025 I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
[027] And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
030 And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which touching but my gentle vessel’s side,
[033] Would scatter all her spices on the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;