If little Venice brings alone Such waves to her subjection, As in the Gulfe doe stirre, What then should great Britannia please, But rule as ladie ore all seas, And thou as queen of her? For sea-dominion may as well be gain’d By new acquests, as by descent maintain’d. Goe on, great state, and make it knowne, Thou never wilt forsake thine owne, Nor from thy purpose start: But that thou wilt thy power dilate, Since narrow seas are found too straight For thy capacious heart. So shall thy rule, and mine, have large extent: Yet not so large, as just and permanent. _ON HIS MAJESTIES FLEET._ Cease now the talke of wonders, nothing rare Of floateing ilandes, castles in the aire, Of wooden walls, graves walkeing, flieing steedes, Or Trojan horse. The present truth exceeds Those ancient fables; floating iles great store, Sent from the British Ile, now guard her shore, And castles strong without foundation stande More safe on waters pavement then on lande. 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 [?]. _UPON THE GREAT SHIP._ 1 Old Paul’s steeple, fare thee well, Thy famous building Ile 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. 2