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GEORGE WITHER.

SONG.
SHALL I, wasting in despair,

Die because a woman's fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May;

If she be not so for me,

What care I how fair she be?
Shall my foolish heart be pin'd,
'Cause I see a woman kind;
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican ;

If she be not so to me,

What care I how kind she be?
Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well-deservings known,
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit name of best;

If she be not kind to me,
What care I how good she be?
Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do,
Who without them dare to woo;

And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die e'er she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
If she be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be?

And I courted Phillis too;
Daphne for her love I chose ;
Chloris, for that damask rose
In her cheek, I held as dear,
Yea, a thousand liked, well-near;
And, in love with all together,
Feared the enjoying either;
'Cause to be of one possess'd,
Barr'd the hope of all the rest.

LORDLY gallants, tell me this:

Though my safe content you weigh not,
In your greatness what onę bliss
Have you gain'd, that I enjoy, not?

You have honours, you have wealth,
I have peace, and I have health;
All the day I merry make,

And at night no care I take.
Bound to none my fortunes be ;

This or that man's fall I fear not;
Him I love that loveth me;
For the rest a pin I care not.

You are sad when others chafe,
And grow merry as they laugh;
I, that hate it, and am free,
Laugh and weep as pleaseth me.

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WANTONS! 'tis not your sweet eyings,

Forced passions, feigned dyings,
Gestures, temptings, tears, beguilings,
Dancings, singings, kissings, smilings,
Nor those painted sweets, with which
You unwary men bewitch,
(All united, nor asunder)
That can compass such a wonder,
Or to win you love prevail,
Where her moving virtues fail.

Beauties! 'tis not all those features Placed in the fairest creatures, Though their best they should discover, That can tempt, from her, a lover. "Tis not those soft snowy breasts, Where love, rock'd by pleasure, rests, Nor the nectar that we sip From a honey.dropping lip; Nor those eyes whence beauty's lances Wound the heart with wanton glances ; Nor those sought delights, that lie In love's hidden treasury, ) That can liking gain, where she Will the best-beloved be.

For, should those who think they may Draw my love from her away, Bring forth all their female graces, Wrap me in their close embraces; Practise all the arts they may, Weep, or sing, or kiss, or pray; One poor thought of her would arm me So as Circe could not harm me. Since, besides those excellencies, Wherewith others charm the senses, She whom I have praised so, Yields delight for reason too. Who could doat on thing so common, As mere outward-handsome woman?

Those half-beauties only win
Fools to let affection ini
Vulgar wits, from reason shaken,
Are with such impostures taken ;
And, with all their art in love,
Wantons can but wantons move.

THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. HENCE, away, thou syren, leave

me,
Pish! unclasp these wanton arms;
Sugar'd words can ne'er deceive me,
(Though thou prove a thousand charms);
Fie, fie, forbear,

No common snare
Can ever my affection chain :

Thy painted baits,

And poor deceits,
Are all bestow'd on me in vain.
I'm no slave to such as you be,

Neither shall that snowy breast,
Rolling eye, and lip of ruby,
Ever rob me of my rest:

Go, go, display

Thy beauty's ray
To some more-soon-enamour'd swain:

Those common wiles,

Of sighs and smiles,
Are all bestow'd on me in vain.
I have elsewhere vow'd a duty;

Turn away thy tempting eye:
Shew not me a painted beauty,
These impostures I defy:

My spirit loaths

Where gaudy cloaths,
And feigned oaths, may love obtain:

I love her so,

Whose look swears no;
That all thy labours will be vain.

7

Can he prize the tainted posies

Which on every breast are worn, That may pluck the virgin roses From their never-touched thorn?

I can go rest

On her sweet breast,
That is the pride of Cynthia's train :

Then stay thy tongue,

Thy mermaid song
Is all bestow'd on me in vain.
He's a fool that basely dallies

Where each peasant mates with him ; Shall I haunt the thronged valleys, Whilst there's nobler hills to climb ?

No, no; though clowns

Are scar'd with frowns,
I know the best can but disdain :

And those I'll prove,

So will thy love
Be all bestow'd on me in vain.
I do scorn to vow a duty,

Where each lustful lad may woo :
Give me her, whose sun-like beauty,
Buzzards dare not soar unto :
She, she it is

Affords that bliss
For which I would refuse no pain :

But such as you,

Fond fools, adieu; You seek to captive me in vain. Leave me then, you syrens, leave me,

Seek no more to work my harms; Crafty wiles cannot deceive me, Who am proof against your charms:

You labour may

To lead astray The heart that constant shall remain;

And I the while

Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vain.

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