A Seventeenth-Century Song

SHE alone of Shepherdesses,
With her blue disdayning eyes,
Wo’d not hark a King that dresses
All his lute in sighs:
Yet to winne
Katheryn
I elect for mine Emprise.
None is like her, none above her,
Who so lifts my youth in me,
That a little more to love her
Were to leave her free!
But to winne
Katheryn
Is mine utmost love’s degree.
Distaunce, cold, delay, and danger
Build the four walls of her bower;
She’s noe Sweete for any stranger,
She ’s noe valley-flower ;
And to winne
Katheryn,
To her height my heart can Tower!
Uppe to Beautie’s promontory
I will climb, nor loudlie call
Perfect and escapèd glory
Folly, if I fall.
Well to winne
Katheryn !
To be worth her is my all.
Louise Imogen Guiney.