Haste homewardes, man, draw neerer to the shore,
The skies doe scowle, the windes doe blow amaine:
The raged rockes, with rumbling noyse doe rore,
The foggie clowdes doe threaten stormes of raine.
Ech thing foreshewes a tempest is at hand,
Hoyst vp thy sayles, and haste to happy land.
In worldly seaes thy silly ship is tost:
With waues of woe besette on euery side,
Blowne heere, and there, in daunger to bee lost:
Darke clowdes of sinne doe cause thee wander wide,
Unlesse thy God pitie some on thee take,
On rockes of rueth, thou needes must shipwrack make.
Cut downe the mast of rancour and debate,
Unfraight the shippe of all vnlawfull wares:
Cast ouer boorde the packes of hoorded hate,
Pumpe out fowle vice, the cause of many cares.
If that some leeke, it make thee stand in doubt,
Repentaunce serues, to stoppe the water out.
Let Gods pure word thy line and compasse bee,
And stedfast fayth vse thou in anckors steede:
Lament thy sinnes, then shalt thou shortly see,
That power diuine, will helpe thee forth at neede.
Fell Sathan is chiefe rular of these seas:
Hee seekes our wracke, hee doth these tempestes rayse.
In what wee may let vs alwayes represse,
The furious waues of lust and fond desire:
A quiet calme our conscience shall possesse,
if wee doe that which dutie doeth require:
By godly life in fine obtaine wee shall,
the porte of blisse, to which God send vs all.