I boarded the King's ship. Now on the beak, now in the waist, the deck, in
(every cabin) I flamed amazement.
Sometimes I'd divide, and burn in many places. On the topmast. The yards
(and bowsprit) would I flame distinctly, Then meet and join. Jove's
lightnings, the precursors o'the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
(and sight-outrunning) were not. The fire and cracks of sulphurous roaring
(the most mighty Neptune) seemed to besiege, and make his bold waves
tremble - Yea, his dread trident shake.
Not a soul but felt a fever of the mad, and played some tricks of
desperation. All but mariners
(Plunged in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel) then all afire with me.
The King's son, Ferdinand, with hair up-staring - then like reeds, not hair -
was the first man that leaped; cried, 'Hell is empty, And all the devils are
here!'
Not a hair perished on their sustaining garments not a blemish, but
fresher than before. And, as thou bad'st me, in troops I have dispersed
them 'bout the isle.
The King's son have I landed by himself - whom I left cooling of the air
(with sighs) In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad
knot.