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- <poem>
Now fins do serve for wings, and bear Their scaly squadrons through the air; Whilst the air's inhabitants do stain Their gaudy plumage in the main.
Now stars concealed in clouds, do peep Into the secrets of the deep: And lobsters spuèd from the brine, With Cancer's constellations, shine.
Sure NEPTUNE'S watery kingdoms yet, Since first their coral graves were wet; Were ne'er disturbed with such alarms, Nor had such trial of their arms.
See where a liquid mountain rides, Made up of innumerable tides; And tumbles headlong on the strand: As if the sea would come to land.
A sail! a sail! I plainly spy Betwixt the ocean and the sky; An argosy, a tall built ship, With all her pregnant sails atrip.
Nearer and nearer she makes way, With canvas wings, into the bay; And now upon the deck appears A crowd of busy mariners.
Methinks, I hear the cordage crack, With furrowing NEPTUNE'S foaming back; Who wounded and revengeful, roars His fury to the neighbouring shores.
- <poem>