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Rh gath’ring Water to ſupply the Main, Vales and Mountains of their Moiſture drain; of their Treaſure, muſically glide, loſe the whole Collection in the Tide: Till warm'd by Day, they riſe in ſhining Clouds, viſit Mortals in deſcending Floods, paying Hills and Dales the Debts they owe, former Channels narrow Banks o'erflow.

The ſilent Main wakes by a gentle Breeze, high-blown Winds torment the lab'ring Seas, Stocks ſerene ſo Whiſpers diſcompoſe, make them die myſterious as they roſe. Rumours fly, imported from afar, faithleſs Tyrants, or a riſing War, ſtrange Convulſions they begin to feel, by Fame, from high to low they reel. you may Periſh, founder'd in the Storm; what canſt thou, in ſuch diſtreſs, perform? go thou muſt, tho Storms, by pow'rful Force, daſh my Hopes, in thy advent'rous Courſe. But