A Ballad by the late Dorset when at Sea, never before Printed.
|
To you fair Ladys now at Land,
|
we Men at Sea indite;
|
but first wou'd have you understand,
|
how hard it is to write;
|
the Muses now & Neptune too,
|
we must implore to write to you,
|
with a fa la, la, la, la.
|
the Muses now and Neptune too,
|
we must implore to write to you,
|
with a fa la, la, la, la.
|
2
|
But tho the muses shou'd be kind,
|
& fill our empty Brain;
|
Yet if rough Neptune causes the Wind,
|
To rouse the Azure Main;
|
Our Paper Pens & Ink and we,
|
Rowl up & down our Ships at Sea.
|
with a fa la.
|
3
|
Then if we write not by each Post,
|
Think not yet we're unkind;
|
Nor yet conclude yet we are lost,
|
By Dutch by French or Wind;
|
Our Greif will find a speedier way,
|
The Tide shall bring them twice a day.
|
with a fa la.
|
4
|
The King with wonder & surprize,
|
Will think the Seas grown bold;
|
For that the Tide does higher rise,
|
Then ere it did of old;
|
But let him know yet tis our Tears,
|
Sends floods of Greif to White-hall Stairs.
|
with a fa la.
|
5
|
Shou'd Count Thoulouse but come to know,
|
Our sad & dismal Story;
|
The French would Scorn so weak a Foe,
|
Where they can get no Glory;
|
For with resistance can they find,
|
From Men as left their hearts behind
|
with a fa la.
|
6
|
To pass our tedious time away,
|
We throw the merry Main;
|
Or else at serious Ombra play.
|
But why shou'd we in vain
|
Each others ruin thus pursue,
|
We were undone when we left you,
|
with a fa la.
|
7
|
When any mournfull tune you hear,
|
That dyes in ery note;
|
As if it Sigh'd for each Mans care,
|
For being so remote;
|
Think now how often Love we've made,
|
To you while all those tunes were play'd,
|
with a fa la.
|
8
|
Let Wind & Weather do its worst,
|
Be you to us but kind;
|
Let French Men Vapour Dutch Men Curse,
|
No Sorrows we shall find;
|
'Tis then no matter how things goe,
|
Nor who's our Friend or who our Foe,
|
with a fa la.
|
9
|
Thus haveing told you all our loves,
|
& likewise all our feares
|
In hopes this Declaration moves
|
Some pitty to our Tears;
|
Let's hear of no Inconstancy,
|
We have too much of that at Sea,
|
with a fa la.
|
|
|
|
|
|