"Who sails too near its jagged teeth, He shall have evil lot;

For the calmest seas that tumble there Froth like a boiling pot.

"And the heavier seas few look on nigh,

But straight they lay him dead; A seventy-gun-ship, sir! - they'll shoot

Higher than her masthead.

"Oh, beacons sighted in the dark, They are right welcome things, And pitchpots flaming on the shore Show fair as angel wings.

"Hast gold in hand? then light the land,

It 'longs to thee and me;
But let alone the deadly rock
In God Almighty's sea."

Yet said he, "Nay, I must away,
On the rock to set my feet;
My debts are paid, my will I made,
Or ever I did thee greet.

"If I must die, then let me die

By the rock, and not elswhere; If I may live, O let me live

To mount my lighthouse stair."

The old Mayor looked him in the face, And answered, "Have thy way; Thy heart is stout, as if round about It was braced with an iron stay:

"Have thy will, mercer! choose thy

men,

Put off from the storm-rid shore;
God with thee be, or I shall see
Thy face and theirs no more."

Heavily plunged the breaking wave,
And foam flew up the lea,
Morning and even the drifted snow
Fell into the dark gray sea.

Winstanley chose him men and gear;

He said, "My time I waste,' For the seas ran seething up the shore, And the wrack drave on in haste.

But twenty days he waited and more, Pacing the strand alone,

Or ever he sat his manly foot

On the rock, the Eddystone.