The Prospect. FRom a tall Praecipice on the Sea-side, A Rev'rend Hermite view'd the spreading Tide: The Flood was curl'd with a becoming Wave; But no Praesage of rising Tempests gave. A goodly Ship was coasting by the Place, Like a proud Courser foaming in her Pace; With flatt'ring Courtship, the Lascivious Gails Her Streamers curl'd, and wanton'd in her Sails. The Waves divide to give the Pageant way; Then close, and with rais'd Heads, the Pomp survey. Whilst the grave Man this spectacle intends, (Pleas'd with the sight) a suddain Storm descends. The Winds grow rude, and rend the shaken Boat; On the swoln Flood, the tatter'd Streamers float: So, Blossoms with too violent a Breeze, Are torn, and scatter'd round their shaken Trees. Then, to his Cell return'd, the Anchorite Draws sage Remarques from this Disastrous sight Of Earthly Grandeur, weighs the Uncertain state; Which, in its gawdiest Bloom, and proudest Height, Stands most expos'd to th'Shock of suddain Fate.