If all the earth, and love herself, were yet young maidens fair,

And Truth in every sailor's tongue,

These pretty pleasures might I move,

To live with you and be your love.

Time drives the ships from wave unto wave

When tempests rage and seas grow cold,

And songs of seagulls become silent memories;

The rest complains of cares to come.

Could youth but last and love still breed,

Had joys no date, nor age, nor need,

These delights my mind might move

To buy your love,

Nymph of the Sea!