As if the storme meant Him, Or 'cause Heaven's face is dim, His needs a cloud. Was ever froward wind That could be so unkind, Or wave so proud? The wind had need be angry, and the water black, That to the mighty Neptune's Self dare threaten wrack. There is no storm but this Of your own cowardise That braves you out; You are the storme that mocks Yourselves; you are the rocks Of your owne doubt: Besides this feare of danger there's no danger here, And he that here feares danger does deserve his feare. CR. ANOTHER VERSION. That the Sea with such violence falls on, 'Tis not his malice, but ambition: This the ambition, this the loud request, At Thy command, O Christ, to take his rest. B. CLXI. _Annunciant ritus, quos non licet nobis suscipere, cum simus Romani._ Act. xvi. 21. Hoc Caesar tibi, Roma, tuus dedit, armaque? solis Romanis igitur non licet esse piis? Ah, melius, tragicis nullus tibi Caesar in armis Altus anhelanti detonuisset equo; Nec domini volucris facies horrenda per orbem Sueta tibi in signis torva venire tuis: Quam miser ut staret de te tibi, Roma, triumphus, Ut tanta fieres ambitione nihil. Non tibi, sed sceleri vincis: proh laurea tristis, Laurea, Cerbereis aptior umbra comis. Tam turpi vix ipse pater diademate Pluto, Vix sedet ipse suo tam niger in solio. De tot Caesareis redit hoc tibi, Roma, triumphis: Caesaree, aut, quod idem est, egregie misera es. _They teach customs which are not lawful for us to receive, neither to observe, being Romans._ Rome, have thy Cæsar's arms wrought this for thee, That Romans only may not Christians be? Better for thee no Cæsar had waged war, High-thundering on his fiery steed afar; Nor eagle's lordly form o'er all the world Had aye on thy stern ensigns been unfurl'd. How poor a triumph, Rome, o'er thyself wrought, By dint of such ambition to be--nought! Conquering for sin, not Rome; sad laurel-wreath, More fit to shadow Cerberus' locks beneath. Old Pluto scarce wears diadem so base, Sits scarce so swart enthron'd in his own place. Cæsarean triumphs, Rome, win this for thee-- Cæsarean, that is, highest misery. R. WI. CLXII. _Hic lapis fiat panis._ Matt. iv. 3. Et fuit ille lapis, quidni sit dicere? panis, Christe, fuit: panis sed tuus ille fuit. Quippe Patris cum sic tulerit suprema voluntas, Est panis, panem non habuisse, tuus. Ἀρτος ἔην τοι δῆτ', εἰπεῖν θέμις ἐστὶν, ἐκεῖνος, Χριστὲ, τοι ἄρτος ἔην και λίθος, ἀλλὰ τεός. Ἢν οὓτως τοῦ πατρὸς ἔῃ μεγάλου τὸ θέλημα, Ἄρτος ὅτ' οὐκ ἦν τοι, Χριστὲ, τοι ἄρτος ἔην. _Command that this stone become a loaf._