CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET
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, la, la.
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, la, la, la, la.
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 play'd With a fa, la, la, la, la.
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, la, la, la, la.
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