XXVII
Here by her smallnesse shee two deaths orepast, Once innocence scap'd, and left the oppressor fast. The net through-swome, she keepes the liquid path, And whether she leape up sometimes to breath And suck in aire, or finde it underneath, Or working parts like mills or limbecks hath To make the water thinne and airelike, faith Cares not; but safe the Place she's come unto Where fresh, with salt waves meet, and what to doe She knowes not, but betweene both makes a boord or two.