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The Song Book
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, &c.
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 ; Think then how often love we've made To you, when all those tunes were playM. With a fa, &c.
In justice you cannot 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, &c.
And now we've told you all your loves,
And likewise all our fears ; In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity from your tears ; Let's hear of no inconstancy, We have too much of that at sea. With a fa, &c.
The Words by the Earl of Dorset. Tune from The Merry Musician. |
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