| 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, | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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— | 20 |
| 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: | 25 |
| But let him know it is our tears | |
| Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs— | |
| With a fa, la, la, la, la. | |
| |
| Should foggy Opdam chance to know | |
| Our sad and dismal story, | 30 |
| 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. | 35 |
| |
| Let wind and weather do its worst, | |
| Be you to us but kind; | |
| Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, | |
| No sorrow we shall find: | |
| 'Tis then no matter how things go, | 40 |
| 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; | 45 |
| 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 | 50 |
| 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— | 55 |
| With a fa, la, la, la, la. | |
| |
| When any mournful tune you hear, | |
| That dies in every note | |
| As if it sigh'd with each man's care | |
| For being so remote, | 60 |
| Think then how often love we've made | |
| To you, when all those tunes were play'd— | |
| With a fa, la, la, la, la. | |
| |
| In justice you cannot refuse | |
| To think of our distress, | 65 |
| 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. | 70 |
| |
| 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— | 75 |
| We have too much of that at sea— | |
| With a fa, la, la, la, la. | |
