[59 Even our Ordinance _1633 and MSS.:_ Yea even our Ordinance _1635-69_] [60 Strive _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ Strives _1635-69_, _Chambers:_ Striv'd _A25_, _B_, _Cy_] [66 Hell] Hell's _S_ lightsome] light _B_, _Cy_ and the'Bermuda _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ and the Bermudas _B_, _Cy_, _HN_, _P_, _S_, _Q:_ the Bermudas _1635-54_, _O'F:_ the _Bermuda's_ _1669_] [67 elder _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ eldest _1633-69_, _B_, _Lec_] [68 Claims _1635-69 and MSS.:_ Claim'd _1633_ this _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ the _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_] THE CALME. Our storme is past, and that storms tyrannous rage, A stupid calme, but nothing it, doth swage. The fable is inverted, and farre more A blocke afflicts, now, then a storke before. Stormes chafe, and soone weare out themselves, or us; 5 In calmes, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus. As steady'as I can wish, that my thoughts were, Smooth as thy mistresse glasse, or what shines there, The sea is now. And, as the Iles which wee Seeke, when wee can move, our ships rooted bee. 10 As water did in stormes, now pitch runs out: As lead, when a fir'd Church becomes one spout. And all our beauty, and our trimme, decayes, Like courts removing, or like ended playes. The fighting place now seamens ragges supply; 15 And all the tackling is a frippery. No use of lanthornes; and in one place lay Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday. Earths hollownesses, which the worlds lungs are, Have no more winde then the upper valt of aire. 20 We can nor lost friends, nor sought foes recover, But meteorlike, save that wee move not, hover. Onely the Calenture together drawes Deare friends, which meet dead in great fishes jawes: And on the hatches as on Altars lyes 25 Each one, his owne Priest, and owne Sacrifice. Who live, that miracle do multiply Where walkers in hot Ovens, doe not dye. If in despite of these, wee swimme, that hath No more refreshing, then our brimstone Bath, 30 But from the sea, into the ship we turne, Like parboyl'd wretches, on the coales to burne. Like _Bajazet_ encag'd, the shepheards scoffe, Or like slacke sinew'd _Sampson_, his haire off, Languish our ships. Now, as a Miriade 35 Of Ants, durst th'Emperours lov'd snake invade, The crawling Gallies, Sea-goales, finny chips, Might brave our Pinnaces, now bed-ridde ships. Whether a rotten state, and hope of gaine, Or to disuse mee from the queasie paine 40 Of being belov'd, and loving, or the thirst Of honour, or faire death, out pusht mee first,