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Updated: May 11, 2025
Sleep, gentle sleep Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast, Seal up the shipboy's eyes, and rock his brains, In cradle of the rude imperious surge; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafning clamour in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurry, death itself awakes Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea boy in an hour so rude?
I might have told more of trifling, and how she fared, poor wench! in mine absence, even to the following of me in another ship, in a shipboy's disguise, and how I rescued her from a scheming Pagan villain; but, as a plain, blunt man, I am no hand at the weaving of puling love tales and such trifling diversions for lovesick mayds and their puny gallants having only consideration for men and their deeds, which I have here set down bluntly and even at mine advanced years am ready to maintain with the hand that set it down.
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