The faythfull Lovers resolution,
being forsaken of a coy and faythles Dame.
To the tune of, My deere and only Love take heed.
|
THough booteles I must needs complaine
|
my fate is so extreame,
|
I lov'd, and was belov'd againe,
|
yet all was but a dreame:
|
For as that love was quickly got,
|
so t'was as quickly gon,
|
Ile touch no more a flame so hot,
|
Ile rather lye alone,
|
No Creature be she nere so fayre
|
shall any way beguile
|
My fancy with a feyned teare,
|
nor tempt me with a smile:
|
Ile never thinke affection sounde
|
that is so plainely showne,
|
Nor build on faith before tis found,
|
Ile rather lye alone.
|
Should now the little God conspire
|
againe t'intrap my mind,
|
Or strive to set my heart on fire?
|
alas the Boy's to blinde:
|
For sithes Ile never venter smiles,
|
nor hazard mirth for mone,
|
Nor yet regard a Womans wiles,
|
Ile rather lye alone.
|
The blazing Torch is soone burnt out,
|
the Diamond light abides,
|
The first her glory hurles aboute,
|
the next her vertue hides:
|
The Sparke if any shall be mine,
|
that else shewes light to none,
|
For if to every eye she shine,
|
Ile rather lye alone.
|
No Woman shall deceive my thoughts
|
with colours not in graine,
|
Nor put a Love so slightly wrought
|
into my hands againe:
|
Ile pay no more so deere for witte,
|
but live upon mine owne,
|
Nor shall affection conquer it,
|
Ile rather lye alone.
|
And now Ile set my heart at rest,
|
in loving, labours lost,
|
Il[e] be no more so rarely blest
|
to be so strangely crost:
|
The love lost Turtle so will dye,
|
the Phenixe is but one,
|
They seeke no Mates, no more will I
|
but ever lye alone.
|
|
|
|
|
The coy Maydens answere.
To the same tune.
|
IF that your love was but a dreame,
|
what Woman cares for love?
|
There is no meane if t'is extreame,
|
therefore your sute remoove:
|
It booteth not for to complaine,
|
then pray sir sease your mone;
|
Desires hot flame augments your paine,
|
you still may lye alone.
|
If beauty in a Womans face
|
doth residence there keepe?
|
She must not in her heart give place
|
to all can feygne and weepe:
|
But you doe say tis Womens wiles
|
that causeth Men to mone,
|
When all due know you doe beguil's,
|
and let's not lye alone.
|
If Cupid caught you in his snare,
|
you must endure the paine,
|
And eyther speake him foule or faire,
|
your liberty to gaine;
|
For sith, or sob, I will not love,
|
my beauty is mine owne,
|
An other man my heart must proove,
|
and you must lye alone.
|
The burning Taper spends itselfe
|
for to give others light:
|
The Diamond is esteem'd for wealth,
|
and in the darke showes bright:
|
But like the Torch Ile never be,
|
Ile first be like the Stone,
|
And nere will yeeld in love to thee,
|
But rather lye alone.
|
If that I shewd my selfe once kind,
|
and partly did you love,
|
May I not therefore change my mind[e],
|
and otherwise remoove,
|
You should have held me faster sure,
|
and not have let me gone,
|
Ile come no more unto your lure,
|
but let you lye alone.
|
If Phenixe like you doe intend
|
to end your daies in fire,
|
My life I meane not so to spend,
|
my thoughtes are mounted higher:
|
Ile love and bill like Turtle-doves,
|
although it breed your mone;
|
When you are gon there is more Loves,
|
I will not lye alone.
|
|
|
|
|