Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
      Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
      Looking ill 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!