The Poetry of George Wither :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hence away, thou Siren, leave me;
Pish, unclasp your wanton arms;
Sugared words can ne'er deceive me
Though thou prove a thousand charms.
Fie, fie, forbear; no common snare
Can ever my affection chain;
Thy sugared baits of love-deceits
Are all bestowed on me in vain.

I have elsewhere vowed a duty:
Turn away thy tempting eye;
Show not me thy painted beauty;
These impostures I defy.
My spirit loathes where gaudy clothes
And feigned oaths may love obtain;
I love her so whose look swears “no,”
That all thy labour will be vain.

142

I'm no slave to such as you be;
Nor shall that soft snowy breast,
Rolling eye, nor lip of ruby
Ever rob me of my rest.
Go, go display thy beauty's ray
To some more-soon enamoured swain;
Thy forced wiles of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vain.

Can he prize the tainted posies
That on other's breast are worn,
Which may pluck the virgin roses
From the never-touched thorn?
I can go rest on her sweet breast
That is the pride of Cynthia's train:
Then stay thy tongue; thy mermaid's song
Is all bestowed on me in vain.

He's a fool that basely dallies
Where each peasant mates with him.
Shall I haunt the thronged valleys
When there's noble hills to climb?
No, no; though clowns are scared with frowns,
I know the best can but disdain;
Then those I'll prove, so will your love
Be all bestowed on me in vain.

Yet I would not deign embraces
With the fairest queens that be,

143

If another shared those graces
Which they had bestowed on me.
I'll grant that one my love, where none
Shall come to rob me of my gain;
The fickle heart makes tears, and art,
And all, bestowed on me in vain.

I do scorn to vow a duty
Where each lustful lad may woo;
Give me her whose sun-like beauty
Buzzards dare not soar unto.
She it is affords that bliss
For which I would refuse no pain,
But such as you, fond fools, adieu!
You seek to captive me in vain.

She that's proud in the beginning
And disdains each looker-on,
Is a harpy in the winning,
But a turtle being won.
Whate'er betide she'll ne'er divide
The favour she to one doth deign
But fondlings' loves uncertain proves;
All, all that trust in them are vain.

Therefore know, when I enjoy one,
And for love employ my breath,
She I court shall be a coy one,
Though I purchase 't with my death.

144

The pleasures there few aim at dare;
But if perhaps a lover plain
She is not won, nor I undone,
By placing of my love in vain.

Leave me, then, thou Siren, leave me;
Take away these charmed arms;
Craft thou seest can ne'er deceive me;
I am proof 'gainst women's charms.
Oft fools essay to lead astray
The heart that constant must remain;
But I the while do sit and smile
To see them spend their love in vain.