Shall I, wasting in dispaire, Dye because a woman's faire? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosie are? Be shee fairer than the day, Or the flowry meads in May; If she think not well of me, What care I how faire shee be!
Shall my heart be griev'd or pin'd, 'Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well-disposed nature Joyned with a lovely feature? Be shee meeker, kinder, than The turtle-dove or pelican; If shee be not so to me, What care I how kind shee be?
Shall a woman's virtues move Me, to perish for her love? Or, her well-deservings knowne, Make me quite forget my owne? Be shee with that goodnesse blest, Which may merit name of Best; If she be not such to me, What care I how good shee be?
'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the foole and dye? Those that beare a noble minde, Where they want of riches find, Thinke what with them they would doe, That without them dare to woe; And, unlesse that minde I see, What care I, though great shee be?
Great or good, or kind or faire, I will ne'er the more dispaire: If she love me, this beleeve, I will die ere she shall grieve. If she slight me, when I wooe; I can scorne and let her goe: For, if shee be not for me, What care I for whom shee be?
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