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Your pardon, I pray!Whoever is kiss'd by the miller-maid,Upon the spot must needs be betray'd.

To the living one, commit the dead,O'er the beast let earth and dust be spread,And, so far as may extend your might,What ye deem impure, conceal from sight.

Yet he, like a man, stands by his rudder;With the bark are sporting wind and water,Wind and water sport not with his bosom:On the fierce deep looks he, as a master,--In his gods, or shipwreck'd, or safe landed,Trusting ever.