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Sir W[ILLIAM?] H[ERBERT?]
The Boat of Bale.
[Phenix Nest.]
<poem> These lines I send by waves of woe,
And Bale becomes my boat;
Which Sighs of Sorrows still shall keep
On floods of fear afloat.
My Sighs shall serve me still for wind,
My lading is my Smart;
And True Report my pilot is,
My haven is thy heart.
My keel is framed of Crabbèd Care,
My ribs are all of Ruth,
My planks are nothing else but Plaints,
With treenails joined with Truth.
My mainmast made of nought but Moan,
My tackling Trickling Tears;
My topyard, like a Troubled Mind,
A flag of folly bears.
My cable is a Constant Heart:
My anchor, Luckless Love,
Which Reason's capstan from the ground
Of grief cannot remove.
- <poem>
