The sweeping breeze took up the stinging lime,
Clearing our decks, but wrapping round our foes,
Blinding all eyes.
Hen. St. George!
Ger. 'Twas easy then
To hook our vessels to the great French ships,
Cut down their rigging and make way at will
O'er the wallowing crew.
Pem. Must we believe this tale?
Hen. Goes it against your wish?