John Dryden (1631–1700)

OLD father Ocean calls my tide;

Come away, come away;

The barks upon the billows ride,

The master will not stay;

The merry boatswain from his side

His whistle takes, to check and chide

The lingering lads’ delay,

And all the crew aloud has cried,

Come away, come away.

See, the god of seas attends thee,

Nymphs divine, a beauteous train;

All the calmer gales befriend thee,

In thy passage o’er the main;

Every maid her locks is binding,

Every Triton’s horn is winding;

Welcome to the wat’ry plain!