Let rugged seas be lov'd, but the brook's smile
Shunn'd like the courtship of a crocodile;
And where the current doth most smoothly pass,
30Think for her sake, that stream Death's looking-glass,
To show us our destruction is most near,
When pleasure hath begot least sense of fear.
Else break thy forked sceptre 'gainst some rock,
If thou endure a flatt'ring calm to mock
Thy far-fam'd pow'r, and violate that law
Which keeps the angry Ocean in awe.