For being so remote:
Think then how often Love we've made,
To you while all those Tunes were play'd,
With a Fa la., &c.
Let Wind and Weather do its worst,
Be you to us but kind;
Let French-men Vapour, Dutch-men Curse,
No Sorrows we shall find:
'Tis then no matter how things go,
Nor who's our Friend, nor who our Foe,