William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
Song, Written at Sea, in the First Dutch War (1665), the Night before an EngagementCharles Sackville, Earl of Dorset (16381706)
T
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.
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.
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.
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
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs—
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
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.
Be you to us but kind;
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.