Shall a woman's vices make
Me her vices quite forsake?
Or her faults to me make known,
Make me think that I have none?
Be She of the most accurst,
And deserve the name of worst!
If She be not so to me,
What care I, how Bad She be?
Wither.
'Cause her fortunes seem too high,
Should I play the fool, and die?
He that bears a noble mind,
If not outward help he find;
Think, what, with them, he would do;
That, without them, dares to woo!
And unless that mind I see,
What care I, how Great She be?
Jonson.
'Cause her fortunes seem too low,
Shall I therefore let her go?
He that bears an humble mind
And with riches can be kind.
Think how kind a heart he'd have,
If he were some servile slave!
And if that same mind I see,
What care I, how Poor She be?
Wither.
Great, or Good, or Kind, or Fair,
I will ne'er the more despair!
If She love me (then 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?
Jonson.
Poor, or Bad, or Curst, or Black,
I will ne'er the more be slack!
If she hate me (then believe!)
She shall die, ere I will grieve!
If She like me, when I woo;
I can like and love her too!
If that She be fit for me!
What care I, what others be?