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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyrics from the Song-Books of the
+Elizabethan Age, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: A. H. Bullen
+
+Release Date: November 2, 2008 [EBook #27129]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Nigel Blower and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                CENTRE
+                  for
+              REFORMATION
+                  and
+              RENAISSANCE
+                STUDIES
+
+               VICTORIA
+              UNIVERSITY
+
+               TORONTO
+
+
+
+
+                LYRICS
+      FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE
+           ELIZABETHAN AGE.
+
+
+
+
+NOTE.--_Two hundred and fifty copies of this large paper edition
+printed, each of which is numbered._
+
+_No. 221._
+
+
+
+
+                LYRICS
+      FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE
+           ELIZABETHAN AGE:
+
+
+              Edited by
+             A.H. BULLEN.
+
+
+               LONDON:
+            JOHN C. NIMMO,
+14, King William Street, Strand, W.C.
+                1887.
+
+
+
+
+CHISWICK PRESS:--C. Whittingham and Co., Tooks Court, Chancery Lane.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The present Anthology is intended to serve as a companion volume to the
+Poetical Miscellanies published in England at the close of the sixteenth
+and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries. A few of the lyrics here
+collected are, it is true, included in "England's Helicon," Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody," and "The Ph[oe]nix' Nest"; and some are to be found
+in the modern collections of Oliphant, Collier, Rimbault, Mr. W.J.
+Linton, Canon Hannah, and Professor Arber. But many of the poems in the
+present volume are, I have every reason to believe, unknown even to
+those who have made a special study of Elizabethan poetry. I have gone
+carefully through all the old song-books preserved in the library of the
+British Museum, and I have given extracts from two books of which there
+is no copy in our national library. A first attempt of this kind must
+necessarily be imperfect. Were I to go over the ground again I should
+enlarge the collection, and I should hope to gain tidings of some
+song-books (mentioned by bibliographers) which I have hitherto been
+unable to trace.
+
+In Elizabeth's days composers were not content to regard the words of a
+song as a mere peg on which to hang the music, but sought the services
+of true-born lyrists. It is not too much to say that, for delicate
+perfection of form, some of the Elizabethan songs can compare with the
+choicest epigrams in the Greek Anthology. At least one composer, Thomas
+Campion, wrote both the words and the music of his songs; and there are
+no sweeter lyrics in English poetry than are to be found in Campion's
+song-books. But it may be assumed that, as a rule, the composers are
+responsible only for the music.
+
+It was in the year of the Spanish Armada, 1588, that William Byrd
+published "Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety," the first
+Elizabethan song-book of importance. Few biographical particulars
+concerning Byrd have come down. As he was senior chorister of St. Paul's
+in 1554, he is conjectured to have been born about 1538. From 1563 to
+1569 he was organist of Lincoln Cathedral. He and Tallis were granted a
+patent, which must have proved fairly lucrative, for the printing of
+music and the vending of music-paper. In later life he appears to have
+become a convert to Romanism. His last work was published in 1611, and
+he died at a ripe old age on the 24th of July, 1623. The "Psalms,
+Sonnets, and Songs" are dedicated to Sir Christopher Hatton. In the
+dedicatory epistle he terms the collection "this first printed work of
+mine _in English_;" in 1575 he had published with Tallis "Cantiones
+Sacræ." From the title one would gather that Byrd's first English
+collection was mainly of a sacred character, but in an epistle to the
+reader he hastens to set us right on that point:--"Benign reader, here
+is offered unto thy courteous acceptance music of sundry sorts, and to
+content divers humours. If thou be disposed to pray, here are psalms; if
+to be merry, here are sonnets." There is, indeed, fare for all comers;
+and a reader has only himself to blame if he goes away dissatisfied. In
+those days, as in these, it was not uncommon for a writer to attribute
+all faults, whether of omission or commission, to the luckless printer.
+Byrd, on the other hand, solemnly warns us that "in the expression of
+these songs either by voices or instruments, if there be any jar or
+dissonance," we are not to blame the printer, who has been at the
+greatest pains to secure accuracy. Then the composer makes a modest
+appeal on behalf of himself, requesting those who find any fault in the
+composition "either with courtesy to let the same be concealed," or "in
+friendly sort" point out the errors, which shall be corrected in a
+future impression. This is the proper manner of dealing between
+gentlemen. His next publication was "Songs of Sundry Natures," 1589,
+which was dedicated to Sir Henry Carey, who seems to have been as
+staunch a patron of Byrd as his son, Sir George Carey, was of Dowland.
+In 1611 appeared Byrd's last work, "Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets." The
+composer must have taken to heart the precepts set down by Sir Edward
+Dyer in "My mind to me a kingdom is," (printed in "Psalms, Sonnets, and
+Songs") for his dedicatory epistle and his address to the reader show
+him to have been a man who had laid up a large store of genial wisdom,
+upon which he could draw freely in the closing days of an honourable
+life. His earlier works had been well received, and in addressing "all
+true lovers of music" he knew that he could rely upon their cordial
+sympathy. "I am much encouraged," he writes, "to commend to you these my
+last labours, for mine _ultimum vale_;" and then follows a piece of
+friendly counsel: "Only this I desire, that you will be as careful to
+hear them well expressed, as I have been both in the composing and
+correcting of them. Otherwise the best song that ever was made will seem
+harsh and unpleasant; for that the well expressing of them either by
+voices or instruments is the life of our labours, which is seldom or
+never well performed at the first singing or playing."
+
+No musician of the Elizabethan age was more famous than John Dowland,
+whose "heavenly touch upon the lute" was commended in a well-known
+sonnet (long attributed to Shakespeare) by Richard Barnfield. Dowland
+was born at Westminster in 1562. At the age of twenty, or thereabouts,
+he started on his travels; and, after rambling through "the chiefest
+parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety of music," he
+bent his course "towards the famous province of Germany," where he found
+"both excellent masters and most honourable patrons of music." In the
+course of his travels he visited Venice, Padua, Genoa, Ferrara, and
+Florence, gaining applause everywhere by his musical skill. On his
+return to England he took his degree at Oxford, as Bachelor of Music, in
+1588. In 1597 he published "The First Book of Songs or Airs of four
+parts, with Tableture for the Lute." Prefixed is a dedicatory epistle to
+Sir George Carey (second Lord Hunsdon), in which the composer alludes
+gracefully to the kindness he had received from Lady Elizabeth Carey,
+the patroness of Spenser. A "Second Book of Songs or Airs" was published
+in 1600, when the composer was at the Danish Court, serving as lutenist
+to King Christian the Fourth. The work was dedicated to the famous
+Countess of Bedford, whom Ben Jonson immortalized in a noble sonnet.
+From a curious address to the reader by George Eastland, the publisher,
+it would appear that in spite of Dowland's high reputation the sale of
+his works was not very profitable. "If the consideration of mine own
+estate," writes Eastland, "or the true worth of money, had prevailed
+with me above the desire of pleasing you and showing my love to my
+friends, these second labours of Master Dowland--whose very name is a
+large preface of commendation to the book--had for ever lain hid in
+darkness, or at the least frozen in a cold and foreign country." The
+expenses of publication were heavy, but he consoled himself with the
+thought that his high-spirited enterprise would be appreciated by a
+select audience. In 1603 appeared "The Third and Last Book of Songs or
+Airs;" and, in 1612, when he was acting as lutenist to Lord Walden,
+Dowland issued his last work, "A Pilgrime's Solace." He is supposed to
+have died about 1615, leaving a son, Robert Dowland, who gained some
+fame as a composer. Modern critics have judged that Dowland's music was
+somewhat overrated by his contemporaries, and that he is wanting in
+variety and originality. Whether these critics are right or wrong, it
+would be difficult to overrate the poetry. In attempting to select
+representative lyrics one is embarrassed by the wealth of material. The
+rich clusters of golden verse hang so temptingly that it is difficult to
+cease plucking when once we have begun.
+
+In his charming collection of "Rare Poems" Mr. Linton quotes freely from
+the song-books of Byrd and Dowland, but gives only one lyric of Dr.
+Thomas Campion. As Mr. Linton is an excellent judge of poetry, I can
+only suppose that he had no wide acquaintance with Campion's writings,
+when he put together his dainty Anthology. There is clear evidence[1]
+that Campion wrote not only the music but the words for his songs--that
+he was at once an eminent composer and a lyric poet of the first rank.
+He published a volume of Latin verse, which displays ease and fluency
+(though the prosody is occasionally erratic); as a masque-writer he was
+inferior only to Ben Jonson; he was the author of treatises on the arts
+of music and poetry; and he practised as a physician. It would be
+interesting to ascertain some facts about the life of this
+highly-gifted man; but hitherto little information has been collected.
+The Oxford historian, good old Anthony-à-Wood, went altogether wrong and
+confused our Thomas Campion with another person of the same name who
+took his degree in 1624--five years after the poet's death. It is
+probable that our Thomas Campion was the second son of Thomas Campion of
+Witham, Essex, and that he was distantly related to Edmund Campion the
+famous Jesuit. His first work was his "Epigrammatum Libri duo,"
+published in 1595, and republished in 1619. The first edition is
+exceedingly rare; there is no copy in the British Museum. Francis Meres,
+in his very valuable (and very tedious) "Wit's Treasury," 1598, mentions
+Campion among the "English men, being Latin poets," who had "attained
+good report and honorable advancement in the Latin empire." In 1601
+Campion and Philip Rosseter published jointly "A Book of Airs." The
+music was partly written by Campion and partly by Rosseter; but the
+whole of the poetry may be safely assigned to Campion. From a dedicatory
+epistle, by Rosseter, to Sir Thomas Monson, we learn that Campion's
+songs, "made at his vacant hours and privately imparted to his friends,"
+had been passed from hand to hand and had suffered from the carelessness
+of successive transcribers. Some impudent persons, we are told, had
+"unrespectively challenged" (_i.e._ claimed) the credit both of the
+music and the poetry. The address _To the Reader_, which follows the
+dedicatory epistle, is unsigned, but appears to have been written by
+Campion. "What epigrams are in poetry," it begins, "the same are airs in
+music: then in their chief perfection when they are short and well
+seasoned. But to clog a light song with a long preludium is to corrupt
+the nature of it. Many rests in music were invented either for necessity
+of the fugue, or granted as an harmonical licence in songs of many
+parts; but in airs I find no use they have, unless it be to make a
+vulgar and trivial modulation seem to the ignorant strange, and to the
+judicial tedious." It is among the curiosities of literature that this
+true poet, who had so exquisite a sense of form, and whose lyrics are
+frequently triumphs of metrical skill, should have published a work
+(entitled "Observations in the Art of English Poesy") to prove that the
+use of rhyme ought to be discontinued, and that English metres should be
+fashioned after classical models. "Poesy," he writes, "in all kind of
+speaking is the chief beginner and maintainer of eloquence, not only
+helping the ear with the acquaintance of sweet numbers, but also raising
+the mind to a more high and lofty conceit. For this end have I studied
+to induce a true form of versifying into our language; for the vulgar
+and artificial custom of rhyming hath, I know, deterr'd many excellent
+wits from the exercise of English poesy." The work was published in
+1602, the year after he had issued the first collection of his charming
+lyrics. It was in answer to Campion that Samuel Daniel wrote his
+"Defence of Rhyme" (1603), one of the ablest critical treatises in the
+English language. Daniel was puzzled, as well he might be, that an
+attack on rhyme should have been made by one "whose commendable rhymes,
+albeit now himself an enemy to rhyme, have given heretofore to the world
+the best notice of his worth." It is pleasant to find Daniel testifying
+to the fact that Campion was "a man of fair parts and good reputation."
+Ben Jonson, as we are informed by Drummond of Hawthornden, wrote "a
+Discourse of Poesy both against Campion and Daniel;" but the discourse
+was never published. In his "Observations" Campion gives us a few
+specimen-poems written in the unrhymed metres that he proposed to
+introduce. The following verses are the least objectionable that I can
+find:--
+
+            "Just beguiler,
+    Kindest love yet only chastest,
+    Royal in thy smooth denials,
+    Frowning or demurely smiling,
+            Still my pure delight.
+
+            Let me view thee
+    With thoughts and with eyes affected,
+    And if then the flames do murmur,
+    Quench them with thy virtue, charm them
+            With thy stormy brows.
+
+            Heaven so cheerful
+    Laughs not ever; hoary winter
+    Knows his season, even the freshest
+    Summer morns from angry thunder
+            Yet not still secure."
+
+There is artful ease and the touch of a poet's hand in those verses; but
+the Muses shield us from such innovations! Campion's second collection,
+"Two Books of Airs," is undated; but, from an allusion to the death of
+Prince Henry, we may conclude that it was published about the year 1613.
+The first book consists of "Divine and Moral Songs" and the second of
+"light conceits of lovers." In dealing with sacred themes, particularly
+when they venture on paraphrases of the Psalms, our poets seldom do
+themselves justice; but I claim for Campion that he is neither stiff nor
+awkward. Henry Vaughan is the one English poet whose devotional fervour
+found the highest lyrical expression; and Campion's impassioned poem
+"Awake, awake, thou heavy sprite!" (p. 6) is not unworthy of the great
+Silurist. Among the sacred verses are some lines ("Jack and Joan they
+think no ill," p. 61) in praise of a contented countryman and his good
+wife. A sweeter example of an old pastoral lyric could nowhere be found,
+not even in the pages of Nicholas Breton. The "Third and Fourth Books of
+Airs" are also undated, but they were probably published in 1613. In
+this collection, where all is good, my favourite is "Now winter nights
+enlarge" (p. 90). Others may prefer the melodious serenade, worthy even
+of Shelley, "Shall I come, sweet love, to thee" (p. 100). But there is
+one poem of Campion (printed in the collection of 1601) which, for
+strange richness of romantic beauty, could hardly be matched outside the
+sonnets of Shakespeare:--
+
+    "When thou must home to shades of underground,
+    And there arrived, a new admirèd guest,
+    The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,
+    White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,
+    To hear the stories of thy finish'd love
+    From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move:
+
+    Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,
+    Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,
+    Of tourneys and great challenges of knights,
+    And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake:
+    When thou hast told these honours done to thee,
+    Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me!"
+
+The mention of "White Iope" was suggested by a passage of Propertius:--
+
+    "Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum;
+      Pulchra sit, in superis, si licet, una locis.
+    Vobiscum[2] est _Iope_, vobiscum candida Tyro," &c.
+
+Campion was steeped in classical feeling: his rendering of Catullus'
+"Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus" (p. 80) is, so far as it goes,
+delightful. It is time that Campion should again take his rightful place
+among the lyric poets of England. In his own day his fame stood high.
+Camden did not hesitate to couple his name with the names of Spenser and
+Sidney; but modern critics have persistently neglected him. The present
+anthology contains a large number of his best poems; and I venture to
+hope that my attempt to recall attention to the claims of this true poet
+will not be fruitless.
+
+There is much excellent verse hidden away in the Song-books of Robert
+Jones, a famous performer on the lute. Between 1601 and 1611 Jones
+issued six musical works. Two of these--"The First Set of Madrigals,"
+1607, and "The Muses' Garden for Delight," 1611,--I have unfortunately
+not been able to see, as I have not yet succeeded in discovering their
+present resting-place. Of "Ultimum Vale, or the Third Book of Airs"
+[1608], only one copy is known. It formerly belonged to Rimbault, and is
+now preserved in the library of the Royal College of Music. The other
+publications of Jones are of the highest rarity. By turns the songs are
+grave and gay. On one page is the warning to Love--
+
+    "Little boy, pretty knave, hence, I beseech you!
+    For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you." (p. 72.)
+
+On another we read "Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly," (p.
+73); but the vain hopes, seeking to woo the sun's fair light, were
+scorched with fire and drown'd in woe,
+
+    "And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,
+    For Love did know that their desires were true;
+                  Though Fate frownèd.
+                  And now drownèd
+                  They in sorrow dwell,
+    It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell."
+
+The last line is superb.
+
+I have drawn freely from the madrigals of Weelkes, Morley, Farmer,
+Wilbye and others. Thomas Ford's "Music of Sundry Kinds," 1607, has
+yielded some very choice verse; and Francis Pilkington's collections
+have not been consulted in vain. From John Attye's "First Book of Airs,"
+1622, I have selected one song, (p. 94), only one,--warm and tender and
+delicious. Some pleasant verses have been drawn from the rare song-books
+of William Corkine; and Thomas Vautor's "Songs of Divers Airs and
+Natures," 1619, have supplied some quaint snatches, notably the address
+to the owl, (p. 116) "Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight." I have
+purposely refrained from giving many humorous ditties. Had I been
+otherwise minded there was plenty of material to my hand in the
+rollicking rounds and catches of Ravenscroft's admirable collections.
+
+As I have no technical knowledge of the subject, it would be impertinent
+for me to attempt to estimate the merits of the music contained in these
+old song-books; but I venture with all confidence to commend the poetry
+to the reader's attention. There is one poem which I have deliberately
+kept back. It occurs in "The First Part of Airs, French, Polish, and
+others together, some in tableture and some in prick-song," 1605. The
+composer was a certain Captain Tobias Hume, but who the author of the
+poem was I know not. Here is the first stanza:--
+
+    "Fain would I change that note
+    To which fond love hath charm'd me,
+    Long long to sing by rote,
+    Fancying that that harm'd me:
+    Yet when this thought doth come,
+    'Love is the perfect sum
+    Of all delight,'
+    I have no other choice
+    Either for pen or voice
+    To sing or write."
+
+The other stanza shall occupy the place of honour in the front of my
+Anthology; for among all the Elizabethan song-books I have found no
+lines of more faultless beauty, of happier cadence or sweeter
+simplicity, no lines that more justly deserve to be treasured in the
+memory while memory lasts.
+
+[1] In his address _To The Reader_ prefixed to the "Fourth Book of Airs"
+he writes:--"Some words are in these books which have been clothed in
+music by others, and I am content they then served their turn: _yet give
+me leave to make use of mine own_." Again, in the address _To the
+Reader_ prefixed to the "Third Book of Airs:"--"In these English airs I
+have chiefly aimed to _couple my words and notes lovingly together;
+which will be much for him to do that hath not power over both_."
+
+[2] Some editions read "Vobiscum Antiope."
+
+
+
+
+    _IN LAVDEM AMORIS._
+
+    O LOVE, THEY WRONG THEE MVCH
+    THAT SAY THY SWEET IS BITTER,
+    WHEN THY RICH FRVIT IS SVCH
+    AS NOTHING CAN BE SWEETER.
+    FAIR HOVSE OF JOY AND BLISS,
+    WHERE TRVEST PLEASVRE IS,
+    I DO ADORE THEE;
+    I KNOW THEE WHAT THOV ART,
+    I SERVE THEE WITH MY HEART,
+    AND FALL BEFORE THEE.
+
+CAPTAIN HUME's _First Part of Airs_, 1605.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX OF FIRST LINES
+
+
+A little pretty bonny lass was walking (Farmer)
+A shepherd in a shade his plaining made (John Dowland)
+A sparrow-hawk proud did hold in wicked jail (Weelkes)
+A woman's looks (Jones)
+About the maypole new, with glee and merriment (Morley)
+Adieu! sweet Amaryllis (Wilbye)
+April is in my mistress' face (Morley)
+Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun (Jones)
+Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite (Campion)
+Awake, sweet Love! 'tis time to rise (Youll)
+Ay me, can every rumour (Wilbye)
+Ay me, my mistress scorns my love (Bateson)
+
+Behold a wonder here (John Dowland)
+Brown is my Love, but graceful (Musica Transalpina)
+By a fountain where I lay (John Dowland)
+By the moon we sport and play (Ravenscroft)
+
+Canst thou love and lie alone (Melismata)
+Change thy mind since she doth change (Robert Dowland)
+Cold Winter's ice is fled and gone (Weelkes)
+Come away! come, sweet Love! (John Dowland)
+Come, O come, my life's delight (Campion)
+Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers (Ford)
+Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing (Wilbye)
+Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton (Campion)
+Could my heart more tongues employ (Campion)
+Crownèd with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis (Byrd)
+
+Dare you haunt our hallow'd green (Ravenscroft)
+Dear, if I with guilt would gild a true intent (Campion)
+Dear, if you change I'll never choose again (John Dowland)
+Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing (Morley)
+Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares (Wilbye)
+
+Each day of thine, sweet month of May (Youll)
+Every dame affects good fame, whate'er her doings be (Campion)
+
+Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone (Farmer)
+Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies (Byrd)
+Farewell, my joy! (Weelkes)
+Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new (John Dowland)
+Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed (Campion)
+Flora gave me fairest flowers (Wilbye)
+Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet (Campion and Rosseter)
+Fond wanton youths make Love a God (Jones)
+From Citheron the warlike boy is fled (Byrd)
+From Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired (John Dowland)
+
+Give Beauty all her right (Campion)
+Go, crystal tears! like to the morning showers (John Dowland)
+Go, turn away those cruel eyes (Egerton MS. 2013)
+Good men, show! if you can tell (Campion)
+
+Ha! ha! ha! this world doth pass (Weelkes)
+Happy he (Jones)
+Happy, O! happy he, who not affecting (Wilbye)
+Have I found her? O rich finding (Pilkington)
+Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more (Mundy)
+How many things as yet (Maynard)
+How shall I then describe my Love (Ford)
+
+I always loved to call my lady Rose (Lichfild)
+I have house and land in Kent (Melismata)
+I joy not in no earthly bliss (Byrd)
+I live and yet methinks I do not breathe (Wilbye)
+I marriage would forswear (Maynard)
+I only am the man (Maynard)
+I saw my Lady weep (John Dowland)
+I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy's pleasure (Wilbye)
+I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile (Gibbons)
+I will no more come to thee (Morley)
+If fathers knew but how to leave (Jones)
+If I urge my kind desires (Campion and Rosseter)
+If my complaints could passions move (John Dowland)
+If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 'tis to love (Campion)
+If women could be fair and never fond (Byrd)
+In crystal towers and turrets richly set (Byrd)
+In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be (Coprario)
+In midst of woods or pleasant grove (Mundy)
+In pride of May (Weelkes)
+In Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood (Jones)
+In the merry month of May (Este)
+Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave (Greaves)
+Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me (Lichfild)
+Is Love a boy,--what means he then to strike (Byrd)
+It was the frog in the well (Melismata)
+
+Jack and Joan they think no ill (Campion)
+
+Kind are her answers (Campion)
+Kind in unkindness, when will you relent (Campion and Rosseter)
+
+Lady, the birds right fairly (Weelkes)
+Lady, the melting crystal of your eye (Greaves)
+Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting (Wilbye)
+Let not Chloris think, because (Danyel)
+Let not the sluggish sleep (Byrd)
+Let us in a lovers' round (Mason and Earsden)
+Like two proud armies marching in the field (Weelkes)
+Lo! country sport that seldom fades (Weelkes)
+Lo! when back mine eye (Campion)
+Long have I lived in Court (Maynard)
+Love is a bable (Jones)
+Love not me for comely grace (Wilbye)
+Love's god is a boy (Jones)
+Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly (Jones)
+
+"Maids are simple," some men say (Campion)
+Maids to bed and cover coal (Melismata)
+More than most fair, full of all heavenly fire (Peerson)
+Mother, I will have a husband (Vautor)
+My hope a counsel with my heart (Este)
+My love bound me with a kiss (Jones)
+My love is neither young nor old (Jones)
+My mind to me a kingdom is (Byrd)
+My prime of youth is but a frost of cares (Mundy)
+My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love (Campion)
+My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love (John Dowland)
+
+Never love unless you can (Campion)
+Now each creature joys the other (Farmer)
+Now every tree renews his summer's green (Weelkes)
+Now God be with old Simeon (Pammelia)
+Now have I learn'd with much ado at last (Jones)
+Now I see thy looks were feignèd (Ford)
+Now is my Chloris fresh as May (Weelkes)
+Now is the month of maying (Morley)
+Now let her change! and spare not (Campion)
+Now let us make a merry greeting (Weelkes)
+Now what is love, I pray thee tell (Jones)
+Now winter nights enlarge (Campion)
+
+O say, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries (Ward)
+O stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting (Farmer)
+O sweet, alas, what say you (Morley)
+O sweet delight, O more than human bliss (Campion)
+Oft have I mused the cause to find (Jones)
+On a time the amorous Silvy (Attye)
+Once did I love and yet I live (Jones)
+Once I thought to die for love (Youll)
+Our country swains in the morris dance (Weelkes)
+
+Pierce did love fair Petronel (Farnaby)
+Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears (Pilkington)
+
+Robin is a lovely lad (Mason and Earsden)
+Round-a, round-a, keep your ring (Ravenscroft)
+
+See, see, mine own sweet jewel (Morley)
+Shall a frown or angry eye (Corkine)
+Shall I abide this jesting (Alison)
+Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee (Campion)
+Shall I look to ease my grief (Jones)
+She whose matchless beauty staineth (Jones)
+Shoot, false Love! I care not (Morley)
+Silly boy! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly (Campion)
+Simkin said that Sis was fair (Farnaby)
+Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye (Ford)
+Sing we and chant it (Morley)
+Sister, awake! close not your eyes (Bateson)
+Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me (Campion)
+So light is love, in matchless beauty shining (Wilbye)
+Some can flatter, some can feign (Corkine)
+Sweet, come again (Campion and Rosseter)
+Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire (Corkine)
+Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep (Weelkes)
+Sweet Kate (Jones)
+Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory (Wilbye)
+Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee (Weelkes)
+Sweet Love, my only treasure (Jones)
+Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise (John Dowland)
+Sweet Suffolk owl so trimly dight (Vautor)
+
+Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever (Weelkes)
+Take time while time doth last (Farmer)
+The fly she sat in shamble-row (Deuteromelia)
+The Gods have heard my vows (Weelkes)
+The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best (Pammelia)
+The love of change hath changed the world throughout (Carlton)
+The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall (John Dowland)
+The man of life upright (Campion and Rosseter)
+The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure (Byrd)
+The match that's made for just and true respects (Byrd)
+The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay (Byrd)
+The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth (Bateson)
+The peaceful western wind (Campion)
+There is a garden in her face (Campion)
+There is a lady sweet and kind (Ford)
+There were three Ravens sat on a tree (Melismata)
+Think'st thou, Kate, to put me down (Jones)
+Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning (Campion)
+Thou art but young, thou say'st (Wilbye)
+Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white (Campion and Rosseter)
+Thou pretty bird, how do I see (Danyel)
+Though Amaryllis dance in green (Byrd)
+Though my carriage be but careless (Weelkes)
+Though your strangeness frets my heart (Jones)
+Thrice blessèd be the giver (Farnaby)
+Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air (Campion)
+Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so (Campion)
+Thus saith my Chloris bright (Wilbye)
+Thus saith my Galatea (Morley)
+To his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres (Campion)
+To plead my faith, where faith hath no reward (Robert Dowland)
+To shorten winter's sadness (Weelkes)
+Toss not my soul, O Love, 'twixt hope and fear (John Dowland)
+Turn all thy thoughts to eyes (Campion)
+
+Unto the temple of thy beauty (Ford)
+Upon a hill the bonny boy (Weelkes)
+Upon a summer's day Love went to swim (Byrd)
+
+Vain men! whose follies make a god of love (Campion)
+
+Wake, sleepy Thyrsis, wake (Pilkington)
+We be soldiers three (Deuteromelia)
+We be three poor mariners (Deuteromelia)
+We must not part as others do (Egerton MS. 2013)
+We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play (Weelkes)
+Wedded to will is witless (Byrd)
+Weep no more, thou sorry boy (Tomkins)
+Weep you no more, sad fountains (John Dowland)
+Welcome, sweet pleasure (Weelkes)
+Were I a king I might command content (Mundy)
+Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me (Campion)
+What hap had I to marry a shrow (Pammelia)
+What is our life? a play of passion (Gibbons)
+What needeth all this travail and turmoiling (Wilbye)
+What pleasure have great Princes (Byrd)
+What poor astronomers are they (John Dowland)
+What then is love, sings Corydon (Ford)
+When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth (Carlton)
+When I was otherwise than now I am (Byrd)
+When thou must home to shades of underground (Campion and Rosseter)
+When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight (Byrd)
+Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking (Wilbye)
+Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought (Peerson)
+Whether men do laugh or weep (Campion and Rosseter)
+While that the sun with his beams hot (Byrd)
+Whilst youthful sports are lasting (Weelkes)
+White as lilies was her face (John Dowland)
+Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers (Pilkington)
+Who likes to love, let him take heed (Byrd)
+Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough (Byrd)
+Who prostrate lies at women's feet (Bateson)
+Who would have thought that face of thine (Farmer)
+Why are you Ladies staying (Weelkes)
+Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me (John Dowland)
+Wise men patience never want (Campion)
+Woeful heart with grief oppressèd (John Dowland)
+
+Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes (Greaves)
+You blessèd bowers whose green leaves now are spreading (Farmer)
+You that wont to my pipe's sound (Morley)
+Your shining eyes and golden hair (Bateson)
+
+
+
+
+      LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN
+            SONG-BOOKS.
+
+
+    _Let well-tuned words amaze
+    With harmony divine._
+                        CAMPION.
+
+
+
+
+LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN SONG-BOOKS.
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    A little pretty bonny lass was walking
+      In midst of May before the sun gan rise;
+    I took her by the hand and fell to talking
+      Of this and that as best I could devise:
+    I swore I would--yet still she said I should not;
+    Do what I would, and yet for all I could not.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    A shepherd in a shade his plaining made
+      Of love and lover's wrong
+    Unto the fairest lass that trod on grass,
+      And thus began his song:
+    "Since Love and Fortune will, I honour still
+      Your fair and lovely eye:
+    What conquest will it be, sweet Nymph, for thee
+      If I for sorrow die?
+        Restore, restore my heart again
+        Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,
+        Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
+        I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.'
+
+    "My heart where have you laid? O cruel maid,
+      To kill when you might save!
+    Why have ye cast it forth as nothing worth,
+      Without a tomb or grave?
+    O let it be entombed and lie
+      In your sweet mind and memory,
+    Lest I resound on every warbling string
+      'Fie, fie on love! that is a foolish thing.'
+        Restore, restore my heart again
+        Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,
+        Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
+        I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.'"
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    A Sparrow-Hawk proud did hold in wicked jail
+    Music's sweet chorister, the nightingale,
+    To whom with sighs she said: "O set me free!
+    And in my song I'll praise no bird but thee."
+    The hawk replied, "I will not lose my diet
+    To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet."
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+        A woman's looks
+        Are barbèd hooks,
+        That catch by art
+        The strongest heart
+    When yet they spend no breath;
+        But let them speak,
+        And sighing break
+        Forth into tears,
+        Their words are spears
+    That wound our souls to death.
+
+        The rarest wit
+        Is made forget,
+        And like a child
+        Is oft beguiled
+    With love's sweet-seeming bait;
+        Love with his rod
+        So like a God
+        Commands the mind;
+        We cannot find,
+    Fair shows hide foul deceit.
+
+        Time, that all things
+        In order brings,
+        Hath taught me how
+        To be more slow
+    In giving faith to speech,
+        Since women's words
+        No truth affords,
+        And when they kiss
+        They think by this
+    Us men to over-reach.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.
+
+    About the maypole new, with glee and merriment,
+        While as the bagpipe tooted it,
+        Thyrsis and Chloris fine together footed it:
+    And to the joyous instrument
+        Still they went to and fro, and finely flaunted it,
+        And then both met again and thus they chaunted it.
+                                            Fa la!
+
+    The shepherds and the nymphs them round enclosèd had,
+        Wond'ring with what facility,
+        About they turn'd them in such strange agility;
+    And still when they unloosèd had,
+        With words full of delight they gently kissed them,
+        And thus sweetly to sing they never missed them.
+                                            Fa la!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Adieu, sweet Amaryllis!
+    For since to part your will is,
+    O heavy, heavy tiding!
+    Here is for me no biding.
+    Yet once again, ere that I part with you,
+    Adieu, sweet Amaryllis; sweet, adieu!
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Madrigals_, 1594.
+
+    April is in my mistress' face,
+    And July in her eyes hath place;
+    Within her bosom is September,
+    But in her heart a cold December.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun,
+    Call all the winds to make you speedy wings,
+    And to my fairest Maya see you run
+    And weep your last while wantonly she sings;
+    Then if you cannot move her heart to pity,
+    Let _Oh, alas, ay me_ be all your ditty.
+
+    Arise, my thoughts, no more, if you return
+    Denied of grace which only you desire,
+    But let the sun your wings to ashes burn
+    And melt your passions in his quenchless fire;
+    Yet, if you move fair Maya's heart to pity,
+    Let smiles and love and kisses be your ditty.
+
+    Arise, my thoughts, beyond the highest star
+    And gently rest you in fair Maya's eye,
+    For that is fairer than the brightest are;
+    But, if she frown to see you climb so high,
+    Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty,
+    Of smiles and love and kisses, beg for pity.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite
+        That sleep'st the deadly sleep of sin!
+    Rise now and walk the ways of light,
+        'Tis not too late yet to begin.
+    Seek heaven early, seek it late;
+    True Faith finds still an open gate.
+
+    Get up, get up, thou leaden man!
+        Thy track, to endless joy or pain,
+    Yields but the model of a span:
+        Yet burns out thy life's lamp in vain!
+    One minute bounds thy bane or bliss;
+    Then watch and labour while time is.
+
+
+From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to three voices_, 1608.
+
+    Awake, sweet Love! 'tis time to rise:
+        Ph[oe]bus is risen in the east,
+    Spreading his beams on those fair eyes
+        Which are enclosed with Nature's rest.
+    Awake, awake from heavy sleep
+    Which all thy thoughts in silence keep!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Ay me, can every rumour
+    Thus start my lady's humour?
+    Name ye some galante to her,
+    Why straight forsooth I woo her.
+    Then burst[s] she forth in passion
+    "You men love but for fashion;"
+    Yet sure I am that no man
+    Ever so lovèd woman.
+    Then alas, Love, be wary,
+    For women be contrary.
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Ay me, my mistress scorns my love;
+    I fear she will most cruel prove.
+    I weep, I sigh, I grieve, I groan;
+    Yet she regardeth not my moan.
+    Then, Love, adieu! it fits not me
+    To weep for her that laughs at thee.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    Behold a wonder here!
+    Love hath receiv'd his sight!
+    Which many hundred year
+    Hath not beheld the light.
+
+    Such beams infusèd be
+    By Cynthia in his eyes,
+    As first have made him see
+    And then have made him wise.
+
+    Love now no more will weep
+    For them that laugh the while!
+    Nor wake for them that sleep,
+    Nor sigh for them that smile!
+
+    So powerful is the Beauty
+    That Love doth now behold,
+    As Love is turned to Duty
+    That's neither blind nor bold.
+
+    Thus Beauty shows her might
+    To be of double kind;
+    In giving Love his sight
+    And striking Folly blind.
+
+
+From the Second Book of _Musica Transalpina_, 1597.
+
+          Brown is my Love, but graceful:
+          And each renownèd whiteness
+    Match'd with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness.
+
+          Fair is my Love, but scornful:
+          Yet have I seen despisèd
+    Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prizèd.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    By a fountain where I lay,
+    (All blessèd be that blessèd day!)
