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Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,Īnd ye that on the sands with printless foot 40ĭo chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him Upon your heads-is nothing but heart-sorrow Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls You and your ways whose wraths to guard you from. Lingering perdition, worse than any deathĬan be at once, shall step by step attend
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Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 90Īgainst your peace. The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed Your swords are now too massy for your strengthsįor that's my business to you-that you threeĮxposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, One dowle that's in my plume: my fellow-ministersĪre like invulnerable. Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 80 Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well My opinion hold it no longer: this is no fish, 40īut an islander, that hath lately suffered by a Legged like a man and his fins likeĪrms! Warm o' my troth! I do now let loose When they will not give a doit to relieve a lameīeggar, they will lazy out ten to see a dead Of silver: there would this monster make a Not a holiday fool there but would give a piece A strange fish! Were I in England now,Īs once I was, and had but this fish painted, Like smell a kind of not of the newest Poor- 30 He smells like a fish a very ancient and fish. Here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: Where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannotĬhoose but fall by pailfuls. Should thunder as it did before, I know not I hear it sing i' the wind: yond same blackīombard that would shed his liquor. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off 20Īny weather at all, and another storm brewing