The Hurricane.

The Hurricane.

WHat cheer my Mates? Luff ho! We Toil in Vain! That Nothern Mist forebodes a Hurricane. See how th'expecting Ocean Raves, The Billows Roar before the Fray, Untimely Night devours the Day, I'th' Dead Eclypse we Nought descry But Lightnings Wild Capriches in the Skie, And Scalye Monsters sparkling through the Waves. Ply! Each a Hand, and furl your Sails. Port, Hard a'Port — The Tackle sails. Sound ho! — Five Fathom and the most. A Dangerous Shelf! sh'as struck, and we are Lost. Speak in the Hold — She Leaks amain — Give ore; The Crazy Boat can Work no more. She draws apace, and we approach no shore. A Ring my Mates: Let's joyn a Ring, and so Beneath the Deep Embracing Go. Now to new Worlds we steer, and quickly shall Arrive: Our Spirits shall Mount as fast as our dull Corpses Dive