+    By the glimm'ring of the sun,
+    (O never be her shining done!)
+        When I might see alone
+        My true Love, fairest one!
+            Love's dear light!
+            Love's clear sight!
+    No world's eyes can clearer see!
+    A fairer sight, none can be!
+
+    Fair with garlands all addrest,
+    (Was never Nymph more fairly blest!)
+    Blessèd in the highest degree,
+    (So may she ever blessèd be!)
+        Came to this fountain near,
+        With such a smiling cheer!
+            Such a face,
+            Such a grace!
+    Happy, happy eyes, that see
+    Such a heavenly sight as She!
+
+    Then I forthwith took my pipe,
+    Which I all fair and clean did wipe,
+    And upon a heavenly ground,
+    All in the grace of beauty found,
+        Play'd this roundelay:
+        "Welcome, fair Queen of May!
+            Sing, sweet air!
+            Welcome, Fair!
+    Welcome be the Shepherds' Queen,
+    The glory of all our green!"
+
+
+From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse, &c._, 1614.
+
+    THE URCHINS' DANCE.
+
+    By the moon we sport and play,
+    With the night begins our day:
+    As we frisk the dew doth fall;
+    Trip it, little urchins all!
+    Lightly as the little bee,
+    Two by two, and three by three;
+    And about, about go we.
+
+
+    THE ELVES' DANCE.
+
+    Round about in a fair ring-a,
+    Thus we dance and thus we sing-a;
+    Trip and go, to and fro,
+    Over this green-a;
+    All about, in and out,
+    Over this green-a.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    THE COURTIER'S GOOD MORROW TO HIS MISTRESS.
+
+    Canst thou love and lie alone?
+    Love is so disgracèd,
+    Pleasure is best
+    Wherein is rest
+    In a heart embracèd.
+    Rise, rise, rise!
+    Daylight do not burn out;
+    Bells do ring and birds do sing,
+    Only I that mourn out.
+
+    Morning-star doth now appear,
+    Wind is hushed and sky is clear;
+    Come, come away, come, come away!
+    Canst thou love and burn out day?
+    Rise, rise, rise!
+    Daylight do not burn out;
+    Bells do ring [and] birds do sing,
+    Only I that mourn out.
+
+
+From ROBERT DOWLAND's _Musical Banquet_, 1610. (Lines by the Earl of
+Essex.)
+
+    Change thy mind since she doth change,
+      Let not fancy still abuse thee,
+    Thy untruth cannot seem strange
+      When her falsehood doth excuse thee:
+    Love is dead and thou art free,
+    She doth live but dead to thee.
+
+    Whilst she loved thee best a while,
+      See how she hath still delayed thee:
+    Using shows for to beguile,
+      Those vain hopes that have deceived thee:
+    Now thou seest, although too late,
+    Love loves truth which women hate.
+
+    Love no more since she is gone,
+      She is gone and loves another:
+    Being once deceived by one,
+      Leave her love but love none other.
+    She was false, bid her adieu,
+    She was best but yet untrue.
+
+    Love, farewell, more dear to me
+      Than my life, which thou preservest.
+    Life, all joys are gone from thee;
+      Others have what thou deservest.
+    Oh my death doth spring from hence,
+    I must die for her offence.
+
+    Die, but yet before thou die,
+      Make her know what she hath gotten,
+    She in whom my hopes did lie
+      Now is changed, I quite forgotten.
+    She is changed, but changèd base,
+    Baser in so vild a place.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Cold Winter's ice is fled and gone,
+      And Summer brags on every tree,
+    The red-breast peeps amidst the throng
+      Of wood-born birds that wanton be:
+    Each one forgets what they have been,
+    And so doth Phyllis, Summer's queen.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Come away! come, sweet Love!
+    The golden morning breaks;
+    All the earth, all the air,
+    Of love and pleasure speaks!
+    Teach thine arms then to embrace,
+    And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
+    And mix our souls in mutual bliss.
+    Eyes were made for beauty's grace
+    Viewing, ruing, love's long pain;
+    Procured by beauty's rude disdain.
+
+    Come away![3] come, sweet Love!
+    The golden morning wastes
+    While the sun from his sphere
+    His fiery arrows casts:
+    Making all the shadows fly,
+    Playing, staying in the grove
+    To entertain the stealth of love.
+    Thither, sweet Love, let us hie,
+    Flying, dying in desire,
+    Wing'd with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.
+
+    Come away! come, sweet Love!
+    Do not in vain adorn
+    Beauty's grace, that should rise
+    Like to our naked morn!
+    Lilies on the river's side,
+    And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown,
+    Desire no beauties but their own:
+    Ornament is nurse of pride.
+    Pleasure measure[s] love's delight:
+    Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!
+
+[3] This stanza is not in the original, but is added in _England's
+Helicon_.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Come, O come, my life's delight!
+      Let me not in languor pine!
+    Love loves no delay; thy sight
+      The more enjoyed, the more divine!
+    O come, and take from me
+    The pain of being deprived of thee!
+
+    Thou all sweetness dost enclose,
+      Like a little world of bliss;
+    Beauty guards thy looks, the rose
+      In them pure and eternal is:
+    Come, then, and make thy flight
+    As swift to me as heavenly light!
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers:
+    Here shelter is from sharpest showers,
+    Cool gales of wind breathe in these shades,
+    Danger none this place invades;
+        Here sit and note the chirping birds
+        Pleading my love in silent words.
+
+    Come, Phyllis, come, bright heaven's eye
+    Cannot upon thy beauty pry;
+    Glad Echo in distinguished voice
+    Naming thee will here rejoice;
+        Then come and hear her merry lays
+        Crowning thy name with lasting praise.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing,
+          Now sigh and groan!
+    Dead is my Love, my Hope, my Joy, my Spring;
+          Dead, dead, and gone!
+    O, She that was your Summer's Queen,
+          Your days' delight,
+    Is gone and will no more be seen;
+          O, cruel spite!
+    Break all your pipes that wont to sound
+          With pleasant cheer,
+    And cast yourselves upon the ground
+          To wail my Dear!
+    Come, shepherd swains, come, nymphs, and all a-row
+          To help me cry:
+    Dead is my Love, and, seeing She is so,
+          Lo, now I die!
+
+
+From _Two Books of Airs_, by THOMAS CAMPION (circ. 1613).
+
+    Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton,
+      Leave your crafty smiling!
+    Think you to escape me now
+      With slipp'ry words beguiling?
+    No; you mocked me th' other day;
+      When you got loose, you fled away;
+    But, since I have caught you now,
+      I'll clip your wings for flying:
+    Smoth'ring kisses fast I'll heap
+      And keep you so from crying.
+
+    Sooner may you count the stars
+      And number hail down-pouring,
+    Tell the osiers of the Thames,
+      Or Goodwin sands devouring,
+    Than the thick-showered kisses here
+       Which now thy tired lips must bear.
+    Such a harvest never was
+       So rich and full of pleasure,
+    But 'tis spent as soon as reaped,
+      So trustless is lore's treasure.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Could my heart more tongues employ
+      Than it harbours thoughts of grief,
+    It is now so far from joy
+      That it scarce could ask relief:
+    Truest hearts by deeds unkind
+    To despair are most inclined.
+
+    Happy minds that can redeem
+      Their engagements how they please,
+    That no joys or hopes esteem
+      Half so precious as their ease:
+    Wisdom should prepare men so,
+    As if they did all foreknow.
+
+    Yet no art or caution can
+      Grown affections easily change;
+    Use is such a lord of man
+      That he brooks worst what is strange:
+    Better never to be blest
+    Than to lose all at the best.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    Crownèd with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis
+      By Thyrsis sit, hard by a fount of crystal,
+    And with her hand more white than snow or lilies,
+      On sand she wrote _My faith shall be immortal_:
+    And suddenly a storm of wind and weather
+    Blew all her faith and sand away together.
+
+
+From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse_, 1614.
+
+    THE FAIRIES' DANCE.
+
+    Dare you haunt our hallow'd green?
+    None but fairies here are seen.
+    Down and sleep,
+    Wake and weep,
+    Pinch him black, and pinch him blue,
+    That seeks to steal a lover true!
+    When you come to hear us sing,
+    Or to tread our fairy ring,
+    Pinch him black, and pinch him blue!
+    O thus our nails shall handle you!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent,
+    Heaping flatt'ries that in heart were never meant,
+          Easily could I then obtain
+            What now in vain I force;
+          Falsehood much doth gain,
+            Truth yet holds the better course.
+
+    Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive,
+    Or, in praising you, myself of truth deprive!
+          Let not your high thoughts debase
+            A simple truth in me;
+          Great is Beauty's grace,
+            Truth is yet as fair as she.
+
+    Praise is but the wind of pride if it exceeds,
+    Wealth prized in itself no outward value needs:
+          Fair you are, and passing fair;
+            You know it, and 'tis true;
+          Yet let none despair
+            But to find as fair as you.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again;
+    Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love;
+    Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain;
+    Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove.
+    Dear, sweet, fair, wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak;
+    And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.
+
+    Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
+    Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move;
+    Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born;
+    Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
+    Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
+    Ere I prove false to faith or strange to you.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Canzonets_, 1593.
+
+    Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing?
+    Because with me once gazing
+    On those fair eyes where all powers have their being,
+    She with her beauty blazing,
+    Which death might have revivèd,
+    Him of his sight and me of heart deprivèd.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares
+      That do arise from painful melancholy;
+    My life so ill through want of comfort fares,
+      That unto thee I consecrate it wholly.
+
+    Sweet Night, draw on; my griefs, when they be told
+      To shades and darkness, find some ease from paining;
+    And while thou all in silence dost enfold,
+      I then shall have best time for my complaining.
+
+
+From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to three Voices_, 1608.
+
+    Each day of thine, sweet month of May,
+    Love makes a solemn holyday:
+        I will perform like duty,
+    Since thou resemblest every way
+        Astræa, Queen of Beauty.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Every dame affects good fame, whate'er her doings be,
+    But true praise is Virtue's bays, which none may wear but she.
+    Borrowed guise fits not the wise, a simple look is best;
+    Native grace becomes a face though ne'er so rudely drest.
+    Now such new-found toys are sold these women to disguise,
+    That before the year grows old the newest fashion dies.
+
+    Dames of yore contended more in goodness to exceed,
+    Than in pride to be envied for that which least they need.
+    Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn, if Pawn at all there were;
+    Homespun thread and household bread then held out all the year.
+    But th' attires of women now wear out both house and land;
+    That the wives in silk may flow, at ebb the good men stand.
+
+    Once again, Astræa! then from heaven to earth descend,
+    And vouchsafe in their behalf these errors to amend.
+    Aid from heaven must make all even, things are so out of frame;
+    For let man strive all he can, he needs must please his dame.
+    Happy man, content that gives and what he gives enjoys!
+    Happy dame, content that lives and breaks no sleep for toys!
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone,
+        Feeding her flock near to the mountain-side;
+    The shepherds knew not whither she was gone,
+        But after her lover Amyntas hied.
+    Up and down he wandered, whilst she was missing;
+    When he found her, oh then they fell a-kissing!
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies,
+      A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
+    An envious boy from whom all cares arise,
+      A bastard vile, a beast with rage possest;
+    A way of error, a temple full of treason,
+    In all effects contrary unto reason.
+
+    A poison'd serpent cover'd all with flowers,
+      Mother of sighs and murderer of repose;
+    A sea of sorrows from whence are drawn such showers
+      As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
+    A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
+    A gilded hook that holds a poison'd bait.
+
+    A fortress foiled which Reason did defend,
+      A Siren song, a fever of the mind,
+    A maze wherein affection finds no end,
+      A raging cloud that runs before the wind;
+    A substance like the shadow of the sun,
+    A goal of grief for which the wisest run.
+
+    A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,
+      A path that leads to peril and mishap,
+    A true retreat of sorrow and despair,
+      An idle boy that sleeps in Pleasure's lap;
+    A deep distrust of that which certain seems,
+    A hope of that which Reason doubtful deems.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Farewell, my joy!
+        Adieu, my love and pleasure!
+    To sport and toy
+        We have no longer leisure.
+                              Fa la la!
+
+    Farewell, adieu
+        Until our next consorting!
+    Sweet love, be true!
+        And thus we end our sporting.
+                              Fa la la!
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new,
+      Good pennyworths,--but money cannot move:
+    I keep a fair but for the Fair to view,--
+      A beggar may be liberal of love.
+    Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,
+                                The heart is true.
+
+    Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again,
+      My trifles come as treasures from my mind;
+    It is a precious jewel to be plain;
+      Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearls we find:
+    Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain!
+                                Of me a grain!
+
+    Within this pack pins, points, laces, and gloves,
+      And divers toys fitting a country fair,
+    But my heart, wherein duty serves and loves,
+      Turtles and twins, court's brood, a heavenly pair--
+    Happy the heart that thinks of no removes!
+                                Of no removes!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed,
+    Flowers that will thrive in sunny soil are bred:
+    How can a heart feel heat that no hope finds?
+    Or can he love on whom no comfort shines?
+
+    Fair, I confess there's pleasure in your sight;
+    Sweet, you have power, I grant, of all delight;
+    But what is all to me if I have none?
+    Churl that you are t'enjoy such wealth alone!
+
+    Prayers move the heavens but find no grace with you,
+    Yet in your looks a heavenly form I view;
+    Then will I pray again, hoping to find,
+    As well as in your looks, heaven in your mind.
+
+    Saint of my heart, queen of my life and love,
+    O let my vows thy loving spirit move!
+    Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain,
+    But with one touch of grace cure all my pain!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Flora gave me fairest flowers,
+      None so fair in Flora's treasure;
+    These I placed on Phyllis' bowers,
+      She was pleased, and she my pleasure:
+    Smiling meadows seem to say,
+    "Come, ye wantons, here to play."
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet!
+    Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet!
+    There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move,
+    And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:
+    But, if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,
+    Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne'er return again.
+
+    All that I sang still to her praise did tend,
+    Still she was first, still she my songs did end;
+    Yet she my love and music both doth fly,
+    The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy:
+    Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight!
+    It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her delight.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    {ouk esti gêmas hostis ou cheimazetai,
+    legousi pantes; kai gamousin eidotes.}
+                                 _Anthol. Græc._
+
+    Fond wanton youths make love a God
+    Which after proveth Age's rod;
+    Their youth, their time, their wit, their art
+    They spend in seeking of their smart;
+    And, which of follies is the chief,
+    They woo their woe, they wed their grief.
+
+    All find it so who wedded are,
+    Love's sweets, they find, enfold sour care;
+    His pleasures pleasing'st in the eye,
+    Which tasted once with loathing die:
+    They find of follies 'tis the chief,
+    Their woe to woo, to wed their grief.
+
+    If for their own content they choose
+    Forthwith their kindred's love they lose;
+    And if their kindred they content,
+    For ever after they repent;
+    O 'tis of all our follies chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+    In bed, what strifes are bred by day,
+    Our puling wives do open lay;
+    None friends, none foes we must esteem
+    But whom they so vouchsafe to deem:
+    O 'tis of all our follies chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+    Their smiles we want if aught they want,
+    And either we their wills must grant
+    Or die they will, or are with child;
+    Their longings must not be beguiled:
+    O 'tis of all our follies chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+    Foul wives are jealous, fair wives false,
+    Marriage to either binds us thrall;
+    Wherefore being bound we must obey
+    And forcèd be perforce to say,--
+    Of all our bliss it is the chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    From Citheron the warlike boy is fled
+        And smiling sits upon a Virgin's lap,--
+        Thereby to train poor misers to the trap,
+    Whom Beauty draws with fancy to be fed:
+    And when Desire with eager looks is led,
+            Then from her eyes
+            The arrow flies,
+    Feather'd with flame, arm'd with a golden head.
+
+    Her careless thoughts are freèd of that flame
+        Wherewith her thralls are scorchèd to the heart:
+        If Love would so, would God the enchanting dart
+    Might once return and burn from whence it came!
+    Not to deface of Beauty's work the frame,
+            But by rebound
+            It might be found
+    What secret smart I suffer by the same.
+
+    If Love be just, then just is my desire;
+        And if unjust, why is he call'd a God?
+        O God, O God, O Just! reserve thy rod
+    To chasten those that from thy laws retire!
+    But choose aright (good Love! I thee require)
+            The golden head,
+            Not that of lead!
+    Her heart is frost and must dissolve by fire.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1600.
+
+    TO MASTER HUGH HOLLAND.
+
+    From Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired,
+    In these sad groves an hermit's life I lead:
+    And those false pleasures, which I once admired,
+    With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread.
+    To birds, to trees, to earth, impart I this;
+    For she less secret, and as senseless is.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+    Experience which repentance only brings,
+    Doth bid me, now, my heart from Love estrange!
+    Love is disdained when it doth look at Kings;
+    And Love low placèd base and apt to change.
+    There Power doth take from him his liberty,
+    Her[e] Want of Worth makes him in cradle die.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+    You men that give false worship unto Love,
+    And seek that which you never shall obtain;
+    The endless work of Sisyphus you prove,
+    Whose end is this, to know you strive in vain.
+    Hope and Desire, which now your idols be,
+    You needs must lose, and feel Despair with me.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+    You woods, in you the fairest Nymphs have walked:
+    Nymphs at whose sights all hearts did yield to love.
+    You woods, in whom dear lovers oft have talked,
+    How do you now a place of mourning prove?
+    Wanstead! my Mistress saith this is the doom.
+    Thou art love's child-bed, nursery, and tomb.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Give Beauty all her right!
+      She's not to one form tied;
+    Each shape yields fair delight
+      Where her perfections bide:
+    Helen, I grant, might pleasing be,
+    And Ros'mond was as sweet as she.
+
+    Some the quick eye commends,
+      Some swelling[4] lips and red;
+    Pale looks have many friends,
+      Through sacred sweetness bred:
+    Meadows have flowers that pleasures move,
+    Though roses are the flowers of love.
+
+    Free beauty is not bound
+      To one unmovèd clime;
+    She visits every ground
+      And favours every time.
+    Let the old loves with mine compare,
+    My sovereign is as sweet and fair.
+
+[4] Old ed. "smelling."
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Go crystal tears! like to the morning showers,
+      And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast!
+    And as the dews revive the drooping flowers,
+      So let your drops of pity be addrest!
+    To quicken up the thoughts of my desert,
+    Which sleeps too sound whilst I from her depart.
+
+    Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath
+      Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart!
+    Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,
+      Feels never any touch of my desert.
+    Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice
+    Both from a spotless heart and patient eyes.
+
+
+From EGERTON MS., 2013. _The Verses were set to Music by Dr. John
+Wilson._
+
+    Go, turn away those cruel eyes,
+      For they have quite undone me;
+    They used not so to tyrannize
+      When first those glances won me.
+
+    But 'tis the custom of you men,--
+      False men thus to deceive us!
+    To love but till we love again,
+      And then again to leave us.
+
+    Go, let alone my heart and me,
+      Which thou hast thus affrighted!
+    I did not think I could by thee
+      Have been so ill requited.
+
+    But now I find 'tis I must prove
+      That men have no compassion;
+    When we are won, you never love
+      Poor women, but for fashion,
+
+    Do recompense my love with hate,
+      And kill my heart! I'm sure
+    Thou'lt one day say, when 'tis too late,
+      Thou never hadst a truer.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Second Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Good men show! if you can tell,
+    Where doth Human Pity dwell?
+    Far and near her I would seek,
+    So vexed with sorrow is my breast.
+    "She," they say, "to all, is meek;
+    And only makes th' unhappy blest."
+
+    Oh! if such a saint there be,
+    Some hope yet remains for me:
+    Prayer or sacrifice may gain
+    From her implorèd grace, relief;
+    To release me of my pain,
+    Or at the least to ease my grief.
+
+    Young am I, and far from guile,
+    The more is my woe the while:
+    Falsehood, with a smooth disguise,
+    My simple meaning hath abused:
+    Casting mists before mine eyes,
+    By which my senses are confused.
+
+    Fair he is, who vowed to me,
+    That he only mine would be;
+    But alas, his mind is caught
+    With every gaudy bait he sees:
+    And, too late, my flame is taught
+    That too much kindness makes men freeze.
+
+    From me, all my friends are gone,
+    While I pine for him alone;
+    And not one will rue my case,
+    But rather my distress deride:
+    That I think, there is no place,
+    Where Pity ever yet did bide.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    Ha ha! ha ha! this world doth pass
+      Most merrily, I'll be sworn;
+    For many an honest Indian ass
+      Goes for an Unicorn.
+                  Farra, diddle dino;
+                  This is idle fino.
+
+    Ty hye! ty hye! O sweet delight!
+      He tickles this age that can
+    Call Tullia's ape a marmosyte
+      And Leda's goose a swan.
+                  Farra diddle dino;
+                  This is idle fino.
+
+    So so! so so! fine English days!
+      When false play's no reproach:
+    For he that doth the coachman praise,
+      May safely use the coach.
+                  Farra diddle dino;
+                  This is idle fino.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES's _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+          Happy he
+        Who, to sweet home retired,
+        Shuns glory so admired,
+          And to himself lives free,
+    Whilst he who strives with pride to climb the skies
+    Falls down with foul disgrace before he rise.
+
+          Let who will
+        The active life commend
+        And all his travels bend
+          Earth with his fame to fill:
+    Such fame, so forced, at last dies with his death,
+    Which life maintain'd by others' idle breath.
+
+          My delights,
+        To dearest home confined,
+        Shall there make good my mind
+          Not aw'd with fortune's spites:
+    High trees heaven blasts, winds shake and honors[5] fell,
+    When lowly plants long time in safety dwell.
+
+          All I can,
+        My worldly strife shall be
+        They one day say of me
+          'He died a good old man':
+    On his sad soul a heavy burden lies
+    Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies.
+
+[5] Qy. "hammers"?
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Happy, O! happy he, who not affecting
+      The endless toils attending worldly cares,
+    With mind reposed, all discontents rejecting,
+      In silent peace his way to heaven prepares,
+    Deeming this life a scene, the world a stage
+    Whereon man acts his weary pilgrimage.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Set Of Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    Have I found her? O rich finding!
+      Goddess-like for to behold,
+    Her fair tresses seemly binding
+      In a chain of pearl and gold.
+    Chain me, chain me, O most fair,
+    Chain me to thee with that hair!
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more!
+      Sit down and take thy rest;
+    Of golden groats I have full store
+      To flaunt it with the best.
+    But I love and I love, and who thinks you?
+    The finest lass that e'er you knew,
+    Which makes me sing when I should cry
+    Heigh ho! for love I die.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE BACHELOR.
+
+    How many things as yet
+      Are dear alike to me!
+    The field, the horse, the dog,
+      Love, arms, or liberty.
+
+    I have no wife as yet
+      That I may call mine own;
+    I have no children yet
+      That by my name are known.
+
+    Yet, if I married were,
+      I would not wish to thrive
+    If that I could not tame
+      The veriest shrew alive.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    How shall I then describe my Love?
+      When all men's skilful art
+    Is far inferior to her worth,
+      To praise the unworthiest part.
+
+    She's chaste in looks, mild in her speech,
+      In actions all discreet,
+    Of nature loving, pleasing most,
+      In virtue all complete.
+
+    And for her voice a Philomel,
+      Her lips may all lips scorn;
+    No sun more clear than is her eye,
+      In brightest summer morn.
+
+    A mind wherein all virtues rest
+      And take delight to be,
+    And where all virtues graft themselves
+      In that most fruitful tree:
+
+    A tree that India doth not yield,
+      Nor ever yet was seen,
+    Where buds of virtue always spring,
+      And all the year grow green.
+
+    That country's blest wherein she grows,
+      And happy is that rock
+    From whence she springs: but happiest he
+      That grafts in such a stock.
+
+
+From HENRY LICHFILD's _First Set of Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    I always loved to call my lady Rose,
+    For in her cheeks roses do sweetly glose,
+    And from her lips she such sweet odours threw
+    As roses do 'gainst Ph[oe]bus' morning-view:
+    But when I thought to pull't, hope was bereft me,--
+    My rose was gone and naught but prickles left me.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    A WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT'S SON.
+
+    I have house and land in Kent,
+      And if you'll love me, love me now;
+    Twopence-halfpenny is my rent,
+      I cannot come every day to woo.
+        Chorus. _Twopence-halfpenny is his rent,
+                And he cannot come every day to woo._
+
+    Ich am my vather's eldest zonne,
+      My mother eke doth love me well,
+    For ich can bravely clout my shoone,
+      And ich full well can ring a bell.
+        Chorus. _For he can bravely clout his shoone,
+                And he full well can ring a bell._
+
+    My vather he gave me a hog,
+      My mouther she gave me a zow;
+    I have a God-vather dwels thereby,
+      And he on me bestowed a plow.
+        Chorus. _He has a God-vather dwells thereby,
+                And he on him bestowed a plough._
+
+    One time I gave thee a paper of pins,
+      Another time a tawdry-lace;
+    And if thou wilt not grant me love,
+      In truth ich die bevore thy face.
+        Chorus. _And if thou wilt not grant his love,
+                In truth he'll die bevore thy vace._
+
+    Ich have been twice our Whitson-lord,
+      Ich have had ladies many vair,
+    And eke thou hast my heart in hold
+      And in my mind zeems passing rare.
+        Chorus. _And eke thou hast his heart in hold
+                And in his mind seems passing rare._
+
+    Ich will put on my best white slops
+      And ich will wear my yellow hose,
+    And on my head a good grey hat,
+      And in't ich stick a lovely rose.
+        Chorus. _And on his head a good grey hat,
+                And in't he'll stick a lovely rose._
+
+    Wherefore cease off, make no delay,
+      And if you'll love me, love me now;
+    Or else ich zeek zome oderwhere,
+      For I cannot come every day to woo.
+        Chorus. _Or else he'll zeek zome oderwhere,
+                For he cannot come every day to woo._
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety_,
+1588.
+
+    I joy not in no earthly bliss,
+    I force not Cr[oe]sus' wealth a straw;
+    For care I know not what it is
+    I fear not Fortune's fatal law:
+    My mind is such as may not move
+    For beauty bright nor force of love.
+
+    I wish but what I have at will,
+    I wander not to seek for more;
+    I like the plain, I climb no hill;
+    In greatest storms I sit on shore
+    And laugh at them that toil in vain
+    To get what must be lost again.
+
+    I kiss not where I wish to kill;
+    I feign not love where most I hate;
+    I break no sleep to win my will;
+    I wait not at the mighty's gate;
+    I scorn no poor, nor fear no rich;
+    I feel no want, nor have too much.
+
+    The court and cart I like nor loath;
+    Extremes are counted worst of all;
+    The golden mean between them both
+    Doth surest sit and fears no fall.
+    This is my choice: for why? I find
+    No wealth is like the quiet mind.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    I live, and yet methinks I do not breathe;
+    I thirst and drink, I drink and thirst again;
+    I sleep and yet do dream I am awake;
+    I hope for that I have; I have and want:
+    I sing and sigh; I love and hate at once.
+      O, tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar
+      Doth cause in store such want, in peace such war?
+
+                      _Risposta._
+    There is a jewel which no Indian mines
+    Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit;
+    It makes men rich in greatest poverty;
+    Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
+    The homely whistle to sweet music's strain:
+      Seldom it come, to few from heaven sent,
+      That much in little, all in nought,--Content.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE MAID.
+
+    I marriage would forswear,
+      But that I hear men tell
+    That she that dies a maid
+      Must lead an ape in hell.
+
+    Therefore, if fortune come,
+      I will not mock and play
+    Nor drive the bargain on
+      Till it be driven away.
+
+    Titles and lands I like,
+      Yet rather fancy can
+    A man that wanteth gold
+      Than gold that wants a man.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE MARRIED MAN.
+
+    I only am the man
+      Among all married men
+    That do not wish the priest,
+      To be unlinked again.
+
+    And though my shoe did wring
+      I would not make my moan,
+    Nor think my neighbours' chance
+      More happy than mine own.
+
+    Yet court I not my wife,
+      But yield observance due,
+    Being neither fond nor cross,
+      Nor jealous nor untrue.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+        I saw my Lady weep,
+    And sorrow proud to be advancèd so
+    In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
+        Her face was full of woe,
+    But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts
+    Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.
+
+        Sorrow was there made fair,
+    And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing;
+    Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare;
+        She made her sighs to sing,
+    And all things with so sweet a sadness move
+    As made my heart at once both grieve and love.
+
+        O fairer than aught else
+    The world can show, leave off in time to grieve.
+    Enough, enough; your joyful look excels;
+        Tears kill the heart, believe.
+    O strive not to be excellent in woe,
+    Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy's pleasure,
+    Where I did list, or time served best and leisure;
+    While Daphne did invite me
+    To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.
+    I smiled, but yet did doubt her,
+    And drank where she had drunk before, to flout her;
+    But, O! while I did eye her,
+    Mine eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.
+
+
+From ORLANDO GIBBONS' _First Set of Madrigals_, 1612.
+
+    I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile,
+    I joy not much in earthly joys,
+    I seek not state, I reak [_sic_] not style,
+    I am not fond of Fancy's toys.
+    I rest so pleased with what I have
+    I wish no more, no more I crave.
+
+    I tremble not at noise of war,
+    I quake not at the thunder's crack,
+    I shrink not at a blazing star,
+    I sound not at the news of wreck,
+    I fear no loss, I hope no gain,
+    I envy none, I none disdain.
+
+    I see Ambition never pleased,
+    I see some Tantals starve in store,
+    I see gold's dropsy seldom eased,
+    I see each Midas gape for more:
+    I neither want nor yet abound,
+    Enough's a feast, content is crowned.
+
+    I feign not friendship where I hate,
+    I fawn not on the great for grace,
+    I prize, I praise a mean estate
+    Ne yet too lofty, nor too base,
+    This is all my choice, my cheer--
+    A mind content and conscience clear.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Madrigals to Four Voices_, 1600.
+
+        I will no more come to thee
+        That flout'st me when I woo thee;
+        Still ty hy thou criest
+    And all my lovely rings and pins denyest.
+        O say, alas, what moves thee
+        To grieve him so that loves thee?
+    Leave, alas, then, ah leave tormenting
+    And give my burning some relenting.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    If fathers knew but how to leave
+        Their children wit as they do wealth,
+    And could constrain them to receive
+        That physic which brings perfect health,
+    The world would not admiring stand
+    A woman's face and woman's hand.
+
+    Women confess they must obey,
+      We men will needs be servants still;
+    We kiss their hands, and what they say
+      We must commend, be't ne'er so ill:
+    Thus we, like fools, admiring stand
+    Her pretty foot and pretty hand.
+
+    We blame their pride, which we increase
+      By making mountains of a mouse;
+    We praise because we know we please;
+      Poor women are too credulous
+    To think that we admiring stand
+    Or foot, or face, or foolish hand.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    If I urge my kind desires,
+      She, unkind, doth them reject,
+    Women's hearts are painted fires,
+      To deceive them that affect.
+    I alone love's fires include:
+    She alone doth them delude.
+
+    She hath often vowed her love:
+      But alas no fruit I find.
+    That her fires are false I prove
+      Yet, in her, no fault I find.
+    I was thus unhappy born,
+    And ordained to be her scorn.
+
+    Yet if human care or pain,
+      May the heavenly order change;
+    She will hate her own disdain,
+      And repent she was so strange:
+    For a truer heart than I,
+    Never lived, nor loved to die.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1597.
+
+    If my complaints could passions move,
+      Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong;
+    My passions were enough to prove
+      That my despairs had governed me too long.
+    O Love, I live and die in thee!
+    Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me.
+
+    Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks,
+      Yet thou dost hope when I despair;
+    My heart for thy unkindness breaks;
+      Thou say'st thou can'st my harms repair,
+    And when I hope thou mak'st me hope in vain;
+    Yet for redress thou let'st me still complain.
+
+    Can Love be rich, and yet I want?
+      Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemned?
+    Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant;
+      Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned!
+    That I do live, it is thy power;
+    That I desire it is thy worth.
+
+    If love doth make men's lives too sour,
+      Let me not love, nor live henceforth!
+    Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,
+      That you, that of my fall may hearers be,
+    May hear Despair, which truly saith
+    "I was more true to Love, than Love to me."
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 'tis to love,
+    Do but fix thy thoughts on me and thou shalt quickly prove:
+          Little suit at first shall win
+            Way to thy abashed desire,
+          But then will I hedge thee in,
+            Salamander-like, with fire.
+
+    With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dalliance bear;
+    We the grovy hills will climb and play the wantons there;
+          Other whiles we'll gather flowers,
+            Lying dallying on the grass;
+          And thus our delightful hours,
+            Full of waking dreams, shall pass.
+
+    When thy joys were thus at height, my love should turn from thee,
+    Old acquaintance then should grow as strange, as strange might be:
+          Twenty rivals thou shouldst find,
+            Breaking all their hearts for me,
+          While to all I'll prove more kind
+            And more forward than to thee.
+
+    Thus thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love defy,
+    But, alas, poor soul, too late! clipt wings can never fly.
+          Those sweet hours which we had past,
+            Called to thy mind, thy heart would burn;
+          And couldst thou fly ne'er so fast,
+            They would make thee straight return.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    If women could be fair and never fond,
+      Or that their beauty might continue still,
+    I would not marvel though they made men bond
+      By service long to purchase their goodwill:
+    But when I see how frail these creatures are,
+    I laugh that men forget themselves so far.
+
+    To mark what choice they make and how they change,
+      How, leaving best, the worst they choose out still;
+    And how, like haggards wild, about they range,
+      And scorning reason follow after will![6]
+    Who would not shake such buzzards from the fist
+    And let them fly (fair fools!) which way they list?
+
+    Yet for our sport we fawn and flatter both,
+      To pass the time when nothing else can please:
+    And train them on to yield by subtle oath
+      The sweet content that gives such humour ease:
+    And then we say, when we their follies try,
+      "To play with fools, O, what a fool was I!"
+
+[6] So Oliphant.--Old ed., "Scorning after reason to follow will."
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    In crystal towers and turrets richly set
+        With glitt'ring gems that shine against the sun,
+    In regal rooms of jasper and of jet,
+        Content of mind not always likes to won;[7]
+    But oftentimes it pleaseth her to stay
+    In simple cotes enclosed with walls of clay.
+
+[7] Dwell.
+
+
+From JOHN COPRARIO's _Funeral Tears, etc._, 1606.
+
+    In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be,
+    The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me,
+    The walls of marble black that moistened still shall weep,
+    My music hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleep:
+    Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb
+    O let me dying live till death doth come.
+
+    My dainties grief shall be, and tears my poisoned wine,
+    My sighs the air through which my panting heart shall pine,
+    My robes my mind shall suit exceeding blackest night,
+    My study shall be tragic thoughts sad fancy to delight,
+    Pale ghosts and frightful shades shall my acquaintance be:
+    O thus, my hapless joy, I haste to thee.
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    In midst of woods or pleasant grove,
+      Where all sweet birds do sing,
+    Methought I heard so rare a sound
+      Which made the heavens to ring.
+
+    The charm was good, the noise full sweet,
+      Each bird did play his part;
+    And I admired to hear the same,
+      Joy sprang into my heart.
+
+    The black bird made the sweetest sound,
+      Whose tunes did far excel;
+    Full pleasantly, and most profound
+      Was all things placed well.
