Great God that guides the Dolphin through the deepe,
Looke now as thou didst then with smiling grace,
When seeking once her beauties to embrace,
Thou forc'd the faire Amimone to weepe:
The liquid monarchie thou canst not keepe,
If thus the blustring God vsurp thy place;
Rise and against his blasts erect thy face;
Let Tritons trumpet sound the seas asleepe,
With thine owne armes the wind thy bosome wounds,
And whil'st that it thy followers fall contriues,
Thy Trident to indanger dayly striues,
And desolate would render all thy bounds:
Then if thou think'st for to preserue thy state,
Let not such stormes disturb thy watrie seate.