Classic Poem

1

Why's my friend so melancholy?
Prethee why so sad, why so sad?
Beauty's vain, and Love's a folly,
Wealth and women make men mad.
To him that has a heart that's jolly
Nothing's grievous, Nothing's sad
Come, cheer up my Lad.

2

Does thy mistresse seem to fly thee?
Prethee don't repine, don't repine:
If at first she does deny thee
Of her love, deny her thine;
She shews her coynesse but to try thee,
And will triumph if thou pine.
Drown thy thoughts in wine.

3

Try again, and don't give over,
Ply her, she's thine own, she's thine own;
Cowardise undoes a Lover
They are Tyrants if you moan;
If not thy self, nor love can move her,
But she'l slight thee and be gone:
Let her then alone.

4

If thy courtship can't invite her,
Nor to condescend, nor to bend;
Thy only wisdom is to slight her,
And her beauty discommend
Such a nicenesse will requite her;
Yet if thy Love will not end,
Love thy self and friend.