|
| With a salt dropsie clog'd, and all our Tacklinges [f. 43] |
| Snapping, like to high stretch'd treble stringes. |
| And from our tottered Sayles, Ragges dropp downe soe |
| As from one hang'd in Chaines a yeare agoe |
| Even our ordinance plac'd for our defence |
| Strive to breake loose, and scape awaie from thence. |
| Pumping hath ty'rd our Men, and what's the gayne? |
| Seas into Seas throwne, wee sucke in againe. |
| Hearing hath deaft our Saylors, and if they |
| Knewe how to heare, there's none knowes what to saye. |
| Compar'd to these Stormes, Death is but a Qualme, |
| Hell somewhat lightsome, and the Bermuda calme. |
| Darknes, (lights Elder Brother) his Byrthright |
| Claimes ore this world, and to Heaven hath chac'd light. |
| All thinges are One, and that One, none can bee, |
| Since all formes vniforme Deformitie |
| Doth cover, Soe that except God saie |
| Another fiat, wee shall haue noe more Daie. |
| Soe violent yet long these furies bee |
| That thoughe thine absence sterve Mee, I wish not Thee. |
|
| The Calme. |
|
| Our Storme is past, and that Stormes tyrannous rage |
| A stupid Calme, but nothing it doth swage. |
| The fable is inverted, and farr more
|
[CW: A.] |