Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/282

 Thinks what with them he would do That without them dares her woo; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be?

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve; If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be?

238. The Choice

Me so oft my fancy drew Here and there, that I ne'er knew Where to place desire before So that range it might no more; But as he that passeth by Where, in all her jollity, Flora's riches in a row Do in seemly order grow, And a thousand flowers stand Bending as to kiss his hand; Out of which delightful store One he may take and no more; Long he pausing doubteth whether Of those fair ones he should gather.

First the Primrose courts his eyes, Then the Cowslip he espies;