+
+    Thy pretty tunes, mine own sweet bird,
+      Done with so good a grace,
+    Extolls thy name, prefers the same
+      Abroad in every place.
+
+    Thy music grave, bedeckèd well
+      With sundry points of skill,
+    Bewrays thy knowledge excellent
+      Ingrafted in thy will.
+
+    My tongue shall speak, my pen shall write
+      In praise of thee to tell;
+    The sweetest bird that ever was,
+      In friendly sort farewell.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    In pride of May
+    The fields are gay,
+    The birds do sweetly sing. Fa la la!
+        So Nature would
+        That all things should
+    With joy begin the spring. Fa la la!
+
+    Then, Lady dear,
+    Do you appear
+    In beauty like the spring: Fa la la!
+        I dare well say
+        The birds that day
+    More cheerfully will sing. Fa la la!
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES's _Musical Dream_, 1609.
+
+    {Pheugein dê ton Erôta kenos ponos.}--_Archias_.
+
+    In Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood,
+      An archer great, none greater,
+    His bow and shafts were sure and good,
+      Yet Cupid's were much better;
+    Robin could shoot at many a hart and miss,
+    Cupid at first could hit a heart of his.
+      Hey, jolly Robin Hood, ho jolly Robin Hood,
+        Love finds out me
+        As well as thee,
+      To follow me to the green-wood.
+
+    A noble thief was Robin Hood,
+      Wise was he could deceive him;
+    Yet Marian in his bravest mood
+      Could of his heart bereave him:
+    No greater thief lies hidden under skies,
+    Than beauty closely lodged in women's eyes.
+      Hey, jolly Robin, &c.
+
+    An outlaw was this Robin Hood,
+      His life free and unruly,
+    Yet to fair Marian bound he stood
+      And love's debt paid her duly:
+    Whom curb of strictest law could not hold in,
+    Love[8] to obedience with a wink could win.
+      Hey, jolly Robin, &c.
+
+    Now wend we home, stout Robin Hood,
+      Leave we the woods behind us,
+    Love-passions must not be withstood,
+      Love everywhere will find us.
+    I lived in field and town, and so did he;
+    I got me to the woods, Love followed me.
+      Hey, jolly Robin, &c.
+
+[8] Old ed.,--"Love with obeyednes and a winke could winne."
+
+
+From MICHAEL ESTE's _Madrigals of three, four and five parts_, 1604. (By
+Nicholas Breton. Originally published in 1591.)
+
+    In the merry month of May,
+    On a morn by break of day,
+    Forth I walk'd by the wood-side,
+    Whereas May was in her pride:
+    There I spyèd all alone
+    Phillida and Corydon.
+    Much ado there was, God wot!
+    He would love and she would not.
+    She said, never man was true;
+    He said, none was false to you.
+    He said, he had loved her long;
+    She said, Love should have no wrong.
+    Corydon would kiss her then;
+    She said, maids must kiss no men
+    Till they did for good and all;
+    Then she made the shepherd call
+    All the heavens to witness truth
+    Never lov'd a truer youth.
+    Thus with many a pretty oath,
+    Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
+    Such as seely shepherds use
+    When they will not love abuse,
+    Love, which had been long deluded,
+    Was with kisses sweet concluded;
+    And Phillida with garlands gay
+    Was made the Lady of the May.
+
+
+From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.
+
+    Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave,
+    For wanting her I must embrace my grave;
+    A little grave will ease my malady
+    And set me free from love's fell tyranny.
+    Intomb me then and show her where I lie,
+    And say I died through her inconstancy.
+
+
+From HENRY LICHFILD's _First Set of Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me,
+    With speedy wings you fly and so release me;
+    But if some sorrow do oppress my heart,
+    You creep as if you never meant to part.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    Is Love a boy,--what means he then to strike?
+    Or is he blind,--why will he be a guide?
+    Is he a man,--why doth he hurt his like?
+    Is he a God,--why doth he men deride?
+    No one of these, but one compact of all:
+    A wilful boy, a man still dealing blows,
+    Of purpose blind to lead men to their thrall,
+    A god that rules unruly--God, he knows.
+
+    Boy, pity me that am a child again;
+    Blind, be no more my guide to make me stray;
+    Man, use thy might to force away my pain;
+    God, do me good and lead me to my way;
+    And if thou beest a power to me unknown,
+    Power of my life, let here thy grace be shown.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+THE MARRIAGE OF THE FROG AND THE MOUSE.
+
+    It was the frog in the well,
+        Humbledum, humbledum,
+    And the merry mouse in the mill,
+            Tweedle, tweedle, twino.
+
+    The frog would a wooing ride
+    Sword and buckler by his side.
+
+    When he upon his high horse set,
+    His boots they shone as black as jet.
+
+    When he came to the merry mill-pin,--
+    "Lady Mouse, been you within?"
+
+    Then came out the dusty mouse:
+    "I am Lady of this house:
+
+    Hast thou any mind of me?"
+    "I have e'en great mind of thee?"
+
+    "Who shall this marriage make?"
+    "Our Lord which is the rat,"
+
+    "What shall we have to our supper?"
+    "Three beans in a pound of butter?"
+
+    When supper they were at,
+    The frog, the mouse, and e'en the rat;
+
+    Then came in Gib our cat,
+    And catched the mouse e'en by the back.
+
+    Then did they separate,
+    And the frog leaped on the floor so flat.
+
+    Then came in Dick our drake,
+    And drew the frog e'en to the lake.
+
+    The rat run up the wall,
+        Humbledum, humbledum;
+    A goodly company, the Devil go with all!
+        Tweedle tweedle twino.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Jack and Joan, they think no ill,
+    But loving live, and merry still;
+    Do their week-days' work, and pray
+    Devoutly on the holy day:
+    Skip and trip it on the green,
+    And help to choose the Summer Queen;
+    Lash out at a country feast
+    Their silver penny with the best.
+
+    Well can they judge of nappy ale,
+    And tell at large a winter tale;
+    Climb up to the apple loft,
+    And turn the crabs till they be soft.
+    Tib is all the father's joy,
+    And little Tom the mother's boy.
+    All their pleasure is Content;
+    And Care, to pay their yearly rent.
+
+    Joan can call by name her cows
+    And deck her windows with green boughs;
+    She can wreaths and tutties[9] make,
+    And trim with plums a bridal cake.
+    Jack knows what brings gain or loss;
+    And his long flail can stoutly toss:
+    Makes the hedge which others break,
+    And ever thinks what he doth speak.
+
+    Now, you courtly dames and knights,
+    That study only strange delights;
+    Though you scorn the homespun gray
+    And revel in your rich array;
+    Though your tongues dissemble deep,
+    And can your heads from danger keep;
+    Yet, for all your pomp and train,
+    Securer lives the silly swain.
+
+[9] Nosegays.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Kind are her answers,
+    But her performance keeps no day;
+    Breaks time, as dancers,
+    From their own music when they stray.
+    All her free favours and smooth words
+    Wing my hopes in vain.
+    O, did ever voice so sweet but only feign?
+    Can true love yield such delay,
+    Converting joy to pain?
+
+    Lost is our freedom
+    When we submit to women so:
+    Why do we need 'em
+    When, in their best, they work our woe?
+    There is no wisdom
+    Can alter ends by Fate prefixt.
+    O, why is the good of man with evil mixt?
+    Never were days yet callèd two
+    But one night went betwixt.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Kind in unkindness, when will you relent
+    And cease with faint love true love to torment?
+    Still entertained, excluded still I stand;
+    Her glove still hold, but cannot touch the hand.
+
+    In her fair hand my hopes and comforts rest:
+    O might my fortunes with that hand be blest!
+    No envious breaths then my deserts could shake,
+    For they are good whom such true love doth make.
+
+    O let not beauty so forget her birth
+    That it should fruitless home return to earth!
+    Love is the fruit of beauty, then love one!
+    Not your sweet self, for such self-love is none.
+
+    Love one that only lives in loving you;
+    Whose wronged deserts would you with pity view,
+    This strange distaste which your affection sways
+    Would relish love, and you find better days.
+
+    Thus till my happy sight your beauty views,
+    Whose sweet remembrance still my hope renews,
+    Let these poor lines solicit love for me,
+    And place my joys where my desires would be.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Lady, the birds right fairly
+    Are singing ever early;
+    The lark, the thrush, the nightingale,
+    The make-sport cuckoo and the quail.
+    These sing of Love! then why sleep ye?
+    To love your sleep it may not be.
+
+
+From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.
+
+    Lady, the melting crystal of your eye
+    Like frozen drops upon your cheeks did lie;
+    Mine eye was dancing on them with delight,
+    And saw love's flames within them burning bright,
+    Which did mine eye entice
+    To play with burning ice;
+    But O, my heart thus sporting with desire,
+    My careless eye did set my heart on fire.
+
+    O that a drop from such a sweet fount flying
+    Should flame like fire and leave my heart a-dying!
+    I burn, my tears can never drench it
+    Till in your eyes I bathe my heart and quench it:
+    But there, alas, love with his fire lies sleeping,
+    And all conspire to burn my heart with weeping.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
+    Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
+    And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours,
+    My eyes present me with a double doubting:
+    For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
+    Whether the roses be your lips or your lips [be] the roses.
+
+
+From J. DANYEL's _Songs for the Lute, Viol and Voice_, 1606.
+
+    Let not Chloris think, because
+      She hath unvassel'd me,
+    That her beauty can give laws
+      To others that are free:
+    I was made to be the prey
+      And booty of her eyes!
+    In my bosom, she may say.
+      Her greatest kingdom lies.
+
+    Though others may her brow adore,
+    Yet more must I that therein see far more
+    Than any other's eyes have power to see;
+    She is to me
+    More than to any others she can be.
+    I can discern more secret notes
+    That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes
+    Than any else besides have art to read;
+    No looks proceed
+    From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed.
+
+    O then why
+    Should she fly
+    From him to whom her sight
+    Doth add so much above her might?
+    Why should not she
+    Still joy to reign in me?
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    Let not the sluggish sleep
+      Close up thy waking eye,
+    Until with judgment deep
+      Thy daily deeds thou try:
+    He that one sin in conscience keeps
+      When he to quiet goes,
+    More vent'rous is than he that sleeps
+      With twenty mortal foes.
+
+
+From GEORGE MASON's and JOHN EARSDEN's _Airs that were sung and played
+at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland in the King's Entertainment given by
+the Earl of Cumberland_, 1618.
+
+    Let us in a lovers' round
+    Circle all this hallowed ground;
+    Softly, softly trip and go,
+    The light-foot Fairies jet it so.
+    Forward then, and back again,
+    Here and there and everywhere,
+    Winding to and fro,
+    Skipping high and louting low;
+    And, like lovers, hand in hand,
+    March around and make a stand.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Like two proud armies marching in the field,--
+    Joining a thund'ring fight, each scorns to yield,--
+    So in my heart your beauty and my reason:
+    One claims the crown, the other says 'tis treason.
+    But oh! your beauty shineth as the sun;
+    And dazzled reason yields as quite undone.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals to Three, Four, Five and Six Voices_,
+1597.
+
+    Lo! country sport that seldom fades;
+      A garland of the spring,
+    A prize for dancing, country maids
+      With merry pipes we bring.
+    Then all at once _for our town_ cries!
+    Pipe on, for we will have the prize.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Lo, when back mine eye
+    Pilgrim-like I cast,
+    What fearful ways I spie
+    Which, blinded, I securely passed!
+
+    But now heaven hath drawn
+      From my brows that night;
+    As when the day doth dawn,
+    So clears my long-imprisoned sight.
+
+    Straight the Caves of Hell
+      Dressed with flowers I see,
+    Wherein False Pleasures dwell,
+    That, winning most, most deadly be.
+
+    Throngs of maskèd fiends,
+      Winged like angels, fly;
+    Even in the gates of friends,
+    In fair disguise black dangers lie.
+
+    Straight to heaven I raised
+      My restorèd sight,
+    And with loud voice I praised
+    The LORD of ever-during light.
+
+    And since I had strayed
+      From His ways so wide,
+    His grace I humbly prayed
+    Henceforth to be my guard and guide.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE COURTIER.
+
+    Long have I lived in Court,
+      Yet learned not all this while
+    To sell poor suiters smoke,
+      Nor where I hate to smile;
+    Superiors to adore,
+      Inferiors to despise,
+    To flie from such as fall,
+      To follow such as rise:
+
+    To cloak a poor desire
+      Under a rich array,
+    Nor to aspire by Vice,
+      Though 'twere the quicker way.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+      Love is a bable,
+      No man is able
+    To say 'tis this or 'tis that;
+      So full of passions
+      Of sundry fashions,
+    'Tis like I cannot tell what.
+
+      Love's fair in the cradle,
+      Foul in the fable,
+    'Tis either too cold or too hot;
+      An arrant liar,
+      Fed by desire,
+    It is and yet it is not.
+
+      Love is a fellow
+      Clad oft in yellow,[10]
+    The canker-worm of the mind,
+      A privy mischief,
+      And such a sly thief
+    No man knows which way to find.
+
+      Love is a wonder
+      That's here and yonder,
+    As common to one as to moe;
+      A monstrous cheater,
+      Every man's debtor;
+    Hang him and so let him go.
+
+[10] The colour of jealousy.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Love not me for comely grace,
+    For my pleasing eye or face,
+    Nor for any outward part:
+    No, nor for a constant heart!
+    For these may fail or turn to ill:
+        So thou and I shall sever.
+    Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
+    And love me still, but know not why!
+    So hast thou the same reason still
+        To doat upon me ever.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+        Love's god is a boy,
+        None but cowherds regard him,
+        His dart is a toy,
+        Great opinion hath marred him:
+        The fear of the wag
+        Hath made him so brag;
+        Chide him, he'll flie thee
+        And not come nigh thee.
+    Little boy, pretty knave, shoot not at random,
+    For if you hit me, slave, I'll tell your grandam.
+
+        Fond love is a child
+        And his compass is narrow,
+        Young fools are beguiled
+        With the fame of his arrow;
+        He dareth not strike
+        If his stroke do mislike:
+        Cupid, do you hear me?
+        Come not too near me.
+    Little boy, pretty knave, hence I beseech you,
+    For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you.
+
+        Th' ape loves to meddle
+        When he finds a man idle,
+        Else is he a-flirting
+        Where his mark is a-courting;
+        When women grow true
+        Come teach me to sue,
+        Then I'll come to thee
+        Pray thee and woo thee.
+    Little boy, pretty knave, make me not stagger,
+    For if you hit me, knave, I'll call thee, beggar.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly
+    Far from base earth, but not to mount too high;
+        For true pleasure
+        Lives in measure,
+        Which if men forsake,
+    Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.
+
+    But my vain hopes, proud of their new-taught flight,
+    Enamoured sought to woo the sun's fair light,
+        Whose rich brightness
+        Moved their lightness
+        To aspire so high
+    That all scorched and consumed with fire now drown'd in woe they lie.
+
+    And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,
+    For Love did know that their desires were true;
+        Though Fate frownèd,
+        And now drownèd
+        They in sorrow dwell,
+    It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    "Maids are simple," some men say,
+       "They forsooth will trust no men."
+    But should they men's wills obey,
+       Maids were very simple then.
+
+    Truth a rare flower now is grown,
+       Few men wear it in their hearts;
+    Lovers are more easily known
+       By their follies than deserts.
+
+    Safer may we credit give
+       To a faithless wandering Jew,
+    Than a young man's vows believe
+       When he swears his love is true.
+
+    Love they make a poor blind child,
+       But let none trust such as he;
+    Rather than to be beguiled,
+       Ever let me simple be.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    THE BELLMAN's SONG.
+
+    Maids to bed and cover coal;
+    Let the mouse out of her hole;
+    Crickets in the chimney sing
+    Whilst the little bell doth ring;
+    If fast asleep, who can tell
+    When the clapper hits the bell?
+
+
+From MARTIN PEERSON's _Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music_, 1630.
+
+    More than most fair, full of all heavenly fire,
+      Kindled above to shew the Maker's glory;
+    Beauty's first-born, in whom all powers conspire
+      To write the Graces' life and Muses' story;
+    If in my heart all nymphs else be defacèd,
+    Honour the shrine where you alone are placèd.
+
+    Thou window of the sky, and pride of spirits,
+      True character of honour in perfection,
+    Thou heavenly creature, judge of earthly merits,
+      And glorious prison of men's pure affection:
+    If in my heart all nymphs else be defacèd
+    Honour the shrine where you alone are placèd.
+
+
+From THOMAS VAUTOR's _Songs of divers Airs and Natures_, 1619.
+
+    Mother, I will have a husband,
+    And I will have him out of hand!
+    Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+    John-a-Dun should have had me long ere this:
+    He said I had good lips to kiss.
+    Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+    For I have heard 'tis trim when folks do love;
+    By good Sir John I swear now I will prove.
+    For, Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+    To the town, therefore, will I gad
+    To get me a husband, good or bad.
+    Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+
+From MICHAEL ESTE's _Madrigals of Three, Four and Five Parts_, 1604.
+
+    My hope a counsel with my heart
+      Hath long desired to be,
+    And marvels much so dear a friend
+      Is not retain'd by me.
+
+    She doth condemn my haste
+      In passing the estate
+    Of my whole life into their hands
+      Who nought repays but hate:
+
+    And not sufficed with this, she says,
+      I did release the right
+    Of my enjoyèd liberties
+      Unto your beauteous sight.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    My love bound me with a kiss
+      That I should no longer stay;
+    When I felt so sweet a bliss
+      I had less power to part away:
+    Alas, that women doth not know
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+    Yes, she knows it but too well,
+      For I heard when Venus' dove
+    In her ear did softly tell
+      That kisses were the seals of love:
+    O muse not then though it be so,
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+    Wherefore did she thus inflame
+      My desires heat my blood,
+    Instantly to quench the same
+      And starve whom she had given food?
+    I the common sense can show,
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+    Had she bid me go at first
+      It would ne'er have grieved my heart,
+    Hope delayed had been the worst;
+      But ah to kiss and then to part!
+    How deep it struck, speak, gods, you know
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    My Love is neither young nor old,
+    Not fiery-hot nor frozen-cold,
+    But fresh and fair as springing briar
+    Blooming the fruit of love's desire;
+    Not snowy-white nor rosy-red,
+    But fair enough for shepherd's bed;
+    And such a love was never seen
+    On hill or dale or country-green.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    My mind to me a kingdom is:
+    Such perfect joy therein I find
+    That it excels all other bliss
+    That God or nature hath assigned.
+    Though much I want, that most would have,
+    Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
+
+    No princely port, nor wealthy store,
+    No force to win a victory,
+    No wily wit to salve a sore,
+    No shape to win a loving eye;
+    To none of these I yield as thrall!
+    For why? my mind despise them all.
+
+    I see that plenty surfeits oft,
+    And hasty climbers soonest fall;
+    I see that such as are aloft,
+    Mishap doth threaten most of all.
+    These get with toil, and keep with fear:
+    Such cares my mind can never bear.
+
+    I press to bear no haughty sway,
+    I wish no more than may suffice,
+    I do no more, than well I may;
+    Look, what I want, my mind supplies.
+    Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
+    My mind content with any thing.
+
+    I laugh not at another's loss,
+    Nor grudge not at another's gain.
+    No worldly waves my mind can toss,
+    I brook that is another's bane;
+    I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend,
+    I loathe not life nor dread mine end.
+
+    My wealth is health and perfect ease;
+    And conscience clear my chief defence;
+    I never seek by bribes to please,
+    Nor by desert to give offence,
+    Thus do I live, thus will I die:
+    Would all did so as well as I!
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    My prime of youth is but a frost of cares!
+      My feast of joy is but a dish of pain!
+    My crop of corn is but a field of tares!
+      And all my good is but vain hope of gain!
+    My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun!
+    And now I live, and now my life is done!
+
+    The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung!
+      The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green!
+    My youth is gone, and yet I am but young!
+      I saw the World and yet I was not seen!
+    My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun!
+    And now I live, and now my life is done.
+
+
+From CAMPION AND ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    _Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus._
+
+    My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,
+    And though the sager sort our deeds reprove
+    Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive
+    Into their west, and straight again revive;
+    But, soon as once is set our little light,
+    Then must we sleep one ever-during night.
+
+    If all would lead their lives in love like me,
+    Then bloody swords and armour should not be;
+    No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,
+    Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love:
+    But fools do live and waste their little light,
+    And seek with pain their ever-during night.
+
+    When timely death my life and fortunes ends,
+    Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends;
+    But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come
+    And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb:
+    And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light
+    And crown with love my ever-during night.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love:
+    Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night,
+    And say, as she doth in the heavens move,
+    In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight:
+    And whisper this, but softly, in her ears,
+    "Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears."
+
+    And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry,
+    If for mistrust my mistress do you blame,
+    Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary,
+    As she doth change and yet remain the same;
+    Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect,
+    And Love is sweetest seasoned with Suspect.
+
+    If she for this with clouds do mask her eyes
+    And make the heavens dark with her disdain,
+    With windy sighs disperse them in the skies
+    Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain.
+    Thoughts, Hopes, and Love, return to me no more
+    Till Cynthia shine as she hath done before.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Never love unless you can
+    Bear with all the faults of man:
+    Men sometimes will jealous be
+    Though but little cause they see;
+    And hang the head as discontent,
+    And speak what straight they will repent.
+
+    Men that but one saint adore
+    Make a show of love to more;
+    Beauty must be scorned in none,
+    Though but truly served in one:
+    For what is courtship but disguise?
+    True hearts may have dissembling eyes.
+
+    Men, when their affairs require,
+    Must awhile themselves retire;
+    Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk,
+    And not ever sit and talk:
+    If these and such-like you can bear,
+    Then like, and love, and never fear!
+
+
+From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599. (Verses by
+Samuel Daniel.)
+
+    Now each creature joys the other,
+      Passing happy days and hours:
+    One bird reports unto another
+      By the fall of silver showers;
+    Whilst the Earth, our common Mother,
+      Hath her bosom decked with flowers.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals_, 1597.
+
+    Now every tree renews his summer's green,
+      Why is your heart in winter's garments clad?
+    Your beauty says my love is summer's queen,
+      But your cold love like winter makes me sad:
+    Then either spring with buds of love again
+    Or else congeal my thoughts with your disdain.
+
+
+From _Pammelia_, 1609.
+
+    Now God be with old Simeon,
+    For he made cans for many-a-one,
+    And a good old man was he;
+    And Jinkin was his journeyman,
+    And he could tipple of every can,
+      And thus he said to me:
+            "To whom drink you?"
+            "Sir knave, to you."
+      Then hey-ho, jolly Jinkin!
+      I spie a knave in drinking.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Now have I learn'd with much ado at last
+      By true disdain to kill desire;
+    This was the mark at which I shot so fast,
+      Unto this height I did aspire:
+    Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not,
+    For thee and all thy shafts I care not.
+
+    What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,
+      What life to quicken dead desire?
+    I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,
+      I feel no heat in all thy fire:
+    Go, change thy bow and get a stronger,
+    Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer.
+
+    In vain thou bait'st thy hook with beauty's blaze,
+      In vain thy wanton eyes allure;
+    These are but toys for them that love to gaze,
+      I know what harm thy looks procure:
+    Some strange conceit must be devised,
+    Or thou and all thy skill despised.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Now I see thy looks were feignèd
+    Quickly lost, and quickly gainèd;
+    Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers,
+    Heart inconstant, light as feathers,
+    Tongue untrusty, subtle sighted,
+    Wanton will with change delighted.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Of thine eye I made my mirror,
+    From thy beauty came my error,
+    All thy words I counted witty,
+    All thy sighs I deemèd pity,
+    Thy false tears, that me aggrievèd
+    First of all my trust deceivèd.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Feigned acceptance when I askèd,
+    Lovely words with cunning maskèd,
+    Holy vows, but heart unholy;
+    Wretched man, my trust was folly;
+    Lily white, and pretty winking,
+    Solemn vows but sorry thinking.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Now I see, O seemly cruel,
+    Others warm them at my fuel,
+    Wit shall guide me in this durance
+    Since in love is no assurance:
+    Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure,
+    Beauty is a fading treasure.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid, plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Prime youth lasts not, age will follow
+    And make white those tresses yellow;
+    Wrinkled face, for looks delightful,
+    Shall acquaint the dame despiteful.
+    And when time shall date thy glory,
+    Then too late thou wilt be sorry.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Now is my Chloris fresh as May,
+    Clad all in green and flowers gay.
+                          Fa la la!
+    O might I think August were near
+    That harvest joy might soon appear.
+                          Fa la la!
+    But she keeps May throughout the year,
+    And August never comes the near.
+                          Fa la la!
+    Yet will I hope, though she be May,
+    August will come another day.
+                          Fa la la!
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets_, 1595.
+
+    Now is the month of maying,
+    When merry lads are playing
+    Each with his bonny lass
+    Upon the greeny grass.
+                    Fa la la!
+
+    The spring clad all in gladness
+    Doth laugh at winter's sadness,
+    And to the bagpipe's sound
+    The nymphs tread out their ground.
+                    Fa la la!
+
+    Fie then, why sit we musing,
+    Youth's sweet delight refusing?
+    Say, dainty nymphs, and speak,
+    Shall we play barley-break.
+                   Fa la la!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Now let her change! and spare not!
+    Since she proves strange, I care not!
+    Feigned love charmed so my delight,
+    That still I doted on her sight.
+    But she is gone! new joys embracing,
+    And my distress disgracing.
+
+    When did I err in blindness?
+    Or vex her with unkindness?
+    If my cares served her alone,
+    Why is she thus untimely gone?
+    True love abides to th' hour of dying:
+    False love is ever flying.
+
+    False! then farewell for ever!
+    Once false proves faithful never!
+    He that boasts now of thy love,
+    Shall soon, my present fortunes prove
+    Were he as fair as bright Adonis:
+    Faith is not had where none is!
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600
+
+    Now let us make a merry greeting
+    And thank God Cupid for our meeting:
+    My heart is full of joy and pleasure
+    Since thou art here, mine only treasure.
+    Now will we dance and sport and play
+    And sing a merry roundelay.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES's _Second Book of Airs_, 1601. (Attributed to Sir
+Walter Raleigh.)
+
+    Now what is love, I pray thee tell?
+    It is that fountain and that well
+    Where pleasures and repentance dwell;
+    It is perhaps that sancing-bell[11]
+    That tolls all in to heaven or hell:
+    And this is love, as I hear tell.
+
+    Now what is love, I pray thee say?
+    It is a work on holyday,
+    It is December matched with May,
+    When lusty bloods in fresh array
+    Hear ten months after of their play:
+    And this is love, as I hear say.
+
+    Now what is love, I pray thee feign?
+    It is a sunshine mixed with rain,
+    It is a gentle pleasing pain,
+    A flower that dies and springs again,
+    It is a No that would full fain:
+    And this is love as I hear sain.
+
+    Yet what is love, I pray thee say?
+    It is a pretty shady way
+    As well found out by night as day,
+    It is a thing will soon decay;
+    Then take the vantage whilst you may:
+    And this is love, as I hear say.
+    Now what is love, I pray thee show?
+    A thing that creeps, it cannot go,
+    A prize that passeth to and fro,
+    A thing for one, a thing for mo,
+    And he that proves shall find it so:
+    And this is love, as I well know.
+
+[11] Saint's-bell; the little bell that called to prayers.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Now winter nights enlarge
+    The number of their hours,
+    And clouds their storms discharge
+    Upon the airy towers.
+    Let now the chimneys blaze,
+    And cups o'erflow with wine;
+    Let well-tuned words amaze
+    With harmony divine.
+    Now yellow waxen lights
+    Shall wait on honey love,
+    While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
+    Sleep's leaden spells remove.
+
+    This time doth well dispense
+    With lovers' long discourse;
+    Much, speech hath some defence
+    Though beauty no remorse.
+    All do not all things well;
+    Some measures comely tread,
+    Some knotted riddles tell,
+    Some poems smoothly read.
+    The summer hath his joys
+    And winter his delights;
+    Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
+    They shorten tedious nights.
+
+
+From JOHN WARD's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    O say, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries,
+      So lovely-ripe, by my rude lips be tasted?
+    Shall I not pluck (sweet, say not _nay_) those cherries?
+      O let them not with summer's heat be blasted.
+    Nature, thou know'st, bestow'd them free on thee;
+    Then be thou kind--bestow them free on me.
+
+
+From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    O stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting;
+      These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us,
+    And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting,
+      Warbling sweet notes only to delight us:
+    Then stay, dear Love, for though thou run from me,
+    Run ne'er so fast, yet I will follow thee.
+
+    I thought, my love, that I should overtake you;
+      Sweet heart, sit down under this shadowed tree,
+    And I will promise never to forsake you,
+      So you will grant to me a lover's fee.
+    Whereat she smiled and kindly to me said--
+    I never meant to live and die a maid.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Madrigals_, 1594.
+
+    O sweet, alas, what say you?
+    Ay me, that face discloses
+    The scarlet blush of sweet vermilion roses.
+    And yet, alas, I know not
+    If such a crimson staining
+    Be for love or disdaining;
+    But if of love it grow not,
+    Be it disdain conceivèd
+    To see us of love's fruits so long bereavèd.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    O sweet delight, O more than human bliss
+    With her to live that ever loving is!
+    To hear her speak whose words are so well placed
+    That she by them, as they by her are graced!
+    Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye,
+    How blest is he that may so live and die!
+
+    Such love as this the Golden Times did know,
+    When all did reap and none took care to sow;
+    Such love as this an endless summer makes,
+    And all distaste from frail affection takes.
+    So loved, so blest in my beloved am I:
+    Which till their eyes ache let iron men envy!
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Oft have I mused the cause to find
+      Why Love in lady's eyes should dwell;
+    I thought, because himself was blind,
+      He look'd that they should guide him well:
+    And sure his hope but seldom fails,
+    For Love by ladies' eyes prevails.
+
+    But time at last hath taught me wit,
+      Although I bought my wit full dear;
+    For by her eyes my heart is hit,
+      Deep is the wound though none appear:
+    Their glancing beams as darts he throws,
+    And sure he hath no shafts but those.
+
+    I mused to see their eyes so bright,
+      And little thought they had been fire;
+    I gazed upon them with delight,
+      But that delight hath bred desire:
+    What better place can Love desire
+    Than that where grow both shafts and fire?
+
+
+From JOHN ATTYE's _First Book of Airs_, 1622.
+
+    On a time the amorous Silvy
+    Said to her shepherd, 'Sweet, how do you?
+    Kiss me this once, and then God be wi' you,
+                             My sweetest dear!
+    Kiss me this once and then God be wi' you,
+    For now the morning draweth near.'
+
+    With that, her fairest bosom showing,
+    Opening her lips, rich perfumes blowing,
+    She said, 'Now kiss me and be going,
+                             My sweetest dear!
+    Kiss me this once and then be going,
+    For now the morning draweth near.'
+
+    With that the shepherd waked from sleeping,
+    And, spying where the day was peeping,
+    He said, 'Now take my soul in keeping,
+                             My sweetest dear!
+    Kiss me, and take my soul in keeping,
+    Since I must go, now day is near.'
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Once did I love and yet I live,
+      Though love and truth be now forgotten;
+    Then did I joy, now do I grieve
+      That holy vows must now be broken.
+
+    Hers be the blame that caused it so,
+      Mine be the grief though it be mickle;[12]
+    She shall have shame, I cause to know
+      What 'tis to love a dame so fickle.
+
+    Love her that list, I am content
+      For that chameleon-like she changeth,
+    Yielding such mists as may prevent
+      My sight to view her when she rangeth.
+
+    Let him not vaunt that gains my loss,
+      For when that he and time hath proved her,
+    She may him bring to Weeping-Cross:
+      I say no more, because I loved her.
+
+[12] Old ed., "little"
+
+
+From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to Three Voices_, 1608.
+
+    Once I thought to die for love,
+    Till I found that women prove
+      Traitors in their smiling:
+    They say men unconstant be,
+    But they themselves Jove change, we see,
+      And all is but beguiling.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals_, 1597
+
+    Our country-swains in the morris dance
+      Thus woo and win their brides,
+    Will for our town the hobby horse
+      At pleasure frolic rides:
+    I woo with tears and ne'er the near,
+    I die in grief and live in fear.
+
+
+From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.
+
+    Pierce did love fair Petronel
+    Because she sang and dancèd well
+      And gallantly could prank it;
+    He pulled her and he haul'd her
+    And oftentimes he call'd her
+      Primrose pearls prick'd in a blanket.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals_, 1613.
+
+    Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears;
+    Break, heart, and die, for now no hope appears;
+    Hope, upon which before my thoughts were fed,
+    Hath left me quite forlorn and from me fled.
+    Yet, see, she smiles! O see, some hope appears!
+    Hold, heart, and live; mine eyes, cease off your tears.
+
+
+From _Airs sung and played at Brougham Castle_, 1618, by GEORGE MASON
+and JOHN EARSDEN.
+
+    Robin is a lovely lad,
+    No lass a smoother ever had;
+    Tommy hath a look as bright
+    As is the rosy morning light;
+    Tib is dark and brown of hue,
+    But like her colour firm and true;
+    Jenny hath a lip to kiss
+    Wherein a spring of nectar is;
+    Simkin well his mirth can place
+    And words to win a woman's grace;
+    Sib is all in all to me,
+    There is no Queen of Love but she.
+
+
+From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse_, 1614.
+
+    THE SATYRS' DANCE.
+
+    Round-a, round-a, keep your ring:
+    To the glorious sun we sing,--
+                        Ho, ho!
+    He that wears the flaming rays,
+    And th' imperial crown of bays,
+    Him with shouts and songs we praise--
+                        Ho, ho!
+    That in his bounty he'd vouchsafe to grace
+    The humble sylvans and their shaggy race.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Canzonets_, 1593.
+
+    See, see, mine own sweet jewel,
+    What I have for my darling:
+    A robin-redbreast and a starling.
+    These I give both in hope to move thee;
+    Yet thou say'st I do not love thee.
+
+
+From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.
+
+    Shall a frown or angry eye,
+    Shall a word unfitly placèd,
+    Shall a shadow make me flie
+    As if I were with tigers chasèd?
+    Love must not be so disgracèd.
+
+    Shall I woo her in despight?
+    Shall I turn her from her flying?
+    Shall I tempt her with delight?
+    Shall I laugh at her denying?
+    No: beware of lovers' crying.
+
+    Shall I then with patient mind
+    Still attend her wayward pleasure?
+    Time will make her prove more kind,
+    Let her coyness then take leisure:
+    She is worthy such a treasure.
+
+
+From RICHARD ALISON's _An Hours Recreation in Music_, 1606.
+
+    Shall I abide this jesting?
+    I weep, and she's a-feasting!
+    O cruel fancy, that so doth blind me
+    To love one that doth not mind me!
+
+    Can I abide this prancing?
+    I weep, and she's a-dancing!
+    O cruel fancy, so to betray me!
+    Thou goest about to slay me.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee
+        When the evening beams are set?
+    Shall I not excluded be,
+        Will you find no feignèd let?
+    Let me not, for pity, more
+    Tell the long hours at your door.
