English and Indian both Observe

The various blasts of wind:

And both I have heard in dreadfull stormes

Cry out aloud, I have sinn’d.

But when the stormes are turn’d to calmes

And seas grow smooth and still;

Both turne (like swine) to wallow in,

The filth of former will.

’Tis not a storme on sea, or shore,

’Tis not the Word that can;