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FLEET OF CHARLES I. |
37 |
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Now wooden walles defend our walles of rocke; These walles are cittyes too ; tooke from the block Arise those christned frames, which are the health And moddle of a vaster Commonwealth; Beyond the Kentish stratagem now ghosts Of trees not greene doe walk about our coasts, Which humane art hath made move quick, by death Inur'd to motion, taught to feed on breath. Now winged steeds with bridles plac'd behinde, Leaving no print, accompany the winde, Their bowells greate with sonns of Mars doth groane To be delivered into action. Ride on, Arts liveing creatures, flie and swell Your wings like angry swans, while wee that dwell On shore, with prayer and fame [?] encrease the gale Which Heaven shall breath into each pregnant saile. Powre out the language of a chastning Jove That speakes in thunder here, like him above. Cannot your Lion roare and act her king ? Is shee with all her Whelpes not swift to bringe Her pray into her den ? Is not your Rose Worth lilies three, or any flower that growes ? Your Honour (which is admirall) maintaine; She leades you forth, come home to her againe. For sea and fish, if tempests rise, bee free [?]. Give them to what they love, that troublers bee [?]. |
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UPON THE GREAT SHIP. |
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Old Paul's steeple, fare thee well, Thy famous building He not tell, Of that thy lofty little bell
Shall ring. But I am in another vaine, Now you shall heare a merry straine, It is of Royal Soveraigne
I sing. |
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