CHAPTER XIV
IN THE NARROW SEAS
‘This battle fares like to the morning’s war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it, perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea,
Forced to retire by fury of the wind:
Some time the flood prevails, and then the wind;