Rain and fog did favour shew,
So who they chac’d they did not know.
Well, said Charles, I see my lot
Is neither to be drown’d nor shot,
Nor can they e’er take me alive,
While wind and rain against them strive.
Yet piercing hunger’s hard command:
For here no fresh water they fand,
And to big isles they durst not go;
But such as were a mile or two.