10(The wind to barbarous mariners only kind).
The seaman's pleasure is the lover's pain,
(Protesilaus from my bosom ta'en!)
As from my faltering tongue half speeches fell,
Scarce could I speak that wounding word Farewell,
A merry gale (at sea they call it so)
Fill'd every sail with joy, my breast with woe,
There went my dear Protesilaus——
While I could see thee, full of eager pain,