We passengers behold, with belching throats
Onely their taske atchievd in quivering boates.
Then since but ayre and water I perceive,
One’s hot and moyst, the other moyst and cold;
It’s earth that’s cold and dry, I longing crave
And fire that’s dry and hot, I wishing would;
Then thundring Æole, from thy seven rigged Towres,
Soone waft us o’re, forth from these glassy Bowres.
My wish is come, I see each bulging sayle
For pride begins to swell, betweene two sheetes;