Thai sailed furth in the Swin in a somers tyde, With trompes and taburns and mekill other pride; The word of tho weremen walked full wide; The gudes that thai robbed in holl gan thai it hide, In holl than thai hided grete welthes, als I wene, Of gold and of silver of skarlet and grene. When thai sailed westward, tho wight men in were, Thaire hurdis, thaire ankers hanged thai on here; Wight men of the west neghed tham nerr. And gert tham snaper in the snare, might thai no ferr, ffer might thai noght flit bot thare most thai fine, And that thai bifore reved than most thai tyne. Boy with thi blac berd, I rede that thou blin, And sone set the to schrive with sorow of thi syn; If thou were on Ingland noght saltou win, Cum thou more on that coste thi bale sall bigin; Thare kindels thi care kene men sall the kepe, And do the dye on a day and domp in the depe. Ye broght out of Bretayne yowre custom with care, Ye met with the marchandes and made tham ful bare; It es gude reson and right that ye evill misfare, When ye wald in Ingland lere of a new lare, New lare sall ye lere, sir Edward to lout: For when ye stode in yowre strenkith ye war all to stout. _THE PILGRIMS SEA VOYAGE._ Men may leue alle gamys, That saylen to seynt Jamys! Ffor many a men hit gramys, When they begyn to sayle. Ffor when they haue take the see, At Sandwyche, or at Wynchylsee. At Brystow, or where that hit bee. Theyr hertes begyn to fayle. Anone the mastyr commaundeth fast To hys shyp-men in alle the hast, To dresse hem sone about the mast, Theyr takelyng to make. With “howe! hissa!” then they cry, “What, howe, mate! thow stondyst to ny, Thy felow may nat hale the by;” Thus they begyn to crake. A boy or tweyn anone up styen, And ouerthwart the sayle-yerde lyen;-- “Y how! taylia!” the remenaunt cryen, And pulle with alle theyr myght. “Bestowe the boote, bote-swayne, anon, That our pylgryms may pley theron; For som ar lyle to cowgh and grone Or hit be full mydnyght. “Hale the bowelyne! now, vere the shete!-- Cooke, make redy anoon our mete, Our pylgryms haue no lust to ete, I pray god yeue hem rest!” “Go to the helm! what, howe! no nere? Steward, felow! A pot of bere!” “Ye shalle haue, sir, with good chere, Anon alle of the best.” “Y howe! trussa! hale in the brayles! Thou halyst nat, be god, thow fayles! O se howe welle owre good shyp sayles!” And thus they say among. “Hale in the wartake!” “hit shal be done.” “Steward! couer the boorde anone, And set bred and salt therone, And tary nat to long.”