GEORGE WITHER. This poet was born in 1588, and died in 1667. He was a most voluminous writer; but no complete edition of his works was ever published, although no author perhaps was ever more admired by his contemporaries. A list of his pieces is given in Wood's account of his life, (Ath. Vol. II. page 391.) and at the end of a small pamphlet called "Extracts from Juvenilia, &c. printed by George Bigg, 66 1785;" and a more complete catalogue at the end of "Fides Anglicana, 1662.” [The following Extracts are all to be found in his "Mistresse "of Phil'arete," 1622; though in the first and seventh pieces, the text of the pirated edition (1620) has been sometimes preferred.] SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or my cheeks make pale with care, 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, Shall my foolish heart be pin'd, 'Cause I see a woman kind; If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move '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, Who without them dare to woo; And unless that mind I see, What care I though great she be? Great or good, or kind or fair, AMARYLLIS I did woo, LORDLY gallants, tell me this: Though my safe content you weigh not, In your greatness what one bliss Have you gain'd, that I enjoy not? You have honours, you have wealth, I have peace, and I have health; And at night no care I take. Bound to none my fortunes be; This or that man's fall I fear not; Him I love that loveth me; For the rest a pin I care not. You are sad when others chafe, WANTONS! 'tis not your sweet eyings, Gesture's temptings, tear's beguilings, Nor those painted sweets, with which You unwary men bewitch, (All united, nor asunder) That can compass such a wonder, Or to win you love prevail, Where her moving virtues fail. Beauties! 'tis not all those features Placed in the fairest creatures, Though their best they should discover, Nor those eyes whence beauty's lances That can liking gain, where she Will the best-beloved be. For, should those who think they may Draw my love from her away, Bring forth all their female graces, Wrap me in their close embraces; Practise all the art they may, Weep, or sing, or kiss, or pray;— |