[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
SHall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman’s fair?
Shall my cheeks look pale with care,
‘Cause another’s rosie are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow’ry meads in May;
Yet if she think not well of me,
What care I how fair she be.
–
Shall a woman’s goodness move
Me to perish for her love;
Or, her worthy merits known,
Make me quite forget my own?
Be she with that goodness blest,
As may merit name the best;
Yet if she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be.
–
Be she good, or kind, or fair,
I will never more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die e’er she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I will scorn, and let her go:
So if she be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be.
