Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Popular music of the olden time > Volume 1

KEIGNS OF JAMES I. AND CHARLES I. 315
WHAT CARE I HOW FAIR SHE BE ?
A copy of this song is in the Pepys Collection, i. 230, entitled "A new song of
a young man's opinion of the diiference between good and bad women. To a
'pleasant new tune.'" (Printed at London for W. I.) It is also in the second part
of The Grolden Garland of Princely Delights, third edition, 1620, entitled " The
Shepherd's Resolution. To the tune of The Toung Mmi's Opinion." As the
name of the tune is here derived from the title of the ballad, it must have been
printed in ballad form before 1620, when it was published among TJie Workes of
Master Greorge Wither.
The tune is in Heber's Manuscript (described at p. 204), but, except for the
popularity of the words, it would scarcely be worth preserving. They were after-
wards reset by Mr. King, and are printed to his tune in Pills to purge Melancholy.
The fii-st line of the copy in the Pepys Collection (unlike that in The Golden
Garland) is, " Shall I wrestling in dispaire." In the same volume are the
following : —
Pa^e 200. — "The unfortunate Gallant guU'd at London. To the tune of
Shall Iiorastle in despair." (Printed for T. L.) Beginning —
" From Cornwall Mount to London fair."
Page 316. — " This maid would give tenne shillings for a kisse. To the tune
of Shall I tvrassle in despair." (Printed at London by I. White.) Beginning —
" You young men all, take pity on me."
Page 236. — " Jone is as good as my lady. To the tune of Wliat care I how
fair she he ?" (Printed at London for A. Mplbourn].) Beginning —
" Shall I here rehearse the story."
The following (which has been attributed, upon insufficient evidence, to Sir
Walter Raleigh) is in the same metre, and has the same burden as George
Wither's song : —
Shall I, like an hermit, dwell Were her hands as rich a prize
On a rock or in a cell? As her hairs or precious eyes;
Calling home the smallest part If she lay them out to take
That is missing of my heart, Kisses, for good manners sake ;
To bestow it where I may And let every lover skip
Meet a rival every day ? From her hand unto her lip ;
If she undervalues me, If she seem not chaste to me.
What care I how fair she be. What care I how chaste she be.
Were her tresses angel-gold ; No, she must he perfect snow,
If a stranger may be bold, In effect as well as show,
Unrebuked, unafraid, Warming but as snow-balls do,
To convert them to a braid, Not, like fire, by burning too ;
And, with little more ado. But when she by chance hath got
Work them into bracelets too ; To her heart a second lot ;
If the mine he grown so free, Then, if others share with me,
What care I how rich it he. Farewell her, whate'er she be.