And, in purveying up and downe the Wood,
She many cold wet Stormes, for that, abides.
She lyes not heartlesse in her Mossie Dray,
Nor feareth to adventure through the Raine;
But skippeth out, and beares it as she may,
Vntill the Season waxeth calme againe.
Right thus, have I and others, often far'd;
For, when we first into the World were brought,
We found but little, for our Vse prepar'd,
Save that, which by Hard-Labour, must be sought.