To you fair Ladies now at Land, We Men at Sea indite; But first wou'd have you understand, How hard it is to write: The Muses now, and _Neptune_ too, We must implore to write to you; _With a Fa la, la, la, la_, The Muses now, _&c._ But tho' the Muses should be kind, And fill our empty Brain; Yet if rough _Neptune_ cause the Wind, To rouse the _Azure_ Main: Our Paper, Pens, and Ink and we, Rowl up and down our Ships at Sea, _With a Fa la_, &c. Then if we write not by each Post, Think not that we're unkind; Nor yet conclude that we are lost, By _Dutch_, by _French_, or Wind, Our grief will find a speedier way, The Tide shall bring them twice a day, _With a Fa la_, &c. The King with wonder and surprize, Will think the Seas grown bold; For that the Tide does higher rise, Then e'er it did of old: But let him know that 'tis our Tears, Sends floods of Grief to _White-Hall_ Stairs, _With a Fa la_, &c. Shou'd Count _Thoulouse_ but come to know, Our sad and dismal Story; The _French_ wou'd scorn so weak a Foe, Where they can get no Glory: For what resistance can they find, From Men as left their Hearts behind, _With a Fa la_, &c. To pass our tedious time away, We throw the merry Main; Or else at serious _Ombra_ play, But why shou'd we in vain, Each others ruin thus pursue, We were undone when we left you, _With a Fa la_, &c. When any mournful Tune you hear, That dyes in e'ery Note; As if it sigh'd for each Man's care, 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, _With a Fa la._, &c. Thus having told you all our Loves, And likewise all our Fears; In hopes this Declaration moves, Some Pity to our Tears: Let's hear of no Inconstancy, We have too much of that at Sea, _With a Fa, la, la, la, la._ _Bonny_ KATHERN LOGGY. _A_ Scotch SONG. [Music] As I came down the hey Land Town, There was Lasses many, Sat in a Rank, on either Bank, And ene more gay than any; Ise leekt about for ene kind Face, And Ise spy'd _Willy Scroggy_; Ise spir'd of him what was her Name, And he caw'd her _Kathern Loggy_. A sprightly bonny Gurl sha was, And made my Heart to rise _Joe_; Sha was so fair sa blith a Lass, And Love was in her Eyes so: Ise walkt about like ene possest, And quite forgot poor _Moggy_; For nothing now could give me rest, But bonny _Kathern Loggy_.