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Song.
[Wert thou yet fairer then thou art]
By M. W. M.
Wert
thou yet fairer then thou art,
Which lies not in the power of Art,
Or hadst thou in thine Eyes more Darts
Then ever Cupid shot at Hearts;
Yet if they were not thrown at me
I would not cast a Thought on Thee.
Which lies not in the power of Art,
Or hadst thou in thine Eyes more Darts
Then ever Cupid shot at Hearts;
Yet if they were not thrown at me
I would not cast a Thought on Thee.
Ide rather marry a Disease,
Than court the thing I cannot please:
She that will cherish my Desires
Must meet my Flames with equal Fires.
What pleasure is there in a Kisse
To him that doubts the Hearts not his?
Than court the thing I cannot please:
She that will cherish my Desires
Must meet my Flames with equal Fires.
What pleasure is there in a Kisse
To him that doubts the Hearts not his?
I love thee not because th' art fair
Softer then down smoother then Air;
Nor for the Cupids that do lie
In either Corner of thine Eye:
Wouldst thou then know what is might be?
'Tis I love you, cause you love me.
Softer then down smoother then Air;
Nor for the Cupids that do lie
In either Corner of thine Eye:
64
'Tis I love you, cause you love me.
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