+
+    Who can tell what thief or foe,
+        In the covert of the night,
+    For his prey will work my woe,
+        Or through wicked foul despite?
+    So may I die unredrest
+    Ere my long love be possest.
+
+    But to let such dangers pass,
+        Which a lover's thoughts disdain,
+    'Tis enough in such a place
+        To attend love's joys in vain:
+    Do not mock me in thy bed,
+    While these cold nights freeze me dead.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Shall I look to ease my grief?
+      No, my sight is lost with eying:
+    Shall I speak and beg relief?
+      No, my voice is hoarse with crying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    Love and I of late did part,
+      But the boy, my peace envying,
+    Like a Parthian threw his dart
+      Backward, and did wound me flying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    She whom then I lookèd on,
+      My remembrance beautifying,
+    Stays with me though I am gone,
+      Gone and at her mercy lying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    Shall I try her thoughts and write?
+      No I have no means of trying:
+    If I should, yet at first sight
+      She would answer with denying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    Thus my vital breath doth waste,
+      And, my blood with sorrow drying,
+    Sighs and tears make life to last
+      For a while, their place supplying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    She whose matchless beauty staineth
+    What best judgment fair'st maintaineth,
+    She, O she, my love disdaineth.
+
+    Can a creature, so excelling,
+    Harbour scorn in beauty's dwelling,
+    All kind pity thence expelling?
+
+    Pity beauty much commendeth
+    And th' embracer oft befriendeth
+    When all eye-contentment endeth.
+
+    Time proves beauty transitory;
+    Scorn, the stain of beauty's glory,
+    In time makes the scorner sorry.
+
+    None adores the sun declining;
+    Love all love falls to resigning
+    When the sun of love leaves shining.
+
+    So, when flower of beauty fails thee,
+    And age, stealing on, assails thee,
+    Then mark what this scorn avails thee.
+
+    Then those hearts, which now complaining
+    Feel the wounds of thy disdaining,
+    Shall contemn thy beauty waning.
+
+    Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prizèd,
+    Shall with spite and grief surprisèd
+    Burst to find itself despisèd.
+
+    When like harms have them requited
+    Who in others' harms delighted,
+    Pleasingly the wrong'd are righted.
+
+    Such revenge my wrongs attending,
+    Hope still lives on time depending,
+    By thy plagues thy torrents ending.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.
+
+    Shoot, false Love! I care not;
+    Spend thy shafts and spare not!
+                               Fa la la!
+    I fear not, I, thy might,
+    And less I weigh thy spite;
+    All naked I unarm me,--
+    If thou canst, now shoot and harm me!
+    So lightly I esteem thee
+    As now a child I dream thee.
+                               Fa la la la!
+
+    Long thy bow did fear[13] me,
+    While thy pomp did blear me;
+                               Fa la la!
+    But now I do perceive
+    Thy art is to deceive;
+    And every simple lover
+    All thy falsehood can discover.
+    Then weep, Love! and be sorry,
+    For thou hast lost thy glory.
+                               Fa la la la!
+
+[13] Frighten.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_, (circ. 1613).
+
+    Silly boy! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly;
+    Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.
+    Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures be bereavèd,
+    Little knows he how to love that never was deceivèd.
+
+    This is thy first maiden-flame that triumphs yet unstainèd,
+    All is artless now you speak, not one word is feignèd;
+    All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessèd,
+    But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.
+
+    Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected,
+    And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth dejected;
+    Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy
+    And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith is folly.
+
+    Yet be just and constant still, Love may beget a wonder,
+    Not unlike a summer's frost or winter's fatal thunder:
+    He that holds his sweetheart true unto his day of dying,
+    Lives, of all that ever breathed, most worthy the envying.
+
+
+From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.
+
+    Simkin said that Sis was fair,
+      And that he meant to love her;
+    He set her on his ambling mare,--
+      All this he did to prove her.
+
+    When they came home Sis floted cream
+      And poured it through a strainer,
+    But sware that Simkin should have none
+      Because he did disdain her.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music Of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye,
+    If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye.
+    What? I that loved and you that liked shall we begin to wrangle?
+    No, no no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle.
+
+    If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you may forgive me
+    Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, then justly might you leave me.
+    I asked you leave, you bade me love; is't now a time to chide me?
+    No no no, I'll love you still what fortune e'er betide me.
+
+    The sun whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder,
+    And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder,
+    Where beauty moves, and wit delights and signs of kindness bind me
+    There, O there! where'er I go I'll leave my heart behind me.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets_, 1595.
+
+    Sing we and chant it
+    While love doth grant it.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Not long youth lasteth,
+    And old age hasteth.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Now is best leisure
+    To take our pleasure.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    All things invite us
+    Now to delight us.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Hence care be packing,
+    No mirth be lacking.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Let spare no treasure
+    To live in pleasure.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Sister, awake! close not your eyes!
+      The day her light discloses,
+    And the bright morning doth arise
+      Out of her bed of roses.
+
+    See, the clear sun, the world's bright eye,
+      In at our window peeping:
+    Lo! how he blusheth to espy
+      Us idle wenches sleeping.
+
+    Therefore, awake! make haste, I say,
+      And let us, without staying,
+    All in our gowns of green so gay
+      Into the park a-maying.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me!
+      For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?
+    It shall suffice me here to sit and see
+      Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke:
+    What sight can more content a lover's mind
+    Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind?
+
+    My words have charmed her, for secure she sleeps,
+      Though guilty much of wrong done to my love;
+    And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps:
+      Dreams often more than waking passions move.
+    Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee:
+    That she in peace may wake and pity me.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    So light is love, in matchless beauty shining,
+      When he revisits Cypris' hallowed bowers,
+    Two feeble doves, harness'd in silken twining,
+      Can draw his chariot midst the Paphian flowers,
+    Lightness in love! how ill it fitteth!
+    So heavy on my heart he sitteth.
+
+
+From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.
+
+    Some can flatter, some can feign,
+      Simple truth shall plead for me;
+    Let not beauty truth disdain,
+      Truth is even as fair as she.
+
+    But since pairs must equal prove,
+      Let my strength her youth oppose,
+    Love her beauty, faith her love;
+      On even terms so may we close.
+
+    Cork or lead in equal weight
+      Both one just proportion yield,
+    So may breadth be peis'd[14] with height,
+      Steepest mount with plainest field.
+
+    Virtues have not all one kind,
+      Yet all virtues merit be,
+    Divers virtues are combined;
+      Differing so, deserts agree.
+
+    Let then love and beauty meet,
+      Making one divine concent
+    Constant as the sounds and sweet,
+      That enchant the firmament.
+
+[14] Balanced.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Sweet, come again!
+        Your happy sight, so much desired
+        Since you from hence are now retired,
+    I seek in vain:
+    Still I must mourn,
+        And pine in longing pain,
+        Till you, my life's delight, again
+    Vouchsafe your wish'd return.
+
+    If true desire,
+        Or faithful vow of endless love,
+        Thy heart inflamed may kindly move
+    With equal fire;
+    O then my joys,
+        So long distraught, shall rest,
+        Reposèd soft in thy chaste breast,
+    Exempt from all annoys.
+
+    You had the power
+        My wand'ring thoughts first to restrain,
+        You first did hear my love speak plain;
+    A child before,
+    Now it is grown
+        Confirmed, do you it[15] keep!
+        And let 't safe in your bosom sleep,
+    There ever made your own!
+
+    And till we meet,
+        Teach absence inward art to find,
+        Both to disturb and please the mind!
+    Such thoughts are sweet:
+    And such remain
+        In hearts whose flames are true;
+        Then such will I retain, till you
+    To me return again.
+
+[15] Old ed. "do you keep it."
+
+
+From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.
+
+    Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire,
+    Thy joyful harvest may begin;
+    If age approach a little nigher,
+    'Twill be too late to get it in.
+
+    Cold Winter storms lay standing Corn,
+    Which once too ripe will never rise,
+    And lovers wish themselves unborn,
+    When all their joys lie in their eyes.
+
+    Then, sweet, let us embrace and kiss:
+    Shall beauty shale[16] upon the ground?
+    If age bereave us of this bliss,
+    Then will no more such sport be found.
+
+[16] Shell, husk (as peas).
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep
+    When lovers wanton sports do keep?
+    The sun doth shine, the birds do sing,
+    And May delight and joy doth bring:
+    Then join we hands and dance till night,
+    'Tis pity love should want his right.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Musical Dream_, 1609.
+
+            Sweet Kate
+            Of late
+    Ran away and left me plaining.
+            Abide!
+            (I cried)
+    Or I die with thy disdaining.
+        Te hee, quoth she;
+        Make no fool of me;
+    Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure,
+        But, their hopes attainèd,
+        They bewray they feignèd,
+    And their oaths are kept at leisure.
+
+            Unkind,
+            I find
+    Thy delight is in tormenting:
+            Abide!
+            (I cried)
+    Or I die with thy consenting.
+        Te hee, quoth she,
+        Make no fool of me;
+    Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure,
+        But, their hopes attainèd,
+        They bewray they feignèd,
+    And their oaths are kept at leisure.
+
+            Her words,
+            Like swords,
+    Cut my sorry heart in sunder,
+            Her flouts
+            With doubts
+    Kept my heart-affections under.
+        Te hee, quoth she,
+        What a fool is he
+    Stands in awe of once denying!
+        Cause I had enough
+        To become more rough,
+    So I did--O happy trying!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory,
+    Subdue her heart who makes me glad and sorry;
+        Out of thy golden quiver,
+        Take thou thy strongest arrow
+        That will through bone and marrow,
+        And me and thee of grief and fear deliver:
+    But come behind, for, if she look upon thee,
+    Alas! poor Love, then thou art woe-begone thee.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee,
+    Nor with my voice accuse thee;
+    But tune my notes unto thy praise
+    And tell the world Love ne'er decays.
+    Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish:
+    What wanteth concord soon must perish.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale, or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Sweet Love, my only treasure,
+        For service long unfeignèd
+        Wherein I nought have gainèd,
+    Vouchsafe this little pleasure,
+        To tell me in what part
+        My Lady keeps her heart.
+
+    If in her hair so slender,
+        Like golden nets entwinèd
+        Which fire and art have finèd,
+    Her thrall my heart I render
+        For ever to abide
+        With locks so dainty tied.
+
+    If in her eyes she bind it,
+        Wherein that fire was framèd
+        By which it is inflamèd,
+    I dare not look to find it:
+        I only wish it sight
+        To see that pleasant light.
+
+    But if her breast have deignèd
+        With kindness to receive it,
+        I am content to leave it
+    Though death thereby were gainèd:
+        Then, Lady, take your own
+        That lives by you alone.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Pilgrim's Solace_, 1612. (The first stanza is found
+in a poem of Donne.)
+
+    Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise?
+    The light you see comes from your eyes;
+    The day breaks not, it is my heart,
+    To think that you and I must part.
+    O stay! or else my joys must die
+    And perish in their infancy.
+
+    Dear, let me die in this fair breast,
+    Far sweeter than the ph[oe]nix nest.
+    Love raise Desire by his sweet charms
+    Within this circle of thine arms!
+    And let thy blissful kisses cherish
+    Mine infant joys that else must perish.
+
+
+From THOMAS VAUTOR's _Songs of divers Airs and Natures_, 1619.
+
+    _Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o._
+
+    Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight
+    With feathers like a lady bright,
+    Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night,
+        Te whit, te whoo!
+    Thy note, that forth so freely rolls,
+    With shrill command the mouse controls,
+    And sings a dirge for dying souls,
+        Te whit, te whoo!
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever!
+    No better pledge can love to love deliver.
+    Fear not, my dear, it will not fly away,
+    For hope and love command my heart to stay.
+    But if thou doubt, desire will make it range:
+    Love but my heart, my heart will never change.
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    Take time while time doth last,
+    Mark how fair fadeth fast;
+    Beware if envy reign,
+    Take heed of proud disdain;
+    Hold fast now in thy youth,
+    Regard thy vowèd truth,
+    Lest, when thou waxeth old,
+    Friends fail and love grow cold.
+
+
+From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.
+
+    The Fly she sat in shamble-row
+    And shambled with her heels I trow;
+
+    And then came in Sir Cranion
+    With legs so long and many a one;
+
+    And said "Jove speed, dame Fly, dame Fly":
+    "Marry, you be welcome, Sir," quoth she:
+
+    "The master Humble Bee hath sent me to thee
+    To wit and if you will his true love be."
+
+    But she said "Nay, that may not be,
+    For I must have the Butterfly,
+
+    For and a greater lord there may not be."
+    But at the last consent did she.
+
+    And there was bid to this wedding
+    All Flies in the field and Worms creeping.
+
+    The Snail she came crawling all over the plain,
+    With all her jolly trinkets in her train.
+
+    Ten Bees there came, all clad in gold,
+    And all the rest did them behold;
+
+    But the Thornbud refused this sight to see,
+    And to a cow-plat away flies she.
+
+    But where now shall this wedding be?--
+    For and hey-nonny-no in an old ivy-tree.
+
+    And where now shall we bake our bread?--
+    For and hey-nonny-no in an old horse-head.
+
+    And where now shall we brew our ale?--
+    But even within one walnut-shale.
+
+    And also where shall we our dinner make?--
+    But even upon a galled horse-back:
+
+    For there we shall have good company
+    With humbling and bumbling and much melody.
+
+    When ended was this wedding-day,
+    The Bee he took his Fly away,
+
+    And laid her down upon the marsh
+    Between one marigold and the long grass.
+
+    And there they begot good master gnat
+    And made him the heir of all,--that's flat.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    _Audivere, Lyce_.--HORACE.
+
+    The gods have heard my vows,
+    Fond Lyce, whose fair brows
+    Wont scorn with such disdain
+    My love, my tears, my pain.
+                            Fa la!
+
+    But now those spring-tide roses
+    Are turn'd to winter-posies,
+    To rue and thyme and sage,
+    Fitting thy shrivell'd age.
+                            Fa la!
+
+    Now, youths, with hot desire
+    See, see, that flameless fire,
+    Which erst your hearts so burned,
+    Quick into ashes turned.
+                            Fa la!
+
+
+From _Pammelia_, 1609
+
+    _The household-bird with the red stomacher._--DONNE.
+
+    The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best;
+    Yet merrily sings little Robin, pretty Robin with the red breast.
+
+
+From RICHARD CARLTON's _Madrigals_, 1601.
+
+    The love of change hath changed the world throughout,
+    And what is counted good but that is strange?
+    New things wax old, old new, all turns about,
+    And all things change except the love of change.
+    Yet find I not that love of change in me,
+    But as I am so will I always be.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and last Book of Songs and Airs_, 1603.
+
+    The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall,
+      The fly her spleen, the little spark his heat;
+    And slender hairs cast shadows, though but small,
+      And bees have stings, although they be not great;
+    Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs;
+    And love is love, in beggars and in kings!
+
+    Where waters smoothest run, deep are the fords;
+      The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move;
+    The firmest faith is in the fewest words;
+      The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love;
+    True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak;
+    They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break!
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    The man of life upright,
+      Whose guiltless heart is free
+    From all dishonest deeds,
+      Or thought of vanity;
+
+    The man whose silent days
+      In harmless joys are spent,
+    Whom hopes cannot delude
+      Nor sorrow discontent:
+
+    That man needs neither towers
+      Nor armour for defence,
+    Nor secret vaults to fly
+      From thunder's violence:
+
+    He only can behold
+      With unaffrighted eyes
+    The horrors of the deep
+      And terrors of the skies.
+
+    Thus scorning all the cares
+      That fate or fortune brings,
+    He makes the heaven his book,
+      His wisdom heavenly things;
+
+    Good thoughts his only friends,
+      His wealth a well-spent age,
+    The earth his sober inn
+      And quiet pilgrimage.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure
+      Doth stoop in hope to have her wishèd prey;
+    So many men do stoop to sights unsure,
+      And courteous speech doth keep them at the bay:
+    Let them beware lest friendly looks be like
+    The lure whereat the soaring hawk did strike.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    The match that's made for just and true respects,
+    With evenness both of years and parentage,
+    Of force must bring forth many good effects.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    For where chaste love and liking sets the plant,
+    And concord waters with a firm good-will,
+    Of no good thing there can be any want.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    Sound is the knot that Chastity hath tied,
+    Sweet is the music Unity doth make,
+    Sure is the store that Plenty doth provide.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    Where Chasteness fails there Concord will decay,
+    Where Concord fleets there Plenty will decease,
+    Where Plenty wants there Love will wear away.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    I, Chastity, restrain all strange desires;
+    I, Concord, keep the course of sound consent;
+    I, Plenty, spare and spend as cause requires.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    Make much of us, all ye that married be;
+    Speak well of us, all ye that mind to be;
+    The time may come to want and wish all three.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay
+      In greenwood groves delights to make his dwelling,
+    In fields to fly, chanting his roundelay,
+      At liberty, against the cage rebelling;
+    But my poor heart with sorrows over swelling,
+      Through bondage vile, binding my freedom short,
+    No pleasure takes in these his sports excelling,
+      Nor in his song receiveth no comfort.
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604. (By Sir
+Philip Sidney.)
+
+    The Nightingale, so soon as April bringeth
+      Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,
+    White late-bare earth proud of her clothing springeth,
+      Sings out her woes, a thorn her songbook making;
+    And mournfully bewailing,
+      Her throat in tunes expresseth:
+      While grief her heart oppresseth,
+    For Tereus' force o'er her chaste will prevailing.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Second Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    The peaceful western wind
+      The winter storms hath tamed,
+    And Nature in each kind
+      The kind heat hath inflamed:
+    The forward buds so sweetly breathe
+      Out of their earthly bowers,
+    That heaven, which views their pomp beneath,
+      Would fain be decked with flowers.
+
+    See how the morning smiles
+      On her bright eastern hill,
+    And with soft steps beguiles
+      Them that lie slumbering still!
+    The music-loving birds are come
+      From cliffs and rocks unknown,
+    To see the trees and briars bloom
+      That late were overthrown.[17]
+
+    What Saturn did destroy,
+      Love's Queen revives again;
+    And now her naked boy
+      Doth in the fields remain,
+    Where he such pleasing change doth view
+      In every living thing,
+    As if the world were born anew
+      To gratify the spring.
+
+    If all things life present,
+      Why die my comforts then?
+    Why suffers my content?
+      Am I the worst of men?
+    O, Beauty, be not thou accused
+      Too justly in this case!
+    Unkindly if true love be used,
+      'Twill yield thee little grace.
+
+[17] Old ed. "overflown."
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    There is a garden in her face
+    Where roses and white lilies grow;
+    A heavenly paradise is that place
+    Wherein all pleasant fruits doth flow.
+            There cherries grow which none may buy,
+            Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.
+
+    Those cherries fairly do enclose
+    Of orient pearl a double row,
+    Which when her lovely laughter shows,
+    They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
+            Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
+            Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.
+
+    Her eyes like angels watch them still,
+    Her brows like bended bows do stand,
+    Threatening with piercing frowns to kill
+    All that attempt with eye or hand
+            Those sacred cherries to come nigh
+            Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    There is a Lady sweet and kind,
+    Was never face so pleased my mind;
+    I did but see her passing by,
+    And yet I love her till I die.
+
+    Her gesture, motion and her smiles
+    Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,
+    Beguiles my heart, I know not why,
+    And yet I love her till I die.
+
+    Her free behaviour, winning looks
+    Will make a Lawyer burn his books;
+    I touched her not, alas! not I,
+    And yet I love her till I die.
+
+    Had I her fast betwixt mine arms,
+    Judge you that think such sports were harms;
+    Were't any harm? no, no, fie, fie,
+    For I will love her till I die.
+
+    Should I remain confinèd there
+    So long as Ph[oe]bus in his sphere,
+    I to request, she to deny,
+    Yet would I love her till I die.
+
+    Cupid is wingèd and doth range,
+    Her country so my love doth change:
+    But change she earth, or change she sky,
+    Yet will I love her till I die.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    There were three Ravens sat on a tree,--
+    Down-a-down, hey down, hey down!
+    There were three Ravens sat on a tree,--
+                            With a down!
+
+    There were three Ravens sat on a tree,--
+    They were as black as they might be:
+      With a down, derry derry derry down down!
+
+    The one of them said to his make[18]--
+    Where shall we our breakfast take?
+
+    Down in yonder greenè field
+    There lies a knight slain under his shield.
+
+    His hounds they lie down at his feet:
+    So well they their master keep.
+
+    His hawks they fly so eagerly,
+    There's no fowl dare him come nigh.
+
+    Down there comes a fallow doe,
+    Great with young as she might go.
+
+    She lift up his bloody head,
+    And kist his wounds that were so red.
+
+    She gat him upon her back
+    And carried him to earthen lake.
+
+    She buried him before the prime;
+    She was dead ere even-time.
+
+    God send every gentleman
+    Such hounds, such hawks, and such a leman!
+                        With a down, derry.
+
+[18] Old ed. "mate"; but "make," which is required for the rhyme, was a
+recognised form of "mate."
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Think'st thou, Kate, to put me down
+    With a 'No' or with a frown?
+    Since Love holds my heart in bands
+    I must do as Love commands.
+
+    Love commands the hands to dare
+    When the tongue of speech is spare,
+    Chiefest lesson in Love's school,--
+    Put it in adventure, fool!
+
+    Fools are they that fainting flinch
+    For a squeak, a scratch, a pinch:
+    Women's words have double sense:
+    'Stand away!'--a simple fence.
+
+    If thy mistress swear she'll cry,
+    Fear her not, she'll swear and lie:
+    Such sweet oaths no sorrow bring
+    Till the prick of conscience sting.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning?
+    Parrots so can learn to prate, our speech by pieces gleaning:
+    Nurses teach their children so about the time of weaning.
+
+    Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth:
+    He that courts us, wanting art, soon falters when he feigneth,
+    Looks asquint on his discourse and smiles when he complaineth.
+
+    Skilful anglers hide their hooks, fit baits for every season;
+    But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do that want reason:
+    Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of treason.
+
+    Ruth forgive me (if I erred) from human heart's compassion,
+    When I laughed sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion:
+    But, alas, who less could do that found so good occasion!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Thou art but young, thou say'st,
+      And love's delight thou weigh'st not:
+    O, take time while thou may'st,
+      Lest when thou would'st thou may'st not.
+
+    If love shall then assail thee,
+      A double anguish will torment thee;
+    And thou wilt wish (but wishes all will fail thee,)
+      "O me! that I were young again!" and so repent thee.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601. (Ascribed to Dr.
+Donne.)
+
+    Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white,
+      For all those rosy ornaments in thee;
+    Thou art not sweet, tho' made of mere delight,
+      Nor fair, nor sweet--unless thou pity me.
+    I will not soothe thy fancies, thou shalt prove
+      That beauty is no beauty without love.
+
+    Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure
+      My thoughts with beauty were it more divine;
+    Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,
+      I'll not be wrapped up in those arms of thine:
+    Now show it, if thou be a woman right,--
+      Embrace and kiss and love me in despite.
+
+
+From JOHN DANYEL's _Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice_, 1606.
+
+    Thou pretty Bird, how do I see
+    Thy silly state and mine agree!
+    For thou a prisoner art;
+    So is my heart.
+    Thou sing'st to her, and so do I address
+    My Music to her ear that's merciless;
+    But herein doth the difference lie,--
+    That thou art grac'd, so am not I;
+    Thou singing liv'st, and I must singing die.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety_,
+1588.
+
+    Though Amaryllis dance in green
+          Like Fairy Queen,
+          And sing full clear;
+    Corinna can, with smiling cheer.
+    Yet since their eyes make heart so sore,
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    My sheep are lost for want of food
+          And I so wood[19]
+          That all the day
+    I sit and watch a herd-maid gay;
+    Who laughs to see me sigh so sore,
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    Her loving looks, her beauty bright,
+          Is such delight!
+          That all in vain
+    I love to like, and lose my gain
+    For her, that thanks me not therefore.
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    Ah wanton eyes! my friendly foes
+          And cause of woes;
+          Your sweet desire
+    Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire!
+    Ye scorn to see me weep so sore!
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    Love ye who list, I force him not:
+          Since God is wot,
+          The more I wail,
+    The less my sighs and tears prevail.
+    What shall I do? but say therefore,
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+[19] Distracted.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    Though my carriage be but careless,
+      Though my looks be of the sternest,
+    Yet my passions are compareless;
+      When I love, I love in earnest.
+
+    No; my wits are not so wild,
+      But a gentle soul may yoke me;
+    Nor my heart so hard compiled,
+      But it melts, if love provoke me.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Musical Dream_, 1609. (This song is also printed in
+Thomas Campion's _Two Books of Airs_, circ. 1613.)
+
+    Though your strangeness frets my heart,
+      Yet must I not complain;
+    You persuade me 'tis but art
+      Which secret love must feign;
+    If another you affect,
+    'Tis but a toy, t' avoid suspect.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+    When your wish'd sight I desire,
+      Suspicion you pretend,
+    Causeless you yourself retire
+      Whilst I in vain attend,
+    Thus a lover, as you say,
+    Still made more eager by delay.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+    When another holds your hand
+      You'll swear I hold your heart;
+    Whilst my rival close doth stand
+      And I sit far apart,
+    I am nearer yet than they,
+    Hid in your bosom, as you say.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+    Would a rival then I were
+      Or[20] else a secret friend,
+    So much lesser should I fear
+      And not so much attend.
+    They enjoy you, every one,
+    Yet must I seem your friend alone.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+[20] Old ed. "Some."
+
+
+From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.
+
+    Thrice blessèd be the giver
+    That gave sweet love that golden quiver,
+    And live he long among the gods anointed
+    That made the arrow-heads sharp-pointed:
+    If either of them both had quailèd,
+    She of my love and I of hers had failèd.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,
+    Thrice sit thou mute in the enchanted chair,
+    Then thrice-three times tie up this true love's knot,
+    And murmur soft "She will or she will not."
+
+    Go, burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire,
+    These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar,
+    This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,
+    That all my fears and cares an end may have.
+
+    Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round!
+    Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound!
+    --In vain are all the charms I can devise:
+    She hath an art to break them with her eyes.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so:
+      Since she is fair and ever kind to me,
+    Though she be wild and wanton-like in show,
+      Those little stains in youth I will not see.
+    That she be constant, heaven I oft implore;
+    If prayers prevail not, I can do no more.
+
+    Palm-tree the more you press, the more it grows;
+      Leave it alone, it will not much exceed:
+    Free beauty, if you strive to yoke, you lose,
+      And for affection strange distaste you breed.
+    What nature hath not taught no art can frame;
+    Wild-born be wild still, though by force you tame.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Thus saith my Chloris bright
+    When we of love sit down and talk together:--
+    "Beware of Love, dear; Love is a walking sprite,
+                And Love is this and that
+                And, O, I know not what,
+    And comes and goes again I wot not whether."[21]
+    No, no, these are but bugs to breed amazing,
+    For in her eyes I saw his torch-light blazing.
+
+[21] Old form of "whither."
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.
+
+    Thus saith my Galatea:
+      Love long hath been deluded,
+      When shall it be concluded?
+
+    The young nymphs all are wedded:
+      Ah, then why do I tarry?
+      Oh, let me die or marry.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    To his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres,
+    The wondrous orders of the stars whose course divides the years,
+            And all the mysteries above;
+            But none of this could Midas move:
+    Which purchased him his ass's ears.
+
+    Then Pan with his rude pipe began the country wealth t' advance,
+    To boast of cattle, flocks of sheep, and goats on hills that dance,
+            With much more of this churlish kind,
+            That quite transported Midas' mind,
+    And held him wrapt in trance.
+
+    This wrong the God of Music scorned from such a sottish judge,
+    And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the piper trudge:
+            Then Midas' head he so did trim
+            That every age yet talks of him
+    And Ph[oe]bus' right revengèd grudge.
+
+
+From ROBERT DOWLAND's _Musical Banquet_, 1610. (The lines are assigned
+to Robert Deveureux, Earl of Essex.)
+
+    To plead my faith, where faith hath no reward,
+      To move remorse where favour is not borne,
+    To heap complaints where she doth not regard,
+      Were fruitless, bootless, vain, and yield but scorn.
+
+    I lovèd her whom all the world admired,
+      I was refused of her that can love none,
+    And my vain hopes which far too high aspired
+      Is dead and buried and for ever gone.
+
+    Forget my name since you have scorned my love,
+      And woman-like do not too late lament:
+    Since for your sake I do all mischief prove,
+      I none accuse nor nothing do repent:
+    I was as fond as ever she was fair,
+    Yet loved I not more than I now despair.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    To shorten winter's sadness
+    See where the nymphs with gladness
+                                Fa la la!
+
+    Disguisèd all are coming,
+    Right wantonly a-mumming.
+                                Fa la la!
+
+    Though masks encloud their beauty,
+    Yet give the eye her duty.
+                                Fa la la!
+
+    When Heaven is dark it shineth
+    And unto love inclineth.
+                                Fa la la!
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1600.
+
+    Toss not my soul, O Love, 'twixt hope and fear!
+      Show me some ground where I may firmly stand,
+    Or surely fall! I care not which appear,
+      So one will close me in a certain band.
+    When once of ill the uttermost is known;
+    The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown!
+
+    Take me, Assurance, to thy blissful hold!
+      Or thou Despair, unto thy darkest cell!
+    Each hath full rest: the one, in joys enroll'd;
+      Th' other, in that he fears no more, is well.
+    When once the uttermost of ill is known,
+    The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Turn all thy thoughts to eyes,
+    Turn all thy hairs to ears,
+    Change all thy friends to spies
+    And all thy joys to fears;
+        True love will yet be free
+        In spite of jealousy.
+
+    Turn darkness into day,
+    Conjectures into truth,
+    Believe what th' envious say,
+    Let age interpret youth:
+        True love will yet be free
+        In spite of jealousy.
+
+    Wrest every word and look,
+    Rack every hidden thought;
+    Or fish with golden hook,
+    True love cannot be caught:
+        For that will still be free
+        In spite of jealousy.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Unto the temple of thy beauty,
+      And to the tomb where pity lies,
+    I, pilgrim-clad with zeal and duty,
+      Do offer up my heart, mine eyes.
+    My heart, lo! in the quenchless fire,
+      On love's burning altar lies,
+    Conducted thither by desire
+      To be beauty's sacrifice.
+
+    But pity on thy sable hearse,
+      Mine eyes the tears of sorrow shed;
+    What though tears cannot fate reverse,
+      Yet are they duties to the dead.
+    O, Mistress, in thy sanctuary
+      Why wouldst thou suffer cold disdain
+    To use his frozen cruelty,
+      And gentle pity to be slain?
+
+    Pity that to thy beauty fled,
+      And with thy beauty should have lived,
+    Ah, in thy heart lies burièd,
+      And nevermore may be revived;
+    Yet this last favour, dear, extend,
+      To accept these vows, these tears I shed,
+    Duties which I thy pilgrim send,
+      To beauty living, pity dead.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    Upon a hill the bonny boy
+      Sweet Thyrsis sweetly played,
+    And called his lambs their master's joy,
+      And more he would have said;
+    But love that gives the lover wings
+    Withdrew his mind from other things.
+
+    His pipe and he could not agree,
+      For Milla was his note;
+    The silly pipe could never get
+      This lovely name by rote:
+    With that they both fell in a sound,[22]
+    He fell a-sleep, his pipe to ground.
+
+[22] Swoon.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    Upon a summer's day Love went to swim,
+      And cast himself into a sea of tears;
+    The clouds called in their light, and heaven waxed dim,
+      And sighs did raise a tempest, causing fears;
+    The naked boy could not so wield his arms,
+      But that the waves were masters of his might,
+    And threatened him to work far greater harms
+      If he devisèd not to scape by flight:
+    Then for a boat his quiver stood instead,
+      His bow unbent did serve him for a mast,
+    Whereby to sail his cloth of veil he spread,
+      His shafts for oars on either board he cast:
+    From shipwreck safe this wag got thus to shore,
+      And sware to bathe in lovers' tears no more.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Second Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Vain men! whose follies make a god of love;
+      Whose blindness, beauty doth immortal deem,
+    Praise not what you desire, but what you prove;
+      Count those things good that are, not those that seem.
+    I cannot call her true, that's false to me;
+    Nor make of women, more than women be.
+
+    How fair an entrance breaks the way to love!
+      How rich the golden hope, and gay delight!
+    What heart cannot a modest beauty move?
+      Who seeing clear day once will dream of night?
+    She seemed a saint, that brake her faith with me;
+    But proved a woman, as all other be.
+
+    So bitter is their sweet that True Content
+      Unhappy men _in_ them may never find:
+    Ah! but _without_ them, none. Both must consent,
+      Else uncouth are the joys of either kind.
+    Let us then praise their good, forget their ill!
+    Men must be men, and women women still.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1624.
+
+    Wake, sleepy Thyrsis, wake
+    For Love and Venus' sake!
+    Come, let us mount the hills
+    Which Zephyrus with cool breath fills;
+    Or let us tread new alleys,
+    In yonder shady valleys.
+    Rise, rise, rise, rise!
+    Lighten thy heavy eyes:
+    See how the streams do glide
+    And the green meads divide:
+    But stream nor fire shall part
+    This and this joinèd heart.
+
+
+From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.
+
+    We be soldiers three,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    Lately come forth of the Low Country
+    With never a penny of money.
+                  Fa la la la lantido dilly.
+
+    Here, good fellow, I drink to thee,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    To all good fellows wherever they be,
+    With never a penny of money.
+
+    And he that will not pledge me this,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    Pays for the shot whatever it is,
+    With never a penny of money.
+
+    Charge it again, boy, charge it again,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    As long as there is any ink in thy pen,
+    With never a penny of money.
+
+
+From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.
+
+    We be three poor mariners,
+      Newly come from the seas;
+    We spend our lives in jeopardy
+      While others live at ease.
+    Shall we go dance the round, the round,
+      Shall we go dance the round?
+    And he that is a bully boy
+      Come pledge me on this ground!
+
+    We care not for those martial men
+      That do our states disdain;
+    But we care for the merchant men
+      Who do our states maintain:
+    To them we dance this round, around,
+      To them we dance this round;
+    And he that is a bully boy
+      Come pledge me on this ground!
+
+
+From _Egerton MS., 2013_.
+
+    We must not part as others do,
+    With sighs and tears, as we were two:
+    Though with these outward forms we part,
+    We keep each other in our heart.
+    What search hath found a being, where
+    I am not, if that thou be there?
+
+    True love hath wings, and can as soon
+    Survey the world as sun and moon,
+    And everywhere our triumphs keep
+    O'er absence which makes others weep:
+    By which alone a power is given
+    To live on earth, as they in heaven.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices_, 1598.
+
+    We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play,
+    With pretty sport we pass the day:
+                                    Fa la!
+    We care for no gold,
+    But with our fold
+    We dance
+    And prance
+    As pleasure would.
+                        Fa la!
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    Wedded to will is witless,
+        And seldom he is skilful
+        That bears the name of wise and yet is wilful.
+    To govern he is fitless
+        That deals not by election,
+        But by his fond affection.
+    O that it might be treason
+    For men to rule by will and not by reason.
+
+
+From THOMAS TOMKINS' _Songs of Three, Four, Five, and Six Parts_, 1622.
+
+    Weep no more, thou sorry boy;
+    Love's pleased and anger'd with a toy.
+    Love a thousand passion brings,
+    Laughs and weeps, and sighs and sings.
+    If _she_ smiles, he dancing goes,
+    And thinks not on his future woes:
+    If _she_ chide with angry eye,
+    Sits down, and sighs "Ah me, I die!"
+    Yet again, as soon revived,
+    Joys as much as late he grieved.
+    Change there is of joy and sadness,
+    Sorrow much, but more of gladness.
+    Then weep no more, thou sorry boy,
+    Turn thy tears to weeping joy.
+    Sigh no more "Ah me! I die!"
+    But dance, and sing, and ti-hy cry.
+
+
+From JOHN ROWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    Weep you no more, sad fountains;
+      What need you flow so fast?
+    Look how the snowy mountains
+      Heaven's sun doth gently waste!
+    But my sun's heavenly eyes,
+      View not your weeping,
+      That now lies sleeping
+    Softly, now softly lies
+                        Sleeping.
+
+    Sleep is a reconciling,
+      A rest that peace begets;
+    Doth not the sun rise smiling
+      When fair at ev'n he sets?
+    Rest you then, rest, sad eyes!
+      Melt not in weeping,
+      While she lies sleeping,
+    Softly, now softly lies
+                        Sleeping.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices_, 1598.
+
+    Welcome, sweet pleasure,
+    My wealth and treasure;
+    To haste our playing
+    There's no delaying,
+                    No no!
+    This mirth delights me
+    When sorrow frights me.
+        Then sing we all
+                    Fa la la la la!
+
+    Sorrow, content thee,
+    Mirth must prevent thee:
+    Though much thou grievest
+    Thou none relievest.
+                    No no!
+    Joy, come delight me,
+    Though sorrow spite me.
+    Then sing we all
+                    Fa la la la la!
+
+    Grief is disdainful,
+    Sottish and painful:
+    Then wait on pleasure,
+    And lose no leisure.
+                   No no!
+    Heart's ease it lendeth
+    And comfort sendeth.
+        Then sing we all
+                   Fa la la la la!
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    Were I a king, I might command content;
+      Were I obscure, unknown should be my cares:
+    And were I dead, no thoughts should me torment,
+      Nor words, nor wrongs, nor loves, nor hopes, nor fears.
+    A doubtful choice, of three things one to crave;
+    A kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book Of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me,
+    But thy faults I curious find and speak because I love thee;
+    Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me.
+
+    Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting,
+    Than th' obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting;
+    Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting.
+
+    While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of reason,
+    Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season;
+    Hidden mischief to conceal in state and love is treason.
+
+
+From _Pammelia_, 1609.
+
+        What hap had I to marry a shrow!
+        For she hath given me many a blow,
+    And how to please her alack I do not know.
+
+        From morn to even her tongue ne'er lies,
+        Sometimes she brawls, sometimes she cries,
+    Yet I can scarce keep her talents[23] from mine eyes.
+
+        If I go abroad and late come in,--
+        "Sir knave," saith she, "Where have you been?"
+    And do I well or ill she claps me on the skin.
+
+[23] Old form of "talons."
+
+
+From ORLANDO GIBBONS' _First Set Of Madrigals_, 1612. (Ascribed to Sir
+Walter Raleigh.)
+
+    What is our life? a play of passion:
+    Our mirth? the music of division.
+    Our mothers' wombs the tyring-houses be
+    Where we are drest for this short comedy:
+    Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is
+    That sits and marks whoe'er doth act amiss:
+    Our graves, that hide us from the searching sun,
+    Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:
+    Thus march we playing to our latest rest,
+    Only we die in earnest,--that's no jest.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    What needeth all this travail and turmoiling,
+        Short'ning the life's sweet pleasure
+        To seek this far-fetched treasure
+    In those hot climates under Ph[oe]bus broiling?
+
+    O fools, can you not see a traffic nearer
+      In my sweet lady's face, where Nature showeth
+      Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth?
+        Rubies and diamonds dainty
+        And orient pearls such plenty,
+    Coral and ambergreece sweeter and dearer
+      Than which the South Seas or Moluccas lend us,
+      Or either Indies, East or West, do send us!
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    What pleasure have great princes
+    More dainty to their choice
+    Than herdsmen wild, who careless
+    In quiet life rejoice,
+    And fortune's fate not fearing
+    Sing sweet in summer morning?
+
+    Their dealings plain and rightful,
+    Are void of all deceit;
+    They never know how spiteful,
+    It is to kneel and wait
+    On favourite presumptuous
+    Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.
+
+    All day their flocks each tendeth;
+    At night, they take their rest;
+    More quiet than who sendeth
+    His ship into the East,
+    Where gold and pearl are plenty;
+    But getting, very dainty.
+
+    For lawyers and their pleading,
+    They 'steem it not a straw;
+    They think that honest meaning
+    Is of itself a law:
+    Whence conscience judgeth plainly,
+    They spend no money vainly.
+
+    O happy who thus liveth!
+    Not caring much for gold;
+    With clothing which sufficeth
+    To keep him from the cold.
+    Though poor and plain his diet
+    Yet merry it is, and quiet.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    What poor astronomers are they,
+    Take women's eyes for stars!
+    And set their thoughts in battle 'ray,
+    To fight such idle wars;
+    When in the end they shall approve
+    'Tis but a jest drawn out of Love.
+
+    And Love itself is but a jest
+    Devised by idle heads,
+    To catch young Fancies in the nest,
+    And lay them in fool's beds;
+    That being hatched in beauty's eyes
+    They may be fledged ere they be wise.
+
+    But yet it is a sport to see,
+    How Wit will run on wheels!
+    While Wit cannot persuaded be,
+    With that which Reason feels,
+    That women's eyes and stars are odd
+    And Love is but a feignèd god!
+
+    But such as will run mad with Will,
+    I cannot clear their sight
+    But leave them to their study still,
+    To look where is no light!
+    Till time too late, we make them try,
+    They study false Astronomy!
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    What then is love, sings Corydon,
+    Since Phyllida is grown so coy?
+    A flattering glass to gaze upon,
+    A busy jest, a serious toy,
+    A flower still budding, never blown,
+    A scanty dearth in fullest store
+    Yielding least fruit where most is sown.
+        My daily note shall be therefore--
+        Heigh ho, chil love no more.
+
+    'Tis like a morning dewy rose
+    Spread fairly to the sun's arise,
+    But when his beams he doth disclose
+    That which then flourish'd quickly dies;
+    It is a seld-fed dying hope,
+    A promised bliss, a salveless sore,
+    An aimless mark, and erring scope.
+        My daily note shall be therefore,--
+        Heigh ho, chil love no more.
+
+    'Tis like a lamp shining to all,
+    Whilst in itself it doth decay;
+    It seems to free whom it doth thrall,
+    And lead our pathless thoughts astray.
+    It is the spring of wintered hearts
+    Parched by the summer's heat before
+    Faint hope to kindly warmth converts.
+        My daily note shall be therefore--
+        Heigh ho, chil love no more.
+
+
+From RICHARD CARLTON's _Madrigals_, 1601.
+
+    When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth
+    Of summer sweet with herbs and flowers adornèd,
+    The nightingale upon the hawthorn singeth
+    And Boreas' blasts the birds and beasts have scornèd;
+    When fresh Aurora with her colours painted,
+    Mingled with spears of gold, the sun appearing,
+    Delights the hearts that are with love acquainted,
+    And maying maids have then their time of cheering;
+    All creatures then with summer are delighted,
+    The beasts, the birds, the fish with scale of silver;
+    Then stately dames by lovers are invited
+    To walk in meads or row upon the river.
+    I all alone am from these joys exilèd,
+    No summer grows where love yet never smilèd.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    When I was otherwise than now I am,
+        I lovèd more but skillèd not so much
+    Fair words and smiles could have contented then,
+        My simple age and ignorance was such:
+    But at the length experience made me wonder
+    That hearts and tongues did lodge so far asunder.
+
+    As watermen which on the Thames do row,
+        Look to the east but west keeps on the way;
+    My sovereign sweet her count'nance settled so,
+        To feed my hope while she her snares might lay:
+    And when she saw that I was in her danger,
+    Good God, how soon she provèd then a ranger!
+
+    I could not choose but laugh, although too late,
+        To see great craft decypher'd in a toy;
+    I love her still, but such conditions hate
+        Which so profanes my paradise of joy.
+    Love whets the wits, whose pain is but a pleasure;
+    A toy, by fits to play withal at leisure.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    When thou must home to shades of underground,
+    And there arrived, a new admirèd guest,
+    The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,
+    White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,
+    To hear the stories of thy finished love
+    From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move;
+
+    Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,
+    Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,
+    Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights,
+    And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake:
+    When thou hast told these honours done to thee,
+    Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    {deinos Erôs, deinos; ti de to pleon, ên palin eipô,
+    kai palin, oimôzôn pollaki, deinos Erôs?}
+                                          MELEAG.
+
+    When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight,
+      And see him naked, blindfold, and a boy,
+    Though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might,
+      Yet ween they he can work them none annoy;
+    And therefore with his purple wings they play,
+      For glorious seemeth love though light as feather,
+    And when they have done they ween to scape away,
+      For blind men, say they, shoot they know not whither.
+    But when by proof they find that he did see,
+      And that his wound did rather dim their sight,
+    They wonder more how such a lad as he
+      Should be of such surpassing power and might.
+    But ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting:
+      Then shield me, heavens, from such a subtle thing!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking;
+      Where least I come there most my heart abideth;
+    Where most I love I never show my liking;
+      From what my mind doth hold my body slideth;
+    I show least care where most my care dependeth;
+      A coy regard where most my soul attendeth.
+
+    Despiteful thus unto myself I languish,
+      And in disdain myself from joy I banish.
+    These secret thoughts enwrap me so in anguish
+      That life, I hope, will soon from body vanish,
+    And to some rest will quickly be conveyèd
+      That on no joy, while so I lived, hath stayèd.
+
+
+From MARTIN PEARSON's _Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music_, 1630.
+
+    A MOURNING-SONG FOR THE DEATH OF SIR FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE.
+
+    Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought
+    For this sad ruin which the Fates have wrought,
+    Unless the Fates themselves should weep and wish
+    Their curbless power had been controlled in this?
+    For thy loss, worthiest Lord, no mourning eye
+    Has flood enough; no muse nor elegy
+    Enough expression to thy worth can lend;
+    No, though thy Sidney had survived his friend.
+    Dead, noble Brooke shall be to us a name
+    Of grief and honour still, whose deathless fame
+    Such Virtue purchased as makes us to be
+    Unjust to Nature in lamenting thee;
+    Wailing an old man's fate as if in pride
+    And heat of Youth he had untimely died.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    {skênê pas ho bios, kai paignion.}
+                                   PALLAD.
+
+    Whether men do laugh or weep,
+    Whether they do wake or sleep,
+    Whether they die young or old,
+    Whether they feel heat or cold;
+    There is underneath the sun
+    Nothing in true earnest done.
+
+    All our pride is but a jest,
+    None are worst and none are best;
+    Grief and joy and hope and fear
+    Play their pageants everywhere:
+    Vain Opinion all doth sway,
+    And the world is but a play.
+
+    Powers above in clouds do sit,
+    Mocking our poor apish wit,
+    That so lamely with such state
+    Their high glory imitate.
+    No ill can be felt but pain,
+    And that happy men disdain.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    While that the sun with his beams hot
+      Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,
+    Philon, the shepherd, late forgot
+      Sitting beside a chrystal fountain
+          In shadow of a green oak-tree,
+          Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    So long as I was in your sight,
+      I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
+    And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd,
+      Burning in flames beyond all measure.
+          Three days endured your love for me,
+          And it was lost in other three.
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    Another shepherd you did see,
+      To whom your heart was soon enchainèd;
+    Full soon your love was leapt from me,
+      Full soon my place he had obtainèd:
+          Soon came a third your love to win;
+          And we were out, and he was in.
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new Love.
+
+    Sure, you have made me passing glad
+      That you your mind so soon removèd,
+    Before that I the leisure had
+      To choose you for my best belovèd:
+          For all my love was past and done
+          Two days, before it was begun.
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Whilst youthful sports are lasting,
+    To feasting turn our fasting.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+    With revels and with wassails
+    Make grief and care our vassals.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+    For youth it well beseemeth
+    That pleasure he esteemeth.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+    And sullen age is hated
+    That mirth would have abated.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    White as lilies was her face:
+        When she smilèd
+        She beguilèd,
+    Quitting faith with foul disgrace.
+    Virtue's service thus neglected.
+    Heart with sorrows hath infected.
+
+    When I swore my heart her own,
+        She disdainèd;
+        I complainèd,
+    Yet she left me overthrown:
+    Careless of my bitter grieving,
+    Ruthless, bent to no relieving.
+
+    Vows and oaths and faith assured,
+        Constant ever,
+        Changing never,--
+    Yet she could not be procured
+    To believe my pains exceeding
+    From her scant respect proceeding.
+
+    O that love should have the art,
+        By surmises,
+        And disguises,
+    To destroy a faithful heart;
+    Or that wanton-looking women
+    Should reward their friends as foemen.
+
+    All in vain is ladies' love--
+        Quickly choosèd.
+        Shortly loosèd;
+    For their pride is to remove.
+    Out, alas! their looks first won us,
+    And their pride hath straight undone us.
+
+    To thyself, the sweetest Fair!
+        Thou hast wounded,
+        And confounded
+    Changeless faith with foul despair;
+    And my service hast envièd
+    And my succours hast denièd.
+
+    By thine error thou hast lost
+        Heart unfeignèd,
+        Truth unstainèd.
+    And the swain that lovèd most,
+    More assured in love than many,
+    Move despised in love than any.
+
+    For my heart, though set at nought,
+        Since you will it,
+        Spoil and kill it!
+    I will never change my thought:
+    But grieve that beauty e'er was born
+    Thus to answer love with scorn.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1605.
+
+    Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers
+      Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay:
+    The climbing wood-bine, clipping all these bowers,
+      Clips thee likewise for fear thou pass away;
+      Fortune our friend, our foe will not gainsay.
+    Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
+    She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
+
+    Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet;
+      Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings!
+    Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet
+      Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs,
+      And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings.
+    Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
+    She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
+
+    See how the helitrope, herb of the sun,
+      Though he himself long since be gone to bed,
+    Is not of force thine eye's bright beams to shun,
+      But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread,
+      And on my knee invites thee rest thy head.
+    Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
+    She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    Who likes to love, let him take heed!
+        And wot you why?
+    Among the gods it is decreed
+        That Love shall die;
+    And every wight that takes his part
+    Shall forfeit each a mourning heart.
+
+    The cause is this, as I have heard:
+        A sort of dames,
+    Whose beauty he did not regard
+        Nor secret flames,
+    Complained before the gods above
+    That gold corrupts the god of love.
+
+    The gods did storm to hear this news,
+        And there they swore,
+    That sith he did such dames abuse
+        He should no more
+    Be god of love, but that he should
+    Both die and forfeit all his gold.
+
+    His bow and shafts they took away
+        Before his eyes,
+    And gave these dames a longer day
+        For to devise
+    Who should them keep, and they be bound
+    That love for gold should not be found.
+
+    These ladies striving long, at last
+        They did agree
+    To give them to a maiden chaste,
+        Whom I did see,
+    Who with the same did pierce my breast:
+    Her beauty's rare, and so I rest.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    1. Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough
+          And fall in love?
+    2. Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow
+          The gods above.
+    1. What dost thou serve? 2. A shepherdess;
+          One such as hath no peer, I guess.
+    1. What is her name who bears thy heart
+          Within her breast?
+    2. Silvana fair, of high desert,
+          Whom I love best.
+    1. O, Hob, I fear she looks too high.
+    2. Yet love I must, or else I die.
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Who prostrate lies at women's feet.
+    And calls them darlings dear and sweet;
+    Protesting love, and craving grace,
+    And praising oft a foolish face;
+    Are oftentimes deceived at last,
+    Then catch at nought and hold it fast.
+
+
+From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    Who would have thought that face of thine
+        Had been so full of doubleness,
+    Or that within those crystal eyn
+        Had been so much unstableness?
+    Thy face so fair, thy look so strange!
+    Who would have thought of such a change?
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Why are you Ladies staying,
+    And your Lords gone a-maying?
+    Run apace and meet them
+    And with your garlands greet them.
+    'Twere pity they should miss you,
+    For they will sweetly kiss you.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me
+    Of my heart and so leave me?
+                      Farewell!
+    But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel,
+    Kiss me, Sweet, my Jewel!
+                      Farewell!
+
+    Hope by disdain grows cheerless,
+    Fear doth love, love doth fear;
+        Beauty peerless,
+                      Farewell!
+
+    If no delays can move thee,
+    Life shall die, death shall live
+        Still to love thee.
+                      Farewell!
+
+    Yet be thou mindful ever!
+    Heat from fire, fire from heat,
+        None can sever.
+                      Farewell!
+
+    True love cannot be changèd,
+    Though delight from desert
+        Be estrangèd.
+                      Farewell!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Wise men patience never want,
+      Good men pity cannot hide;
+    Feeble spirits only vaunt
+      Of revenge, the poorest pride:
+    He alone forgive that can
+    Bears the true soul of a man.
+
+    Some there are debate that seek,
+      Making trouble their content;
+    Happy if they wrong the meek,
+      Vex them that to peace are bent:
+    Such undo the common tie
+    Of mankind, Society.
+
+    Kindness grown is lately cold,
+      Conscience hath forgot her part;
+    Blessèd times were known of old
+      Long ere Law became an art:
+    Shame deterred, not statutes then;
+    Honest love was law to men.
+
+    Deeds from love, and words, that flow,
+      Foster like kind April showers;
+    In the warm sun all things grow,
+      Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowers:
+    All so thrives his gentle rays
+    Whereon human love displays.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    Woeful Heart, with grief oppressèd!
+    Since my fortunes most distressèd
+        From my joys hath me removèd,
+    Follow those sweet eyes adorèd!
+    Those sweet eyes wherein are storèd
+        All my pleasures best belovèd.
+
+    Fly my breast--leave me forsaken--
+    Wherein Grief his seat hath taken,
+        All his arrows through me darting!
+    Thou mayst live by her sunshining:
+    I shall suffer no more pining
+        By thy loss than by her parting.
+
+
+From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.
+
+    Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes
+    To lovers' plaints with heart-sore throbs immixed,
+    When as my dear this way her pleasure takes,
+    Tell her with tears how firm my love is fixed;
+    And, Philomel, report my timerous fears,
+    And, echo, sound my heigh-ho's in her ears:
+    But if she asks if I for love will die,
+    Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith,--not I.
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    You blessèd bowers whose green leaves now are spreading,
+      Shadow the sunshine from my mistress' face,
+    And you, sweet roses, only for her bedding
+      When weary she doth take her resting-place;
+    You fair white lilies and pretty flowers all,
+    Give your attendance at my mistress' call.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets_, 1595.
+
+    You that wont to my pipe's sound
+    Daintily to tread your ground,
+        Jolly shepherds and nymphs sweet,
+                                (Lirum, lirum.)
+
+    Here met together
+    Under the weather,
+    Hand in hand uniting,
+        The lovely god come greet.
+                                (Lirum, lirum)
+
+    Lo, triumphing, brave comes he,
+    All in pomp and majesty,
+        Monarch of the world and king.
+                                (Lirum, lirum.)
+
+    Let whoso list him
+    Dare to resist him,
+    We our voices uniting,
+        Of his high acts will sing.
+                                (Lirum, lirum.)
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Your shining eyes and golden hair,
+    Your lily-rosèd lips so fair;
+    Your various beauties which excel,
+    Men cannot choose but like them well:
+    Yet when for them they say they'll die,
+    Believe them not,--they do but lie.
+
+
+
+
+NOTES.
+
+
+_Page_ 3.
+
+Thomas Weelkes was organist of Winchester College in 1600, and of
+Chichester Cathedral in 1608. His first collection, "Madrigals to three,
+four, five, or six voices," was published in 1597. Here first appeared
+the verses (fraudulently ascribed, in "The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599, to
+Shakespeare), "My flocks feed not." In 1598 Weelkes published "Ballets
+and Madrigals to five voices," which was followed in 1600 by "Madrigals
+of five and six parts." Prefixed to the last-named work is the following
+dedicatory epistle:--
+
+"To the truly noble, virtuous, and honorable, my very good Lord Henry,
+Lord Winsor, Baron of Bradenham.
+
+My Lord, in the College at Winchester, where I live, I have heard
+learned men say that some philosophers have mistaken the soul of man for
+an harmony: let the precedent of their error be a privilege for mine. I
+see not, if souls do not partly consist of music, how it should come to
+pass that so noble a spirit as your's, so perfectly tuned to so
+perpetual a _tenor_ of excellence as it is, should descend to the notice
+of a quality lying single in so low a personage as myself. But in music
+the _base_ part is no disgrace to the best ears' attendancy. I confess
+my conscience is untoucht with any other arts, and I hope my confession
+is unsuspected; many of us musicians think it as much praise to be
+somewhat more than musicians as it is for gold to be somewhat more than
+gold, and if _Jack Cade_ were alive, yet some of us might live, unless
+we should think, as the artisans in the Universities of Poland and
+Germany think, that the Latin tongue comes by reflection. I hope your
+Lordship will pardon this presumption of mine; the rather, because I
+know before Nobility I am to deal sincerely; and this small faculty of
+mine, because it is alone in me, and without the assistance of other
+more confident sciences, is the more to be favoured and the rather to be
+received into your honour's protection; so shall I observe you with as
+humble and as true an heart, as he whose knowledge is as large as the
+world's creation, and as earnestly pray for you to the world's Creator.
+
+    Your Honor's in all humble service,
+                        THOMAS WEELKES."
+
+In 1608 appeared Weelkes' last work, "Airs or Fantastic Spirits for
+three voices," a collection of lively and humorous ditties. Oliphant
+writes:--"For originality of ideas, and ingenuity of construction in
+part writing, (I allude more especially to his ballets,) Weelkes in my
+opinion leaves all other composers of his time far behind." The verses
+in Weelkes' song-books are never heavy or laboured; they are always
+bright, cheerful, and arch.
+
+_Page_ 3. Robert Jones was a famous performer on the lute. He had a
+share in the management of the theatre in the Whitefriars (Collier's
+"Annals of the Stage," i. 395). His works are of the highest rarity. The
+delightful lyrics in Jones' song-books have escaped the notice of all
+the editors of anthologies.
+
+_Page_ 4. Thomas Morley, who was a pupil of William Byrd, was the author
+of the first systematic treatise on music published in this country--"A
+plain and easy Introduction to practical Music," 1597, quaintly set down
+in form of a dialogue. The verses in his collections are mere airy
+trifles, and hardly bear to be separated from the music.
+
+"About the maypole new," &c., is a translation of some Italian lines,
+beginning--
+
+    "Al suon d'una sampogn' e d'una citera,
+        Sopra l'herbette floride
+        Dansava Tirsi con l'amata Cloride," &c.
+
+In Morley's "Canzonets to three Voices," 1593, we have the following
+pleasant description of the preparations for a country wedding:--
+
+    "Arise, get up, my dear, make haste, begone thee:
+    Lo! where the bride, fair Daphne, tarries on thee.
+    Hark! O hark! yon merry maidens squealing
+    Spice-cakes, sops-in-wine are a-dealing.
+    Run, then run apace
+    And get a bride-lace
+    And gilt rosemary branch the while there yet is catching
+    And then hold fast for fear of old snatching.
+
+    Alas! my dear, why weep ye?
+    O fear not that, dear love, the next day keep we.
+    List, yon minstrels! hark how fine they firk it,
+    And how the maidens jerk it!
+    With Kate and Will,
+    Tom and Gill,
+    Now a skip,
+    Then a trip,
+    Finely fet aloft,
+    There again as oft;
+    Hey ho! blessed holiday!
+    All for Daphne's wedding day!"
+
+_Page_ 9. John Wilbye is styled by Oliphant "the first of madrigal
+writers." He published his "First Set of English Madrigals" in 1598, and
+his "Second Set" in 1609. The Second Set was dedicated to the
+unfortunate Lady Arabella Stuart. The composer concludes his dedicatory
+epistle with the prayer, "I beseech the Almighty to make you in all the
+passages of your life truly happy, as you are in the world's true
+opinion, virtuous." In the very year when the epistle was written the
+gifted patroness of art and learning was accused before the Privy
+Council and ordered to be kept in close confinement. She made her
+escape, but after a few hours was captured at sea in her flight to
+Dunkirk, brought back to London, and committed to the Tower, where she
+died of a broken heart in 1615. It is pleasant to think that the
+song-book dedicated to her honour may have cheered her in the long hours
+of solitude. The collection consists chiefly of love-lyrics; but such
+verses as "Happy, O happy he," &c. (p. 37) and "Draw on, sweet Night"
+(p. 21), must have been carefully cherished by the poor captive.
+
+_Page_ 9. "April is in my mistress' face."--Compare Robert Greene's
+verses in "Perimedes, the Blacksmith," 1588:--
+
+    "Fair is my love, for April in her face,
+      Her lovely breasts September claims his part,
+    And lordly July in her eyes takes place:
+      But cold December dwelleth in her heart:
+    Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire,
+    Accurs'd that month that hindereth my desire!"
+
+_Page_ 11. "The Urchins' Dance" is from the anonymous play "The Maid's
+Metamorphosis," 1600. In the same play are the following dainty
+verses;--
+
+    "_1 Fairy._ I do come about the copse
+                 Leaping upon flowers' tops;
+                 Then I get upon a fly,
+                 She carries me above the sky,
+                 And trip and go!
+
+     _2 Fairy._ When a dew-drop falleth down
+                 And doth light upon my crown,
+                 Then I shake my head and skip
+                 And about I trip.
+
+     _3 Fairy._ When I feel a girl a-sleep,
+                 Underneath her frock I peep,
+                 There to sport, and there I play;
+                 Then I bite her like a flea,
+                 And about I skip."
+
+Thomas Ravenscroft, compiler of the "Brief Discourse," won his spurs at
+a very early age. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music before he had
+reached his fifteenth year, as we learn from some commendatory verses
+prefixed to the "Brief Discourse;"--
+
+    "Non vidit tria lustra puer, quin arte probatus,
+      Vita laudatus, sumpsit in arte gradum."
+
+He was twenty-two when he published the "Brief Discourse" in 1614: but
+in 1611 be had published "Melismata, musical fancies fitting the court,
+city, and country humours," and he edited two collections that appeared
+in 1609--"Pammelia" and "Deuteromelia." "Pammelia" is the earliest
+English printed collection of Catches, Rounds, and Canons; both words
+and music were for the most part older than the date of publication.
+"Deuteromelia" was intended as a continuation of "Pammelia."
+
+_Page_ 12. Robert Dowland, editor of "A Musical Banquet," was a son of
+John Dowland; he succeeded his father as one of the Court musicians in
+1626, and was alive in 1641.
+
+_Page_ 16. Thomas Ford, when he published his "Music of sundry kinds,"
+1607, was a musician in the suite of Prince Henry. At the accession of
+Charles I. he was appointed one of his musicians, and he died in
+1648--the year before his royal patron was beheaded.
+
+_Page_ 23. "Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn."--The Pawn was a
+corridor, serving as a bazaar, in the Royal Exchange (Gresham's).
+
+_Page_ 24. "Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies."--"J. C." in
+"Alcilia," 1595, writes:--
+
+    "Love is honey mixed with gall,
+    A thraldom free, a freedom thrall;
+    A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour,
+    Got in a year, lost in an hour;
+    A peaceful war, a warlike peace,
+    Whose wealth brings want, whose want increase;
+    Full long pursuit and little gain,
+    Uncertain pleasure, certain pain;
+    Regard of neither right nor wrong,
+    For short delights repentance long.
+
+    Love is the sickness of the thought,
+    Conceit of pleasure dearly bought;
+    A restless passion of the mind,
+    A labyrinth of arrows blind:
+    A sugared poison, fair deceit,
+    A bait for fools, a furious heat;
+    A chilling cold, a wondrous passion,
+    Exceeding man's imagination;
+    Which none can tell in whole or part,
+    But only he that feels the smart."
+
+Robert Greene has a somewhat similar description of Love ("What thing is
+Love? it is a power divine," &c.) in "Menaphon," 1589.
+
+_Page_ 28. "Fond wanton youths."--This piece is also printed in "The
+Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620, where it is headed "Of the
+Inconveniences by Marriage," and is directed to be sung to the tune of
+"When Troy town."
+
+_Page_ 29, l. 22. "Their _longings_ must not be beguiled."--The original
+gives "Their _laughings_" (which is unintelligible).
+
+_Page_ 31. It was at Wanstead House, a seat of the Earl of Leicester,
+that Sidney wrote his masque the "Lady of the May" in honour of Queen
+Elizabeth's visit in 1578. "Was Raleigh retired there," writes Mr. W.
+J. Linton (_Rare Poems_, p. 257), "during some season of her
+displeasure? There is a look of him about this song, not unlike the
+lines to Cynthia; and what mistress but Majesty should appoint his place
+of retirement?
+
+    'Wanstead, my Mistress saith this is the doom.'"
+
+The two lines that close each stanza are from a song in Sidney's
+"Arcadia."
+
+_Page_ 37. "Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies." From Seneca's
+"Thyestes:"--
+
+      "qui notus nimis omnibus
+    Ignotus moritur sibi."
+
+_Page_ 39. "How many things."--I have given four of John Maynard's
+"Twelve Wonders of the World" (cf. pp. 44-5, 69); and, if I am not
+mistaken, the reader will like to see the remaining eight. There is much
+freshness and piquancy in these quaint old rhymes, which were written by
+no less a poet than Sir John Davies.
+
+
+"THE DIVINE.
+
+    My calling is Divine,
+      And I from God am sent;
+    I will no chop-church be,
+      Nor pay my patron rent,
+
+    Nor yield to sacrilege;
+      But like the kind true mother,
+    Rather will lose all the child
+      Than part it with another.
+
+    Much wealth I will not seek,
+      Nor worldly masters serve,
+    So to grow rich and fat
+      While my poor flock doth starve.
+
+
+THE SOLDIER.
+
+    My occupation is
+      The noble trade of kings
+    The trial that decides
+      The highest right of things.
+
+    Though Mars my master be,
+      I do not Venus love,
+    Nor honour Bacchus oft,
+      Nor often swear by Jove.
+
+    Of speaking of myself
+      I all occasion shun,
+    And rather love to do,
+      Than boast what I have done.
+
+
+THE LAWYER.
+
+    The law my calling is;
+      My robe, my tongue, my pen
+    Wealth and opinion gain
+      And make me judge of men.
+
+    The known dishonest cause,
+      I never did defend
+    Nor spun out suits in length,
+      But wish'd and sought an end;
+
+    Nor counsel did bewray,
+      Nor of both parties take,
+    Nor ever took I fee
+      For which I never spake.
+
+
+THE PHYSICIAN.
+
+    I study to uphold
+      The slippery state of man,
+    Who dies when we have done
+      The best and all we can.
+
+    From practice and from books
+      I draw my learned skill,
+    Not from the known receipt
+      Or 'pothecary's bill.
+
+    The earth my faults doth hide,
+      The world my cures doth see,
+    What youth and time effects
+      Is oft ascribed to me.
+
+
+THE MERCHANT.
+
+    My trade doth everything
+      To every land supply,
+    Discovers unknown coasts,
+      Strange countries doth ally.
+
+    I never did forestall,
+      I never did engross,
+    Nor custom did withdraw
+      Though I return'd with loss.
+
+    I thrive by fair exchange,
+      By selling and by buying,
+    And not by Jewish use,
+      Reprisal, fraud, or lying.
+
+
+THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.
+
+    Though strange outlandish spirits
+      Praise towns and countries scorn,
+    The country is my home,
+      I dwell where I was born.
+
+    There profit and command
+      With pleasure I partake,
+    Yet do not hawks and dogs
+      My sole companions make.
+
+    I rule, but not oppress;
+      End quarrels, not maintain;
+    See towns, but dwell not there
+      To abridge my charge or train.
+
+
+THE WIFE.
+
+    The first of all our sex
+      Came from the side of man,
+    I thither am return'd
+      From whence our sex began.
+
+    I do not visit oft,
+      Nor many when I do,
+    I tell my mind to few
+      And that in counsel too.
+
+    I seem not sick in health,
+      Nor sullen but in sorrow;
+    I care for somewhat else
+      Than what to wear to-morrow.
+
+
+THE WIDOW.
+
+    My dying husband knew
+      How much his death would grieve me,
+    And therefore left me wealth
+      To comfort and relieve me.
+
+    Though I no more will have,
+      I must not love disdain;
+    Penelope her self
+      Did suitors entertain.
+
+    And yet to draw on such
+      As are of best esteem,
+    Nor younger than I am
+      Nor richer will I seem."
+
+_Page_ 41. "I have house and land in Kent."--This admirable song has
+been frequently reprinted. Miss De Vaynes, in her very valuable "Kentish
+Garland" (i., 142), observes:--"We have met with no other song in the
+Kentish dialect except Jan Ploughshare's" (printed on p. 372, vol. i.,
+of the "Garland"). Rimbault in his "Little Book of Songs and Ballads"
+(1851), gives the following lines from an old MS. (temp. Henry VIII.):--
+
+    "Joan, quoth John, when will this be?
+    Tell me when wilt thou marry me,
+    My corn and eke my calf and rents,
+    My lands and all my tenements?
+    Say, Joan, quoth John, what wilt thou do?
+    I cannot come every day to woo?"
+
+David Herd printed a fragment of a Scotch song that was founded on the
+English song:--
+
+    "I hae layen three herring a' sa't,
+      Bonny lass, gin ze'll take me, tell me now,
+    And I hae brew'n three pickles o' ma't
+      And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.
+    _To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,
+    And I cannae cum ilka day to woo_.
+
+    I hae a wee ca'f that wad fain be a cow,
+      Bonny lassie, gin ye'll take me, tell me now,
+    I hae a wee gryce that wad fain be a sow,
+      And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.
+    _To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,
+    And I cannae cum ilka day to woo_."
+
+_Page_ 43. "I joy not in no earthly bliss."--These stanzas are usually
+printed with "My mind to me a kingdom is" (p. 78), and the whole poem
+has been attributed to Sir Edward Dyer.
+
+_Page_ 47. "I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile."--These lines (which
+seem to have been modelled on "I joy not in no earthly bliss") are by
+Joshua Sylvester.
+
+In the second stanza, "I sound not at the news of wreck," _sound_ is an
+old form of _swoon_.
+
+_Page_ 52. "If women could be fair."--This poem is ascribed to Edward,
+Earl of Oxford, in Rawlinson, MS. 85, fol. 16.
+
+_Page_ 53. "In darkness let me dwell."--These lines are also found in
+Robert Dowland's "Musical Banquet," 1610, set to music by John Dowland.
+
+_Page_ 57. "In the merry month of May."--First printed in "The Honorable
+Entertainment given to the Queen's Majesty in Progress at Elvetham in
+Hampshire, by the Right Honorable the Earl of Hertford," 1591, under the
+title of "The Ploughman's Song."
