May 2015

The Sea Marke by John Smith

Aloofe, aloofe; and come no neare,
the dangers doe appeare:
Which if my ruine had not beene
you had not scene:
I onely lie upon this shelfe
to be a marke to all
which on the same might fall,
That none may perish but my selfe.

If in or outward you be bound,
doe not forget to sound;
Neglect of that was cause of this
to steare amisse.
The Seas were calme, the wind was faire,
that made me so secure,
that now I must indure
All weathers be they foule or faire.

The Winters cold, the Summers heat,
alternatively beat
Upon my bruised sides, that rue
because too true
That no releefe can ever come.
But why should I despaire
being promised so faire
That there shall be a day of Dome.

From: Arber, Edward (ed.) and Bradley, A. G., Travels and Works of Captain John Smith, President of Virginia, and Admiral of New England 1580-1631, Part II, 1910, John Grant: Edinburgh, p. 922.
(https://archive.org/stream/travelsworksofca02smit#page/922/mode/2up)

Date: 1630

By: John Smith (c1580-1631)

Sunday, 8 September 2013

Weep No More for What is Past by William Davenant

Weep no more for what is past,
For time in motion makes such haste
He hath no leisure to descry
Those errors which he passeth by.
If we consider accident,
And how repugnant unto sense
It pays desert with bad event,
We shall disparage Providence.

From: http://www.hoasm.org/VIIA/Davenant.html

Date: 1630

By: William Davenant (1606-1668)