Song V. The Counsel

Why's my friend so melancholy?
Prithe 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 La.

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

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'll slight thee and be gone:
Let her then alone.

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