[119]Then varying winds in gustful eddies roar:
Then to [120]black ocean trust thy ships no more:
But heedful care to this my caution yield,
And, as I bid thee, labour safe the field.
Hale on firm land the ship: with stones made fast
Against the staggering force of humid-blowing blast:
Draw from its keel the peg, lest rotting rain
Suck’d in the hollow of the hold remain:
Within thy house the tackling order’d be.
And furl thy vessel’s wings that skimm’d the sea: