The Stedfast Shepherd

Hence away, you Syrens, leave me, And unclaspe your wanton armes; Sugred words shall ne'er deceive me, (Though 'you' prove a thousand charmes). Fie, fie, forbeare; No common snare Could ever my affection chaine: Your painted baits And poore deceits, Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

I'm no slave to such, as you be; Neither shall a snowy brest, Wanton eye, or lip of ruby Ever robb me of my rest; Goe, goe, display Your beautie's ray To some ore-soone enamour'd swaine: Those common wiles Of sighs and smiles Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie; Turn away 'your' tempting eyes: Shew not me a naked beautie; Those impostures I despise: My spirit lothes Where gawdy clothes And fained othes may love obtaine: I love her so, Whose looke swears No; That all your labours will be vaine. Can he prize the tainted posies, Which on every brest are worne; That may plucke the spotlesse roses From their never-touched thorne? I can goe rest On her sweet brest, That is the pride of Cynthia's traine: Then hold your tongues; Your mermaid songs Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

Hee's a foole, that basely dallies, Where each peasant mates with him; Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe? No, no, though clowns Are skar'd with frownes, I know the best can but disdaine; And those I'le prove; So shall your love Be all bestowed on me in vaine.

I doe scorne to vow a dutie, Where each lustfull lad may woe: Give me her, whose sun-like beautie Buzzards dare not soare unto: Shee, shee it is Affoords that blisse For which I would refuse no paine: But such as you, Fond fooles, adieu; You seeke to captive me in vaine.

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me; Seeke no more to worke my harmes: Craftie wiles cannot deceive me, Who am proofe against your charmes: You labour may To lead astray The heart, that constant shall remaine: And I the while Will sit and smile To see you spend your time in vaine.