Of Phædria, thine owne fellow seruaunt;
For thou to serue Acrasia thy selfe doest vaunt.
In this wide Inland sea, that hight by name x
The Idle lake, my wandring ship I row,
That knowes her port, and thither sailes by ayme,
Ne care, ne feare I, how the wind do blow,
Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow:
Both slow and swift a like do serue my tourne,
Ne swelling Neptune, ne loud thundring Ioue
Can chaunge my cheare, or make me euer mourne;