Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

CHARLES SACKVILLE.

EARL OF DORSET.

1637-1706.

SONG.

WRITTEN AT SEA, THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665, THE NIGHT BEFORE

AN ENGAGEMENT.

To all you ladies now at land,

We men at sea indite;

But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write;

The Muses now, and Neptune too,

We must implore to write to you.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

For though the Muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain;

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind,
To wave the azure main,

Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,

Roll up and down our ships at sea.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

Then if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost

By Dutchmen or by wind:

Our tears we'll send a speedier way;
The tide shall bring them twice a day.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

The King with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tides will higher rise

Than e'er they did of old:

But let him know it is our tears
Brings floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story,

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,
And quit their fort at Goree ;

For what resistance can they find

From men who've left their hearts behind? With a fa la, la, la, la.

Let wind and weather do its worst,
Be you to us but kind;

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow shall we find:

"Tis then no matter how things go,

Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

To pass our tedious hours away,
We throw a merry main;

Or else at serious ombre play;
But why should we in vain,

Each other's ruin thus pursue?
We were undone when we left you.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

But now our fears tempestuous grow,
And cast our hopes away;

Whilst you, regardless of our woe,
Sit careless at a play:

Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in every note,

As if it sighed with each man's care
For being so remote:

Think then how often love we've made
To you, when all those tunes were played.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

In justice you can not refuse

To think of our distress,
When we, for hopes of honour, lose
Our certain happiness;

All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

And now we've told you all our loves,
And likewise all our fears,

In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity for our tears;

Let's hear of no inconstancy,

We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa la, la, la, la.

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

1639-1701.

["The Mulberry Garden." 1668.]

SONG.

АH Chloris! that I now could sit
As unconcerned, as when
Your infant beauty could beget
No pleasure, nor no pain.

When I the dawn used to admire,
And praised the coming day,
I little thought the growing fire
Must take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay
Like metals in the mine:

Age from no face took more away,
Than youth concealed in thine.

But as your charms insensibly
To their perfection pressed,

Fond love as unperceived did fly,
And in my bosom rest.

My passion with your beauty grew,
And Cupid at my heart,

Still, as his mother favoured you,
Threw a new flaming dart.

Each gloried in their wanton part:
To make a lover, he
Employed the utmost of his art,
To make a beauty, she.

Though now I slowly bend to love,
Uncertain of my fate,

If your fair self my chains approve,
I shall my freedom hate.

Lovers, like dying men, may well
At first disordered be;

Since none alive can truly tell
What fortune they must see.

["Miscellaneous Works." 1702.]

SONG.

Not, Celia, that I juster am,

Or better than the rest;

For I would change each hour, like them, Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee,

By every thought I have:

Thy face I only care to see,
Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is adored,

In thy dear self I find;

For the whole sex can but afford

The handsome and the kind.

« ZurückWeiter »