The Seaman of Dover

The Seaman of Dover

A Seaman of Dover, whose excellent parts
For wisdome and learning, had conquer’d the hearts
Of many young damsels of beauty so bright;
him this new ditty in brief I shall write.
And shew of his turnings and windings of fate,
His passions and sorrows so many and great
And how he was blessed with love at last,
When all the rough storms of troubles was past.
Now to be brief, I shall tell you the truth,
A beautiful lady whose name was Ruth,
A squire’s young daughter, near Sandwich in Kent,
Proves all his heart’s treasure, his Joy and content.
Unknown to her parents in private they meet,
Where many love lessons they’d often repeat.
With kisses and many embraces likewise,
She granted him love, thus gained the prize.
She said, I consent to be thy sweet bride,
Whate’er becomes of my fortune she cry’d,
The frowns of my father I never will fear,
But freely go thro’ the world with my dear.
A jewel he gave in token of love,
And vow’d by the sacred powers above,
To wed the next morning; but they were deceiv’d,
And all by the means of a treacherous maid.
She told her parents that they were agreed,
With that they fell in a passion with speed.
And said, ‘Ere a seaman their daughter should have,
They had rather follow her corpse to the grave.
The lady was strait to her chamber confined.
Here long she continu’d in sorrow of mind:
And so did her love for the loss of his dear.
No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe.
When long he had mourn’d for his love and delight,
Just under the window he came in the night,
And sung forth this ditty, My dearest farewel,
Behold in this nation no longer I dwell,
I’m going from thence to the kingdom of Spain,
Because I am willing that you should obtain
Your freedom once more, for my heart will break
If longer thou liest confin’d for my sake.
The words which he utter’d, caused her to weep
Yet nevertheless she was forced to keep
Thus silence that minute, that minute for fear,
Her honour’d father and mother should hear.

PART II.

Soon after bold Henry he enter’d on board,
The heavens a prosperous gale did afford,
And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain,
There he with a merchant some time did remain.
Who finding he was both faithful and just,
Prefer’d him to places of honour and trust,
He made him as great as his heart could request.
Yet wanting his Ruth, he with grief was opprest.
So great was his grief it could not be conceal’d,
Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield,
In private he often would weep and lament,
For Ruth, the fair beautiful lady of Kent.
Now while he lamented the loss of his dear,
A lady of Spain did before him appear,
Deck’d with rich jewels both costly and gay,
Who earnestly sought for his favour that day.
Said she, Gentle swain, I am wounded with love,
And you are the person I honour above,
The greatest of nobles that ever was born,
Then pity thy sorrowful tears, he reply’d,
And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride;
But lady thy grandeur is greater than mind,
Therefore I am fearful my heart to resign.
O never be doubtful of what will ensue,
No manner of danger will happen to you,
At my own disposal I am I declare,
Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.
Dear madam, don’t fix your affection on me,
You are fit for some lord of noble degree,
That is able to keep up your honour and fame,
I am but a sailor from England I came,
A man of mean fortune, whose substance is small,
I have not werewith to maintain you withal;
Sweet lady, according to honour and state,
Now this is the truth that I freely relate.
The lady she lovingly squeezed his hand,
And said with a smile, blessed be the land:
That bred such a noble brave seaman as thee,
I value no honour, thou’rt welcome to me.
My parents are dead, I have jewels untold,
Beside in possession a million of gold:
And thou shalt be a lord of whatever I have
Grant me but thy love; which I earnestly crave.
Then turning aside, to himself he replies,
I am courted with riches and beauty beside,
This love I may have; but my Ruth is deny’d,
Wherefore he consented to make her his bride.
The lady cloathed him glorious and great,
His noble deportment, both proper and strait,
So charmed the innocent eyes of his dove,
And added a second new flame to her love.
Then marry’d they were without longer delay,
Now here we will leave them both glorious and gays
To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was left,
At home with her parents of comfort bereft.

