The Unfownden Eyland It was the fayrest ava The eyland left unfownden That the Kynge of Spayne Was giuen by hys cousin The Kynge of Portugal Wi' a braid letter sign'd An' sealed by the Pope In Gothic Latyn writynge The Kynge of Spayn sail'd awa' To seeke for that enchantyd eyland But, alas! it wasna to bee fowndyn An' nane coude euer fynde it Ytt disappear?d frae th?forecastlle As fast as thochte As gin ytt were a fleetyng dreame Ytt disappear?d ne?er to be found onie mair. The ancyent maps of the pyrates Are poynted with unknowne signes The sea men tell it yn a low voyce For feir or for supersticyoune No one kens whether ytt is Or ytt?s a dreame Gin you can sme' ytt in the wynde Ytt is lyke smoke that you neuer catch... Some time ytt doth appear Magyque an? fayre in the miste But gin the pilot sayle forth Ytt will soare vp flyinge o?r unknown seas So ytt wulle turne blue The colowre of distaunce The Kynge of Spayn sailed awaye.