(That will not wind with every crooked way
Trod by the servile world) shall reele and fall
Before the frantick puffes of blind borne chance,
That pipes through empty men and makes them dance.45
Not so the sea raves on the Libian sands,
Tumbling her billowes in each others neck:
Not so the surges of the Euxian Sea
(Neere to the frosty pole, where free Bootes
From those dark deep waves turnes his radiant teame)[50]
Swell, being enrag'd even from their inmost drop,