Shall I, wasting in despaire,
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 foolish heart be 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 she be?
Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her well-deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be shee with that goodnesse blest
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 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, unless that minde I see,
What care I how great she 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;
If she be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be?
