The mariners magazine, or, Sturmy's mathematical and practical arts containing the description and use of the scale of scales, it being a mathematical ruler, that resolves most mathematical conclusions, and likewise the making and use of the crostaff, quadrant, and the quadrat, nocturnals, and other most useful instruments for all artists and navigators : the art of navigation, resolved geometrically, instrumentally, and by calculation, and by that late excellent invention of logarithms, in the three principal kinds of sailing : with new tables of the longitude and latitude of the most eminent places ... : together with a discourse of the practick part of navigation ..., a new way of surveying land ..., the art of gauging all sorts of vessels ..., the art of dialling by a gnomical scale ... : whereunto is annexed, an abridgment of the penalties and forfeitures, by acts of parliaments appointed, relating to the customs and navigation : also a compendium of fortification, both geometrically and instrumentally / by Capt. Samuel Sturmy.

The AUTHOR to HIS BOOK.

GO forth, thou shapeless Embryon of my Brain, Ʋnfashion'd as thou art; express the strain And Language of thy discontented Sire, Who hardly ransom'd his poor Babe from fire, To offer to the World, and careless Men, The timeless Fruits of his officious Pen. Thou art no lovely Darling, stamp'd to please The Looks of Greatness; no Delight to ease Their melancholy Temper, who reject, As idle Toys, but what themselves affect. No lucky Planet darted forth his Rays, To promise love unto thy Infant Days. Thou maist, perhaps, be Merchandise for Slaves, Who sell their Authors Wits, and buy their Graves. Thou maist be censur'd guilty of that blame, Which is the Midwifes fault, the Parents shame: Thou maist be Talk for Tables, us'd for sport At Tavern-meetings, Pastime for the Court. Thou maist be torn by their malicious Phangs Who ne're were taught to know a Parents Pangs. How eas'ly can proud Ignorance out-stare The comliest Weeds thy Poverty can wear? When all the Sisters on our Isis side Are oft sworn Servants to aspiring Pride; And our renowned Mother Athens groans, To see her Garden set with Cadmus Sons, Whose Birth is mutual Strife, whose Destiny Is only to be born, to fight, and die. Prometheus is chain'd fast, and cannot move To steal a little Fire from mighty Jove, To People new the World, that we may see Our Mother teem with a new Progeny: And therefore with thy hapless Father prove. To place thy Duty, where thou findest Love. When thou arriv'st at Court, thou long mayst stay Some Friends assistance, to prepare thee way; As in a cloudy morning I have done, When envious Vapours shut me from the Sun. When all else enter, see thou humbly stand, To beg a Kiss from thy Maecenas Hand: If He vouchsafe a Look to guild thy State, Proclaime Him Noble, thy self Fortunate.

S. S.