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LETTERS
TO SEVERAL
PERSONAGES.
THE STORM.
To Mr. Christopher Brook, from the Island voyage
with the Earl of Essex.
Thou which art I, ('tis nothing to be so)
Thou which art still thy self, by this shalt know
Part of our passage; And, a hand, or eye
By Hilliard drawn, is worth a History,
By a worse painter made; and (without pride)
When by thy judgment they are dignifi'd,
My lines are such. 'Tis the preheminence,
Of friendship only t'impute excellence.
England, to whom we owe, what we be, and have,
Sad that her sons did seek a forrain grave
(For, Fates or Fortunes drifts none can gain-say,
Honour and misery have one face, and way.)
From out her pregnant intrails sigh'd a wind
Which at th'ayres middle marble room did find
Such strong resistance, that it self it threw
Downward again; and so when it did view

[CW: How,]