PART III.

When under the window with an aching heart
He told his Ruth he soon must depart,
Her parents they heard and well pleased were,
But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care.
Now after her lover had quited the shore,
The kept her confin’d a twelvemonth or more.
And then they were pleased to set her at large,
With laying upon her a wonderful charge.
To fly from a seaman as she would from death;
She promised she would with a trembling breath;
Yet nevertheless the truth you shall hear,
She found out a way to follow her dear.
Then taken her gold and her silver also,
In seaman’s apparel away she did go:
And found out a master, with whom she agreed,
To carry her over the ocean with speed.
Now when she arriv’d at the kingdom of Spain
From city to city we travelled amain:
Enquiring everywhere for her love,
Who had been gone seven years and above.
In Calais as she walked along in the street,
Her love and his lady she happen’d to meet.
But in such a garb as she never had seen,
She look’d like an angel or beautiful queen
With sorrowful tears she turn’d herself aside,
My jewel is gone, I shall ne’er be his bride.
But nevertheless, tho’ my hopes are in vain,
I’ll never return back to England again.
But here in this place I will be confin’d,
It will be a joy and comfort to my mind,
To see him sometimes, tho’ he thinks not of me,
Since he has a lady of noble degree.
Now while in the city fair Ruth did reside,
Of a sudden this beautiful lady she dy’d,
And tho’ he was in the possession of all,
Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall.
As he was expressing his piteous moan,
Fair Ruth came to him, and made herself known.
He started to see her, but seemed not coy,
Said he, Now my sorrows are mingled with joy.
The time of mourning he kept in Spain,
And then he came to Old England again:
With thousands and thousands, which he did possess,
Then glorious and gay was fair Ruth in her dress.

PART IV.

When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came,
With Ruth and numbers of persons of fame,
Then all did appear most splended and gay.
As if it had been a coronation day.
Now when they took up their lodgings, behold,
He stript off his coat of embroaider’d gold.
And presently borrows a mariner’s suit,
That he with her parents might have some dispute.
Before they were sensible he was great,
And when he came and knock’d at the gate,
He soon saw her father and mother likewise,
Expressing their sorrow with tears in his eyes.
To them with obeysance he modestly said,
Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid?
Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel,
I fear by your weeping that all is not well.
No, no, she is gone, she is utterly lost,
We have not heard of her this twelvemonth past,
Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care,
And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.
I’m grieved to hear these sad tidings he said,
Alas! honest young man her father then said,
I heartily wish she’d been wedded to you,
When we this sorrow had never gone through.
Sweet Henry, made them this answer again
I am newly come from the kingdom of Spain,
From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride,
And am to be marry’d to-morrow, he cry’d.
And if you will go to my wedding said he,
Both you and your lady right welcome shall be,
They promis’d they would, and accordingly came
Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame.
All deck’d in their jewels of rubies and pearls,
As equal companions of lords and earls.
Fair Ruth with her love were as gay as the rest
So they in their marriage were happily blest.
Now as they return’d from the church to an inn,
The father and mother of Ruth did begin
To know their daughter by a certain mole,
Altho’ she was cloathed in garment of gold.
With transports of joy they flew to the bride,
O where hast thou been sweet daughter they cry’d?
Thy tedious absence hath grieved us sore,
As fearing, alas! we should see you no more.
Dear parents, said she, many hazards I run,
To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son
Receive him with joy, for ’tis very well known,
He seeks not your wealth, he’s enough of his own.
Her father reply’d and merrily smil’d,
He brought home enough as he brought home my child
A thousands times welcome you are I declare,
Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.
Full seven long days then in feasting they spent
The bells in the steeples they merrily went,
And many fair pounds were bestow’d on the poor.
The like of this wedding was never before.

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BBO Roud Number: 180

ECCO Gale Document Number: CW111067437

ESTC Citation Numbers: T47232