FEAR.
Reading edition
Come on, Sir,—here's the place—stand still,— How fearful 'tis to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and coughs, that whig the midway air, Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down, Hangs one that gathers samphire—dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than one's head, The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark Seems lesson'd to a cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for fight. The murmuring surge; That on th' unnumbered idle pebbles chases, Cannot be heard so high.—I'll look no more, Lest my brain turn and the disorder make me Tumble down headlong.