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Thou God of windes, that raignest inthe seas,That raignest also in the Continent,At last blow up some gentle gale of ease,The which may bring my ship, ere it berent,Unto the gladsome port of her intent.Then, when I shall my selfe in safety see,A table, for eternall monimentOf thy great grace and my great jeopardee,Great Neptune, I avow to hallow untothee!’xy Then sighing softly sore, and inly deepe,She shut up all her plaint in privy griefeFor her great courage would not let her weepe,Till that old Glaucé gan with sharpe re-priefeHer to restraine, and give her good reliefeThrough hope of those, which Merlin hadher toldShould of her name and nation be chiefe,And fetch their being from the sacredmouldOf her immortall womb, to be in heavenenrold.x1 Thus as she her recomforted, she spyde Where far away one, all in armour bright,With hasty gallop towards her did ryde. Threatning to swallow up my fearefull | Her dolour soone she ceast, and on her lyfe? dight CANTO. IV. ] Her Helmet, to her Courser mountinglight: Her former sorrow into suddein wrath,
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