All suddenly, and death hath them oppressed,
Lo, father Neptune! with sad countenance,
How he sits mourning on the strond now bare
Yonder; where th'Ocean with his rolling waves
The white feet washeth, wailing this mischance,
Of Dover cliffs. His sacred skirt about
The sea gods all are set; from their moist caves,
All for his comfort gathered there they be.
The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout,
The fruitful Severn, with the rest; are come