+
+_Page_ 60. "It was the frog in the well."--There are several versions of
+this old ditty: the following is from Kirkpatrick Sharpe's "Ballad
+Book," 1824:--
+
+    "There lived a puddy in a well,
+    And a merry mouse in a mill.
+
+    Puddy he'd a wooin ride,
+    Sword and pistol by his side.
+
+    Puddy came to the mouse's wonne,
+    'Mistress mouse, are you within?'
+
+    'Yes, kind sir, I am within;
+    Saftly do I sit and spin.'
+
+    'Madam, I am come to woo;
+    Marriage I must have of you.'
+
+    'Marriage I will grant you nane,
+    Until uncle Rotten he comes hame.'
+
+    'Uncle Rotten's now come hame;
+    Fy! gar busk the bride alang.'
+
+    Lord Rotten sat at the head o' the table,
+    Because he was baith stout and able.
+
+    Wha is't that sits next the wa',
+    But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma'?
+
+    What is't that sits next the bride,
+    But the sola puddy wi' his yellow side?
+
+    Syne came the deuk, but and the drake;
+    The deuk took puddy, and garred him squaik.
+
+    Then cam in the carl cat,
+    Wi' a fiddle on his back.
+    'Want ye ony music here?'
+
+    The puddy he swam doun the brook;
+    The drake he catched him in his fluke.
+
+    The cat he pu'd Lord Rotten doun;
+    The kittens they did claw his croun.
+
+    But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma',
+    Crept into a hole beneath the wa';
+    'Squeak!' quoth she, 'I'm weel awa.'"
+
+Doubtless Ravenscroft's version is more ancient. A ballad entitled "A
+most strange weddinge of the frogge and the mouse" was licensed for
+printing in 1580.
+
+_Page_ 65. "Lady, when I behold."--Gracefully Paraphrased from an
+Italian original:--
+
+    "Quand' io miro le rose,
+    Ch'in voi natura pose;
+    E quelle che v' ha l'arte
+    Nel vago seno sparte;
+    Non so conoscer poi
+    Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in voi."
+
+_Page_ 66. John Danyel is supposed to have been a brother of Samuel
+Daniel, the poet. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music in 1604. "At
+the commencement of the reign of Charles the First he was one of the
+Court Musicians, and his name occurs among the 'Musicians for the Lutes
+and Voices' in a privy seal, dated December 20th, 1625, exempting the
+musicians belonging to the Court from the payment of subsidies"
+(Rimbault).
+
+_Page_ 68. "Then all at once _for our town_ cries."--"I should imagine,"
+says Oliphant, "that there was occasionally a sort of friendly
+contention in the sports between neighbouring villages; which idea is
+rather corroborated by a passage from an old play called the
+'Vow-breaker' by Samson, 1636: 'Let the major play the hobby-horse an'
+he will; I hope _our Town lads_ cannot want a hobby-horse.'" In an old
+play. "The Country Girl," (first printed in 1647), attributed to that
+shadowy personage Antony Brewer, we have an allusion to this pleasant
+form of rivalry:--
+
+  "_Abraham._ Sister Gillian,--I have the rarest news for you.
+
+  _Gillian._ For me? 'tis well. And what news have you got, sir?
+
+  _Abr._ Skipping news, lipping news, tripping news.
+
+  _Gil._ How! dancing, brother Abram, dancing?
+
+  _Abr._ Prancing, advancing, dancing. Nay, 'tis a match, a
+  match upon a wager.
+
+  _Gil._ A match. Who be they?
+
+  _Abr._ Why all the wenches of _our town_ Edmonton, and all the
+  mad wenches of Waltham.
+
+  _Gil._ A match, and leave me out! When, when is't, brother?
+
+  _Abr._ Marry, e'en this morning:--they are now going to't
+  helter-skelter.                           [_A treble plays within_.
+
+  _Gil._ And leave me out! where, brother, where?
+
+  _Abr._ Why there, Sister Gillian; there, at our own door almost,--on
+  the green there, close by the may-pole. Hark! you may hear them
+  hither." (Sig. D.)
+
+The stage-direction at the entrance of the dancers runs thus:--"Enter
+six country wenches, all red petticoats, white stitch'd bodies, in their
+smock-sleeves, the fiddler before them, and Gillian with her tippet up
+in the midst of them dancing."
+
+_Page_ 73. "It was the purest light of heaven" &c.--I am reminded of a
+fine passage in Drayton's "Barons' Wars," canto VI.:--
+
+    "Looking upon proud Phaeton wrapped in fire,
+    The gentle queen did much bewail his fall;
+    But Mortimer commended his desire
+    To lose one poor life or to govern all.
+    'What though,' quoth he, 'he madly did aspire
+    And his great mind made him proud Fortune's thrall?
+    Yet, in despight when she her worst had done,
+    _He perish'd in the chariot of the sun_.'"
+
+_Page_ 74. "The Bellman's Song."--In "Robin Goodfellow; his mad pranks
+and merry jests," 1628, we have another specimen of a Bellman's Song:--
+
+"Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many pretty
+verses delight the ears of those that waked at his bell-ringing: his
+verses were these:--
+
+    Maids in your smocks,
+    Look well to your locks,
+    And your tinder-box,
+    Your wheels and your rocks,
+    Your hens and your cocks,
+    Your cows and your ox,
+    And beware of the fox.
+    When the bellman knocks
+    Put out your fire and candle-light,
+    So they shall not you affright.
+    May you dream of your delights,
+    In your sleeps see pleasing sights!
+    Good rest to all, both old and young:
+    The bellman now hath done his song.
+
+Then would he go laughing _Ho ho ho!_ as his use was."
+
+_Page_ 77. "That kisses were the _seals of love_."--Every reader will
+recall
+
+    "But my kisses bring again, bring again.
+    _Seals of love_ but sealed in vain, sealed in vain."
+
+(The first stanza is found among the poems of Sir Philip Sidney.)
+
+_Page_ 80. "My prime of youth."--This song is also set to music in
+Richard Alison's "Hour's Recreation," 1606, and Michael Este's
+"Madrigals of three, four, and five parts," 1604. It is printed in
+"Reliquiæ: Wottonianæ" as "By Chidick Tychborn, being young and then in
+the tower, the night before his execution." Chidiock Tychbourne of
+Southampton was executed with Ballard and Babington in 1586.
+
+_Page_ 80. "My sweetest Lesbia."--The first stanza is an elegant
+paraphrase from Catullus, though the last line fails to render the
+rhythmical sweetness long-drawn-out of "Nox est perpetua una dormienda."
+
+_Page_ 81. "My Thoughts are winged with Hopes."--This piece is also
+found in "England's Helicon." A MS. copy, in a commonplace book found at
+Hamburg, is signed "W. S." I have frequently met with these initials in
+volumes of MS. poetry of the early part of the seventeenth century. The
+following pretty verses in Add. MS. 21, 433, fol. 158, are subscribed
+"W. S.":--
+
+    "O when will Cupid show such art
+    To strike two lovers with one dart?
+    I'm ice to him or he to me;
+    Two hearts alike there seldom be.
+
+    If ten thousand meet together,
+    Scarce one face is like another:
+    If scarce two faces can agree,
+    Two hearts alike there seldom be."
+
+There is not the slightest ground for identifying "W. S." with
+Shakespeare. Mr. Linton ("Rare Poems," p. 255) conjectures that "My
+Thoughts are winged with Hopes"--which has the heading "To Cynthia" in
+"England's Helicon"--may be by Raleigh.
+
+_Page_ 83. "Now each creature."--The first stanza of "An Ode" by Samuel
+Daniel, originally printed in the 1592 edition of "Delia."
+
+"Now God be with old Simeon."--Here is another round from "Pammelia":--
+
+    "Come drink to me,
+    And I to thee.
+    And then shall we
+    Full well agree.
+
+    I've loved the jolly tankard,
+      Full seven winters and more;
+    I loved it so long
+      That I went upon the score.
+
+    Who loveth not the tankard,
+      He is no honest man;
+    And he is no right soldier,
+      That loveth not the can.
+
+    Tap the cannikin, troll the cannikin,
+    Toss the cannikin, turn the cannikin!
+    Hold now, good son, and fill us a fresh can,
+    That we may quaff it round from man to man."
+
+Good honest verse, but ill-suited to these degenerate, tea-drinking
+days.
+
+_Page_ 85. "Now I see thy looks were feignèd."--First printed in "The
+Ph[oe]nix Nest," 1593, subscribed "T. L. Gent," _i.e._ Thomas Lodge, one
+of the most brilliant of Elizabethan lyrists.
+
+_Page_ 87. "Shall we play barley-break."--The fullest description of the
+rustic game of barley-break is to be found in the first book of Sidney's
+"Arcadia."
+
+_Page_ 87. "Now let her change." This song is also set to Music in
+Robert Jones' "Ultimum Vale" (1608).
+
+_Page_ 89. "Now what is love" &c.--This poem originally appeared in "The
+Ph[oe]nix Nest," 1593; it is also printed (in form of a dialogue) in
+"England's Helicon," 1600, and Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602. It
+is ascribed to Raleigh in a MS. list of Davison's. See Canon Hannah's
+edition of Raleigh's poems.
+
+_Page_ 93. "Oft have I mused."--This poem was printed in Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody," 1602.
+
+_Page_ 96. "Our country-swains in the morris-dance."--In Morley's
+"Madrigals to Four Voices," 1594, there is a lively description of the
+morris-dance:--
+
+    "Ho! who comes here with bag-piping and drumming?
+    O, 'tis I see the morris-dance a coming.
+    Come, ladies, out, O come, come quickly,
+    And see about how trim they dance and trickly:
+    Hey! there again: hark! how the bells they shake it!
+    Now _for our town_! once there, now for our town and take it:
+    Soft awhile, not away so fast, they melt them!
+    Piper be hang'd, knave! look, the dancers swelt them.
+    Out, there, stand out!--you come too far (I say) in--
+    There give the hobby-horse more room to play in!"
+
+"I woo with tears and _ne'er the near_."--_Ne'er the near_ (a proverbial
+expression) = Never the nigher.
+
+_Page_ 107. "When they came home Sis _floted_ cream."--I suppose the
+meaning is that Sis skimmed the cream from the milk. Halliwell (_Arch.
+Dict._) gives "Flotten-milk. Same as Flet-mitte" and "flet-mitte" is a
+north-country term for skimmed milk.
+
+"Since first I saw."--This exquisite song is also found in "The Golden
+Garland of Princely Delights," 1620.
+
+_Page_ 114. "Sweet Love, my only treasure."--Printed in Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody," 1602, where it is subscribed with the mysterious
+initials "A. W."
+
+_Page_ 115. "Sweet, stay awhile."--I suspect that this stanza does not
+really belong to Donne's "Break of day;" it is not found in MS. copies
+of Donne's poems, nor in any edition prior to that of 1669. Probably
+Donne's verses were written as a companion-piece to the present poem.
+
+_Page_ 120. "Yet merrily sings little Robin."--The loveliest of all
+verses in praise of Robin Redbreast are in Chapman's "Tears of Peace,"
+1609:--
+
+    "Whose face _the bird_ hid _that loves humans best,
+    That hath the bugle eyes and rosy breast,
+    And is the yellow autumn's nightingale_."
+
+_Page_ 120. "The love of change."--This is the first stanza of a poem
+which is printed entire (in six stanzas) in Davison's "Poetical
+Rhapsody," 1602.
+
+_Page_ 121. "The lowest trees have tops."--Printed in Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody" with the signature "Incerto."
+
+_Page_ 121. "The man of life upright."--In some old MS. copies this poem
+is ascribed to Francis Bacon: see Hannah's "Poems of Raleigh and
+Wotton," p. 119. Canon Hannah makes no mention of Campion's claim.
+Campion distinctly tells us that he wrote both the verses and the music
+of his songs: and I have no doubt that he was the author of the present
+lyric, which has more merit than any of Bacon's poems. In an epigram
+printed in his "Observations in the Art of English Poetry," 1602, there
+is a striking image that reappears in the present poem:--
+
+    "A wise man wary lives yet most secure,
+      Sorrows move not him greatly, nor delights,
+    Fortune and death he scorning only makes
+      _Th' earth his sober inn_, but still heaven his home."
+                                                    (SIG. C2).
+
+Henceforward let nobody claim "The man of life upright" for Bacon.
+
+_Page_ 124. "The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay."--"According to
+Peacham," says Oliphant ("_Musa Madrigalesca_," p. 45), "there was a
+virtuous contention between W. Byrd and Ferrabosco who of the two should
+best set these words; in which according to his (Peacham's) opinion,
+Ferrabosco succeeded so well that 'it could not be bettered for
+sweetness of ayre and depth of judgment.'"
+
+_Page_ 124. "The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth."--From the first
+stanza of a poem printed in the third edition of Sidney's "Arcadia,"
+1598.
+
+_Page_ 126. "There is a garden in her face."--This poem is also set to
+music in Alison's "Hour's Recreation," 1606, and Robert Jones' "Ultimum
+Vale" (1608). Herrick's dainty verses "Cherry-Ripe" are well-known:--
+
+    "Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe! I cry:
+    Full and fair ones, come and buy.
+    If so be you ask me where
+    They do grow, I answer,--There,
+    Where my Julia's lips do smile,
+    There's the land or cherry-isle,
+    Whose plantations fully show
+    All the year where cherries grow."
+
+_Page_ 127. "There is a lady sweet and kind."--Printed also in "The
+Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620.
+
+_Page_ 128. "There were three Ravens."--The north-country version of
+this noble dirge contains some verses of appalling intensity:--
+
+    "His horse is to the huntin gane
+    His hounds to bring the wild deer hame;
+    His lady's ta'en another mate,
+    So we may mak our dinner sweet.
+
+    "O we'll sit on his bonny breast-bane,
+    And we'll pyke out his bonny gray een;
+    Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,
+    We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.
+
+    "_Mony a ane for him makes mane,
+    But none sall ken where he is gane:
+    Ower his banes when they are bare,
+    The wind sall blaw for evermair_."
+
+_Page_ 130. "Think'st thou to seduce me," &c.--In William Corkine's
+"Airs," 1610, this song is found with considerable variations. Corkine
+gives only three stanzas. The first stanza agrees closely with Campion's
+text; the second and third stanzas run thus:--
+
+    "Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth;
+    He that hath not art to hide, soon falters when he feigneth,
+    And, as one that wants his wits, he smiles when he complaineth.
+
+    "If with wit we be deceived our faults may be excusèd,
+    Seeming good with flattery graced is but of few refusèd,
+    But of all accursed are they that are by fools abusèd."
+
+_Page_ 131. "Thou art not fair for all thy red and white."--These lines
+are printed in Dr. Grosart's edition of Donne's poems, vol. ii. p. 259.
+They are ascribed to Donne in an early MS.; but I see no reason for
+depriving Campion of them. (The first stanza is also set to music in
+Thomas Vautor's "Airs," 1619.)
+
+_Page_ 132. "Though Amaryllis dance in green."--Also printed in
+"England's Helicon," 1600.
+
+_Page_ 148. "We must not part as others do."--These lines are very much
+in Donne's manner. The MS. from which they are taken (Egerton MS. 2013)
+contains some undoubted poems of Donne.
+
+_Page_ 151. "Were I a king."--Canon Hannah prints these verses (in his
+"Poems of Raleigh and Wotton," p. 147) from a MS. copy, in which they
+are assigned to Edward Earl of Oxford. Appended in the MS. are the
+following answers:--
+
+            "ANSWERED THUS BY SIR P. S.
+    Wert thou a king, yet not command content,
+      Sith empire none thy mind could yet suffice;
+    Wert thou obscure, still cares would thee torment;
+      But wert thou dead all care and sorrow dies.
+    An easy choice, of these three which to crave:
+    No kingdom, nor a cottage, but a grave.
+
+            "ANOTHER OF ANOTHER MIND.
+    A king? oh, boon for my aspiring mind,
+      A cottage makes a country swad rejoice:
+    And as for death, I like him in his kind
+      But God forbid that he should be my choice!
+    A kingdom or a cottage or a grave,--
+    Nor last, nor next, but first and best I crave;
+    The rest I can, whenas I list, enjoy,
+    Till then salute me thus--_Vive le roy_!
+
+            "ANOTHER OF ANOTHER MIND.
+    The greatest kings do least command content;
+      The greatest cares do still attend a crown;
+    A grave all happy fortunes doth prevent
+      Making the noble equal with the clown:
+    A quiet country life to lead I crave;
+    A cottage then; no kingdom nor a grave."
+
+_Page_ 152. "What is our life?"--A MS. copy of these verses is
+subscribed "S^r W. R.", _i.e._, Sir Walter Raleigh. See Hannah's "Poems
+of Raleigh and Wotton," p. 27.
+
+Compare the sombre verses, signed "Ignoto," in "Reliquiæ Wottonianæ":--
+
+    "Man's life's a tragedy; his mother's womb,
+    From which he enters, is the tiring-room;
+    This spacious earth the theatre, and the stage
+    That country which he lives in: passions, rage,
+    Folly and vice are actors; the first cry
+    The prologue to the ensuing tragedy;
+    The former act consisteth of dumb shows;
+    The second, he to more perfection grows;
+    I' the third he is a man and doth begin
+    To nurture vice and act the deeds of sin;
+    I' the fourth declines; i' the fifth diseases clog
+    And trouble him; then death's his epilogue."
+
+_Page_ 153. "What needeth all this travail and turmoiling?"--Suggested
+by Spenser's fifteenth sonnet:--
+
+    "Ye tradefull Merchants that with weary toyle
+    Do seeke most pretious things to make your gain,
+    And both the Indias of their treasure spoile,
+    What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?
+    For loe! my Love doth in her selfe containe
+    All this worlds riches that may farre be found.
+    If Saphyres, loe! her eies be Saphyres plaine;
+    If Rubies, loe! hir lips be Rubies sound;
+    If Pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round;
+    If Yvorie, her forehead yvory weene;
+    If Gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
+    If Silver, her faire hands are silver sheene:
+        But that which fairest is but few behold,
+        Her mind, adornd with vertues manifold."
+
+_Page_ 154, l. 1. "And fortune's fate not fearing."--Oliphant boldly
+reads, for the sake of the rhyme, "And _fickle fortune scorning_."--in
+"England's Helicon" the text is the same as in the song-book.
+
+_Page_ 158, l. 5. "And when she saw that I was in her danger."--_Within
+one's danger_ = to be in a person's power or control.
+
+L. 16. "White _Iope_."--Campion must have had in his mind a passage of
+Propertius (ii. 28);--
+
+    "Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum:
+      Pulchra sit in superis, si licet, una locis.
+    Vobiscum est _Iope_, vobiscum candida Tyro,
+      Vobiscum Europe, nec proba Pasiphae."
+
+See Hertzberg's note on that passage.
+
+_Page_ 162. "While that the sun."--Also printed in "England's Helicon,"
+1600.
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF SONG-BOOKS.
+
+
+ALISON, RICHARD. _An Hour's Recreation in Music_,
+1606.
+
+ATTYE, JOHN. _First Book of Airs of Four Parts_, 1622.
+
+BATESON, THOMAS. _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+BYRD, WILLIAM. _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and
+Piety_, 1588.
+  _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+  _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+CAMPION, THOMAS. _see_ ROSSETER, PHILIP.
+  _Two Books of Airs_ [circ. 1613].
+  _The Third and Fourth Book of Airs_ [circ. 1613].
+
+CARLTON, RICHARD. _Madrigals to five voices_, 1601.
+
+COPRARIO, JOHN. _Funeral Tears for the death of the Right
+Honourable the Earl of Devonshire_, 1606.
+
+CORKINE, WILLIAM. _Airs to sing and play to the Lute and Bass-viol_,
+1610.
+  _The Second Book of Airs_, 1612.
+
+DANYEL, JOHN. _Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice_, 1606.
+
+DOWLAND, JOHN. _The First Book of Songs or Airs of four
+parts_, 1597.
+  _The Second Book of Songs or Airs, of two, four, and five
+parts_, 1600.
+  _The Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+  _A Pilgrims Solace_, 1612.
+
+DOWLAND, ROBERT. _A Musical Banquet furnished with
+variety of delicious Airs_, 1610.
+
+EARSDEN, JOHN and MASON, GEORGE. _The Airs that were
+sung and played at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland_,
+1618.
+
+EGERTON, MS. 2013.
+
+ESTE, MICHAEL. _Madrigals to three four and five parts_, 1604.
+
+FARMER, JOHN. _The first set of English Madrigals to four
+voices_, 1599.
+
+FARNABY, GILES. _Canzonets to four voices_, 1598.
+
+FORD, THOMAS. _Music of sundry kinds_, 1607.
+
+GIBBONS, ORLANDO. _The first set of Madrigals and Mottets_,
+1612.
+
+GREAVES, THOMAS. _Songs of sundry kinds_, 1604.
+
+JONES, ROBERT. _The first took of Airs_, 1601.
+  _The second book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+  _Ultimum Vale, or the third book of Airs_, 1608.
+  _A Musical Dream, or the Fourth Book of Airs_, 1609.
+
+LICHFILD, HENRY. _The first set of Madrigals to five parts_,
+1614.
+
+MAYNARD, JOHN. _The XII wonders of the world_, 1611.
+
+MORLEY, THOMAS. _Canzonets or little short songs to three
+voices_, 1593.
+  _Madrigals to four voices_, 1594; 1600.
+  _The first book of Ballets to five voices_, 1595.
+
+MUNDY, JOHN. _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+PEERSON, MARTIN. _Mottects, or grave chamber-music_, 1630.
+
+PILKINGTON, FRANCIS. _The first Book of Songs or Airs_, 1605.
+  _The First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals_, 1613.
+  _The Second Set of Madrigals_, 1624.
+
+RAVENSCROFT, THOMAS. _Pammelia; Music's Miscellany or
+mixed variety of Pleasant Roundelays_, 1609.
+  _Deuteromelia; or the second part of Music's Melody_, 1609.
+  _Melismata; Musical Fancies fitting the court, city, and
+country humours_, 1611.
+  _Brief Discourse of the true use of Charact'ring the Degrees,
+&c._, 1614.
+
+ROSSETER, PHILIP and CAMPION, THOMAS.
+  _A Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+TOMKINS, THOMAS. _Songs of three, four, five, and six parts_,
+1622.
+
+VAUTOR, THOMAS. _The First Set: being songs of divers Airs
+and Natures, of five and six parts_, 1619.
+
+WARD, JOHN. _The First Set of English Madrigals to three,
+four, five and six parts_, 1613.
+
+WEELKES, THOMAS. _Madrigals to three, four, five and six
+voices_, 1597.
+  _Ballets and Madrigals to five voices_, 1598.
+  _Madrigals of five and six parts_, 1600.
+  _Madrigals of six parts_, 1600.
+  _Airs or Fantastic Spirits for three voices_, 1608.
+
+WILBYE, JOHN. _The First Set of English Madrigals to three,
+four, five and six voices_, 1598.
+  _The Second Set of English Madrigals to three, four, five
+and six voices_, 1609.
+
+YONGE, NICHOLAS. _Musica Transalpina: the Second Book of
+Madrigals to five and six voices_, 1597.
+
+YOULL, HENRY. _Canzonets to three voices_, 1608.
+
+
+    CHISWICK PRESS:--C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
+          TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
+
+Greek has been transliterated in this version of the e-text, and is
+surrounded by braces, {like this}.
+
+A caret (^) is used to indicate a superscript in "S^r W. R."
+
+"... land in Kent (Malismata)" corrected to "Melismata".
+
+"... full of all heavenby fire" corrected to "heavenly fire".
+
+"She of my love and I of hers had failed" corrected to "failèd".
+
+Minor punctuation omissions have been silently corrected.
+
+Inconsistencies in the spelling and hyphenation of words between
+different songs have been retained.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyrics from the Song-Books of the
+Elizabethan Age, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 27129-8.txt or 27129-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyrics from the Song-Books of the
+Elizabethan Age, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: A. H. Bullen
+
+Release Date: November 2, 2008 [EBook #27129]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Nigel Blower and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="mynotes">
+<h4 style="text-align: left;">Transcriber’s Notes:</h4>
+
+<p>Footnotes to the Preface are collected at the end of that section, but other footnotes
+appear immediately below the relevant song lyrics. All footnotes are numbered sequentially.</p>
+
+<p>A hyperlinked Table of Contents has been added to this version.</p>
+<p>There is some Greek in this text, which may require adjustment
+of your browser settings to display correctly. A transliteration of
+each line is included. Hover your mouse over words underlined with a
+<ins class="greek" title="like this">grey dotted line</ins> to see
+the transliteration.</p>
+
+<p style="padding-left:3em; text-indent:-3em;">Text underlined with a <ins class="correction" title="like this">red dotted line</ins>
+has been amended. In particular:<br />
+In the index, “... land in Kent (Malismata)� has been corrected to “Melismata.�<br />
+In the index, “... heavenby fire� has been corrected to “heavenly fire.�<br />
+In “Thrice blessèd be the giver�, “failed� has been corrected to “failèd.�</p>
+
+<p>Inconsistencies in the spelling and hyphenation of words between
+different songs have been retained, but minor punctuation omissions
+have been silently corrected.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 284px;">
+<img src="images/front.jpg" width="284" height="400" alt="Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, Victoria University, Toronto" title="Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, Victoria University, Toronto" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table style="width:75%;" summary="Contents">
+<col span="2" valign="bottom"></col>
+<tr><th>
+&nbsp;
+</th><th align="right">
+Page
+</th></tr>
+<tr><td>
+<a href="#PREFACE"><b>PREFACE</b></a>
+</td><td align="right">
+<a href="#Page_v">v</a>
+</td></tr>
+<tr><td>
+<a href="#INDEX"><b>INDEX OF FIRST LINES</b></a>
+</td><td align="right">
+<a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>
+</td></tr>
+<tr><td>
+<a href="#LYRICS"><b>LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN SONG-BOOKS</b></a>
+</td><td align="right">
+<a href="#Page_xxxi">xxxi</a>
+</td></tr>
+<tr><td>
+<a href="#NOTES"><b>NOTES</b></a>
+</td><td align="right">
+<a href="#Page_177">177</a>
+</td></tr>
+<tr><td>
+<a href="#BOOKS"><b>LIST OF SONG-BOOKS</b></a>
+</td><td align="right">
+<a href="#Page_198">198</a>
+</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p>
+<h1>LYRICS<br />
+<span class="smaller">FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE<br />
+ELIZABETHAN AGE.</span></h1>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="numcopy"><span class="smcap">Note</span>.&mdash;<i>Two hundred and fifty copies of this large paper edition
+printed, each of which is numbered.</i></p>
+<p class="numcopy"><img src="images/copynumber.jpg" alt="No. 221" title="No. 221" /></p>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1><span class="redtext">LYRICS</span>
+<span class="smaller"><br /><br />FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE<br /><br />
+ELIZABETHAN AGE:</span></h1>
+
+<h5 style="margin-top: 3em">EDITED BY</h5>
+<h3 style="margin-bottom: 3em">A.H. BULLEN.</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/decoration.jpg" alt="decoration" title="decoration" /></div>
+
+<h3 style="margin-top: 3em"><span class="smaller">LONDON:</span><br />
+<span class="redtext">JOHN C. NIMMO,</span><br />
+<span class="smaller">14, <span class="smcap">King William Street, Strand</span>, W.C.</span><br />
+1887.</h3>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p>
+<h6>CHISWICK PRESS:&mdash;C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT,<br />
+CHANCERY LANE.</h6>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+<p class="first"><span class="first-word">The</span> present Anthology is intended to serve as a companion volume to the
+Poetical Miscellanies published in England at the close of the sixteenth
+and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries. A few of the lyrics here
+collected are, it is true, included in “England’s Helicon,� Davison’s
+“Poetical Rhapsody,� and “The Ph&oelig;nix’ Nest�; and some are to be found
+in the modern collections of Oliphant, Collier, Rimbault, Mr. W.J.
+Linton, Canon Hannah, and Professor Arber. But many of the poems in the
+present volume are, I have every reason to believe, unknown even to
+those who have made a special study of Elizabethan poetry. I have gone
+carefully through all the old song-books preserved in the library of the
+British Museum, and I have given extracts from two books of which there
+is no copy in our national library. A first attempt of this kind must
+necessarily be imperfect. Were I to go over the ground again I should
+enlarge the collection, and I should hope to gain tidings of some
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>
+song-books (mentioned by bibliographers) which I have hitherto been
+unable to trace.</p>
+
+<p>In Elizabeth’s days composers were not content to regard the words of a
+song as a mere peg on which to hang the music, but sought the services
+of true-born lyrists. It is not too much to say that, for delicate
+perfection of form, some of the Elizabethan songs can compare with the
+choicest epigrams in the Greek Anthology. At least one composer, Thomas
+Campion, wrote both the words and the music of his songs; and there are
+no sweeter lyrics in English poetry than are to be found in Campion’s
+song-books. But it may be assumed that, as a rule, the composers are
+responsible only for the music.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the year of the Spanish Armada, 1588, that William Byrd
+published “Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety,� the first
+Elizabethan song-book of importance. Few biographical particulars
+concerning Byrd have come down. As he was senior chorister of St. Paul’s
+in 1554, he is conjectured to have been born about 1538. From 1563 to
+1569 he was organist of Lincoln Cathedral. He and Tallis were granted a
+patent, which must have proved fairly lucrative, for the printing of
+music and the vending of music-paper. In later life he appears to have
+become a convert to Romanism. His last work was published in 1611, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span>
+he died at a ripe old age on the 24th of July, 1623. The “Psalms,
+Sonnets, and Songs� are dedicated to Sir Christopher Hatton. In the
+dedicatory epistle he terms the collection “this first printed work of
+mine <i>in English</i>;� in 1575 he had published with Tallis “Cantiones
+Sacræ.� From the title one would gather that Byrd’s first English
+collection was mainly of a sacred character, but in an epistle to the
+reader he hastens to set us right on that point:&mdash;“Benign reader, here
+is offered unto thy courteous acceptance music of sundry sorts, and to
+content divers humours. If thou be disposed to pray, here are psalms; if
+to be merry, here are sonnets.� There is, indeed, fare for all comers;
+and a reader has only himself to blame if he goes away dissatisfied. In
+those days, as in these, it was not uncommon for a writer to attribute
+all faults, whether of omission or commission, to the luckless printer.
+Byrd, on the other hand, solemnly warns us that “in the expression of
+these songs either by voices or instruments, if there be any jar or
+dissonance,� we are not to blame the printer, who has been at the
+greatest pains to secure accuracy. Then the composer makes a modest
+appeal on behalf of himself, requesting those who find any fault in the
+composition “either with courtesy to let the same be concealed,� or “in
+friendly sort� point out the errors, which shall be
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>corrected in a
+future impression. This is the proper manner of dealing between
+gentlemen. His next publication was “Songs of Sundry Natures,� 1589,
+which was dedicated to Sir Henry Carey, who seems to have been as
+staunch a patron of Byrd as his son, Sir George Carey, was of Dowland.
+In 1611 appeared Byrd’s last work, “Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets.� The
+composer must have taken to heart the precepts set down by Sir Edward
+Dyer in “My mind to me a kingdom is,� (printed in “Psalms, Sonnets, and
+Songs�) for his dedicatory epistle and his address to the reader show
+him to have been a man who had laid up a large store of genial wisdom,
+upon which he could draw freely in the closing days of an honourable
+life. His earlier works had been well received, and in addressing “all
+true lovers of music� he knew that he could rely upon their cordial
+sympathy. “I am much encouraged,� he writes, “to commend to you these my
+last labours, for mine <i>ultimum vale</i>;� and then follows a piece of
+friendly counsel: “Only this I desire, that you will be as careful to
+hear them well expressed, as I have been both in the composing and
+correcting of them. Otherwise the best song that ever was made will seem
+harsh and unpleasant; for that the well expressing of them either by
+voices or instruments is the life of our labours, which is seldom or
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>
+never well performed at the first singing or playing.�</p>
+
+<p>No musician of the Elizabethan age was more famous than John Dowland,
+whose “heavenly touch upon the lute� was commended in a well-known
+sonnet (long attributed to Shakespeare) by Richard Barnfield. Dowland
+was born at Westminster in 1562. At the age of twenty, or thereabouts,
+he started on his travels; and, after rambling through “the chiefest
+parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety of music,� he
+bent his course “towards the famous province of Germany,� where he found
+“both excellent masters and most honourable patrons of music.� In the
+course of his travels he visited Venice, Padua, Genoa, Ferrara, and
+Florence, gaining applause everywhere by his musical skill. On his
+return to England he took his degree at Oxford, as Bachelor of Music, in
+1588. In 1597 he published “The First Book of Songs or Airs of four
+parts, with Tableture for the Lute.� Prefixed is a dedicatory epistle to
+Sir George Carey (second Lord Hunsdon), in which the composer alludes
+gracefully to the kindness he had received from Lady Elizabeth Carey,
+the patroness of Spenser. A “Second Book of Songs or Airs� was published
+in 1600, when the composer was at the Danish Court, serving as lutenist
+to King Christian the Fourth. The work was dedicated
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>to the famous
+Countess of Bedford, whom Ben Jonson immortalized in a noble sonnet.
+From a curious address to the reader by George Eastland, the publisher,
+it would appear that in spite of Dowland’s high reputation the sale of
+his works was not very profitable. “If the consideration of mine own
+estate,� writes Eastland, “or the true worth of money, had prevailed
+with me above the desire of pleasing you and showing my love to my
+friends, these second labours of Master Dowland&mdash;whose very name is a
+large preface of commendation to the book&mdash;had for ever lain hid in
+darkness, or at the least frozen in a cold and foreign country.� The
+expenses of publication were heavy, but he consoled himself with the
+thought that his high-spirited enterprise would be appreciated by a
+select audience. In 1603 appeared “The Third and Last Book of Songs or
+Airs;� and, in 1612, when he was acting as lutenist to Lord Walden,
+Dowland issued his last work, “A Pilgrime’s Solace.� He is supposed to
+have died about 1615, leaving a son, Robert Dowland, who gained some
+fame as a composer. Modern critics have judged that Dowland’s music was
+somewhat overrated by his contemporaries, and that he is wanting in
+variety and originality. Whether these critics are right or wrong, it
+would be difficult to overrate the poetry. In attempting to select
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span>
+representative lyrics one is embarrassed by the wealth of material. The
+rich clusters of golden verse hang so temptingly that it is difficult to
+cease plucking when once we have begun.</p>
+
+<p>In his charming collection of “Rare Poems� Mr. Linton quotes freely from
+the song-books of Byrd and Dowland, but gives only one lyric of Dr.
+Thomas Campion. As Mr. Linton is an excellent judge of poetry, I can
+only suppose that he had no wide acquaintance with Campion’s writings,
+when he put together his dainty Anthology. There is clear
+evidence<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
+that Campion wrote not only the music but the words for his songs&mdash;that
+he was at once an eminent composer and a lyric poet of the first rank.
+He published a volume of Latin verse, which displays ease and fluency
+(though the prosody is occasionally erratic); as a masque-writer he was
+inferior only to Ben Jonson; he was the author of treatises on the arts
+of music and poetry; and he practised as a physician. It would be
+interesting to ascertain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>
+some facts about the life of this
+highly-gifted man; but hitherto little information has been collected.
