Thou which art I, ('tis nothing to be soe) Thou which art still thy selfe, by these shalt know Part of our passage; And, a hand, or eye By _Hilliard_ drawne, is worth an history, By a worse painter made; and (without pride) 5 When by thy judgment they are dignifi'd, My lines are such: 'Tis the preheminence Of friendship onely to'impute excellence. England to whom we'owe, what we be, and have, Sad that her sonnes did seeke a forraine grave 10 (For, Fates, or Fortunes drifts none can soothsay, Honour and misery have one face and way.) From out her pregnant intrailes sigh'd a winde Which at th'ayres middle marble roome did finde Such strong resistance, that it selfe it threw 15 Downeward againe; and so when it did view How in the port, our fleet deare time did leese, Withering like prisoners, which lye but for fees, Mildly it kist our sailes, and, fresh and sweet, As to a stomack sterv'd, whose insides meete, 20 Meate comes, it came; and swole our sailes, when wee So joyd, as _Sara_'her swelling joy'd to see. But 'twas but so kinde, as our countrimen, Which bring friends one dayes way, and leave them then. Then like two mighty Kings, which dwelling farre 25 Asunder, meet against a third to warre, The South and West winds joyn'd, and, as they blew, Waves like a rowling trench before them threw. Sooner then you read this line, did the gale, Like shot, not fear'd till felt, our sailes assaile; 30 And what at first was call'd a gust, the same Hath now a stormes, anon a tempests name. _Ionas_, I pitty thee, and curse those men, Who when the storm rag'd most, did wake thee then; Sleepe is paines easiest salue, and doth fullfill 35 All offices of death, except to kill. But when I wakt, I saw, that I saw not; I, and the Sunne, which should teach mee'had forgot East, West, Day, Night, and I could onely say, If'the world had lasted, now it had beene day. 40 Thousands our noyses were, yet wee'mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder call: Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more Then if the Sunne had drunke the sea before. Some coffin'd in their cabbins lye,'equally 45 Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must dye; And as sin-burd'ned soules from graves will creepe, At the last day, some forth their cabbins peepe: And tremblingly'aske what newes, and doe heare so, Like jealous husbands, what they would not know. 50 Some sitting on the hatches, would seeme there, With hideous gazing to feare away feare. Then note they the ships sicknesses, the Mast Shak'd with this ague, and the Hold and Wast With a salt dropsie clog'd, and all our tacklings 55 Snapping, like too-high-stretched treble strings.