Then He who [brake] the rage [of] the rough and blustrous seas, When His disciples were afraid, will straight the 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 wee on sea espie, Wee must resolve incontinent to fight, although we die; With noble resolution we must oppose our foe In fight, in fight: _how ere the wind doth blow_. And when, by God’s assistance, our foes are put to th’ foile, To animate our courages wee all have share o’ th’ spoile. Our foes into the ocean we back to back do throw, To sinke, or swimme: _how ere the wind doth blow_. Thus wee gallant sea-men, in midst of greatest dangers, Doe alwaies prove our valour, wee never are no changers; But what soe ere betide us, wee stoutly undergoe, Resolv’d, resolv’d: _how ere the wind doth blow_. If fortune doe befriend us, in what we take in hand, Wee prove our selves still generous wherere we come to land; Ther’s few that shall out brave us, though neere so great in show We spend, and lend: _how ere the wind doth blow_. We travell to the Indies, from them we bring som spice; There we buy rich merchandise at very little price; And many wealthy prizes 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 soe 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 drink: _how ere the wind doth blow_. We bravely are respected when we walke up and downe, For if wee meete good company wee care not for a crowne; Ther’s none more free than saylors, where ere he come or goe, They’ll roare o’ th’ shore: _how ere the winde doth blow_. Then who would live in England and no[u]rish vice with ease, When hee that is in povertie may riches get o’ th’ seas? Let’s saile unto the Indies, where golden grass doth grow: To sea, to sea: _how ere the wind doth blow_. M[ARTIN] P[ARKER]. _THE JOVIAL MARRINER; OR, THE SEA-MAN’S RENOWN._ Sail forth, bold sea-men, plough the liquid main; Fear neither storms nor pirats, strive for gain; Whilst others sleep at home in a whole skin Your brave adventures shall great honours win. To the Tune of _I am a Jovial Batchelor_, etc. [By] J. P.