The Poems of Charles Sackville Sixth Earl of Dorset: Edited by Brice Harris |
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A Ballad by the Lord Dorset when at Sea
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 | The Poems of Charles Sackville |  |
65
A Ballad by the Lord Dorset when at Sea
66
1
To all you ladies now at land,We men at sea do write,
But first I hope you'll understand
How hard 'tis to indite:
The muses now and Neptune too
We must implore to write to you.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
2
For though the muses should be kindAnd fill our empty brain,
Yet when rough Neptune calls the wind
To rouse the azure main,
Our paper, ink, and pen, and we
Roll up and down our ships at sea.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
3
Then, if we write not by each post,Think not we are unkind,
Nor yet conclude that we are lost
By Dutch or else 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.
4
With wonder and amaze the kingWill vow his seas grow bold,
Because the tides more waters bring
Than they were wont of old;
But you must tell him that our cares
Send floods of grief to Whitehall Stairs.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
67
5
To pass the tedious hours away,We throw the 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.
6
If foggy Opdam did but knowOur sad and dismal story,
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,
And leave the port of Goree;
For what resistance can they find
From men that left their hearts behind?
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
7
Let wind and weather do their worst,Be you to us but kind;
Let Frenchmen vapor, Dutchmen curse,
No sorrow shall we find:
'Tis then no matter how things go,
Nor who's our friend, nor who's our foe.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
8
In justice, you cannot refuseTo think of our distress,
Since we in hope of honor lose
Our certain happiness;
All our designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
68
9
Alas! our fears tempestuous growAnd cast our hopes away,
While you, unmindful of our woe,
Sit careless at a play:
And now permit some happier man
To kiss your busk and wag your fan.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
10
When any mournful tune you hear,That dies in every note
As if it sighed for each man's care
For being so remote,
Think then how oft our love we made
To you while all those tunes were played.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
11
And now we have told our love,And also all our fears,
We hope our declarations move
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.
| The Poems of Charles Sackville | |