George Wither.

1588-1667

244   I loved a Lass

I LOVED a lass, a fair one,
   As fair as e’er was seen;
She was indeed a rare one,
   Another Sheba Queen:
But, fool as then I was,
   I thought she loved me too:
But now, alas! she’s left me,
   Falero, lero, loo!

Her hair like gold did glister,
Each eye was like a star,
She did surpass her sister,
Which pass’d all others far;
She would me ‘honey’ call,
She’d—O she’d kiss me too!
But now, alas! she’s left me,
Falero, lero, loo!

In summer time to Medley
   My love and I would go;
The boatmen there stood read’ly
   My love and me to row.
For cream there would we call,
   For cakes and for prunes too;
But now, alas! she’s left me,
   Falero, lero, loo!

Her cheeks were like the cherry,
   Her skin was white as snow;
When she was blithe and merry
   She angel-like did show;
Her waist exceeding small,
   The fives did fit her shoe:
But now, alas! she’s left me,
   Falero, lero, loo!

In summer time or winter
   She had her heart’s desire;
I still did scorn to stint her
   From sugar, sack, or fire;
The world went round about,
   No cares we ever knew:
But now, alas! she’s left me,
   Falero, lero, loo!

To maidens’ vows and swearing
   Henceforth no credit give;
You may give them the hearing,
   But never them believe;
They are as false as fair,
   Unconstant, frail, untrue:
For mine, alas! hath left me,
   Falero, lero, loo!

245   The Lover’s Resolution

SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman’s fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
’Cause another’s rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow’ry meads in May,
   If she think not well of me,
   What care I how fair she be?

Shall my silly heart be pined
’Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well disposàd nature
Joinàd with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican,
   If she 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 known
Make me quite forget my own?
Be she with that goodness 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 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

ME 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;
Out of which delightful