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 The Muses now, and Neptune too, We must implore to write to you. For though the Muses should prove kind, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our ships at sea. Then if we write not by each post, By Dutchmen or by wind: Our tears we'll send a speedier way; The King with wonder and surprise, Than e'er they did of old: But let him know it is our tears Should foggy Opdam chance to know The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, 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, Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, "Tis then no matter how things go, Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. To pass our tedious hours away, Or else at serious ombre play; Each other's ruin thus pursue? But now our fears tempestuous grow, Whilst you, regardless of our woe, Perhaps permit some happier man When any mournful tune you hear, As if it sighed with each man's care Think then how often love we've made In justice you can not refuse To think of our distress, All those designs are but to prove And now we've told you all our loves, In hopes this declaration moves 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 When I the dawn used to admire, Your charms in harmless childhood lay Age from no face took more away, But as your charms insensibly Fond love as unperceived did fly, My passion with your beauty grew, Still, as his mother favoured you, Each gloried in their wanton part: Though now I slowly bend to love, If your fair self my chains approve, Lovers, like dying men, may well Since none alive can truly tell ["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, All that in woman is adored, In thy dear self I find; For the whole sex can but afford The handsome and the kind. |