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Should my heart be griev'd or pin'd,
Cause I see a woman kind ?
Or a well disposed nature,
Joined 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 the be.

Shall a womans virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her well-deservings known,
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be The with that goodness bleft,
Which may gain her, name of Best ;

If she be not such to me,
What care I how good the be.

Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool, and die?
Those that bear a noble mind,
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them, they would do,
That without them dare to woo :

And, unless that mind I fee,
What care I though great she be.

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair:
If he love me, this believe,
I will die, ere the shall grieve.

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If the lay them out to take
Kisses for good-manners fake ;
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip;

If she seem not chaste to me,
What care I how chaste the be.

No, she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show,
Warming but as snow-balls do,
Not like fire by burning too;
But when she by chance hath got
To her heart a second lot ;

Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she be.

SONG XXV.

BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

WHY

HY so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?
Prithee why so pale ?

Why so dull and mute, young finner ?

Prithee why so mute ?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't ?
Prithee why so mute?)

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Quit, quit for shame; this will not move,

This cannot take her ;
If of herself the will not love,

Nothing can make her;
The devil take her.

SONG XXVI.

Y

E little Loves, that round her wait,

To bring me tidings of my fate ;
As Celia on her pillow lies,
Ah! gently whisper, Strephon dies,

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TIS now since I sat down before

That foolish fort, a heart,
(Time ftrangely spent) a year, or more,

And still I did my part :

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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;
I thought to undermine the heart

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 :
And brought myself to lie at length

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.

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