A Description of a Great Sea-Storm, That happened to some Ships in the Gulf of FLORIDA, in September last; Drawn up by one of the Company, and sent to his Friend at London.  
THE PREFACE.  

THe blustering Winds are hushed into a Calm;  
No Air stirs now, but what my Muse Embalmed,  
Breathes forth to thee, dear Friend; Heaven smiles upon  
My Paper, and the Sea turns Helicon;  
The Mermaids Muses all, the Sea-Nymphs, bring  
Aid to my Genius, whilst to thee I Sing  
Of Storms, Gusts, Tempests, if compared to these,  
Bermoodus Winds are but a Gentle Breeze;  
And to express them fully, I am feign  
To raise in Verse a kind of Hurrycane.   
THE STORM.  

NOthing but Air and Water is in sight;  
(I am no Poet here, since Truth I wright.)  
When Aeolus with his Iron whistle Rouzes  
The blustering breathe from their Airy houses,  
Which like to Libertines let loose, will know  
No Law to guide them, but begin to blow  
The Sea to swell her teeming Womb, brings forth  
Wave after wave, and each of greater birth:  
Waves grow to Surges, Surges Billows turn;  
The Ocean is all Timpany, the Urn  
Of water is a brimmer; Neptune drinks  
So full a Cup it overruns the brinks.  
To Amphetrites Health, the proud waves dash  
At Heaven as though its Cloudy Face 'twould wash:  
Or sure the lower Water now was bend  
To mix with that above the Firmament;  
Or the cold Element did go about  
To put the Element of Fire out.  
Our Ship now under water seems to sail  
Like to a drowned Tost in John Cook's Ale.  
The Sea rolled up in Mountains: O! 'tis such  
Your Cottsall-Hill's a Wart, if't be so much,  
Which fall again into such hollow Vales  
I thought I'd crossed the Sea by Land o'er Wales;  
And then to add Confusion to the Seas,  
The Sailors speak such Babel words as these:  
Hale in main Bowlin, Mizzen tack aboard;  
A Language, like a Storm, to be abhorred:  
I know not which was loudest, their rude Tongues,  
Or the Big Winds with her whole Cards of Lungs.  
So hideous was the Noise, that one might well  
Fancy himself to be with Souls in Hell;  
But that the Torments differ, those Souls are  
With Fire punished, we with Water here.  
Our Helm that should our Swimming-Colledge sway,  
We lashed it up, lest it should run away.  
Have you a Hedge seen hung with Beggar's Fleeces?  
So hung our tattered Mainsaile down in pieces.  
Our Tackling cracked as if it had been made  
To string some Fiddle, not the Seaman's Trade.  
Whilst her own Knell the Sea-sick Vessel Rings,  
In breaking of her Ropes, the Ships Heartstring  
As to repent, but never to amend;  
So we pumped th'Ship, even to as little end;  
For all the water we pumped out with pain,  
The Sea returns with scorn, and more again.  
The Guns we carried to be our Defence,  
Heaven thundered so, it almost scared them then●  
And yet to Heaven for this give thanks we may,  
But for its Lightning we had had no Day.  
The dropy Clouds drinking Salt-water sick,  
Did spew it down upon our Heads so thick;  
That 'twixt the lower and upper Seas that fell,  
Our Ship a Vessel seemed, and we Mackerel.  
Pickled in Brine, and in our Cabins lie  
Soused up for Lasting Immortality.  
The Fear of being drowned, made us wish  
Ourselves transpeciated into Fish.  
Indeed this Fear did so possess each one,  
All looked like Shotten-Herring, or Poor-John:  
Nay of our Saving, there was so much doubt,  
The Master's Faith begun to tack about;  
And had he perished in this doubtful Fit,  
His Conscience sure (with his own Ship) had  
For which way into Heaven could his Soul Steer,  
Starboard or Larbord that still cries, No near?  
But we were in great Danger, you will say,  
If Seamen once begin to Kneel, and Pray;  
What Holy Church ne'er could, Rough Seas hav●  
Made Seamen buckle to Devotion,  
And force from them their Litany, whilst thus  
They whimper out, Good Lord deliver us!  
So pray I too, good Lord deliver thee,  
Dear Friend, from being taught to Pray at 〈◊〉  
Be wise, and keep the Shoar then, since you m●  
Go in by Land to your VIRGINIA.    

Licenced, August the 5th. 1671. Roger L'Estrange.   

〈…〉 Arms in the Poultry, 1671.