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

Hail, thou fairest of all creatures
Upon whom the sun doth shine,
Model of all rarest features
And perfections most divine.
Thrice all hail, and blessed be
Those that love and honour thee.

Of thy worth this rural story
Thy unworthy swain hath penn'd;
And to thy ne'er-ending glory,
These plain numbers doth commend,
Which ensuing times shall warble,
When 'tis lost that's writ in marble.

Though thy praise and high deservings
Cannot all be here express'd,
Yet my love and true observings
Someway ought to be profess'd,
And where greatest love we see,
Highest things attempted be.

By thy beauty I have gained
To behold the best perfections;
By the love I have obtained,
To enjoy the best affections.
And my tongue to sing thy praise,
Love and beauty thus doth raise.

What although in rustic shadows
I a shepherd's breeding had?
And confined to these meadows
So in homespun russet clad?
Such as I have now and then
Dared as much as greater men.

Though a stranger to the Muses,
Young, obscured, and despis'd:
Yet such art thy love infuses,
That I thus have poetiz'd.
Read, and be content to see
Thy admired power in me.

And, oh grant, thou sweetest beauty
Wherewith ever earth was grac'd,
That this trophy of my duty
May with favour be embrac'd:
And disdain not in these rhymes
To be sung to after-times.

Let those doters on Apollo
That adore the Muses so,
And like geese each other follow,
See what love alone can do.
For in love-lays, grove and field
Nor to schools nor courts will yield.

On this glass of thy perfection
If that any women pry,
Let them thereby take direction
To adorn themselves thereby.

And if aught amiss they view,
Let them dress themselves anew.

Young men shall by this acquainted
With the truest beauties grow,
So the counterfeit or painted
They may shun when them they know.
But the way all will not find,
For some eyes have, yet are blind.

Thee entirely I have loved,
So thy sweetness on me wrought;
Yet thy beauty never moved
Ill temptations in my thought,
But still did thy beauty's ray,
Sun-like, drive those fogs away.

Those that mistresses are named,
And for that suspected be,
Shall not need to be ashamed,
If they pattern take by thee;
Neither shall their servants fear
Favours openly to wear.

Thou to no man favour deignest
But what's fitting to bestow;
Neither servants entertainest
That can ever wanton grow;
For the more they look on thee,
Their desires still bettered be.

This thy picture, therefore, show I
Naked unto every eye,

Yet no fear of rival know I,
Neither touch of jealousy;
For the more make love to thee,
I the more shall pleased be.

I am no Italian lover
That will mew thee in a jail;
But thy beauty I discover,
English-like, without a veil.
If thou may'st be won away,
Win and wear thee he that may.

Yet in this thou may'st believe me,
So indifferent though I seem,
Death with tortures would not grieve me
More than loss of thy esteem;
For if virtue me forsake,
All a scorn of me will make.

Then as I on thee relying
Do no changing fear in thee,
So, by my defects supplying,
From all changing keep thou me;
That unmatched we may prove,
Thou for beauty, I for love.

Then while their loves are forgotten
Who to pride and lust were slaves,
And their mistresses quite rotten
Lie unthought on in their graves.
Kings and queens, in their despite,
Shall to mind us take delight.