George Wither

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 be not so to me, What care I how fair she be? Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well-disposed nature Joinèd 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 merits' value known Make me quite forget mine own? Be she with that goodness blest Which may gain her name of Best; If she seem not such to me, What care I how good she 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 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?