Then Lid creeps on along, and taking Thrushel, throws
Herself amongst the rocks; and so incavern’d goes,
That of the blessed light (from other floods) debarr’d,
To bellow underneath she only can be heard,
As those that view her tract, seems strangely to affright:
So Toovy straineth in; and Plym, that claims by right.
The christning of that bay, which bears her nobler name.
Upon the British coast[65] what ship yet ever came
That not of Plymouth hears, where those brave navies lie,
From cannons thund’ring throats that all the world defy?