+The Oxford historian, good old Anthony-à-Wood, went altogether wrong and
+confused our Thomas Campion with another person of the same name who
+took his degree in 1624&mdash;five years after the poet’s death. It is
+probable that our Thomas Campion was the second son of Thomas Campion of
+Witham, Essex, and that he was distantly related to Edmund Campion the
+famous Jesuit. His first work was his “Epigrammatum Libri duo,�
+published in 1595, and republished in 1619. The first edition is
+exceedingly rare; there is no copy in the British Museum. Francis Meres,
+in his very valuable (and very tedious) “Wit’s Treasury,� 1598, mentions
+Campion among the “English men, being Latin poets,� who had “attained
+good report and honorable advancement in the Latin empire.� In 1601
+Campion and Philip Rosseter published jointly “A Book of Airs.� The
+music was partly written by Campion and partly by Rosseter; but the
+whole of the poetry may be safely assigned to Campion. From a dedicatory
+epistle, by Rosseter, to Sir Thomas Monson, we learn that Campion’s
+songs, “made at his vacant hours and privately imparted to his friends,�
+had been passed from hand to hand and had suffered from the carelessness of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span>
+successive transcribers. Some impudent persons, we are told, had
+“unrespectively challenged� (<i>i.e.</i> claimed) the credit both of the
+music and the poetry. The address <i>To the Reader</i>, which follows the
+dedicatory epistle, is unsigned, but appears to have been written by
+Campion. “What epigrams are in poetry,� it begins, “the same are airs in
+music: then in their chief perfection when they are short and well
+seasoned. But to clog a light song with a long preludium is to corrupt
+the nature of it. Many rests in music were invented either for necessity
+of the fugue, or granted as an harmonical licence in songs of many
+parts; but in airs I find no use they have, unless it be to make a
+vulgar and trivial modulation seem to the ignorant strange, and to the
+judicial tedious.� It is among the curiosities of literature that this
+true poet, who had so exquisite a sense of form, and whose lyrics are
+frequently triumphs of metrical skill, should have published a work
+(entitled “Observations in the Art of English Poesy�) to prove that the
+use of rhyme ought to be discontinued, and that English metres should be
+fashioned after classical models. “Poesy,� he writes, “in all kind of
+speaking is the chief beginner and maintainer of eloquence, not only
+helping the ear with the acquaintance of sweet numbers, but also raising
+the mind to a more high and lofty
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>
+conceit. For this end have I studied
+to induce a true form of versifying into our language; for the vulgar
+and artificial custom of rhyming hath, I know, deterr’d many excellent
+wits from the exercise of English poesy.� The work was published in
+1602, the year after he had issued the first collection of his charming
+lyrics. It was in answer to Campion that Samuel Daniel wrote his
+“Defence of Rhyme� (1603), one of the ablest critical treatises in the
+English language. Daniel was puzzled, as well he might be, that an
+attack on rhyme should have been made by one “whose commendable rhymes,
+albeit now himself an enemy to rhyme, have given heretofore to the world
+the best notice of his worth.� It is pleasant to find Daniel testifying
+to the fact that Campion was “a man of fair parts and good reputation.�
+Ben Jonson, as we are informed by Drummond of Hawthornden, wrote “a
+Discourse of Poesy both against Campion and Daniel;� but the discourse
+was never published. In his “Observations� Campion gives us a few
+specimen-poems written in the unrhymed metres that he proposed to
+introduce. The following verses are the least objectionable that I can
+find:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem smaller"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">“Just beguiler,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kindest love yet only chastest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Royal in thy smooth denials,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Frowning or demurely smiling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Still my pure delight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Let me view thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thoughts and with eyes affected,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if then the flames do murmur,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quench them with thy virtue, charm them<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">With thy stormy brows.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Heaven so cheerful<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laughs not ever; hoary winter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knows his season, even the freshest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Summer morns from angry thunder<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Yet not still secure.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>There is artful ease and the touch of a poet’s hand in those verses; but
+the Muses shield us from such innovations! Campion’s second collection,
+“Two Books of Airs�, is undated; but, from an allusion to the death of
+Prince Henry, we may conclude that it was published about the year 1613.
+The first book consists of “Divine and Moral Songs� and the second of
+“light conceits of lovers.� In dealing with sacred themes, particularly
+when they venture on paraphrases of the Psalms, our poets seldom do
+themselves justice; but I claim for Campion that he is neither stiff nor
+awkward. Henry Vaughan is the one English poet whose devotional fervour
+found the highest lyrical expression; and Campion’s impassioned poem
+“Awake, awake, thou heavy sprite!� (p. 6) is not unworthy of the great
+Silurist. Among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span>
+the sacred verses are some lines (“Jack and Joan they
+think no ill,� p. 61) in praise of a contented countryman and his good
+wife. A sweeter example of an old pastoral lyric could nowhere be found,
+not even in the pages of Nicholas Breton. The “Third and Fourth Books of
+Airs� are also undated, but they were probably published in 1613. In
+this collection, where all is good, my favourite is “Now winter nights
+enlarge� (p. 90). Others may prefer the melodious serenade, worthy even
+of Shelley, “Shall I come, sweet love, to thee� (p. 100). But there is
+one poem of Campion (printed in the collection of 1601) which, for
+strange richness of romantic beauty, could hardly be matched outside the
+sonnets of Shakespeare:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem smaller"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“When thou must home to shades of underground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there arrived, a new admirèd guest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hear the stories of thy finish’d love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of tourneys and great challenges of knights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thou hast told these honours done to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me!�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The mention of “White Iope� was suggested by a passage of Propertius:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem smaller"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">“Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pulchra sit, in superis, si licet, una locis.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vobiscum<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
+est <i>Iope</i>, vobiscum candida Tyro,� &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Campion was steeped in classical feeling: his rendering of Catullus’
+“Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus� (p. 80) is, so far as it goes,
+delightful. It is time that Campion should again take his rightful place
+among the lyric poets of England. In his own day his fame stood high.
+Camden did not hesitate to couple his name with the names of Spenser and
+Sidney; but modern critics have persistently neglected him. The present
+anthology contains a large number of his best poems; and I venture to
+hope that my attempt to recall attention to the claims of this true poet
+will not be fruitless.</p>
+
+<p>There is much excellent verse hidden away in the Song-books of Robert
+Jones, a famous performer on the lute. Between 1601 and 1611 Jones
+issued six musical works. Two of these&mdash;“The First Set of Madrigals,�
+1607, and “The Muses’ Garden for Delight,� 1611,&mdash;I have unfortunately
+not been able to see, as I have not yet succeeded in discovering their
+present resting-place. Of “Ultimum Vale, or the Third Book of Airs�
+[1608], only one copy is known. It formerly belonged to Rimbault, and is now
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span>
+preserved in the library of the Royal College of Music. The other
+publications of Jones are of the highest rarity. By turns the songs are
+grave and gay. On one page is the warning to Love&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem smaller"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Little boy, pretty knave, hence, I beseech you!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if you hit me, knave, in faith I’ll breech you.� (p. 72.)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>On another we read “Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly,� (p.
+73); but the vain hopes, seeking to woo the sun’s fair light, were
+scorched with fire and drown’d in woe,</p>
+
+<div class="poem smaller"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Love did know that their desires were true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Though Fate frownèd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">And now drownèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">They in sorrow dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The last line is superb.</p>
+
+<p>I have drawn freely from the madrigals of Weelkes, Morley, Farmer,
+Wilbye and others. Thomas Ford’s “Music of Sundry Kinds,� 1607, has
+yielded some very choice verse; and Francis Pilkington’s collections
+have not been consulted in vain. From John Attye’s “First Book of Airs,�
+1622, I have selected one song, (p. 94), only one,&mdash;warm and tender and
+delicious. Some pleasant verses have been drawn from the rare song-books
+of William Corkine; and Thomas Vautor’s “Songs
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span> of Divers Airs and
+Natures,� 1619, have supplied some quaint snatches, notably the address
+to the owl, (p. 116) “Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight.� I have
+purposely refrained from giving many humorous ditties. Had I been
+otherwise minded there was plenty of material to my hand in the
+rollicking rounds and catches of Ravenscroft’s admirable collections.</p>
+
+<p>As I have no technical knowledge of the subject, it would be impertinent
+for me to attempt to estimate the merits of the music contained in these
+old song-books; but I venture with all confidence to commend the poetry
+to the reader’s attention. There is one poem which I have deliberately
+kept back. It occurs in “The First Part of Airs, French, Polish, and
+others together, some in tableture and some in prick-song,� 1605. The
+composer was a certain Captain Tobias Hume, but who the author of the
+poem was I know not. Here is the first stanza:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem smaller"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Fain would I change that note<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To which fond love hath charm’d me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long long to sing by rote,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fancying that that harm’d me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet when this thought doth come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">‘Love is the perfect sum<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all delight,’<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have no other choice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Either for pen or voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sing or write.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span>
+The other stanza shall occupy the place of honour in the front of my
+Anthology; for among all the Elizabethan song-books I have found no
+lines of more faultless beauty, of happier cadence or sweeter
+simplicity, no lines that more justly deserve to be treasured in the
+memory while memory lasts.</p>
+
+<div class="preface footnote">
+<h4 style="text-align: left;">Footnotes</h4>
+<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> In his address <i>To The Reader</i> prefixed to the “Fourth Book
+of Airs� he writes:&mdash;“Some words are in these books which have been
+clothed in music by others, and I am content they then served their
+turn: <i>yet give me leave to make use of mine own</i>.� Again, in the
+address <i>To the Reader</i> prefixed to the “Third Book of Airs:�&mdash;“In these
+English airs I have chiefly aimed to <i>couple my words and notes lovingly
+together; which will be much for him to do that hath not power over
+both</i>.�</p>
+<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Some editions read “Vobiscum Antiope.�</p></div>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<h2><i>IN LAVDEM AMORIS.</i></h2>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0 spaced">O LOVE, THEY WRONG THEE MVCH<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">THAT SAY THY SWEET IS BITTER,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">WHEN THY RICH FRVIT IS SVCH<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">AS NOTHING CAN BE SWEETER.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">FAIR HOVSE OF JOY AND BLISS,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">WHERE TRVEST PLEASVRE IS,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">I DO ADORE THEE;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">I KNOW THEE WHAT THOV ART,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">I SERVE THEE WITH MY HEART,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0 spaced">AND FALL BEFORE THEE.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<span class="i8"><span class="smcap">Captain Hume</span>’s <i>First Part of Airs</i>, 1605.</span>
+<span class="pagenum hidden"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX OF FIRST LINES</h2>
+
+<table summary="Index">
+<tr><th>
+&nbsp;
+</th><th class="right">
+<span class="smaller">PAGE</span>
+</th></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s1a">
+<span style="position:relative; font-size:300%; top:.7em; line-height:0.5em"><i>A</i></span></a>
+<div style="margin-left:2.3em;"><a href="#s1a"><i><span class="first-word">little</span> pretty bonny lass was walking (Farmer)</i></a></div></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt" style="padding-left:5.3em;text-indent:-2.5em"><a href="#s1b"><i>A shepherd in a shade his plaining made (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s2a"><i>A sparrow-hawk proud did hold in wicked jail (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s3a"><i>A woman’s looks (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s4a"><i>About the maypole new, with glee and merriment (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s5a"><i>Adieu! sweet Amaryllis (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s5b"><i>April is in my mistress’ face (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s5c"><i>Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s6a"><i>Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s7a"><i>Awake, sweet Love! ’tis time to rise (Youll)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s7b"><i>Ay me, can every rumour (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s8a"><i>Ay me, my mistress scorns my love (Bateson)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s8b"><i>Behold a wonder here (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s9a"><i>Brown is my Love, but graceful (Musica Transalpina)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s9b"><i>By a fountain where I lay (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s11a"><i>By the moon we sport and play (Ravenscroft)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s11b"><i>Canst thou love and lie alone (Melismata)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s12a"><i>Change thy mind since she doth change (Robert Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s13a"><i>Cold Winter’s ice is fled and gone (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s14a"><i>Come away! come, sweet Love! (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s15a"><i>Come, O come, my life’s delight (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s16a"><i>Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers (Ford)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s16b"><i>Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s17a"><i>Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s18a"><i>Could my heart more tongues employ (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s19a"><i>Crownèd with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span>
+<a href="#s19b"><i>Dare you haunt our hallow’d green (Ravenscroft)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s20a"><i>Dear, if I with guilt would gild a true intent (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s20b"><i>Dear, if you change I’ll never choose again (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s21a"><i>Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s21b"><i>Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s22a"><i>Each day of thine, sweet month of May (Youll)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s22b"><i>Every dame affects good fame, whate’er her doings be (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s24a"><i>Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone (Farmer)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s24b"><i>Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s25a"><i>Farewell, my joy! (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s26a"><i>Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s27a"><i>Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s27b"><i>Flora gave me fairest flowers (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s28a"><i>Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s28b"><i>Fond wanton youths make Love a God (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s30a"><i>From Citheron the warlike boy is fled (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s31a"><i>From Fame’s desire, from Love’s delight retired (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s32a"><i>Give Beauty all her right (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s33a"><i>Go, crystal tears! like to the morning showers (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s33b"><i>Go, turn away those cruel eyes (Egerton MS. 2013)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s34a"><i>Good men, show! if you can tell (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s36a"><i>Ha! ha! ha! this world doth pass (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s36b"><i>Happy he (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s37a"><i>Happy, O! happy he, who not affecting (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s38a"><i>Have I found her? O rich finding (Pilkington)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s38b"><i>Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more (Mundy)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s39a"><i>How many things as yet (Maynard)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s39b"><i>How shall I then describe my Love (Ford)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span>
+<a href="#s40a"><i>I always loved to call my lady Rose (Lichfild)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s41a"><i>I have house and land in Kent
+(<ins class="correction" title="Original reads 'Malismata'">Melismata</ins>)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s43a"><i>I joy not in no earthly bliss (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s44a"><i>I live and yet methinks I do not breathe (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s44b"><i>I marriage would forswear (Maynard)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s45a"><i>I only am the man (Maynard)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s46a"><i>I saw my Lady weep (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s46b"><i>I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy’s pleasure (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s47a"><i>I weigh not Fortune’s frown nor smile (Gibbons)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s48a"><i>I will no more come to thee (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s48b"><i>If fathers knew but how to leave (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s49a"><i>If I urge my kind desires (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s50a"><i>If my complaints could passions move (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s51a"><i>If thou long’st so much to learn, sweet boy, what ’tis to love (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s52a"><i>If women could be fair and never fond (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s53a"><i>In crystal towers and turrets richly set (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s53b"><i>In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be (Coprario)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s54a"><i>In midst of woods or pleasant grove (Mundy)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s55a"><i>In pride of May (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s56a"><i>In Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s57a"><i>In the merry month of May (Este)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s58a"><i>Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave (Greaves)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s59a"><i>Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me (Lichfild)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s59b"><i>Is Love a boy,&mdash;what means he then to strike (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s60a"><i>It was the frog in the well (Melismata)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s61a"><i>Jack and Joan they think no ill (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s62a"><i>Kind are her answers (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s63a"><i>Kind in unkindness, when will you relent (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s64a"><i>Lady, the birds right fairly (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s64b"><i>Lady, the melting crystal of your eye (Greaves)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s65a"><i>Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s66a"><i>Let not Chloris think, because (Danyel)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s67a"><i>Let not the sluggish sleep (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</a></span>
+<a href="#s67b"><i>Let us in a lovers’ round (Mason and Earsden)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s68a"><i>Like two proud armies marching in the field (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s68b"><i>Lo! country sport that seldom fades (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s68c"><i>Lo! when back mine eye (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s69a"><i>Long have I lived in Court (Maynard)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s70a"><i>Love is a bable (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s71a"><i>Love not me for comely grace (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s72a"><i>Love’s god is a boy (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s73a"><i>Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s74a"><i>“Maids are simple,� some men say (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s74b"><i>Maids to bed and cover coal (Melismata)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s75a"><i>More than most fair, full of all
+<ins class="correction" title="Original reads 'heavenby'">heavenly</ins> fire (Peerson)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s75b"><i>Mother, I will have a husband (Vautor)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s76a"><i>My hope a counsel with my heart (Este)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s77a"><i>My love bound me with a kiss (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s78a"><i>My love is neither young nor old (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s78b"><i>My mind to me a kingdom is (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s80a"><i>My prime of youth is but a frost of cares (Mundy)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s80b"><i>My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s81a"><i>My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s82a"><i>Never love unless you can (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s83a"><i>Now each creature joys the other (Farmer)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s83b"><i>Now every tree renews his summer’s green (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s83c"><i>Now God be with old Simeon (Pammelia)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s84a"><i>Now have I learn’d with much ado at last (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s85a"><i>Now I see thy looks were feignèd (Ford)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s86a"><i>Now is my Chloris fresh as May (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s87a"><i>Now is the month of maying (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s87b"><i>Now let her change! and spare not (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s88a"><i>Now let us make a merry greeting (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s89a"><i>Now what is love, I pray thee tell (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s90a"><i>Now winter nights enlarge (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s91a"><i>O say, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries (Ward)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s91b"><i>O stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting (Farmer)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s92a"><i>O sweet, alas, what say you (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span>
+<a href="#s92b"><i>O sweet delight, O more than human bliss (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s93a"><i>Oft have I mused the cause to find (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s94a"><i>On a time the amorous Silvy (Attye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s95a"><i>Once did I love and yet I live (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s95b"><i>Once I thought to die for love (Youll)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s96a"><i>Our country swains in the morris dance (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s96b"><i>Pierce did love fair Petronel (Farnaby)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s97a"><i>Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears (Pilkington)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s97b"><i>Robin is a lovely lad (Mason and Earsden)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s98a"><i>Round-a, round-a, keep your ring (Ravenscroft)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s98b"><i>See, see, mine own sweet jewel (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s99a"><i>Shall a frown or angry eye (Corkine)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s99b"><i>Shall I abide this jesting (Alison)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s100a"><i>Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s100b"><i>Shall I look to ease my grief (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s101a"><i>She whose matchless beauty staineth (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s103a"><i>Shoot, false Love! I care not (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s104a"><i>Silly boy! ’tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s105a"><i>Simkin said that Sis was fair (Farnaby)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s105b"><i>Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye (Ford)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s106a"><i>Sing we and chant it (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s107a"><i>Sister, awake! close not your eyes (Bateson)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s108a"><i>Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s108b"><i>So light is love, in matchless beauty shining (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s109a"><i>Some can flatter, some can feign (Corkine)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s110a"><i>Sweet, come again (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s111a"><i>Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire (Corkine)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s112a"><i>Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s112b"><i>Sweet Kate (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s113a"><i>Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch’s glory (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s114a"><i>Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s114b"><i>Sweet Love, my only treasure (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s115a"><i>Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxviii" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</a></span>
+<a href="#s116a"><i>Sweet Suffolk owl so trimly dight (Vautor)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s116b"><i>Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s117a"><i>Take time while time doth last (Farmer)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s117b"><i>The fly she sat in shamble-row (Deuteromelia)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s119a"><i>The Gods have heard my vows (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s120a"><i>The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best (Pammelia)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s120b"><i>The love of change hath changed the world throughout (Carlton)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s121a"><i>The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s121b"><i>The man of life upright (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s122a"><i>The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s123a"><i>The match that’s made for just and true respects (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s124a"><i>The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s124b"><i>The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth (Bateson)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s125a"><i>The peaceful western wind (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s126a"><i>There is a garden in her face (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s127a"><i>There is a lady sweet and kind (Ford)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s128a"><i>There were three Ravens sat on a tree (Melismata)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s129a"><i>Think’st thou, Kate, to put me down (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s130a"><i>Think’st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s131a"><i>Thou art but young, thou say’st (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s131b"><i>Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s132a"><i>Thou pretty bird, how do I see (Danyel)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s132b"><i>Though Amaryllis dance in green (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s133a"><i>Though my carriage be but careless (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s134a"><i>Though your strangeness frets my heart (Jones)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s135a"><i>Thrice blessèd be the giver (Farnaby)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s136a"><i>Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s136b"><i>Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s137a"><i>Thus saith my Chloris bright (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s137b"><i>Thus saith my Galatea (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s138a"><i>To his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s139a"><i>To plead my faith, where faith hath no reward (Robert Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</a></span>
+<a href="#s139b"><i>To shorten winter’s sadness (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s140a"><i>Toss not my soul, O Love, ’twixt hope and fear (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s141a"><i>Turn all thy thoughts to eyes (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s141b"><i>Unto the temple of thy beauty (Ford)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s142a"><i>Upon a hill the bonny boy (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s143a"><i>Upon a summer’s day Love went to swim (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s143b"><i>Vain men! whose follies make a god of love (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s144a"><i>Wake, sleepy Thyrsis, wake (Pilkington)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s145a"><i>We be soldiers three (Deuteromelia)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s146a"><i>We be three poor mariners (Deuteromelia)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s146b"><i>We must not part as others do (Egerton MS. 2013)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s147a"><i>We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s147b"><i>Wedded to will is witless (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s148a"><i>Weep no more, thou sorry boy (Tomkins)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s149a"><i>Weep you no more, sad fountains (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s149b"><i>Welcome, sweet pleasure (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s151a"><i>Were I a king I might command content (Mundy)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s151b"><i>Were my heart as some men’s are, thy errors would not move me (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s152a"><i>What hap had I to marry a shrow (Pammelia)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s152b"><i>What is our life? a play of passion (Gibbons)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s153a"><i>What needeth all this travail and turmoiling (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s153b"><i>What pleasure have great Princes (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s155a"><i>What poor astronomers are they (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s156a"><i>What then is love, sings Corydon (Ford)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s157a"><i>When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth (Carlton)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s157b"><i>When I was otherwise than now I am (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s158a"><i>When thou must home to shades of underground (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s159a"><i>When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s159b"><i>Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking (Wilbye)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s160a"><i>Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought (Peerson)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s161a"><i>Whether men do laugh or weep (Campion and Rosseter)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s162a"><i>While that the sun with his beams hot (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</a></span>
+<a href="#s163a"><i>Whilst youthful sports are lasting (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s164a"><i>White as lilies was her face (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s166a"><i>Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers (Pilkington)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s167a"><i>Who likes to love, let him take heed (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s168a"><i>Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough (Byrd)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s168b"><i>Who prostrate lies at women’s feet (Bateson)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s169a"><i>Who would have thought that face of thine (Farmer)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s169b"><i>Why are you Ladies staying (Weelkes)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s170a"><i>Wilt thou, Unkind! thus ’reave me (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s171a"><i>Wise men patience never want (Campion)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s172a"><i>Woeful heart with grief oppressèd (John Dowland)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td>
+</tr><tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s172b"><i>Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes (Greaves)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s173a"><i>You blessèd bowers whose green leaves now are spreading (Farmer)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s173b"><i>You that wont to my pipe’s sound (Morley)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="lt"><a href="#s174a"><i>Your shining eyes and golden hair (Bateson)</i></a></td>
+<td class="rb"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxi" id="Page_xxxi">[Pg xxxi]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="LYRICS" id="LYRICS"></a>LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN SONG-BOOKS.</h2>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 30%">
+<i>Let well-tuned words amaze<br />
+With harmony divine.</i><br />
+<span class="smcap" style="padding-left: 8em">Campion</span>.
+<span class="pagenum hidden"><a name="Page_xxxii" id="Page_xxxii">[Pg xxxii]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="source" style="margin-top:3em"><a name="s1a" id="s1a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Farmer</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1599.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">A&nbsp;little</span> pretty bonny lass was walking</p>
+<span class="i6">In midst of May before the sun gan rise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I took her by the hand and fell to talking<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of this and that as best I could devise:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I swore I would&mdash;yet still she said I should not;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do what I would, and yet for all I could not.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s1b" id="s1b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Second Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">A&nbsp;shepherd</span> in a shade his plaining made</p>
+<span class="i6">Of love and lover’s wrong<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the fairest lass that trod on grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thus began his song:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Since Love and Fortune will, I honour still<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your fair and lovely eye:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">What conquest will it be, sweet Nymph, for thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I for sorrow die?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Restore, restore my heart again<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Lest that, enforced by your disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I sing ‘Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“My heart where have you laid? O cruel maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To kill when you might save!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why have ye cast it forth as nothing worth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without a tomb or grave?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O let it be entombed and lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In your sweet mind and memory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest I resound on every warbling string<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">‘Fie, fie on love! that is a foolish thing.’<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Restore, restore my heart again<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Lest that, enforced by your disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I sing ‘Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.’�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s2a" id="s2a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals of Six Parts</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">A&nbsp;Sparrow-Hawk</span> proud did hold in wicked jail</p>
+<span class="i6">Music’s sweet chorister, the nightingale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom with sighs she said: “O set me free!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in my song I’ll praise no bird but thee.�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hawk replied, “I will not lose my diet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s3a" id="s3a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>First Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap" style="margin-left:0.3em;"><span class="first-word">A&nbsp;woman’s</span> looks</p>
+<span class="i8">Are barbèd hooks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That catch by art<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The strongest heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When yet they spend no breath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But let them speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And sighing break<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Forth into tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Their words are spears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wound our souls to death.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">The rarest wit<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Is made forget,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And like a child<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Is oft beguiled<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With love’s sweet-seeming bait;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Love with his rod<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So like a God<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Commands the mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">We cannot find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair shows hide foul deceit.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Time, that all things<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In order brings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Hath taught me how<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To be more slow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In giving faith to speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">Since women’s words<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">No truth affords,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And when they kiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">They think by this<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Us men to over-reach.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s4a" id="s4a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>First Book of Ballets to Five Voices</i>, 1595.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">About</span> the maypole new, with glee and merriment,</p>
+<span class="i6">While as the bagpipe tooted it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thyrsis and Chloris fine together footed it:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the joyous instrument<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Still they went to and fro, and finely flaunted it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And then both met again and thus they chaunted it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i32">Fa la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The shepherds and the nymphs them round enclosèd had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Wond’ring with what facility,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">About they turn’d them in such strange agility;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still when they unloosèd had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With words full of delight they gently kissed them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And thus sweetly to sing they never missed them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i32">Fa la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s5a" id="s5a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Adieu</span>, sweet Amaryllis!</p>
+<span class="i6">For since to part your will is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O heavy, heavy tiding!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here is for me no biding.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet once again, ere that I part with you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu, sweet Amaryllis; sweet, adieu!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s5b" id="s5b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>First Book of Madrigals</i>, 1594.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">April</span> is in my mistress’ face,</p>
+<span class="i6">And July in her eyes hath place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within her bosom is September,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in her heart a cold December.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s5c" id="s5c"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Arise</span>, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun,</p>
+<span class="i6">Call all the winds to make you speedy wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to my fairest Maya see you run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And weep your last while wantonly she sings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then if you cannot move her heart to pity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let <i>Oh, alas, ay me</i> be all your ditty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Arise, my thoughts, no more, if you return<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Denied of grace which only you desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But let the sun your wings to ashes burn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And melt your passions in his quenchless fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, if you move fair Maya’s heart to pity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let smiles and love and kisses be your ditty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Arise, my thoughts, beyond the highest star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gently rest you in fair Maya’s eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For that is fairer than the brightest are;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, if she frown to see you climb so high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of smiles and love and kisses, beg for pity.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s6a" id="s6a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Two Books of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Awake</span>, awake! thou heavy sprite</p>
+<span class="i6">That sleep’st the deadly sleep of sin!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rise now and walk the ways of light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">’Tis not too late yet to begin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seek heaven early, seek it late;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True Faith finds still an open gate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Get up, get up, thou leaden man!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thy track, to endless joy or pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yields but the model of a span:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Yet burns out thy life’s lamp in vain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One minute bounds thy bane or bliss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then watch and labour while time is.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s7a" id="s7a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Henry Youll</span>’s <i>Canzonets to three voices</i>, 1608.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Awake</span>, sweet Love! ’tis time to rise:</p>
+<span class="i6">Ph&oelig;bus is risen in the east,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spreading his beams on those fair eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which are enclosed with Nature’s rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Awake, awake from heavy sleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which all thy thoughts in silence keep!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s7b" id="s7b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Ay</span> me, can every rumour</p>
+<span class="i6">Thus start my lady’s humour?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Name ye some galante to her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why straight forsooth I woo her.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then burst[s] she forth in passion<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“You men love but for fashion;�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet sure I am that no man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever so lovèd woman.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then alas, Love, be wary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For women be contrary.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s8a" id="s8a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Bateson</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Ay</span> me, my mistress scorns my love;</p>
+<span class="i6">I fear she will most cruel prove.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I weep, I sigh, I grieve, I groan;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she regardeth not my moan.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, Love, adieu! it fits not me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To weep for her that laughs at thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s8b" id="s8b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1603.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Behold</span> a wonder here!</p>
+<span class="i6">Love hath receiv’d his sight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which many hundred year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath not beheld the light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Such beams infusèd be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Cynthia in his eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As first have made him see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then have made him wise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love now no more will weep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For them that laugh the while!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor wake for them that sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor sigh for them that smile!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">So powerful is the Beauty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Love doth now behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Love is turned to Duty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That’s neither blind nor bold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus Beauty shows her might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be of double kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In giving Love his sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And striking Folly blind.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s9a" id="s9a"></a>
+From the Second Book of <i>Musica Transalpina</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Brown</span> is my Love, but graceful:</p>
+<span class="i6">And each renownèd whiteness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Match’d with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Fair is my Love, but scornful:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Yet have I seen despisèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prizèd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s9b" id="s9b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1603.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">By</span> a fountain where I lay,</p>
+<span class="i6">(All blessèd be that blessèd day!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the glimm’ring of the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(O never be her shining done!)<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">When I might see alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My true Love, fairest one!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Love’s dear light!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Love’s clear sight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No world’s eyes can clearer see!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fairer sight, none can be!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair with garlands all addrest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Was never Nymph more fairly blest!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blessèd in the highest degree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(So may she ever blessèd be!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Came to this fountain near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With such a smiling cheer!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Such a face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Such a grace!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy, happy eyes, that see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such a heavenly sight as She!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I forthwith took my pipe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I all fair and clean did wipe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And upon a heavenly ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All in the grace of beauty found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Play’d this roundelay:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">“Welcome, fair Queen of May!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Sing, sweet air!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Welcome, Fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Welcome be the Shepherds’ Queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The glory of all our green!�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s11a" id="s11a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ravenscroft</span>’s <i>Brief Discourse, &amp;c.</i>, 1614.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Urchins’ Dance</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">By</span> the moon we sport and play,</p>
+<span class="i6">With the night begins our day:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As we frisk the dew doth fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trip it, little urchins all!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lightly as the little bee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two by two, and three by three;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And about, about go we.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Elves’ Dance</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Round</span> about in a fair ring-a,</p>
+<span class="i6">Thus we dance and thus we sing-a;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trip and go, to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over this green-a;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All about, in and out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over this green-a.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s11b" id="s11b"></a>
+From <i>Melismata</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p><span class="smcap">The Courtier’s Good Morrow to his Mistress</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Canst</span> thou love and lie alone?</p>
+<span class="i6">Love is so disgracèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pleasure is best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein is rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a heart embracèd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rise, rise, rise!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Daylight do not burn out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bells do ring and birds do sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only I that mourn out.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Morning-star doth now appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wind is hushed and sky is clear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, come away, come, come away!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Canst thou love and burn out day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rise, rise, rise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Daylight do not burn out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bells do ring [and] birds do sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only I that mourn out.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s12a" id="s12a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Dowland</span>’s <i>Musical Banquet</i>, 1610. (Lines by the Earl of
+Essex.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Change</span> thy mind since she doth change,</p>
+<span class="i6">Let not fancy still abuse thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy untruth cannot seem strange<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When her falsehood doth excuse thee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love is dead and thou art free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She doth live but dead to thee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whilst she loved thee best a while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">See how she hath still delayed thee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Using shows for to beguile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those vain hopes that have deceived thee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now thou seest, although too late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love loves truth which women hate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Love no more since she is gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She is gone and loves another:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being once deceived by one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Leave her love but love none other.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was false, bid her adieu,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was best but yet untrue.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love, farewell, more dear to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than my life, which thou preservest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life, all joys are gone from thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Others have what thou deservest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh my death doth spring from hence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I must die for her offence.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Die, but yet before thou die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Make her know what she hath gotten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She in whom my hopes did lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now is changed, I quite forgotten.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is changed, but changèd base,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Baser in so vild a place.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s13a" id="s13a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals of Five and Six Parts</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Cold</span> Winter’s ice is fled and gone,</p>
+<span class="i6">And Summer brags on every tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The red-breast peeps amidst the throng<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of wood-born birds that wanton be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each one forgets what they have been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so doth Phyllis, Summer’s queen.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s14a" id="s14a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>First Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Come</span> away! come, sweet Love!</p>
+<span class="i6">The golden morning breaks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the earth, all the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of love and pleasure speaks!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teach thine arms then to embrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sweet rosy lips to kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mix our souls in mutual bliss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eyes were made for beauty’s grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Viewing, ruing, love’s long pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Procured by beauty’s rude disdain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come away!<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> come, sweet Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The golden morning wastes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the sun from his sphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His fiery arrows casts:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making all the shadows fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Playing, staying in the grove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To entertain the stealth of love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thither, sweet Love, let us hie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flying, dying in desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wing’d with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come away! come, sweet Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not in vain adorn<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty’s grace, that should rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like to our naked morn!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lilies on the river’s side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Desire no beauties but their own:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ornament is nurse of pride.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pleasure measure[s] love’s delight:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>
+This stanza is not in the original, but is added in <i>England’s Helicon</i>.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s15a" id="s15a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Come</span>, O come, my life’s delight!</p>
+<span class="i6">Let me not in languor pine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love loves no delay; thy sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The more enjoyed, the more divine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O come, and take from me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pain of being deprived of thee!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou all sweetness dost enclose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like a little world of bliss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty guards thy looks, the rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In them pure and eternal is:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, then, and make thy flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As swift to me as heavenly light!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s16a" id="s16a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ford</span>’s <i>Music of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1607.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Come</span>, Phyllis, come into these bowers:</p>
+<span class="i6">Here shelter is from sharpest showers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cool gales of wind breathe in these shades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Danger none this place invades;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Here sit and note the chirping birds<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Pleading my love in silent words.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come, Phyllis, come, bright heaven’s eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cannot upon thy beauty pry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glad Echo in distinguished voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Naming thee will here rejoice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Then come and hear her merry lays<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Crowning thy name with lasting praise.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s16b" id="s16b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Come</span>, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing,</p>
+<span class="i6">Now sigh and groan!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dead is my Love, my Hope, my Joy, my Spring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Dead, dead, and gone!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, She that was your Summer’s Queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Your days’ delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Is gone and will no more be seen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">O, cruel spite!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Break all your pipes that wont to sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">With pleasant cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cast yourselves upon the ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">To wail my Dear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, shepherd swains, come, nymphs, and all a-row<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">To help me cry:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dead is my Love, and, seeing She is so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Lo, now I die!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s17a" id="s17a"></a>
+From <i>Two Books of Airs</i>, by <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Come</span>, you pretty false-eyed wanton,</p>
+<span class="i6">Leave your crafty smiling!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Think you to escape me now<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With slipp’ry words beguiling?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No; you mocked me th’ other day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When you got loose, you fled away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, since I have caught you now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I’ll clip your wings for flying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smoth’ring kisses fast I’ll heap<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And keep you so from crying.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sooner may you count the stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And number hail down-pouring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell the osiers of the Thames,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or Goodwin sands devouring,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the thick-showered kisses here<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which now thy tired lips must bear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such a harvest never was<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So rich and full of pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ’tis spent as soon as reaped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So trustless is lore’s treasure.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s18a" id="s18a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Could</span> my heart more tongues employ</p>
+<span class="i6">Than it harbours thoughts of grief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is now so far from joy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That it scarce could ask relief:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Truest hearts by deeds unkind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To despair are most inclined.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Happy minds that can redeem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their engagements how they please,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That no joys or hopes esteem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Half so precious as their ease:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wisdom should prepare men so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if they did all foreknow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet no art or caution can<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grown affections easily change;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Use is such a lord of man<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That he brooks worst what is strange:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Better never to be blest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than to lose all at the best.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s19a" id="s19a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Crownèd</span> with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis</p>
+<span class="i6">By Thyrsis sit, hard by a fount of crystal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with her hand more white than snow or lilies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On sand she wrote <i>My faith shall be immortal</i>:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And suddenly a storm of wind and weather<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blew all her faith and sand away together.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s19b" id="s19b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ravenscroft</span>’s <i>Brief Discourse</i>, 1614.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Fairies’ Dance.</span></p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Dare</span> you haunt our hallow’d green?</p>
+<span class="i6">None but fairies here are seen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down and sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wake and weep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pinch him black, and pinch him blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That seeks to steal a lover true!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you come to hear us sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or to tread our fairy ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pinch him black, and pinch him blue!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O thus our nails shall handle you!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s20a" id="s20a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Fourth Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Dear</span>, if I with guile would gild a true intent,</p>
+<span class="i6">Heaping flatt’ries that in heart were never meant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Easily could I then obtain<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">What now in vain I force;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Falsehood much doth gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Truth yet holds the better course.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or, in praising you, myself of truth deprive!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Let not your high thoughts debase<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">A simple truth in me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Great is Beauty’s grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Truth is yet as fair as she.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Praise is but the wind of pride if it exceeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wealth prized in itself no outward value needs:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Fair you are, and passing fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">You know it, and ’tis true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Yet let none despair<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">But to find as fair as you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s20b" id="s20b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>First Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Dear</span>, if you change, I’ll never choose again;</p>
+<span class="i6">Sweet, if you shrink, I’ll never think of love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair, if you fail, I’ll judge all beauty vain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wise, if too weak, more wits I’ll never prove.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear, sweet, fair, wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven her bright stars through earth’s dim globe shall move;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere I prove false to faith or strange to you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s21a" id="s21a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>Canzonets</i>, 1593.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Do</span> you not know how Love lost first his seeing?</p>
+<span class="i6">Because with me once gazing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On those fair eyes where all powers have their being,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She with her beauty blazing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which death might have revivèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Him of his sight and me of heart deprivèd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s21b" id="s21b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Draw</span> on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares</p>
+<span class="i6">That do arise from painful melancholy;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My life so ill through want of comfort fares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That unto thee I consecrate it wholly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet Night, draw on; my griefs, when they be told<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To shades and darkness, find some ease from paining;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while thou all in silence dost enfold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I then shall have best time for my complaining.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s22a" id="s22a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Henry Youll</span>’s <i>Canzonets to three Voices</i>, 1608.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Each</span> day of thine, sweet month of May,</p>
+<span class="i6">Love makes a solemn holyday:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I will perform like duty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since thou resemblest every way<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Astræa, Queen of Beauty.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s22b" id="s22b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Fourth Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Every</span> dame affects good fame, whate’er her doings be,</p>
