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Should my heart be griev'd or pin'd,
If she be not so to me,
Shall a womans virtues move
If she be not such to me,
Cause her fortune seems too high,
And, unless that mind I fee,
Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
If the lay them out to take
If she seem not chaste to me,
No, she must be perfect snow,
Then, if others share with me,
BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
HY so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee why so pale?
Looking ill prevail?
Why so dull and mute, young finner ?
Prithee why so mute ?
Saying nothing do't ?
Quit, quit for shame; this will not move,
This cannot take her ;
Nothing can make her;
E little Loves, that round her wait,
To bring me tidings of my fate ;
TIS now since I sat down before
That foolish fort, a heart,
And still I did my part :
Made my approaches, from her hand
Unto her lip did rise, And did already understand
The language of the eyes.
Proceeded on with no less art,
My tongue was engineer;
By whispering in the ear.
When this did nothing, I brought down
Great cannon-oaths, and shot A thousand thousand to the town,
And still it yielded not.
I then resolv'd to starve the place,
By cutting off all kisses, Praying and gazing on her face,
And all such little blifles.
To draw her out, and from her strength,
I drew all batteries in :
As if no siege had been.
When I had done what man could do,
And thought the place mine own, The enemy lay quiet too,
And smil'd at all was done.