Thomas Campion (1567–1620)

THOU art not fair, for all thy red and white,

For all those rosy ornaments in thee;

Thou art not sweet, tho’ made of mere delight,

Nor fair, nor sweet—unless thou pity me.

I will not soothe thy fancies: thou shalt prove

That beauty is no beauty without love.

Yet love not me, nor seek thou to allure

My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine;

Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,

I’ll not be wrapp’d up in those arms of thine:

Now show it, if thou be a woman right,—

Embrace and kiss and love me in despite.