  SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman’s fair? Or make pale my cheek with care, ’Cause another’s rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be! Should my foolish heart be pined ’Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well disposÈd nature JoinÈd with a lovely feature? Be she meeker, kinder, than 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 merit’s value known, Make me quite forget my own? Be sure with that goodness blest Which may gain her name of best, If she seem not such to me, ’Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind, Where they want of richness 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 ere she shall grieve: If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go: For, if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be! George Wither. |
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