Vanderdecken Rounds the Cape
Blow on, bastard Aeolus, loose your gale;
If this ship be a tomb then here I'll lie.
So send your worst, shred mast and sail,
Let your lightning rip asunder the sky;
From me you'll get no tear nor wailing cry;
Instead, a curse, as this vessel rolls low,
And descends to the shifting sands below.