Nor durst a sigh within those borders whistle.
4230Then, as sea-merchants when their reeling galley,
Drunk with salt Neptune, hazardeth their breaths,
To calm bold tempest and the Triton's valley,
Hack on the quiet shore their brackèd sheaths,
So did our amorists, half wrack'd with eye-men,
Devote their raddle vests to Love and Hymen.
Some marrow-lancing eye perchance may quarrel,
'Cause with the bridal torch my muse expires;
And in loud jeers his tow'ring voice apparel,