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'Tis quite enough that for thy sake so many face to face
Aver that I, a witless Moor, a witless lover chase.
I know that thou art a valiant man, that thou hast slaughtered more,
Among thy Christian enemies, than thou hast drops of gore.
Thou art a gallant horseman, canst dance and sing and play
Better than can the best we meet upon a summer's day.
Thy brow is white, thy cheek is red, thy lineage is renowned,
And thou amid the reckless and the gay art foremost found.
I know how great would be my loss, in losing such as thee;
I know, if I e'er won thee, how great my gain would be:
And wert thou dumb even from thy birth, and silent as the grave,
Each woman might adore thee, and call herself thy slave.
But 'twere better for us both I turn away from thee,
Thy tongue is far too voluble, thy manners far too free;
Go find some other heart than mine that will thy ways endure,
Some woman who, thy constancy and silence to secure,
Can build within thy bosom her castle high and strong,
And put a jailer at thy lips, to lock thy recreant tongue.


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