The Old Lament

What maketh lads so cruel be?
Amid the spume and wrack.
They pass the door and put to sea,
And never more come back.

The grey, salt wind winds down the wave,
The galleon flouts the bay,
And cobles and coggers are raising their sails:
God keep 'ee down on the quay!
With a hoist at thy tackles, a haul at thy blocks,
And a hail to a hastening crew.
He'll take'ee Who gave'ee thy goldilocks
Ere I pardon thine eyes o' blue.

Not once to ha' lookèd within my hood!
Nor guessed I quailed on the strand
Wi' thee in the boats! Thro' my pent-up door
I ha' kissed to 'ee my hand.
They'll rive thy keel wi' their cannon shocks,
And sink 'ee and all thy crew;
And they'll leave to the raven and cliff-homed fox
Thy kindly eyes o' blue.

Why need 'ee pass my open door
Each breaking o' the day?
What made 'ee take that selfsame path
And never another way?
I'll find 'ee stretched on the grinding rocks
With a Frenchman's shot shot through,
And the mermaid's weed from thy goldilocks
Across thine eyes o' blue.

What made'ee lad, so cruel be?
Amid the spume and wrack,
To pass the door and put to sea
And never once look back!