Up merry mates, to Neptunes prayse
Your voyces high advance:
The watrie Nymphs shall dance
And Eolus shall whistle to your layes
Stereman, how stands the winde?
Full North, North-east
What course?
Full South, South-west
No worse
And blow so faire
Then sinke despayre
Come solace to the minde
Ere night we shall the haven finde
O happy dayes
Who may containe
But swell with proud disdaine
When seas are smooth, sailes full and all things plеase?

Stay merry mates, proud Nеptune lowres
Your voyces all deplore you
The Nymphes stand weeping o’re you:
And Eolus and Iris bandy showres
Mr. Boates man hale in the Boate
Harke, harke the ratlings
’Tis haile
Make fast the tacklings
Strike saile
Make quicke dispatches
Shut close the hatches
Hold sterne, cast Ancour out
This night we shall at random floate
O dismall houres
Who can forbeare
But sinke with sad despaire
When seas are rough, sailes rent, and each thing lowres
The golden meane that constant spirit beares
In such extreams that nor presumes nor feares