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!