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| Pumping hath tyr'd our men, And what's the gayne? [236] |
| Seas into Seas throwne wee suck in agayne. |
| Hearing hath deaf'd our Saylers, and if they |
| Knewe how to heare there's none knowes what to say |
| Compard with these stormes death is but a qualme |
| Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermudas calme. |
| Darknesse, Lights elder brother, his birthright |
| Claymes o're the world, and to heauen hath chasd light |
| All things are one, and that one none can bee |
| Since all formes vniforme deformity |
| Doth couer. So that wee, except God say |
| Another Fiat, shall haue no more day |
| So long, but* vyolent, these furyes bee |
| That, though thy Absence sterue mee, I wishe not thee. |
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| The Calme. |
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| Our Storme is past, and that Stormes tyranous rage |
| A stupid Calme, but nothing it, doth swage. |
| The fable is inverted, and far more |
| A block afficts now then a storke before. |
| Stormes chafe, and soone weare out themselues or vs |
| In Calmes, heauens laugh to see vs languish thus |
| As steddy as I could wish my thoughts were |
| Smooth as thy Mistresse glasse, or what shines there |
| The Sea is now, and as those Isles (w.ch wee |
| Seeke, when wee can moue) our Ships rooted bee |
| As water did in stormes, now pitch runns out |
| As Lead when a fyr'd Church becomes a Spout
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[CW: And___] |