The Golden Treasury. Unknown

           Love not me for comely grace,

           For my pleasing eye or face,

           Nor for any outward part,

           No, nor for a constant heart,—

            For these may fail, or turn to ill,

             So thou and I shall sever:

           Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,

           And love me still, but know not why—

            So hast thou the same reason still

             To doat upon me ever!

           Not, Celia, that I juster am

            Or better than the rest;

           For I would change each hour, like them,

            Were not my heart at rest.

           But I am tied to very thee

            By every thought I have;

           Thy face I only care to see,

            Thy heart I only crave.

           All that in woman is adored

            In thy dear self I find—

           For the whole sex can but afford

            The handsome and the kind.

           Why then should I seek further store,