'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide (646)
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. (647)
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, (648)
And with the wind in greater fury fret: (649)
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste (651)
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.'