John Dryden

Till you, descending on our plains,
With foreign force renew my chains;
Where now you reign without control,
The mighty sovereign of my soul.

Your smiles have more of conquering charms
Than all your native country's arms:

Their troops we can expel with ease,
Who vanquish only when we please.

But in your eyes, O! there's the spell !
Who can see them, and not rebel?
You make us captives by your stay,
Yet kill us if you go away.

Sir George Etberege

born in 1634, was one of the wits at the Court of Charles II He was the author of various dramatic pieces, including The Comical Revenge, or Love in a Tub; She would if She could; The Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter, comedies by which his name is still remembered. Reduced to sad straits by various indiscretions, he sought to marry a rich elderly widow, who, it is said, made the honour of knighthood for her spouse a condition of her acceptance. The honour was obtained from James II., by whom Etherege was appointed envoy to Ratisbon, where, from some uncertain cause, he is said to have died, 1683.

Beauty no Armour against Love

LADIES, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes his chiefest victories,
And borrows those bright arms from you
With which he does the world subdue,

Yet you yourselves are not above
The empire nor the griefs of love.

Then wrack not lovers with disdain,
Lest love on you revenge their pain;
You are not free because y're fair;
The boy did not his mother spare.

Beauty's but an offensive dart;
It is no armour for the heart.

Charles Sackville

Earl of Dorset, was born in 1637, and at the Restoration became one of the first favourites of the King. In 1665, Lord Buckhurst, as he was then known, was engaged in the Dutch war, and on the eve of the great battle of June 3 he is said to have written the celebrated song, 'To all you Ladies now at Land' with equal tranquillity of mind and promptitude of wit. But Johnson adds to this narrative, 'Seldom any splendid story is wholly true. I have heard from the late Earl of Orrery, who was likely to have good hereditary intelligence, that Lord Buckhurst had been a week employed upon it, and only retouched or finished it on the memorable

WRITTEN AT SEA IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665,

THE NIGHT BEFORE AN ENGAGEMENT

To all you ladies now at land,

We men at sea indite;

But first would have ye understand
How hard it is to write :

The Muses now and Neptune, too,

We must implore to write to you.

For tho' the Muses should prove kind,

And fill our empty brain,

Yet, if rough Neptune call the wind

To rouse the azure main,

Our paper, pen, and ink, and we

Roll up and down our ships at sea.

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.

The King, with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold,
Because the tides will higher rise,
Than e'er they used of old:
But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs.

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

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,

And say they've gained no glory;

For what resistance can they find

From men who've left their hearts behind?

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.

Charles Sackville

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.

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.

When any mournful tune you hear,

That dies in every note,

1

As if it sighed with each man's care

For being so remote ;

Think then how often love we've made

To you, when all those tunes were played.

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.