So 'mid the yce of the farre Northern sea,
A starre about the Articke Circle, may
Then ours yeeld clearer light; yet that but shall
Serve at the frozen Pilots funerall.
Thou (brightest constellation) to this maine
Which all we sinners traffique on, didst daigne
The bounty of thy fire, which with so cleare
And constant beames did our frayle vessels steare,
That safely we, what storme so ere bore sway,
Past ore the rugged Alpes of th' angry Sea.