Can no new beauty raise, nor yet restore
Her who by thee was ravish'd from our shore:
Whose death hath stain'd the glory of thy flood,
10And mix'd the guilty channel with her blood.
O Neptune! was thy favour only writ
In that loose element where thou dost sit?
That, after all this time, thou shouldst repent
Thy fairest blessing to the continent?
Say, what could urge this Fate? is Thetis dead,
Or Amphitrite from thy wet arms fled?