University of Virginia Library

Howe that he made his first booke in his iourneye.

Eleg. 11.

VVithin this booke what letter be, that thou perhappes shal reede,
In troublous time, of careful way, the same was made in deede.
For eyther Adtia sawe we there, in could Decembers day.
How weeping verse amids the seas, to write I did assay.
Or els with double seas in course, I Istmos ouercame,
And other shippes thereby in flight, our fellowes so became.
When Cycladas amazed were, and marueile much did take,
How I among the roring flouds. these verses yet could make.
And now my selfe do wonder sore, that in such raging waues,
Of minde and seas: my very wits, them selues from daunger saues.
For be it maze with care hereof, or madnes we it call,
This studye doth repell from minde, my thought and sorrowes all.
Oft times in doubtfule minde so tost, by stormy kindes I was:
Oft times with Sterops star the Sea, through threatning waues I pas.
Arthophilax that keepes the bere, doth darke the day at dawne,
And South wind with the waters fearce, the Hiadas haue drawne.
Oft times some part thereof did passe, into my shippe aright,
Yet trembling I this woful verse, with feareful hand do wright.
Now with the Northren windes the ropes, contented are to crake,
And like to hilles the hollow Seas, a lofty surging make.
The maister wyth his hands cast vp, doth pray wyth fearefull hart,
Beholding then the heauenly starres, forgetful of his art.
On euerye syde we onlye sawe, of death the picture plaine,
Which I in minde did feare and yet, so fearing wisht againe.
God graunt I may to port ariue, I feare the fame right sore,
In water far lesse daunger is, then on that cursed shore.
Of subtill snares of men and flouds, we stand in dreary dreede,
The sword and sea my wretched minde, with double terror feede.
The one doth hope with giltlesse bloud, a pray of me to make,
The other of my woofull death, the fame would gladly take.
On left syde dwelles a people rude, whose minds be bent to spoyle,
In blamelesse bloud, and slaughter sears, and cruel warres they boyle.
And while the washing waters are, with winter flouds so wrought,
Our mindes to greater toyle (then seas) by heauy happe be brought.
Wherefore thou ought more pardon here (O gentle Reader) haue,
If these appeare (as sure it is) much lesse then hope do craue.
My Gardens now we want wherein, I wonted was to wright,
The vsed beds my body lacks, to rest the wearye night.
With bitter winters day I am, in wicked watters throwne,
My papers pale with surges soust, the grislye seas haue knowne.
The winter angry is that I, these verses dare endight,
And dreadfull threatninges casteth there, my purpose so to spight.
Of man let winter victor be, in selfe same case I pray,
That I may cease my simple verse, and he his raging stay.