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,
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.
With a fa, &c.
VII.
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, &c.
VIII.
But now our fears tempestuous grow,
And cast our hopes away;
Whilst you, regardless of our woe,
Sit carelessly at play;
Perhaps permit some happier man,
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.
With a fa, &c.
IX.
When any mournful tune, you hear,
That dies in every note;
And 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 play'd.
With a fa, &c.
X.
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.