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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 flow'ry 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-disposèd nature

Joinèd with a lovely creature?

Be she meeker, kinder than

Turtle-dove or pelican:

If she be not so to me,

What care I how kind she be.

Shall a woman's virtues move

Me to perish for her love?

Or, her well-deserving known,

Make me quite forget mine own?

Be she with that goodness blest

Which may gain her name of best

If she be not such to me.

What care I how good she be.

'Cause her fortune seems too high,

Shall I play the fool and die?

Those that bear a noble mind,

Where they want or riches find,

Think what with them they would do

That without them dare to woo.

And unless that mind I see,

What care I though great she be.