VII.

THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.

These beautiful stanzas were written by _George Wither_, of whom some account was given in the former part of this volume; see the song intitled, _The Shepherd's Resolution_, book ii. song xxi. In the first edition of this work only a small fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered more compleat and intire by the addition of five stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, intitled, _The Mistress of Philarete_, of which this song makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of _The Shepherd's Hunting_, 1620, 8vo.

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[The Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 360) contains only the fifth and sixth stanzas slightly varied, which were printed in the first edition of the _Reliques_, with the title of _The Aspiring Shepherd_.]

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Hence away, thou Syren, leave me, Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes; Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, (Though thou prove a thousand charmes). Fie, fie, forbeare; 5 No common snare Can ever my affection chaine: Thy painted baits, And poore deceits, Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10

I'me no slave to such, as you be; Neither shall that snowy brest, Rowling eye, and lip of ruby Ever robb me of my rest:

Goe, go display 15 Thy beautie's ray To some more soone-enamour'd swaine; Those common wiles Of sighs and smiles Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 20

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie; Turne away thy tempting eye: Shew not me a painted beautie; These impostures I defie: My spirit lothes 25 Where gawdy clothes And fained othes may love obtaine: I love her so, Whose looke sweares No; That all your labours will be vaine. 30

Can he prize the tainted posies, Which on every brest are worne; That may plucke the virgin roses From their never-touched thorne? I can goe rest 35 On her sweet brest, That is the pride of Cynthia's traine: Then stay thy tongue; Thy mermaid song Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 40

Hee's a foole, that basely dallies, Where each peasant mates with him: Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, Whilst ther's noble hills to climbe? No, no, though clownes 45 Are scar'd with frownes, I know the best can but disdaine; And those Ile prove: So will thy love Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 50

I doe scorne to vow a dutie, Where each lustfull lad may wooe: Give me her, whose sun-like beautie Buzzards dare not soar unto: Shee, shee it is 55 Affoords that blisse For which I would refuse no paine: But such as you, Fond fooles, adieu; You seeke to captive me in vaine. 60

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 65 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. 70