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The Doubtfull Lover Resolv'd

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Fain wou'd I Love, but that I fear,
I quickly shou'd the Willow wear:
Fain wou'd I Marry, but Men say,
When Love is try'd, he will away.
Then tell me, Love, what I shall doe,
To cure these Fears whene'er I Wooe.
The Fair one, she's a mark to all;
The Brown one each doth lovely call;
The Black a Pearl in fair Mens Eyes,
The rest will stoop to any prize.
Then tell me, Love, what I shall doe,
To cure these Fears when e'er I Woe.

Reply

Go, Lover, know it is not I
That wound with fear or jealousie;
Nor do Men feel those [killing] smarts,
Untill they have confin'd their Hearts.
Then if you'll cure your Fears you shall
Love neither Fair, Black, Brown, but all.