To give the fainting trembler hapless speed.
Alas! the sounding lash applies in vain;
For close united by the fest'ring chain,
His dead companion up th' untoward height,
(Struck by the mortal ministers of night)
The living victim tugs with painful throes;
Himself, less blest, reserv'd for keener woes.
Now hot black clouds in spreading volumes rise:
Now culinary uproar shakes the skies.
Spread through the venom'd ship, with bustling care,