English

Don't Shiver here outside his door
Or spoil your beauty any more,
He must be mad, your Holy Joe,
Nor anything of women know.
Only because your boy was there
To turn you out half dressed, my dear!
Come, dry your eyes and wipe your nose,
You'll soon forget these petty woes;
A kinder lover we will find,
One to your faults a little blind.

I do not love your forward misses
Who think of naught but flirts and kisses;
I do not love your prudish maid
Who sits and frowns, so stiff and staid.
To neither would I plight my troth—
‘Too fast’—‘Too slow’—I hate them both.

Must I not die? What matter if I go
To Pluto's mansion with a gouty toe?
Whether I totter lame or run all day
I shall not want for bearers on my way;
And so, my boys, as sure as I'm a sinner
I don't intend to miss a single dinner.

Buxom dames I like them all,
Be they young or old;
For I love a matron tall
When her hair is gold;
And if it be turning gray
Still to please she'll find a way.

Take heed and never woman wed
Who is too thin, or too well fed,
Avoid " too little" as " too much,"
For then the golden mean you touch;
And shun in matters of the flesh
Deficiency or gross excess.

Three darling young damsels engaged in a wrangle
Concerning the charms of that secret triangle
We are never permitted to see.
Neither Polly nor Betty nor Susan would yield;
And, as each claimed the prize for her own special field,
They referred the whole matter to me.

Dear Poll was a garden where red roses grew,
Set about a clear fountain; and as for sweet Sue,
She was ruby and pearl mixed together.
And then came fair Betty; the smoothest of glass
Could scarcely the sheen of her satin surpass,

You fell, great Zeus, in rain of gold
When you were fain the maid to hold,
That Danaë a gift might take,
Nor at a god in terror quake.

Full well I know the grief and smart
That is and will be mine:
Not vain your warning, O poor heart;
But still for love I pine.

From Heliodora fly' — But how?
I have nor strength nor shame.
The very thoughts that warn me glow
Enraptured at her name.

O Cruel, cruel! As I lie
Upon this ice-cold stone,
So may you sleep whose lovers sigh
In misery alone —
The very neighbours grieve to see
How here I wait in agony.

So may you sleep! Within your heart
No shade of pity lives;
Your pride in mercy has no part,
To love no kindness gives.
Soon will the grey hairs come — and they
Perchance will make you rue this day.

I like not grapes that still are green,
I like not grapes that pressed have been,
And so I would not choose to woo
Widow Glum or Maiden Prue.
Compassion suits the widowed dame,
Respect is due to virgin shame:
My wife a beauty ripe shall be
To tread the courts of Love with me.