English Poetry I: From Chaucer to Gray. The Harvard Classics. 190914. |
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| 248. Cheer Up, My Mates |
| | | (Sitting and drinking in the chair made out of the relics of Sir Francis Drakes ship.) |
| | | Abraham Cowley (16181667) |
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| CHEER up, my mates, the wind does fairly blow; | |
| Clap on more sail, and never spare; | |
| Farewell, all lands, for now we are | |
| In the wide sea of drink, and merrily we go. | |
| Bless me, tis hot! another bowl of wine, | 5 |
| And we shall cut the burning Line: | |
| Hey, boys! she scuds away, and by my head I know | |
| We round the world are sailing now. | |
| What dull men are those who tarry at home, | |
| When abroad they might wantonly roam, | 10 |
| And gain such experience, and spy, too, | |
| Such countries and wonders, as I do! | |
| But prythee, good pilot, take heed what you do, | |
| And fail not to touch at Peru! | |
| With gold there the vessel well store, | 15 |
| And never, and never be poor, | |
| No, never be poor any more. | |
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