THE INCONSTANT.
89
And I'm so weak, the pistol need not be
Double or treble charg'd to murder me.
Double or treble charg'd to murder me.
If tall, the name of proper slays;
If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If low, her prettiness does please;
If black, what lover loves not night?
If yellow-hair'd, I love, lest it should be
Th' excuse to others for not loving me.
If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If low, her prettiness does please;
If black, what lover loves not night?
If yellow-hair'd, I love, lest it should be
Th' excuse to others for not loving me.
The fat, like plenty, fills my heart;
The lean, with love makes me too so:
If straight, her body's Cupid's darɩ
To me; if crooked, ’tis his bow:
Nay, age itself does me to rage incline,
And strength to women gives, as well as wine.
The lean, with love makes me too so:
If straight, her body's Cupid's darɩ
To me; if crooked, ’tis his bow:
Nay, age itself does me to rage incline,
And strength to women gives, as well as wine.
Just half as large as Charity
My richly-landed Love's become;
And, judg'd aright, is Constancy,
Though it take up a larger room:
Him, who loves always one, why should they call
More constant than the man loves always all?
My richly-landed Love's become;
And, judg'd aright, is Constancy,
Though it take up a larger room:
Him, who loves always one, why should they call
More constant than the man loves always all?
Thus with unwearied wings I flee
Through all love's gardens and his fields;
And, like the wise, industrious bee
No weed but honey to me yields!
Honey still spent this diligence still supplies,
Though I return not home with laden thighs.
Through all love's gardens and his fields;
And, like the wise, industrious bee
No weed but honey to me yields!
Honey still spent this diligence still supplies,
Though I return not home with laden thighs.
