Tixall Poetry/A Storme
XLI.
A Storme.
Harke, harke, the storme growes loud,The daies wrapt up in a sullen cloud:Harke, harke, the tempest singsThe sea mens dirge, and flingsThe fatall waves to fatall shors,While round the ship the billow roars;And those that never praid before,Cal now upon some unknown power.Harke, harke, the tackling iustle,The sea men bustle;Cracke, cracke, down goes the maine mast downe,Harke how they grone! Among the rest I hear some sighs like mine;Tis from a lover sure. Ye Powers divine!Calme, calme this ungentle rage,The storme asswage;And let kind Neptune now his trident show.See, it growes calme, the storms now cease,And all the Oceans face weares smiles of peace.