To thee, my dearest shepherdling, And shame-faced plum, all simp'ring there. Of every straight and smooth-skin tree; These, nay, and more, thine own shall be, All this but the casket is Which contains Such a jewel, as to miss Breeds endless pains, That's her mind, and they that know it Disdain Returned He that loves a rosy cheek But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, No tears, Celia, now shall win I have searched thy soul within And find naught but pride and scorn; I have learned thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou. Song Would you know what's soft? I dare 5 Nor, if you would music hear, Call the orbs to take your ear; |