Saile thence, at pleasure, to their wished Ports,
Then loose they all the sheats, but to no boot:
For the charm’d Vessell bougeth not a foot;
No more than if, three fadom under ground,
A score of Anchors held her fastly bound:
No more than doth the Oak, that in the Wood,
Hath thousand Tempests, (thousand times) withstood;
Spreading as many massy roots belowe,
As mighty arms above the ground do growe.”