In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared 170 A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg’d, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast: the very rats Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us, To cry to the sea, that roar’d to us: to sigh To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, 175 Did us but loving wrong.
Read as:
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg’d,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast: the very rats
Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea, that roar’d to us: to sigh
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.
