 | Men-Miracles |  |
Saylers Song.
Here is a Bowle in whose wide coasts,Navies may swimme like winter Toasts,
Which to drinke off if he were minded,
Æolus would prove short winded.
Tis to the Queene, downe let it fall,
There goes Ocean, Ships and all.
Hoise Sailes againe, and still provide
New supplyes to maintaine the Tyde,
For when we the dry Bottome knocke,
Then we are split, ô there's the Rocke.
Here like a Whale my spatious gut
Sports, and then devoures a But;
Store me with one deliberate suppe,
No storme shall sooner tosse it up.
Tis wide and deepe, be sure you fill't:
Twill make an Ocean run a Tilt.
Drinke shallow first, then drowne your Oare:
No danger but to come a shore.
For when we, &c.
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