Whose liquid chains could flowing meet,
To fetter her Redeemer’s feet.
Nor full sails hasting laden home,
Nor the chaste lady’s pregnant womb,
Nor Cynthia teeming shows so fair 35
As two eyes, swoln with weeping, are.
The sparkling glance that shoots desire,
Drenched in these waves, does lose its fire.
Yea, oft the Thunderer pity takes,
And here the hissing lightning slakes. 40