Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth: He that courts us, wanting art, soon falters when he feigneth, Looks asquint on his discourse and smiles when he complaineth. Skilful anglers hide their hooks, fit baits for every season; But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do that want reason: Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of treason. Ruth forgive me (if I erred) from human heart's compassion, When I laughed sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion: But, alas, who less could do that found so good occasion! From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598. Thou art but young, thou say'st, And love's delight thou weigh'st not: O, take time while thou may'st, Lest when thou would'st thou may'st not. If love shall then assail thee, A double anguish will torment thee; And thou wilt wish (but wishes all will fail thee,) "O me! that I were young again!" and so repent thee. From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601. (Ascribed to Dr. Donne.) Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white, For all those rosy ornaments in thee; Thou art not sweet, tho' made of mere delight, Nor fair, nor sweet--unless thou pity me. I will not soothe thy fancies, thou shalt prove That beauty is no beauty without love. Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure My thoughts with beauty were it more divine; Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, I'll not be wrapped up in those arms of thine: Now show it, if thou be a woman right,-- Embrace and kiss and love me in despite. From JOHN DANYEL's _Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice_, 1606. Thou pretty Bird, how do I see Thy silly state and mine agree! For thou a prisoner art; So is my heart. Thou sing'st to her, and so do I address My Music to her ear that's merciless; But herein doth the difference lie,-- That thou art grac'd, so am not I; Thou singing liv'st, and I must singing die. From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety_, 1588. Though Amaryllis dance in green Like Fairy Queen, And sing full clear; Corinna can, with smiling cheer. Yet since their eyes make heart so sore, Hey ho! chil love no more. My sheep are lost for want of food And I so wood[19] That all the day I sit and watch a herd-maid gay; Who laughs to see me sigh so sore, Hey ho! chil love no more. Her loving looks, her beauty bright, Is such delight! That all in vain I love to like, and lose my gain For her, that thanks me not therefore. Hey ho! chil love no more. Ah wanton eyes! my friendly foes And cause of woes; Your sweet desire Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire! Ye scorn to see me weep so sore! Hey ho! chil love no more.