His Love Admits No Rival

Shall I like a hermit dwell, On a rock, or in a cell, Calling home the smallest part That is missing of my heart, To bestow it where I may Meet a rival every day? If she undervalue me, What care I how fair she be?

Were her tresses angel gold, If a stranger may be bold, Unrebuked, unafraid, To convert them to a braid, And with little more ado Work them into bracelets too? If the mine be grown so free, What care I how rich it be?

Were her hand as rich a prize As her hairs, or precious eyes, If she lay them out to take Kisses, for good manners' sake: And let every lover skip From her hand unto her lip; If she seem not chaste to me, What care I how chaste she be?

No; she must be perfect snow, In effect as well as show; Warming, but as snowballs do, Not like fire, by burning too; But when she by change hath got To her heart a second lot, Then if others share with me, Farewell her, whate'er she be!