|
| Some sitting on the hatches, would seem there, |
| With hideous gazing to fear away fear. |
| There note they the ships sicknesses, the Mast |
| Shak'd with an ague, and the Hold and Waste |
| With a salt dropsie clogg'd, and all our tacklings |
| Snapping, like to too-high-stretch'd treble strings. |
| And from our totter'd sales rags drop down so |
| As from one hang'd in chains a year agoe. |
| Yea even our Ordinance plac'd for our defence, |
| Strives to break loose, and scape away from thence |
| Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the gain? |
| Seas into seas thrown, we suck in again: |
| Hearing hath deaf'd our Sailers, and if they |
| Knew how to hear, there's none knows what to say. |
| Compar'd to these storms, death is but a qualme, |
| Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermuda's calme. |
| Darkness lights eldest brother, his birth-right |
| Claims o'r the world, and to heaven hath chas'd light |
| All things are one: and that one none can be, |
| Since all forms uniform deformitie |
| Doth cover; so that we, except God say |
| Another Fiat, shall have no more day, |
| So violent, yet long these furies be, |
| That though thine absence sterve me, 'I wish not thee. |
|
| The Calme. |
|
| Our storm is past, and that storms tyrannous rage |
| A stupid calme, but nothing it doth swage. |
| The fable is inverted, and farr more |
| A block afflicts now, then a stork before. |
| Storms chafe, and soon wear out themselves, or us; |
| In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus.
|
[CW: As] |