A Storme

Help, help, o helpe, Divinity of Love,

Or Neptune will commit a Rape

Upon my Cloris, she's on his bosom

and without a wonder cannot scape.

See, see, the winds grow drunk with joy,

And throng so fast to see Lov's Argo, and the wealth it bears,

that now the tackling and the sails they teare,

They fight, they fight, who shall convey

Amintors Love into her Bay,

And hurle whole seas at one another,

As if they would the welkin smother.

Hold Boreas, hold, he will not hear.

The Rudder cracks, the Main-Mast falls,

The Pilot swears, the Skipper bawls,

A showr of clouds in darknes fall,

To put out Cloris light withall;

Ye Gods where are yee, are ye all asleep,

Or drunk, with Nectar? why doe you not keepe

A watch upon your Ministers of Fate,

Tie up the winds, or they will blow the Seas

To Heaven, and drowne your Deities.

A Calme, a Calme, Miracle of Love,

The Sea-borne Queene that sits above,

Hath heard Amintors cryes,

And Neptune now must lose his prize.

Welcome, Cloris, to the shore,

Thou shalt goe to Sea no more:

Wee to Tempes groves will goe,

Where the calmer winds doe blow,

And embark our hearts together,

Fearing neither rocks, nor weather,

But out-ride the stormes of Love,

And for ever constant prove.