| Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies | |
| In motion of no less celerity | |
| Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen |
| The well-appointed king at Hampton pier | |
| Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet | 5 |
| With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. | |
| Play with your fancies, and in them behold | |
| Upon the hempen tackle ship boys climbing. | |
| Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give | |
| To sounds confus'd. Behold the threaden sails, | 10 |
| Borne with th' invisible and creeping wind, | |
| Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, | |
| Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think | |
| You stand upon the rivage and behold | |
| A city on th' inconstant billows dancing, | 15 |
| For so appears this fleet majestical, | |
| Holding due course to Harflew. Follow, follow! | |
| Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, | |
| And leave your England as dead midnight still, | |
| Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, | 20 |
| Either past or not arriv'd to pith and puissance. | |