The Tempest (Standing upon the Margent of the main)

Standing upon the Margent of the main,
Whilst the high boiling tyde came tumbling in,
I felt my fluctuating thoughts maintain,
As great an Ocean, and as rude within,
As full of waves, of depths, and broken grounds,
As that, which daily laves her chalky bounds.

Soon could my sad imagination find,
A parallel to this half world of Flood,
An Ocean by my walls of Earth confin'd,
And Rivers in the chanells of my blood,
Discov'ring Man, unhappy Man, to be
Of this great Frame, Heavens Epitome.

There pregnant Argosies with full Sails ride
To shoot the Gulphs of sorrow and despair,
Of which the Love no Pilot has to Guide,
But to her Sea-born Mother steers by pray'r,
When oh! the Hope her anchor lost, undone,
Rowls, at the mercy of the Regent Moon.

Tis my ador'd Diana, then must be
The Guidress to this beaten Bark of mine,
'Tis she must calm, and smooth this troubled Sea,
And wast my hope over the vaulting Brine,
Call home thy venture Dian, then at last,
And be as merciful, as thou art chast.