And mock’d the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Methought I had, and often did I strive
To yield the ghost: but the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast and wandering air;
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
My dream was lengthened after life;
O, then began the tempest of my soul,
Who pass’d, methought, the melancholy flood,