Classic Poem

Though streaming stormes, force ship to harbor haste,
To whom the Seas with rigor great threates wrack:
Whose cables cut, and ankers worne to waste,
Is forste streeke sayle in her so great a lack.
When Neptvne yet with Septer plaste in hande,
Shall calme the furious rigour of the Flood:
This Shyp repayrde, may safely sayle to lande,
Nought dreading Eolvs breth, that her withstood.
So H. doth hope his Howlke such porte shall finde,
When stormes be past, as will content his minde.