He ever is froward;

The Mothers o'r-joying
Makes by much coying

The Child so untoward.

Yet in a fine Net

That a spider set

The Maydens had caught him : Had she not been neere him

And chanced to heare him,

More good they had taught him.

To the Virginian Voyage.

YOU brave Heroique Minds,

You

Worthy your Countries Name, That Honour still pursue,

Goe and subdue

Whilst loyt'ring Hinds

Lurke here at home with shame.

Britans, you stay too long;
Quickly aboord bestow you,

And with a merry Gale
Swell your stretch'd Sayle
With Vowes as strong
As the Winds that blow you.

Your Course securely steere,
West and by South forth keepe,
Rocks, Lee-shores nor Sholes
When Eolus scowles

You need not feare,

So absolute the Deepe.

And cheerfully at Sea
Successe you still intice

To get the Pearle and Gold,
And ours to hold

Virginia,

Earth's onely Paradise.

Where Nature hath in store
Fowle, Venison and Fish,

And the fruitfull'st Soyle,
Without your Toyle

Three Harvests more,

All greater then your wish.

And the ambitious Vine
Crownes with his purple Masse
The Cedar reaching hie
To kisse the sky,

The Cypresse, Pine,

And use-full Sassafras.

To whome the Golden Age
Still Natures lawes doth give
Nor 2 other Cares attend

But Them to defend

From Winters rage 3

That long there doth not live.

When as the Lushious smell

Of that delicious Land

Above the Seas that flowes

The cleare Wind throwes,

Your Hearts to swell

Approching the deare Strand:

Ed. 1619, "to whose."

* Ed. 1619: "No other Cares that tend." The reading in the text is from

In kenning of the Shore
(Thanks to God first given)

O you the happy'st men,
Be Frolique then ;

Let Cannons roare,

Frighting the wide Heaven.

And in Regions farre

Such Heroes bring yee forth

As those from whom We came;

And plant our name

Under that Starre

Not knowne unto our North.

And as there Plenty growes

Of Lawrell everywhere,1

Apollo's sacred tree,

You it may see

A Poets Browes

To crowne that may sing there.

Thy Voyages attend,

Industrious Hackluit,

Whose Reading shall inflame

Men to seeke Fame,

And much commend

To after-Times thy Wit.

Ed. 1605: "And where in plenty growes
The lawrell everywhere."

H

To His Rivall.

ER lov'd I most,

By thee that's lost,

Though she was wonne with leasure:

She was my gaine,

But to my paine

Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.

The Ship full fraught

With Gold, farre sought,
Though ne'r so wisely helmed,
May suffer wracke

In sayling backe,
By Tempest over-whelmed.

But shee, good Sir,

Did not preferre
You for that I was ranging,
But for that shee

Found faith in mee

And she lov'd to be changing.

Therefore boast not

Your happy Lot,

Be silent now you have her;

The time I knew

She slighted you

When I was in her favour.