GEORGE WITHER
Which may merit name of Best, If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be?
'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die ? She that bears a noble mind, If not outward helps she find, Thinks what with them he would do That without them dares her woo; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be?
Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve; If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go, For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be?
��246 The Choice
' E so oft my fancy drew
Here and there, that I ne'er knew Where to place desire before So that range it might no more; But as he that passeth by Where, in all her jollity, Flora's riches in a row Do in seemly order grow, And a thousand flowers stand Bending as to kiss his hand;
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