"Farewell, ye rocks, ye seas and sands"
di Thomas d'Urfey (1653-1723)

Farewell, ye rocks, ye seas and sands,
Green Neptune I despise,
I'll rather court the pleasant strands,
Than all his wat'ry joys.
Inconstant bliss our fate beguiles,
The sea like love we find,
Where calms are like fair Cynthia's smiles,
And frowns like gusts of wind.

"Port, port, port,
Hear the noise
Of the tarpaulin boys,
Luff, haul aft the sheet"
Is the mariner's wit;
A plague of their ignorant prattle,
And send me to land,
Where I may command
A pretty kind wench and a bottle.

With all God's miracles at land
Let me acquainted be,
Let fools that more would understand,
Go find them out at sea.
His mighty works I'll praise on shore,
And there his blessings reap,
But from this moment seek nor more
His wonders in the deep.

Port, port...
The merchant, when his sails are furl'd,
Glides o'er the foamy main,
And ploughs with ease the wat'ry world,
So great a charm is gain.
When avarice has any bounds,
If his contented were,
I'd wage a hundred thousand pounds
He never would come there.

Port, port...