LXXII.

GEORGE WITHER, 1590?-1667.

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

HALL I, wasting in despair,

SHAL

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 to me

What care I how fair she be?

Should my heart be grieved or pined,
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined 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 well-deserving known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest,
Which may gain her name of best,
If she be not such 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, That without them dare to woo,

And unless that mind I see,

What care I, though 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?

Who's that, said I, beats there,

And troubles thus the sleepy?

Cast off, said he, all fear;

And let not locks thus keep ye.

For I a boy am, who

By moonless nights have swerved;
And all with showers wet through,
And e'en with cold half starved.

I pitiful arose,

And soon a taper lighted;
And did myself disclose

Unto the lad benighted.

I saw he had a bow,

And wings too, which did shiver; And looking down below,

I spied he had a quiver.

I to my chimney's shine

Brought him, as love professes, And chafed his hands with mine, And dried his dropping tresses:

But when he felt him warmed,
Let's try this bow of ours,
And string, if they be harmed,

Said he, with these late showers.

Forthwith his bow he bent,

And wedded string and arrow,

And struck me, that it went

Quite through my heart and marrow.

Then laughing loud, he flew

Away, and thus said flying, Adieu, mine host, adieu,

I'll leave thy heart a-dying.

LXXIV.

THE TEAR.

GLIDE, gentle streams, and bear

Along with you my tear

To that coy girl;

Who smiles, yet slays

Me with delays,

And strings my tears as pearl.

See! see! she's yonder set,

Making a carcanet

Of maiden flowers:

There, there present

This orient,

And pendant pearl of ours.

Then say, I've sent one more

Gem to enrich her store;

And that is all

Which I can send

Or vainly spend,

For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply

Of them, the springs once dry;