A Seventeenth-Century Song

She alone of Shepherdesses With her blue disdayning eyes, Wo'd not hark a Kyng that dresses All his lute in sighes: Yet to winne Katheryn, I elect for mine Emprise. None is like her, none above her, Who so lifts my youth in me, That a littel more to love her Were to leave her free! But to winne Katheryn, Is mine utmost love's degree. Distaunce, cold, delay, and danger, Build the four walles of her bower; She's noe Sweete for any stranger, She's noe valley flower: And to winne Katheryn, To her height my heart can Tower! Uppe to Beautie's promontory I will climb, not loudlie call Perfect and escaping glory Folly, if I fall: Well to winne Katheryn! To be worth her is my all.