IDENTILIN$$ F11000D|1649|pp. 144-45\EWS\mf(CtY)\5-9-85\P&C:DAS\cd(MH)\2000\P:EWS\o(CSmH)\6-12-01\C:JMK\7-16-01;JSC\8-27-01
110.00D.0HE %X%1The Calme%2.
110.00D.001 O%+Ur storm is past, & that storms tyrannous rage
110.00D.002 A stupid calme, but nothing it doth swage.
110.00D.003 The fable is inverted, and farre more
110.00D.004 A block afflict%Ls, now, then a storke before.
110.00D.005 Stormes chafe, and soon wear out themselvs, or us;
110.00D.006 In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus.
110.00D.007 As steady as I could wish my thoughts were,
110.00D.008 Smooth as thy Mistresse glasse, or what shines there,
110.00D.009 The sea is now, and as the Iles which we
110.00D.010 Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be.
110.00D.011 As water did in storms; now pitch runs out:
110.00D.012 As lead, when a fir'd Church becomes one spout.
110.00D.013 And all our beauty, and our trim decayes,
110.00D.014 Like courts removing, or like ended playes.
110.00D.015 The fighting place now seamens rags supply;
110.00D.016 And all the tackling is a frippery.
110.00D.017 No use of Lanthornes; and in one place lay
110.00D.018 Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday.
110.00D.019 Earths hollownesses, which the worlds lungs are,
110.00D.020 Have no more wind then the upper vault of ayre.
110.00D.021 We can nor lost friends,[comma does not ink] nor sought foes recover,
110.00D.022 But meteor-like, save that we move not, hover.
110.00D.023 Onely the Calenture together drawes
110.00D.024 Deare friends, which meet dead in great fishes \(mawes,
110.00D.025 And on the hatches, as on Altars lies
110.00D.026 Each one, his own Priest, and own Sacrifice.
110.00D.027 Who live, that miracle doe multiplie
110.00D.028 Where walkers in hot Ovens doe not die. [CW:If]
110.00D.029 If in despight of these, we swim, that hath [p.145]
110.00D.030 No more refreshing, than a Brimstone bath;
110.00D.031 But from the sea into the ship we turne,
110.00D.032 Like parboy'ld wretches, on the coales to burne.
110.00D.033 Like %1Baiazet%2 encag'd, the shepheards scoffe;
110.00D.034 Or like slack-sinew'd %1Sampson%2, his haire off,
110.00D.035 Languish our ships. Now as a Miriade
110.00D.036 Of Ants, durst th'Emperours lov'd Snake invade:
110.00D.037 The crawling Gallies, Sea-gulls, finny chips,
110.00D.038 Might brave our Pinnaces, now bed-rid ships.
110.00D.039 Whether a rotten state, and hope of gaine,
110.00D.040 Or, to disuse me from the queasie paine
110.00D.041 Of being belov'd, and loving: or the thirst
110.00D.042 Of honour, or faire death, out=pusht me first,
110.00D.043 I lose my end %1:%2 for here as well as I
110.00D.044 A desperate may live, and coward die.
110.00D.045 Stagge, dogge, and all which from, or towards flies,
110.00D.046 Is paid with life, or pray, or doing dies.
110.00D.047 Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay
110.00D.048 A scourge, 'gainst which we all forget to pray.
110.00D.049 He that at sea prayes for more winde, as well
110.00D.050 Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell.
110.00D.051 What are we then? How little more, alas,
110.00D.052 Is man now, then, before he was, he was?
110.00D.053 Nothing; for us, we are for nothing fit;
110.00D.054 Chance, or our selves still disproportion it;
110.00D.055 We have no power, no will, no sense; I lie,
110.00D.056 I should not then thus feele this misery. [CW:%1To%2]
110.00D.0SSom 
110.00D.0$$ One 56-line st, no ind; l.42, "out-pusht" looks like "out=pusht" --DAS (based on printout of cd, JSC changed - to = [the = looks italic, but I haven't found another for comparison; none of the hyphens are similarly slanted])
l. 17: there's a space between "Lanthornes" and the semicolon (in D, E, and F).