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Chapter 179 : TO AN INCONSTANT I loved thee once; I'll love no more,-- Thine be the grief as is

TO AN INCONSTANT

I loved thee once; I'll love no more,-- Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same?

He that can love unloved again, Hath better store of love than brain: G.o.d send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away!

Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, If thou hadst still continued mine; Yea, if thou hadst remained thy own, I might perchance have yet been thine.

But thou thy freedom didst recall, That it thou might elsewhere enthrall: And then how could I but disdain A captive's captive to remain?

When new desires had conquered thee, And changed the object of thy will, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy, to love thee still.

Yea, it had been a sin to go And prost.i.tute affection so, Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray.

Yet do thou glory in thy choice,-- Thy choice of his good fortune boast; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice, To see him gain what I have lost: The height of my disdain shall be, To laugh at him, to blush for thee; To love thee still, but go no more A-begging at a beggar's door.

Robert Ayton [1570-1638]

ADVICE TO A GIRL

Never love unless you can Bear with all the faults of man!

Men sometimes will jealous be, Though but little cause they see, And hang the head, as discontent, And speak what straight they will repent.

Men, that but one Saint adore, Make a show of love to more; Beauty must be scorned in none, Though but truly served in one: For what is courts.h.i.+p but disguise?

True hearts may have dissembling eyes.

Men, when their affairs require, Must awhile themselves retire; Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, And not ever sit and talk:-- If these and such-like you can bear, Then like, and love, and never fear!

Thomas Campion [?--1619]

SONG That Women Are But Men's Shadows From "The Forest"

Follow a shadow, it still flies you; Seem to fly it, it will pursue: So court a mistress, she denies you; Let her alone, she will court you.

Say, are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men?

At morn and even, shades are longest; At noon they are or short or none: So men at weakest, they are strongest, But grant us perfect, they're not known.

Say, are not women truly then, Styled but the shadows of us men?

Ben Johnson [1573?-1637]

TRUE BEAUTY

May I find a woman fair And her mind as clear as air!

If her beauty go alone, 'Tis to me as if 'twere none.

May I find a woman rich, And not of too high a pitch!

If that pride should cause disdain, Tell me, Lover, where's thy gain?

May I find a woman wise, And her falsehood not disguise!

Hath she wit as she hath will, Double-armed she is to ill.

May I find a woman kind, And not wavering like the wind!

How should I call that love mine When 'tis his, and his, and thine?

May I find a woman true!

There is beauty's fairest hue: There is beauty, love, and wit.

Happy he can compa.s.s it!

Francis Beaumont [1584-1616]

THE INDIFFERENT

Never more will I protest To love a woman but in jest: For as they cannot be true, So to give each man his due, When the wooing fit is past, Their affection cannot last.

Therefore if I chance to meet With a mistress fair and sweet, She my service shall obtain, Loving her for love again: Thus much liberty I crave Not to be a constant slave.

But when we have tried each other, If she better like another, Let her quickly change for me; Then to change am I as free.

He or she that loves too long Sell their freedom for a song.

Francis Beaumont [1584-1616]

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 flowery 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 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 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?