The Poetry of George Wither Edited by Frank Sidgwick |
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THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A SONNET. |
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 | The Poetry of George Wither |  |
138
THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A SONNET.
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 think not well of me,
What care I how fair she be?
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 think not well of me,
What care I how fair she be?
Shall my seely heart be 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?
'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-deservings known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit name of best,
If she be not such to me
What care I how good she be?
Me to perish for her love?
139
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit 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?
She that bears a noble mind,
If not outward helps she find,
Thinks what with them he would do
That without them dares her woo;
And unless that mind I see
What care I how great she be?
Shall I play the fool and die?
She that bears a noble mind,
If not outward helps she find,
Thinks what with them he would do
That without them dares her 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?
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?
| The Poetry of George Wither | |