Here you will find the Poem Song II of poet 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. Should my heart be grieved or pined 'Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well-disposèd nature Joinèd with a lovely creature? 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-deserving known, Make me quite forget mine own? Be she with that goodness blest Which may gain her 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? Those that bear a noble mind, Where they want or riches find, Think what with them they would do That 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, 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.
