With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
145 Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a [boat], not rigg’d,
Nor tackle, [sail], nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively [have] quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea that roar’d to us; to sigh
I. 2. 150 To [the winds], whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.
Mir.