Twixt Borean blasts, and billowes we are tost.
If Ovid, in that strait Ionean deepe
Was tost so hard; much more am I on Seas
Of larger bounds; where staffe and Compasse Keepe
Their strict observance; yet in this unease
Of tackling Boards, we so the way make short,
That still our course, drawes neerer to the Port.
Betweene the streame, and silver spangled skye,
We rolling climbe, then hurling fall beneath;