Disquiets quiet streames:

Nor who his chest to fill

Sayles to the morning beames,

On waues winde tosseth fast

Still kepes his Ship from home.

Nor Ioue still downe doth cast

Inflam’d with bloudie ire

On man, on tree, on hill,

His darts of thundring fire:

Nor still the heat doth last