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Mildly it kiss'd our sails, and fresh and sweet,
As to a stomach starv'd, whose insides meet,
Meat comes, it came ; and swole our sails, when we
So joy'd, as Sarah her swelling joy'd to see:
But 'twas but so kind, as our countrymen, [then.
Which bring friends one day’s way, and leave them
Then like two mighty kings, which dwelling far
Asunder, meet against a third to war,
The south and west winds join'd, and, as they blew,
Waves like a rolling trench before them threw.
Sooner than you read this line, did the gale,
Like shot not fear'd till felt, our sails assail;
And what at first was call’d a gust, the same
Hath now a storm’s, anon a tempest’s name.
Jonas, I pity thee, and curse those men,
Who, when the storm rag’d most, did wake thee
Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil [then:
All offices of death, except to kill.
But when I wak'd, I saw that I saw not.
I and the Sun, which should teach thee, had forgot
East, west, day, night; and I could only say,
Had the world lasted, that it had been day.
Thousands our noises were, yet we 'mongst all
Could none by his right name, but thunder call :
Lightning was all our light, and it rain’d more
Than if the Sun had drunk the sea before.
Some coffin’d in their cabins lie, equally
Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must die :
And as sin-burden’d souls from graves will creep
At the last day, some forth their cabins peep :
And trembling ask what news, and do hear so
As jealous husbands, what they would not know.
Some, sitting on the hatches, would seem there
With hideous gazing to fear away fear.

There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast
Shak’d with an ague, and the hold and waste
With a salt dropsy clogg’d, and our tacklings
Snapping, like too high-stretch'd treble strings.
And from our tatter'd sails rags drop down so,
As from one hang'd in chains a year ago.
Yea, even our ordnance, 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 sailors, and if they
Knew how to hear, there's none knows what to say.
Compar'd to these storms, death is but a qualm,
Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermuda's calm.
Darkness, Light's eldest brother, his birth-right
Claims o'er the world, and to Heav'n hath chased
light.
All things are one ; and that one none can be,
Since all forms uniform deformity
Doth cover; so that we, except God say
Another fiat, shall have no more day,
So violent, yet long these furies be, [thee.
That though thine absence starve me, I wish not

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out storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage.
A stupid calm, but nothing it doth swage.
The fable is inverted, and far more
A block afhicts now, than a stork before.
Storms chafe, and soon wear out the uselves or us;
In calms, Heaven i nghs to see us languish thus.
As steady as I could wish my thoughts were,
Smooth as thy mistress' glass, or what shines there,
The sea is now, and as the isles which we
Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be
As water did in storms, now pitch runs out,
As lead, when a fir’d church becomes one spout,
And all our beauty and our trim decays,
Like courts removing, or like ending plays.
The fighting place now seamen's rage supply;
And all the tackling is a frippery.
No use of lanthorns; and in one place lay
Feathers and dust, to-day and yesterday.
Earth's hollowness, which the world’s lungs are,
Have no more wind than the upper vault of air.
We can nor lost friends nor sought foes recover,
But, meteor-like, save that we move not, hover.
Only the calenture together draws
Dear friends, which meet dead in great fish's maws;
And on the hatches, as on altars, lies
Each one, his own priest, and own sacrifice.
Who live, that miracle do multiply,
Where walkers in hot ovens do not die.
If in despite of these we swim, that hath
No more refreshing than a brimstone bath;
But from the sea into the ship we turn,
Like parboil'd wretches, on the coals to burn.
Like Bajazet encag'd, the shepherd's scoff;
Or like slack-sinew’d Sampson, his hair off,
Languish our ships. Now as a myriad
Of ants durst th’ emperor's lov’d snake invade:
The crawling galleys, sea-gulls, finny chips,
Might brave our pinnaces, our bed-rid ships:
Whether a rotten state and hope of gain,
Or to disuse me from the queasy pain
Of being belov’d and loving, or the thirst
Of honour, or fair death, out-push'd me first,

1 lose my end: for here as well as I
A desperate may live, and coward die.
Stag, dog, and all, which from or towards flies,
Is paid with life or prey, or doing dies: -
Fate grudges us all, and doth subtily lay
A scourge, 'gainst which we all forgot to pray.
He that at sea prays for more wind, as well
Under the poles may beg cold, heat in Hell.
What are we then How little more, alas!
Is man now, than, before he was, he was 2
Nothing ; for us, we are for nothing fit;
Chance or ourselves still disproportion it;
We have no power, no will, no sense: I lie;
I should not then thus feel this misery.

TO MR. B. B.

Is not thy sacred hunger of science
Yet satisfy'd 2 is not thy brain's rich hive
Fulfill'd with honey, which thou dost derive

From the arts' spirits and their quintessence 2

Then wean thyself at last, and thee withdraw
From Cambridge, thy old nurse; and, as the rest,
Here toughly chew and sturdily digest

Th’ immense vast volumes of our common law;

And begin soon, lest my grief grieve thee too,
Which is that that, which I should have begun
In my youth's morning, now late must be done :

And I as giddy travellers must do,
Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost
Light and strength, dark and tir’d must then

ride post.

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I cax Not feel the tempest of a frown,
I may be rais’d by love, but not thrown down;
Though I can pity those sigh twice a day,
I hate that thing whispers itself away.
Yet since all love is feverish, who to trees
Doth talk, yet doth in love's cold ague freeze.
'Tis love, but with such fatal weakness made,
That it destroys itself with its own shade. [pain,
Who first look’d sad, griev'd, pin'd, and show’d his
Was he that first taught women to disdain.
As all things were but one nothing, dull and weak,
Until this raw disorder'd heap did break,
And several desires led parts away,
Water declin’d with earth, the air did stay,
Fire rose, and each from other but unty’d,
Themselves unprison'd were and purify'd :
So was love, first in vast confusion hid,
An unripe willingness which nothing did,
A thirst, an appetite which had no ease,
That found a want, but knew not what would please.
What pretty innocence in that day mov’d
Man ignorantly walk’d by her he lov’d;
Both sigh’d and interchang'd a speaking eye,
Both trembled and were sick, yet knew not why.
That natural fearfulness, that struck man dumb,
Might well (those times consider'd) man become.
As all discoverers, whose first essay
Finds but the place; after, the nearest way:

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