I that once was a ploughman, a sailor am now

I that once was a ploughman, a sailor am now,
No lark that, aloft in the sky,
Ever flutter'd his wings to give speed to the plough
Was so gay or so careless as I:
But my friend was a carfindo aboard a king's ship,
And he ax'd me to go just to sea for a trip,
And he talk'd of such things,
As if sailors were kings,
And so teazing did keep,
That I left my poor plough, to go plouging the deep:
No longer the horn
Call'd me up in the morn,
I trusted the carfindo and the inconstant wind,
That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

I did not much like for to be aboard a-ship;
When in danger there's no door to creep out:
I liked the jolly tars, I liked bumbo and flip,
But I did not like rocking about:
By and by comes a hurricane, I did not like that;
Next a battle, that many a sailor laid flat:
Ah, cried I, who would roam
That like me had a home?
Where I'd sow, and I'd reap,
Ere I left my poor plough, to go ploughing the deep:
Where sweetly the horn
Call'd me up in the morn,
Ere I trusted the carfindo and the inconstant wind,
That made me for to go, and leave my dear behind.

At last safe I landed, and in a whole skin,
Nor did I make any long stay,
Ere I found by a friend, whom I ax'd for my kin,
Father dead, and my wife ran away:
Ah who but thyself, said I, hast thou to blame,
Wives losing their husbands, oft lose their good name;
Ah why did I roam,
When so happy at home,
I could sow, and could reap,
Ere I left my poor plough, to go ploughing the deep?
When so sweetly the horn
Call'd me up in the morn:
Curse light upon the carfindo and the inconstant wind,
That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

Why if that be the case, said this very same friend,
And you ben't no more minded to roam,
Gis a shake by the fist, all your care's at an end,
Dad's alive, and your wife safe at home!
Stark staring with joy, I leapt out of my skin,
Buss'd my wife, mother, sister, and all of my kin:
Now, cried I, let them roam
Who want a good home;
I am well, so I'll keep,
Nor again leave my plough to go ploughing the deep:
Once more shall the horn
Call me up in the morn,
Nor shall any damn'd carfindo, nor the inconstant wind,
E'er tempt me for to go, and leave my dear behind.