A COUNTRY that draws fifty foot of water,

In which men live as in the hold of Nature,

And when the sea does in upon them break,

And drowns a province, does but spring a leak;

That always ply the pump, and never think

They can be safe but at the rate they stink;

They live as if they had been run aground,

And, when they die, are cast away and drowned;

That dwell in ships, like swarms of rats, and prey

Upon the goods all nations’ fleets convey;

And when their merchants are blown up and crackt,

That feed, like cannibals, on other fishes,

And serve their cousin-germans up in dishes:

A land that rides at anchor, and is moored,

In which they do not live, but go aboard.