The Tempest

Cease, rude boreas, boisterous railer, List ye landsmen all to me; Messmates hear a brother sailor Sing the dangers of the sea.

From bounding billows first in motion, Where the distant whirlwinds rise, To the tempest troubled ocean, Where the seas contend with skies.

Hark, the boatswain hoarsly bawling, By top-sail sheets and halliyards stand: Down your stay-sails quick be hauling, Your top-gallant-sails hand boys hand.

Still it freshens, set in the braces, Close reef, top-sail sheets let go; Luff boys, luff, don't make wry faces, Up your top-sails nimbly clew.

The top-sail yards point to the wind boys, See all clear to reef each course; Let the fore-sheet go, don't mind it, If the weather should turn worse.

Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get, Reef the mizen, see I clear; Hand up the preventer braces, Man the fore-yard, cheer boys, cheer.

Now all ye on down-beds sporting, Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms, Fresh enjoyments wanton courting, Start from all but love's alarms.

Around us roars the tempest louder, Thinking what fear our heart enthralls, Harder yet, it still blows harder, Now again the boatswain calls.

Now the thunder's dreadful roaring, Peal on peal contending clash; On our heads fresh rains fast pouring, In our eyes blue lightnings flash.

All around us one wide water, All above us one black sky; Different deaths at once surprize us, Hark! what means the dreadful cry?

The fore-mast's gone, cries ev'ry tongue out; Over the lee, twelve feet above deck; A leak beneath the chesstree sprang out, Call all hands and clear the wreck.

Quick the lanyards cut to pieces, Come my hearts, be stout and bold: Plumb the well, for the leak increases, Four feet of water in the hold.

Whilst over the waves our ship is beating, We all for wives and sweethearts mourn; Alas! from hence there is no retreating, Alas! from hence there is no return.

Still the leak is gaining on us, Both chain-pumps are choak'd below; Heaven have mercy here upon us, For only that will save us now.

Over the lee beam lies the land, boys, Let the guns be over-board thrown; To the pumps come every hand, boys, See—our mizen-mast is gone.

But the leak we find it cannot pour fast, We have lighted her a foot or more; Up and rig a jury fore-mast, She's right, she's right, we are all off shore.

Now once more on joys be thinking, Since kind fortune sav'd our lives; Push the can boys, let's be drinking, To our sweethearts and our wives.

Push it round, about ship wheel it, To your lips a bumper join; Where's the tempest now, who feels it? Now our danger's drown'd in wine.