To Neptune, In A Tempest

I.

Neptune , whose Trident shakehe Ground,
Why all this mighty Rage to those,
By whom your Altars still are crown’d?
Why are we treated like your Foes?

II.

The Trojan Race we never knew,
Who did your Godhead once beguile:
No! We are Britains bold, and true,
Free Natives of your favour’d Isle .

III.

Then Neptune , let our Pray’rs prevail,
Nor with our Ship thus rudely sport:
Send Zephyrus to fill our Sail ,
And safely guide us to our Port .