may wiſh you had taken your poor deſpiſed father’s counſel. He pronounced theſe words with ſuch a moving and paternel eloquence, while floods of tears ran down his aged cheeks, that it ſeemed to ſtem the torrent of my reſolutions. But this ſoon wore off, and a little after I informed my mother, that I could not ſettle to any buſineſs, my reſolutions were ſo ſtrong to ſee the world; and begged ſhe would gain my father’s conſent only to go one voyage; which if it did not prove proſperous, I would never attempt a ſecond. But my deſire was as vain as my folly in aſking. My mother paſhonately expreſſed her diſlike of this propoſal, teiling me "That as ſhe ſaw I was bent upon my own deſtruction, contrary to their will and my duty, ſhe would ſay no more, but leave me to myſelf to do whatever I pleaſed.”
I was then, I think, nineteen years old, when one time being at Hull, I met a ſchool-fellow of mine going along with his father, who was maſter of a ſhip, to London; and acquainting him with my wandering deſires, he aſſured me of a free paſſage, and a plentiful ſhare of what was neceſſary. Thus, without imploring a bleſſing, or taking farewell of my parents, I took ſhipping on the firſt of September, 1631. We ſet ſail ſoon after, and our ſhip had ſcarce left the Humber a-ſtern, when there aroſe ſo violent a ſtorm, that being extremely ſea-ſick, I concluded the judgment of God deſervedly followed me for my diſobedience to my dear parents, It was then I called to mind the good advice of my father; how eaſy and comfortable was a middle ſtate of life; and I firmly refolved, if it pleaſed God to ſet me on dry land once more, I would return to my parents, implore their forgiveneſs, and bid a final adieu to my wandering inclinations.
Such were my thoughts while the ſtorm continued; but theſe good reſoluſions decreaſed with the danger; more eſpecially when my companion came to me, clapping me on the ſhoulder: "What, Bob!” ſaid he, "ſure you was not frightened laſt night with ſcarce a capful of wind?”—"And do you,” cried I, "call ſuch a violent ſtorm a capful of wind?" "A ſtorm, you fool you!” ſaid he, "this is nothing: a good ſhip and ſea-room always baffles ſuch a fooliſh ſquall of wind as that: But you're a freſh-water ſailor: Come boy, turn out, ſee what fine weather we have now, and a good bowl of punch will drown all your paſt ſorrows." In ſhort, the punch was made, I was drunk, and in one night's time drowned both my repentance and my
