The North Wind

The newes from north blowes very rife
They are transporting men to Fife
But Charons bottom not yet ther
The General must plye that Fare
And to that end a fleet prepares
To waft ore thousand passengers
Poor silly soules that hud winkt come
To find out ther Elizium
Wher Scottish mists and vapours fell
Deny the Least content to dwell
Let this Presumpteous Pylot hast
Least Charon ore take him at last
And for his pride and other Tricks
Ore-set and leav him sunk in Styx.