KIND ARE HER ANSWERS 179 CCII 2 FOLLOW a shadow, it still flies you; At morn and even, shades are longest; CCIII B. Jonson. KIND ARE HER ANSWERS KIND are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers From their own music when they stray. All her free favours and smooth words Wing my hopes in vain. O did ever voice so sweet but only feign? Converting joy to pain? Lost is our freedom When we submit to woman so: Why do we need 'em When, in their best, they work our woe? There is no wisdom Can alter ends by fate prefixt. O why is the good of man with evil mixt? Never were days yet called two But one night went betwixt. CCIV T. Campion. THE SCORNER SCORNED SHALL I, wasting in despair, Be she fairer than the day, Shall my silly heart be pined THE SCORNER SCORNED Be she meeker, kinder, than If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's virtues move What care I how good she be? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Thinks what with them he would do Great, or good, or kind, or fair, For if she be not for me, 181 What care I for whom she be? CCV TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS I DO confess thou 'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the slightest prayer had power to move thee; That lips could move, As worthy to be loved by none. I do confess thou 'rt sweet; yet find That kisseth everything it meets : The morning rose that untouch'd stands Arm'd with her briars, how sweet she smells! But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, Her sweets no longer with her dwells : But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one. Such fate ere long will thee betide When thou hast handled been awhile, With sere flowers to be thrown aside ; And I shall sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love to every one Hath brought thee to be loved by none. Sir R. Ayton. FAITHLESS, FICKLE 183 CCVI FAITHLESS, FICKLE CAN a maid that is well bred, Break her promise, untrue prove, Him to whom she vow'd respect? Such a maid, alas! I know: O that weeds 'mongst corn should grow! Wounding where she ought to save! Reason, wake, and sleep no more! Think on her and be afraid Of a faithless, fickle maid. Of a faithless, fickle maid Anon. |