Classic Poem

Going towards Spain.

Farewell, thou fertile soil,
that Brutus first out found,
When he, poor soul, was driven clean
from out his country ground;
That northward lay'st thy lusty sides
amid the raging seas,
Whose wealthy land doth foster up
thy people all in ease,
While others scrape and cark abroad,
their simple food to get,
And seely souls take all for good
that cometh to the net,
Which they with painful pains do pinch
in barren burning realms,
While we have all without restraint
among thy wealthy streams.
O blessed of God, thou pleasant isle,
where wealth herself doth dwell,
Wherein my tender years I passed,
I bid thee now farewell.
For fancy drives me forth abroad,
and bids me take delight
In leaving thee and ranging far,
to see some stranger sight,
And saith I was not framed here
to live at home with ease,
But passing forth for knowledge sake
to cut the foaming seas.