No more an exile will I dwell,

With folded arms, and sighs all day, Reckoning the torments of my hell,

And flinging my sweet joys away:

I am called home again to quiet peace,
My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease.

Yet, what is living in her eye,

Or being blessed with her sweet tongue,

If these no other joys imply?

A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong:

To be your own but one poor month, I'd give
My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live.

Rather like a perfume dwells;

Where the violet and the rose,

Their blue veins in blush disclose,

And come to honour nothing else.

Where to live near,

And planted there,

Is to live, and still live new;

Where to gain a favour is

More than light, perpetual bliss;
Make me live by serving you.

Dear, again back recall

To this light,

A stranger to himself and all;

Both the wonder and the story

Shall be yours, and eke the glory:

I am your servant, and your thrall.

GEORGE WITHER.

1588-1667.

["A Description of Love." 1620.]

A LOVE SONG.

I LOVED a lass, a fair one,
As fair as e'er was seen;
She was, indeed, a rare one,
Another Sheba queen;
But, fool, as then I was,

I thought she loved me too;
But now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

Her hair like gold did glister,

Her eye was like a star;

She did surpass her sister,

Which passed all others far:

She would me honey call,

She'd, O, she'd kiss me too!

But now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

In summer time, to Medley,

My love and I would go,

As we walked home together,

At midnight, through the town,

To keep away the weather,

O'er her I'd cast my gown;

No cold my love should feel,

Whate'er the heavens could do;

But now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

Like doves we would be billing,
And clip and kiss so fast,

Yet she would be unwilling

That I should kiss the last;

They're Judas kisses now,

Since that they proved untrue;

For, now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

To maidens' vows and swearing
Henceforth no credit give,
You may give them the hearing,

But never them believe:

They are as false as fair,

Unconstant, frail, untrue

For mine, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

'Twas I that paid for all things,

'Twas others drank the wine;

I cannot now recall things,

Live but a fool to pine:

'Twas I that beat the bush,

The bird to others flew:

For she, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

If ever that dame Nature,

For this false lover's sake,
Another pleasing creature,

Like unto her would make,

Let her remember this,

To make the other true;
For this, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

No riches, now, can raise me,
No want make me despair;

No misery amaze me,

Nor yet for want I care:

I have lost a world itself,

My earthly heaven, adieu!
Since she, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

["Fair Virtue, the mistress of Philarete." 1622.]

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 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-disposéd nature

Joinéd with a lovely feature?