Sir John Suckling

1609-1642

Song

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her
Saying nothing do't?
Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame! This will not move
This will not take her.
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing will make her.
Let the Devil take her!

Out upon it! I have lov'd
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings,
Ere he shall discover
In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.

But the spite on 't is, no praise
Is due at all to me:
Love with me had made no stays,
Had it been any but she.

Had it been any but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
A dozen dozen in her place.