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George Witber

No; she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show,
Warming but as snow-balls do,
Not like fire, by burning too;
But when she by change hath got
To her heart a second lot;

Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she be !

It certainly has a remarkable likeness to Wither's hand, but it may be the poem upon which The Shepherd's Resolution was designed. He was a prolific author, and in the autumn of life wrote Hymns and Songs for the Church. He died in 1667. Wither has been long in disrepute, and no less eminent a critic than Mr. Edmund Gosse, in his Gossip in a Library (1892), tells us, what is only too true, that Wither by his 'precautions,' 'personal contributions to the national humiliation,' etc., 'really became the greatest bore in Christendom.' Mr. Gosse and other critics have, however, all admired Wither's early work.

A Stolen Kiss

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe ;

And free access unto that sweet lip lies,

From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.
Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal

From those two melting rubies one poor kiss;
None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,
Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss;
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,

There would be little sign I would do so;
Why then should I this robbery delay ?

O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow!
Well, if she do, I'll back restore that one,
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.

A Love Sonnet

I LOVED a lass, a fair one,
As fair as e'er was seen,
She was indeed a rare one,
Another Sheba Queene;
But foole as then I was,
I thought she lov'd me too,
But now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

Her hair like gold did glister,
Each eye was like a star,
She did surpass her sister
Which past all others farre ;
She would me honey call-
She'd oh-she'd kiss me too,
But now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

In summer time to Medley
My love and I would go-
The boatmen there stood ready
My love and I to row;

For cream there would we call,
For cakes, and for prunes too,
But now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

George Witber

Many a merry meeting
My love and I have had ;
She was my only sweeting,
She made my heart full glad ;
The tears stood in her eyes,
Like to the morning dew,
But now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

And as abroad we walked

As lover's fashion is,

Oft as we sweetly talked,
The sun would steal a kiss;
The wind upon her lips
Likewise most sweetly blew,

But now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

Her cheeks were like the cherry,

Her skin as white as snow,

When she was blythe and merry,

She angel-like did show :
Her waist exceeding small,

The fives did fit her shoe,
But now, alas ! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

In summer time or winter,
She had her heart's desire,
I still did scorn to stint her,
From sugar, sack, or fire.

The world went round about,
No cares we ever knew,

But now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

As we walk'd home together
At midnight through the town,
To keep away the weather-
O'er her I'd cast my gown;
No cold my love should feel,
Whate'er the heavens could do,
But now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

Like doves we would be billing,
And clip and kiss so fast,
Yet she would be unwilling
That I should kiss the last;
They're Judas kisses now,
Since that they prov'd untrue,
For now, alas! sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

To maiden's vows and swearing,

Henceforth no credit give,

You may give them the hearing—

But never them believe;

They are as false as fair,

Unconstant, frail, untrue;

George Wither

For mine, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

'Twas I that paid for all things, 'Twas other drank the wine, I cannot now recall things, Live but a fool to pine:

'Twas I that beat the bush,
The bird to others flew,

For she, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

If ever that Dame Nature,
For this false lover's sake
Another pleasing creature
Like unto her would make,
Let her remember this,

To make the other true,
For this, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

No riches now can raise me,
No want makes me despair,
No misery amaze me,
Nor yet for want I care :
I have lost a world itself,

My earthly heaven, adieu !

Since she, alas! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo.

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