John Suckling

* * *

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?--
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ail 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 cannot take her--
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The Devil take her!