The sea's too rough for verse; who rhymes upon 't
With Xerxes strives to fetter th' Hellespont.
My tears will keep no channel, know no laws
To guide their streams, but (like the waves, their cause)
Run with disturbance, till they swallow me
As a description of his misery.
But can his spacious virtue find a grave
Within th' imposthumed bubble of a wave?
Whose learning if we sound, we must confess
20The sea but shallow, and him bottomless.