"TO ALL YOU LADIES."

To all you ladies now on land
We men at sea indite;

But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write.

The Muses, then, and Neptune too,
We must implore to write to you.
With a fa la, la, la, la, la !

For though the Muses should prove kind,
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.

Then, if we write not by each post,
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.

The King, with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tide will higher rise
Than e'er it did of old :

But let him know it is our tears

Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs. With a fa la, la.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story,

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,
And quit their fort at Goree :

Nor what resistance can they find

From men who've left their hearts behind? With a fa la, la.

Let wind and weather do its worst;

Be you to us but kind,

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow shall we find :

'Tis then no matter how things go,

Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.
With a fa la, la.

To pass our tedious hours away
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.

But now our fears tempestuous grow
And cast our hopes away;
While 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.

When any mournful tune you hear-
That dies in ev'ry note-

As if it sighed with each man's care
For being so remote,

Then think how often love we've made
To you, when all those times we played.
With a fa la, la.

In justice you cannot refuse

To think of our distress,

When we for hopes of honour lose
Our certain happiness;

All these designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.
With a fa la, la..

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—

We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa la, la.

EARL OF DORSET.

[As the foregoing "song" was written by Dorset on the night before an engagement during the first Dutch War, 1665, it may appear to be rather inappropriate to put it into this section of the book; but to my mind there is such a sense of sly humour-or shall we say smiling jollity in which there is no touch of graver things?-running through the whole composition that it would be out of place in any other part of the book.]

PROLOGUE TO THE MASQUE OF
BRITANNIA (1753).

(Spoken by Garrick, in the Character of a Sailor, Fuddled, and Talking to Himself.)

Enters, singing:

"How pleasant a sailor's life passes !
Well, if thou art, my boy, a little mellow;
A sailor, half-seas o'er, 's a pretty fellow !
What cheer, ho? Do I carry too much sail?
No! Tight and trim I scud before the gale!
But softly tho'; the vessel seems to heel.-
Steady, my boy!-she must not show her keel.
And now, thus ballasted-what course to steer?
Shall I again to sea, and bang Mounseer?
Or stay on shore, and try with Sall and Sue?
Dost love 'em, boy? By this right hand I do!
A well-rigged girl is surely most inviting :

There's nothing better, faith-save flip and fighting.

I must away-I must

What, shall we sons of beef and freedom stoop,
Or lower our flag to slavery and soup?

What, shall these Parly-voos make such a racket,
And I not lend a hand to lace their jacket?

Still shall old England be your Frenchman's butt?— Whene'er he shuffles should we always cut?

I'll to 'em, faith !—Avast!

Before I go,

Have I not promised Sall to see the show?

(Pulls out a playbill.) From this same paper we shall understand What work's to-night-I read your printed hand. First let's refresh a bit; for, faith, I need it!

I'll take one sugar-plum (takes tobacco), and then I'll read it.

(He reads the bill of "Zara," played that evening.) "At the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane—

Will be presen-ta-ted a tragedy called Sarah."

I'm glad 'tis Sarah; then our Sall may see

Her namesake's tragedy: and as for me,
I'll sleep as sound as if I were at sea.

"To which will be added a new maskZounds! why a mask? We sailors hate grimaces: Above-board all-we scorn to hide our faces! But what is here, so very large and plain?

"Brit-an-nia". -Oh, Britannia! Good again! Huzza, boys! By the Royal George I swear Tom Coxen and the crew shall straight be there! All free-born souls must take Brit-an-nia's part, And give her three round cheers, with hand and heart! (Going off, he stops.) I wish you landsmen, though, would leave your tricks, Your factions, Parties and damned politics; And, like us honest tars, drink, fight and sing,True to yourselves, your country and your King.

GARRICK.

THE MIDSHIPMAN.

AID me, kind Muse, so whimsical a theme,
No poet ever yet pursued for fame :

Boldly I venture on a naval scene,

Nor fear the critic's frown, the pedant's spleen.
Sons of the ocean, we their rules disdain;
Our bosom's honest, and our style is plain.
Let Homer's heroes and his gods delight;
Let Milton with infernal legions fight;