Prologue
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Make no tent on thy ship
Never sleep in the house.
For a foe within doors you may view
On his shield sleeps the Viking
his sword in his hand
and his tent is the heavenly blue
When the storm rageth fierce
hoist the sail to the top
Oh, how merry the storm king appears
Let her drive, let her drive
Better founder than strike,
For who strikes is a slave to his fears