Song

Goe, and catche a falling starre,Get with child a mandrake roote,Tell me, where all past yeares are,Or who cleft the Divels foot,Teach me to heare Mermaides singing,Or to keep off envies stinging,And findeWhat windeServes to advance an honest minde.

If thou beest borne to strange sights,Things invisible to see,Ride ten thousand daies and nights,Till age snow white haires on thee,Thou, when thou retorn'st, wilt tell meeAll strange wonders that befell thee,And sweareNo whereLives a woman true, and faire.

If thou findst one, let mee know,Such a Pilgrimage were sweet;Yet doe not, I would not goe,Though at next doore wee might meet,Though shee were true, when you met her,And last, till you write your letter,Yet sheeWill beeFalse, ere I come, to two, or three.

Now thou hast lov'd me one whole day,To morrow when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say?Wilt thou then Antedate some new made vow?Or say that nowWe are not just those persons, which we were?Or, that oathes made in reverentiall feareOf Love, and his wrath, any may forsweare?Or, as true deaths, true maryages untie,So lovers contracts, images of those,Binde but till sleep, deaths image, them unloose?Or, your owne end to Justifie,For having purpos'd change, and falsehood; youCan have no way but falsehood to be true?Vaine lunatique, against these scapes I couldDispute, and conquer, if I would,Which I abstaine to doe,For by to morrow, I may thinke so too.

I have done one braver thingThen all the Worthies did,And yet a braver thence doth spring,Which is, to keepe that hid.

It were but madnes now t'impartThe skill of specular stone,When he which can have learn'd the artTo cut it, can finde none.

So, if I now should utter this,Others (because no moreSuch stuffe to worke upon, there is,)Would love but as before.

But he who lovelinesse withinHath found, all outward loathes,For he who colour loves, and skinne,Loves but their oldest clothes.

If, as I have, you also doeVertue'attir'd in woman see,And dare love that, and say so too,And forget the Hee and Shee;

And if this love, though placed so,From prophane men you hide,Which will no faith on this bestow,Or, if they doe, deride:

Then you have done a braver thingThen all the Worthies did;And a braver thence will spring,Which is, to keepe that hid.