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Poems

By W. H. [i.e. William Hammond]
 

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On the same.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


67

On the same.

The Boast.

How well this brittle Boat doth personate
Mans fraile estate?
Whose concave fill'd with lightsome aire did scorn
The proudest storm:
Mans fleshy boat beares up, whilst breath doth last
He feares no blast:
Poor floating Bark, whilst on yon mount you stood
Rain was your food.
Now the same moisture which once made thee grow
Doth thee oreflow.
Rash youth hath too much saile, his giddy path
No ballast hath;
He thinks his Keel of wit can cut all waves,
And passe those Graves,
Can shoot all Cataracts and safely steer
The fourscorth year.
But stoop thine eare ill-councelld youth, and hark,
Look on this Bark,
His Emblem whom it carried, both defi'd
Stormes, yet soon dyed;
Onely this difference, that sunk downward, this
Waighd up to blisse.