A Commendation of the adventerus viage of
the wurthy Captain .M. Thomas Stutely Esquyer and others,
towards the Land called Terra florida.
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IF Fortunes force procure,
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The valiant noble hart:
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In travail, pain & daungers great,
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In warres to have his part.
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If losse of goods insue,
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Through valiant enterprise:
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Or for slaknes, or the foresight,
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Of diligent advise.
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Yet of his wurthy praise,
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I can not speak tomiche:
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Who ventreth bothe his goods and life,
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His Contrey to enriche.
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The worldly wise doo muse,
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And also doo invay:
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At noble harts when that their welths,
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Doo fall unto decay.
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As now of late I knew,
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And saw the evidence:
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Of one whose part it was to shew,
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The like experience.
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A noble hart in deed,
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And wurthy great renowne:
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Whose fortune was not to remain,
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In Cittie nor in Towne.
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A yung Eneas bolde,
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With hart and courage stout:
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Whose enterprise was only pight,
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Straunge things to bring about.
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And though that all men seemd,
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His dooings to deride:
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Yet this his fact he would not leve,
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Nor throwe it so a side.
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But stil he dooth procure,
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With boldned hart and minde:
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That thing whiche erst he had assayd,
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By travail now to finde.
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Into a land unknowne,
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To win hym wurthy fame:
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As exequies and memory,
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Of his moste noble name.
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Whiche if it fall his lot,
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With fortunes helping hand:
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He may wel make a lawhing stock,
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Of them whiche him withstand.
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Same terme it Stolida,
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And Sordida it name:
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And to be plain they doo it mock,
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As at a foolishe game.
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If reasons sence be cause,
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Of this forespoken talke:
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Or fayned folly be the ground,
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Why mennes tungs thus doo walke.
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Then might it seem to me,
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The Frenches labour lost:
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Their careful pain and travail eke,
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That they therein have tost.
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The cronicles also,
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Whiche only seem as trew:
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And writ by them that of that place,
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Before did take the vew.
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The spaniards eke doo shew,
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And verify the same:
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To be described as a thing,
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Deserving suche a name.
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The Portingales doo say,
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The crownacles be just:
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And all that travaild have that coste:
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The same confes it must.
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If that in times before,
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Through talkes men have refraind:
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Whiche for the love of travail sore,
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Their harts have long been paind.
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Columbus as I reed,
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The space of many yeeres:
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Was counted as unwise also,
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As in writers appeeres.
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His ernest sute denied,
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Yet in the finall ende:
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His wurds & deeds did seem at length,
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On reason to depend.
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The like assay in hand,
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He did at last procure:
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Whose life and lucky viages,
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Good fortune did assure.
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At thend in savety home,
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At lenght he did retourn:
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And quenched all their mocking harts
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Whiche erst did seem to burn.
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For fire of force must needs,
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Declare his burning heat:
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Though for a time in smothering smoke
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It seemes it self to beat.
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So talk of tungs may not,
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By smothering through be tame:
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But bursting out at length wil turn,
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Into a firye flame.
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And then the mallice gon,
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The fire falleth down:
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And quenched quite as by this man,
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Whiche was of great renowne.
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Now Stuetley hoice thy sail,
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Thy wisshed land to finde:
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And never doo regard vain talke,
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For wurds they are but winde.
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And in reproof of all,
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I wil not once refrain:
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With prayer for to wish that thou,
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Maist safely come again.
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And that sum frute at length,
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By travail thou maist finde:
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With riches for to satisfy,
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Thy manly modest minde.
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