+<span class="i6">But true praise is Virtue’s bays, which none may wear but she.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Borrowed guise fits not the wise, a simple look is best;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Native grace becomes a face though ne’er so rudely drest.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Now such new-found toys are sold these women to disguise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That before the year grows old the newest fashion dies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dames of yore contended more in goodness to exceed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than in pride to be envied for that which least they need.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn, if Pawn at all there were;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Homespun thread and household bread then held out all the year.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But th’ attires of women now wear out both house and land;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the wives in silk may flow, at ebb the good men stand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once again, Astræa! then from heaven to earth descend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vouchsafe in their behalf these errors to amend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Aid from heaven must make all even, things are so out of frame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For let man strive all he can, he needs must please his dame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy man, content that gives and what he gives enjoys!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy dame, content that lives and breaks no sleep for toys!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s24a" id="s24a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Farmer</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1599.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Fair</span> Phyllis I saw sitting all alone,</p>
+<span class="i6">Feeding her flock near to the mountain-side;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shepherds knew not whither she was gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But after her lover Amyntas hied.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up and down he wandered, whilst she was missing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he found her, oh then they fell a-kissing!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s24b" id="s24b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs</i>, 1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Farewell</span>, false Love, the oracle of lies,</p>
+<span class="i6">A mortal foe and enemy to rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An envious boy from whom all cares arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A bastard vile, a beast with rage possest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A way of error, a temple full of treason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all effects contrary unto reason.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A poison’d serpent cover’d all with flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mother of sighs and murderer of repose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sea of sorrows from whence are drawn such showers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As moisture lend to every grief that grows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A gilded hook that holds a poison’d bait.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A fortress foiled which Reason did defend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A Siren song, a fever of the mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A maze wherein affection finds no end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A raging cloud that runs before the wind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A substance like the shadow of the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A goal of grief for which the wisest run.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A path that leads to peril and mishap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A true retreat of sorrow and despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An idle boy that sleeps in Pleasure’s lap;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A deep distrust of that which certain seems,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hope of that which Reason doubtful deems.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s25a" id="s25a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Farewell</span>, my joy!</p>
+<span class="i6">Adieu, my love and pleasure!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sport and toy<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">We have no longer leisure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Farewell, adieu<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Until our next consorting!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet love, be true!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And thus we end our sporting.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s26a" id="s26a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Second Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Fine</span> knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new,</p>
+<span class="i6">Good pennyworths,&mdash;but money cannot move:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I keep a fair but for the Fair to view,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A beggar may be liberal of love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">The heart is true.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My trifles come as treasures from my mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a precious jewel to be plain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sometimes in shell the orient’st pearls we find:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Of me a grain!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Within this pack pins, points, laces, and gloves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And divers toys fitting a country fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my heart, wherein duty serves and loves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Turtles and twins, court’s brood, a heavenly pair&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy the heart that thinks of no removes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Of no removes!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s27a" id="s27a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Fire</span> that must flame is with apt fuel fed,</p>
+<span class="i6">Flowers that will thrive in sunny soil are bred:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How can a heart feel heat that no hope finds?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or can he love on whom no comfort shines?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair, I confess there’s pleasure in your sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet, you have power, I grant, of all delight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what is all to me if I have none?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Churl that you are t’enjoy such wealth alone!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Prayers move the heavens but find no grace with you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet in your looks a heavenly form I view;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then will I pray again, hoping to find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As well as in your looks, heaven in your mind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Saint of my heart, queen of my life and love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O let my vows thy loving spirit move!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with one touch of grace cure all my pain!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s27b" id="s27b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Flora</span> gave me fairest flowers,</p>
+<span class="i6">None so fair in Flora’s treasure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These I placed on Phyllis’ bowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She was pleased, and she my pleasure:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smiling meadows seem to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Come, ye wantons, here to play.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s28a" id="s28a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Follow</span> your saint, follow with accents sweet!</p>
+<span class="i6">Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne’er return again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All that I sang still to her praise did tend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still she was first, still she my songs did end;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she my love and music both doth fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The music that her echo is and beauty’s sympathy:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her delight.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s28b" id="s28b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>First Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-bottom:0;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><ins class="greek" title="ouk esti gêmas hostis ou cheimazetai,">
+ο�κ ἔστι γήμας ὅστις ο� χειμάζεται,</ins><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><ins class="greek" title="legousi pantes; kai gamousin eidotes.">
+λέγουσι πάντες· καὶ γαμοῦσιν εἰδότες.</ins><br /></span>
+<span class="i32"><i>Anthol. Græc.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Fond</span> wanton youths make love a God</p>
+<span class="i6">Which after proveth Age’s rod;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their youth, their time, their wit, their art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They spend in seeking of their smart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, which of follies is the chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They woo their woe, they wed their grief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">All find it so who wedded are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love’s sweets, they find, enfold sour care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His pleasures pleasing’st in the eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which tasted once with loathing die:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They find of follies ’tis the chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their woe to woo, to wed their grief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If for their own content they choose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forthwith their kindred’s love they lose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if their kindred they content,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ever after they repent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O ’tis of all our follies chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In bed, what strifes are bred by day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our puling wives do open lay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None friends, none foes we must esteem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But whom they so vouchsafe to deem:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O ’tis of all our follies chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Their smiles we want if aught they want,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And either we their wills must grant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or die they will, or are with child;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their longings must not be beguiled:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O ’tis of all our follies chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Foul wives are jealous, fair wives false,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Marriage to either binds us thrall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherefore being bound we must obey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And forcèd be perforce to say,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all our bliss it is the chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s30a" id="s30a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">From</span> Citheron the warlike boy is fled</p>
+<span class="i6">And smiling sits upon a Virgin’s lap,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thereby to train poor misers to the trap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom Beauty draws with fancy to be fed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when Desire with eager looks is led,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Then from her eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The arrow flies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feather’d with flame, arm’d with a golden head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her careless thoughts are freèd of that flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Wherewith her thralls are scorchèd to the heart:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">If Love would so, would God the enchanting dart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might once return and burn from whence it came!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not to deface of Beauty’s work the frame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">But by rebound<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">It might be found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What secret smart I suffer by the same.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If Love be just, then just is my desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And if unjust, why is he call’d a God?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O God, O God, O Just! reserve thy rod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To chasten those that from thy laws retire!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But choose aright (good Love! I thee require)<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The golden head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Not that of lead!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her heart is frost and must dissolve by fire.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s31a" id="s31a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">To Master Hugh Holland.</span></p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">From</span> Fame’s desire, from Love’s delight retired,</p>
+<span class="i6">In these sad groves an hermit’s life I lead:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those false pleasures, which I once admired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To birds, to trees, to earth, impart I this;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For she less secret, and as senseless is.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O how much do I love your solitariness!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Experience which repentance only brings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth bid me, now, my heart from Love estrange!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love is disdained when it doth look at Kings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Love low placèd base and apt to change.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There Power doth take from him his liberty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her[e] Want of Worth makes him in cradle die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O how much do I love your solitariness!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You men that give false worship unto Love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seek that which you never shall obtain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The endless work of Sisyphus you prove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose end is this, to know you strive in vain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hope and Desire, which now your idols be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You needs must lose, and feel Despair with me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O how much do I love your solitariness!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">You woods, in you the fairest Nymphs have walked:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nymphs at whose sights all hearts did yield to love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You woods, in whom dear lovers oft have talked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How do you now a place of mourning prove?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wanstead! my Mistress saith this is the doom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art love’s child-bed, nursery, and tomb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O how much do I love your solitariness!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s32a" id="s32a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Two Books of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Give</span> Beauty all her right!</p>
+<span class="i6">She’s not to one form tied;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each shape yields fair delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where her perfections bide:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Helen, I grant, might pleasing be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Ros’mond was as sweet as she.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some the quick eye commends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some swelling<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> lips and red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pale looks have many friends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through sacred sweetness bred:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meadows have flowers that pleasures move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though roses are the flowers of love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Free beauty is not bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To one unmovèd clime;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">She visits every ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And favours every time.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let the old loves with mine compare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sovereign is as sweet and fair.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Old ed. “smelling.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s33a" id="s33a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>First Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Go</span> crystal tears! like to the morning showers,</p>
+<span class="i6">And sweetly weep into thy lady’s breast!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as the dews revive the drooping flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So let your drops of pity be addrest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To quicken up the thoughts of my desert,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which sleeps too sound whilst I from her depart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Feels never any touch of my desert.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both from a spotless heart and patient eyes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s33b" id="s33b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Egerton</span> MS., 2013. <i>The Verses were set to Music by Dr. John
+Wilson.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Go</span>, turn away those cruel eyes,</p>
+<span class="i6">For they have quite undone me;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">They used not so to tyrannize<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When first those glances won me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But ’tis the custom of you men,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">False men thus to deceive us!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To love but till we love again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then again to leave us.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go, let alone my heart and me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which thou hast thus affrighted!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did not think I could by thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have been so ill requited.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But now I find ’tis I must prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That men have no compassion;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we are won, you never love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Poor women, but for fashion,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Do recompense my love with hate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And kill my heart! I’m sure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou’lt one day say, when ’tis too late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou never hadst a truer.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s34a" id="s34a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Second Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Good</span> men show! if you can tell,</p>
+<span class="i6">Where doth Human Pity dwell?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far and near her I would seek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So vexed with sorrow is my breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">“She,� they say, “to all, is meek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And only makes th’ unhappy blest.�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh! if such a saint there be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some hope yet remains for me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prayer or sacrifice may gain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From her implorèd grace, relief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To release me of my pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or at the least to ease my grief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Young am I, and far from guile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The more is my woe the while:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Falsehood, with a smooth disguise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My simple meaning hath abused:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Casting mists before mine eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By which my senses are confused.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair he is, who vowed to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he only mine would be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But alas, his mind is caught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With every gaudy bait he sees:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, too late, my flame is taught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That too much kindness makes men freeze.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From me, all my friends are gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While I pine for him alone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not one will rue my case,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But rather my distress deride:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I think, there is no place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Pity ever yet did bide.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s36a" id="s36a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Airs or Fantastic Spirits</i>, 1608.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Ha</span> ha! ha ha! this world doth pass</p>
+<span class="i6">Most merrily, I’ll be sworn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For many an honest Indian ass<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Goes for an Unicorn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Farra, diddle dino;<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">This is idle fino.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ty hye! ty hye! O sweet delight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He tickles this age that can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Call Tullia’s ape a marmosyte<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Leda’s goose a swan.<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Farra diddle dino;<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">This is idle fino.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So so! so so! fine English days!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When false play’s no reproach:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he that doth the coachman praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May safely use the coach.<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Farra diddle dino;<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">This is idle fino.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s36b" id="s36b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones</span>’s <i>Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs</i> (1608).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap" style="margin-left:1em;"><span class="first-word">Happy</span> he</p>
+<span class="i12">Who, to sweet home retired,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
+<span class="i8">Shuns glory so admired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">And to himself lives free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst he who strives with pride to climb the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Falls down with foul disgrace before he rise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Let who will<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The active life commend<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And all his travels bend<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Earth with his fame to fill:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such fame, so forced, at last dies with his death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which life maintain’d by others’ idle breath.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">My delights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">To dearest home confined,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Shall there make good my mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Not aw’d with fortune’s spites:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High trees heaven blasts, winds shake and honors<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When lowly plants long time in safety dwell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">All I can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">My worldly strife shall be<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">They one day say of me<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">‘He died a good old man’:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On his sad soul a heavy burden lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Qy. “hammers�?</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s37a" id="s37a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Happy</span>, O! happy he, who not affecting</p>
+<span class="i6">The endless toils attending worldly cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With mind reposed, all discontents rejecting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In silent peace his way to heaven prepares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deeming this life a scene, the world a stage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereon man acts his weary pilgrimage.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s38a" id="s38a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Francis Pilkington</span>’s <i>First Set Of Madrigals</i>, 1613.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Have</span> I found her? O rich finding!</p>
+<span class="i6">Goddess-like for to behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her fair tresses seemly binding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a chain of pearl and gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chain me, chain me, O most fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chain me to thee with that hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s38b" id="s38b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Mundy</span>’s <i>Songs and Psalms</i>, 1594.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Heigh</span> ho! chill go to plough no more!</p>
+<span class="i6">Sit down and take thy rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of golden groats I have full store<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To flaunt it with the best.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I love and I love, and who thinks you?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The finest lass that e’er you knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which makes me sing when I should cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heigh ho! for love I die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s39a" id="s39a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Maynard</span>’s <i>Twelve Wonders of the World</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Bachelor</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">How</span> many things as yet</p>
+<span class="i6">Are dear alike to me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The field, the horse, the dog,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love, arms, or liberty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have no wife as yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I may call mine own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have no children yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That by my name are known.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet, if I married were,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I would not wish to thrive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If that I could not tame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The veriest shrew alive.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s39b" id="s39b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ford</span>’s <i>Music of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1607.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">How</span> shall I then describe my Love?</p>
+<span class="i6">When all men’s skilful art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is far inferior to her worth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To praise the unworthiest part.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">She’s chaste in looks, mild in her speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In actions all discreet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of nature loving, pleasing most,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In virtue all complete.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And for her voice a Philomel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her lips may all lips scorn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sun more clear than is her eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In brightest summer morn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A mind wherein all virtues rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And take delight to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where all virtues graft themselves<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In that most fruitful tree:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A tree that India doth not yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor ever yet was seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where buds of virtue always spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all the year grow green.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That country’s blest wherein she grows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And happy is that rock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From whence she springs: but happiest he<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That grafts in such a stock.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s40a" id="s40a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Henry Lichfild</span>’s <i>First Set of Madrigals</i>, 1613.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I&nbsp;&nbsp;always</span> loved to call my lady Rose,</p>
+<span class="i6">For in her cheeks roses do sweetly glose,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And from her lips she such sweet odours threw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As roses do ’gainst Ph&oelig;bus’ morning-view:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I thought to pull’t, hope was bereft me,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My rose was gone and naught but prickles left me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s41a" id="s41a"></a>
+From <i>Melismata</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p><span class="smcap">A Wooing Song of a Yeoman of Kent’s Son</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;have house and land in Kent,</p>
+<span class="i6">And if you’ll love me, love me now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Twopence-halfpenny is my rent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cannot come every day to woo.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chorus.&nbsp; <i>Twopence-halfpenny is his rent,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>And he cannot come every day to woo.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ich am my vather’s eldest zonne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My mother eke doth love me well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ich can bravely clout my shoone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ich full well can ring a bell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chorus.&nbsp; <i>For he can bravely clout his shoone,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>And he full well can ring a bell.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My vather he gave me a hog,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My mouther she gave me a zow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have a God-vather dwels thereby,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And he on me bestowed a plow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chorus.&nbsp; <i>He has a God-vather dwells thereby,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>And he on him bestowed a plough.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">One time I gave thee a paper of pins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Another time a tawdry-lace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if thou wilt not grant me love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In truth ich die bevore thy face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chorus.&nbsp; <i>And if thou wilt not grant his love,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>In truth he’ll die bevore thy vace.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ich have been twice our Whitson-lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ich have had ladies many vair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And eke thou hast my heart in hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in my mind zeems passing rare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chorus.&nbsp; <i>And eke thou hast his heart in hold</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>And in his mind seems passing rare.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ich will put on my best white slops<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ich will wear my yellow hose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on my head a good grey hat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in’t ich stick a lovely rose.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chorus.&nbsp; <i>And on his head a good grey hat,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>And in’t he’ll stick a lovely rose.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wherefore cease off, make no delay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if you’ll love me, love me now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else ich zeek zome oderwhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For I cannot come every day to woo.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chorus.&nbsp; <i>Or else he’ll zeek zome oderwhere,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>For he cannot come every day to woo.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s43a" id="s43a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety</i>,
+1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I&nbsp;&nbsp;joy</span> not in no earthly bliss,</p>
+<span class="i6">I force not Cr&oelig;sus’ wealth a straw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For care I know not what it is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear not Fortune’s fatal law:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mind is such as may not move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For beauty bright nor force of love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wish but what I have at will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wander not to seek for more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I like the plain, I climb no hill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In greatest storms I sit on shore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And laugh at them that toil in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To get what must be lost again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I kiss not where I wish to kill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I feign not love where most I hate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I break no sleep to win my will;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wait not at the mighty’s gate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scorn no poor, nor fear no rich;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I feel no want, nor have too much.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The court and cart I like nor loath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Extremes are counted worst of all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The golden mean between them both<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth surest sit and fears no fall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is my choice: for why? I find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wealth is like the quiet mind.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s44a" id="s44a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I&nbsp;&nbsp;live</span>, and yet methinks I do not breathe;</p>
+<span class="i6">I thirst and drink, I drink and thirst again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sleep and yet do dream I am awake;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hope for that I have; I have and want:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sing and sigh; I love and hate at once.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O, tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Doth cause in store such want, in peace such war?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i20"><i>Risposta.</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is a jewel which no Indian mines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It makes men rich in greatest poverty;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seldom it come, to few from heaven sent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That much in little, all in nought,&mdash;Content.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s44b" id="s44b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Maynard</span>’s <i>Twelve Wonders of the World</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Maid</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;marriage would forswear,</p>
+<span class="i6">But that I hear men tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she that dies a maid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Must lead an ape in hell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore, if fortune come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will not mock and play<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor drive the bargain on<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till it be driven away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Titles and lands I like,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet rather fancy can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man that wanteth gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than gold that wants a man.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s45a" id="s45a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Maynard</span>’s <i>Twelve Wonders of the World</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Married Man</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;only am the man</p>
+<span class="i6">Among all married men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That do not wish the priest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be unlinked again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And though my shoe did wring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I would not make my moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor think my neighbours’ chance<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More happy than mine own.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet court I not my wife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But yield observance due,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being neither fond nor cross,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor jealous nor untrue.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s46a" id="s46a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Second Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I&nbsp;&nbsp;saw</span> my Lady weep,</p>
+<span class="i6">And sorrow proud to be advancèd so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Her face was full of woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Sorrow was there made fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">She made her sighs to sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all things with so sweet a sadness move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As made my heart at once both grieve and love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">O fairer than aught else<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world can show, leave off in time to grieve.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough, enough; your joyful look excels;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Tears kill the heart, believe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O strive not to be excellent in woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which only breeds your beauty’s overthrow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s46b" id="s46b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I&nbsp;&nbsp;sung</span> sometime my thoughts and fancy’s pleasure,</p>
+<span class="i6">Where I did list, or time served best and leisure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Daphne did invite me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I smiled, but yet did doubt her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drank where she had drunk before, to flout her;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, O! while I did eye her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s47a" id="s47a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Orlando Gibbons’</span> <i>First Set of Madrigals</i>, 1612.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I&nbsp;&nbsp;weigh</span> not Fortune’s frown nor smile,</p>
+<span class="i6">I joy not much in earthly joys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seek not state, I reak [<i>sic</i>] not style,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am not fond of Fancy’s toys.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I rest so pleased with what I have<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wish no more, no more I crave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I tremble not at noise of war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I quake not at the thunder’s crack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shrink not at a blazing star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sound not at the news of wreck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear no loss, I hope no gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I envy none, I none disdain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see Ambition never pleased,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see some Tantals starve in store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see gold’s dropsy seldom eased,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see each Midas gape for more:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I neither want nor yet abound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough’s a feast, content is crowned.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I feign not friendship where I hate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fawn not on the great for grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I prize, I praise a mean estate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ne yet too lofty, nor too base,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is all my choice, my cheer&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mind content and conscience clear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s48a" id="s48a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>Madrigals to Four Voices</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">I</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;will no more come to thee</p>
+<span class="i6">That flout’st me when I woo thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Still ty hy thou criest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all my lovely rings and pins denyest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O say, alas, what moves thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To grieve him so that loves thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leave, alas, then, ah leave tormenting<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give my burning some relenting.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s48b" id="s48b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>First Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">If</span> fathers knew but how to leave</p>
+<span class="i6">Their children wit as they do wealth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And could constrain them to receive<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That physic which brings perfect health,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world would not admiring stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman’s face and woman’s hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Women confess they must obey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We men will needs be servants still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We kiss their hands, and what they say<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We must commend, be’t ne’er so ill:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus we, like fools, admiring stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her pretty foot and pretty hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We blame their pride, which we increase<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By making mountains of a mouse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We praise because we know we please;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Poor women are too credulous<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To think that we admiring stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or foot, or face, or foolish hand.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s49a" id="s49a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">If</span> I urge my kind desires,</p>
+<span class="i6">She, unkind, doth them reject,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Women’s hearts are painted fires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To deceive them that affect.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I alone love’s fires include:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She alone doth them delude.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She hath often vowed her love:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But alas no fruit I find.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That her fires are false I prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet, in her, no fault I find.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was thus unhappy born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ordained to be her scorn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet if human care or pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May the heavenly order change;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She will hate her own disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And repent she was so strange:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a truer heart than I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never lived, nor loved to die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s50a" id="s50a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>First Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">If</span> my complaints could passions move,</p>
+<span class="i6">Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My passions were enough to prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That my despairs had governed me too long.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Love, I live and die in thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet thou dost hope when I despair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart for thy unkindness breaks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou say’st thou can’st my harms repair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when I hope thou mak’st me hope in vain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet for redress thou let’st me still complain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Can Love be rich, and yet I want?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemned?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I do live, it is thy power;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I desire it is thy worth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If love doth make men’s lives too sour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let me not love, nor live henceforth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That you, that of my fall may hearers be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May hear Despair, which truly saith<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“I was more true to Love, than Love to me.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s51a" id="s51a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">If</span> thou long’st so much to learn, sweet boy, what ’tis to love,</p>
+<span class="i6">Do but fix thy thoughts on me and thou shalt quickly prove:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Little suit at first shall win<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Way to thy abashed desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">But then will I hedge thee in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Salamander-like, with fire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dalliance bear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We the grovy hills will climb and play the wantons there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Other whiles we’ll gather flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Lying dallying on the grass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And thus our delightful hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Full of waking dreams, shall pass.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When thy joys were thus at height, my love should turn from thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old acquaintance then should grow as strange, as strange might be:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
+<span class="i6">Twenty rivals thou shouldst find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Breaking all their hearts for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">While to all I’ll prove more kind<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And more forward than to thee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love defy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, alas, poor soul, too late! clipt wings can never fly.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Those sweet hours which we had past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Called to thy mind, thy heart would burn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And couldst thou fly ne’er so fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">They would make thee straight return.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s52a" id="s52a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets and Songs</i>, 1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">If</span> women could be fair and never fond,</p>
+<span class="i6">Or that their beauty might continue still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would not marvel though they made men bond<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By service long to purchase their goodwill:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I see how frail these creatures are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I laugh that men forget themselves so far.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To mark what choice they make and how they change,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How, leaving best, the worst they choose out still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how, like haggards wild, about they range,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And scorning reason follow after will!<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who would not shake such buzzards from the fist<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let them fly (fair fools!) which way they list?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet for our sport we fawn and flatter both,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To pass the time when nothing else can please:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And train them on to yield by subtle oath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sweet content that gives such humour ease:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then we say, when we their follies try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">“To play with fools, O, what a fool was I!�<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>
+So Oliphant.&mdash;Old ed., “Scorning after reason to follow will.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s53a" id="s53a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">In</span> crystal towers and turrets richly set</p>
+<span class="i6">With glitt’ring gems that shine against the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In regal rooms of jasper and of jet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Content of mind not always likes to won;<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oftentimes it pleaseth her to stay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In simple cotes enclosed with walls of clay.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Dwell.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s53b" id="s53b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Coprario</span>’s <i>Funeral Tears, etc.</i>, 1606.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">In</span> darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be,</p>
+<span class="i6">The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The walls of marble black that moistened still shall weep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My music hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleep:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O let me dying live till death doth come.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My dainties grief shall be, and tears my poisoned wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sighs the air through which my panting heart shall pine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My robes my mind shall suit exceeding blackest night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My study shall be tragic thoughts sad fancy to delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pale ghosts and frightful shades shall my acquaintance be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O thus, my hapless joy, I haste to thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s54a" id="s54a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Mundy</span>’s <i>Songs and Psalms</i>, 1594.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">In</span> midst of woods or pleasant grove,</p>
+<span class="i6">Where all sweet birds do sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Methought I heard so rare a sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which made the heavens to ring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The charm was good, the noise full sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each bird did play his part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I admired to hear the same,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Joy sprang into my heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The black bird made the sweetest sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose tunes did far excel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full pleasantly, and most profound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was all things placed well.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy pretty tunes, mine own sweet bird,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Done with so good a grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Extolls thy name, prefers the same<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Abroad in every place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy music grave, bedeckèd well<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With sundry points of skill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bewrays thy knowledge excellent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ingrafted in thy will.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My tongue shall speak, my pen shall write<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In praise of thee to tell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweetest bird that ever was,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In friendly sort farewell.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s55a" id="s55a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">In</span> pride of May</p>
+<span class="i6">The fields are gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The birds do sweetly sing. Fa la la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">So Nature would<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">That all things should<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With joy begin the spring. Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, Lady dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In beauty like the spring: Fa la la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">I dare well say<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">The birds that day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More cheerfully will sing. Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s56a" id="s56a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones</span>’s <i>Musical Dream</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-bottom:0;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><ins class="greek" title="Pheugein dê ton Erôta kenos ponos.">
+Φεύγειν δὴ τὸν Ἔ�ωτα κενὸς πόνος.</ins>&mdash;<i>Archias</i>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">In</span> Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood,</p>
+<span class="i6">An archer great, none greater,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His bow and shafts were sure and good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet Cupid’s were much better;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Robin could shoot at many a hart and miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cupid at first could hit a heart of his.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hey, jolly Robin Hood, ho jolly Robin Hood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Love finds out me<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">As well as thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To follow me to the green-wood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A noble thief was Robin Hood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wise was he could deceive him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet Marian in his bravest mood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could of his heart bereave him:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No greater thief lies hidden under skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than beauty closely lodged in women’s eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hey, jolly Robin, &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An outlaw was this Robin Hood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His life free and unruly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet to fair Marian bound he stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And love’s debt paid her duly:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom curb of strictest law could not hold in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> to obedience with a wink could win.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hey, jolly Robin, &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now wend we home, stout Robin Hood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Leave we the woods behind us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love-passions must not be withstood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love everywhere will find us.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I lived in field and town, and so did he;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I got me to the woods, Love followed me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hey, jolly Robin, &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>
+Old ed.,&mdash;“Love with obeyednes and a winke could winne.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s57a" id="s57a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Michael Este</span>’s <i>Madrigals of three, four and five parts</i>, 1604. (By
+Nicholas Breton. Originally published in 1591.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">In</span> the merry month of May,</p>
+<span class="i6">On a morn by break of day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forth I walk’d by the wood-side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereas May was in her pride:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There I spyèd all alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Phillida and Corydon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much ado there was, God wot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would love and she would not.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, never man was true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said, none was false to you.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He said, he had loved her long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, Love should have no wrong.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Corydon would kiss her then;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, maids must kiss no men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till they did for good and all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then she made the shepherd call<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the heavens to witness truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never lov’d a truer youth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus with many a pretty oath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea and nay, and faith and troth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such as seely shepherds use<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When they will not love abuse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love, which had been long deluded,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was with kisses sweet concluded;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Phillida with garlands gay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was made the Lady of the May.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s58a" id="s58a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Greaves’</span> <i>Songs of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Inconstant</span> Laura makes me death to crave,</p>
+<span class="i6">For wanting her I must embrace my grave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little grave will ease my malady<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And set me free from love’s fell tyranny.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intomb me then and show her where I lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And say I died through her inconstancy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s59a" id="s59a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Henry Lichfild</span>’s <i>First Set of Madrigals</i>, 1613.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Injurious</span> hours, whilst any joy doth bless me,</p>
+<span class="i6">With speedy wings you fly and so release me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if some sorrow do oppress my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You creep as if you never meant to part.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s59b" id="s59b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Is</span> Love a boy,&mdash;what means he then to strike?</p>
+<span class="i6">Or is he blind,&mdash;why will he be a guide?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is he a man,&mdash;why doth he hurt his like?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is he a God,&mdash;why doth he men deride?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No one of these, but one compact of all:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wilful boy, a man still dealing blows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of purpose blind to lead men to their thrall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A god that rules unruly&mdash;God, he knows.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Boy, pity me that am a child again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blind, be no more my guide to make me stray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man, use thy might to force away my pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God, do me good and lead me to my way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if thou beest a power to me unknown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Power of my life, let here thy grace be shown.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s60a" id="s60a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
+From <i>Melismata</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p><span class="smcap">The Marriage of the Frog and the Mouse</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">It</span> was the frog in the well,</p>
+<span class="i6">Humbledum, humbledum,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the merry mouse in the mill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Tweedle, tweedle, twino.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The frog would a wooing ride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sword and buckler by his side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When he upon his high horse set,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His boots they shone as black as jet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When he came to the merry mill-pin,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Lady Mouse, been you within?�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then came out the dusty mouse:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“I am Lady of this house:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hast thou any mind of me?�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“I have e’en great mind of thee?�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Who shall this marriage make?�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Our Lord which is the rat,�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“What shall we have to our supper?�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Three beans in a pound of butter?�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">When supper they were at,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The frog, the mouse, and e’en the rat;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then came in Gib our cat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And catched the mouse e’en by the back.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then did they separate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the frog leaped on the floor so flat.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then came in Dick our drake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drew the frog e’en to the lake.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The rat run up the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Humbledum, humbledum;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A goodly company, the Devil go with all!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Tweedle tweedle twino.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s61a" id="s61a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Two Books of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Jack</span> and Joan, they think no ill,</p>
+<span class="i6">But loving live, and merry still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do their week-days’ work, and pray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Devoutly on the holy day:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Skip and trip it on the green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And help to choose the Summer Queen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lash out at a country feast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their silver penny with the best.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well can they judge of nappy ale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tell at large a winter tale;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Climb up to the apple loft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turn the crabs till they be soft.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tib is all the father’s joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And little Tom the mother’s boy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All their pleasure is Content;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Care, to pay their yearly rent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Joan can call by name her cows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deck her windows with green boughs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She can wreaths and tutties<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trim with plums a bridal cake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jack knows what brings gain or loss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his long flail can stoutly toss:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes the hedge which others break,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ever thinks what he doth speak.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now, you courtly dames and knights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That study only strange delights;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though you scorn the homespun gray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And revel in your rich array;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though your tongues dissemble deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And can your heads from danger keep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, for all your pomp and train,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Securer lives the silly swain.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Nosegays.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s62a" id="s62a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Kind</span> are her answers,</p>
+<span class="i6">But her performance keeps no day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breaks time, as dancers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From their own music when they stray.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">All her free favours and smooth words<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wing my hopes in vain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, did ever voice so sweet but only feign?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can true love yield such delay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Converting joy to pain?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lost is our freedom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we submit to women so:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why do we need ’em<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, in their best, they work our woe?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no wisdom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can alter ends by Fate prefixt.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, why is the good of man with evil mixt?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never were days yet callèd two<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one night went betwixt.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s63a" id="s63a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Kind</span> in unkindness, when will you relent</p>
+<span class="i6">And cease with faint love true love to torment?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still entertained, excluded still I stand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her glove still hold, but cannot touch the hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In her fair hand my hopes and comforts rest:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O might my fortunes with that hand be blest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No envious breaths then my deserts could shake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For they are good whom such true love doth make.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O let not beauty so forget her birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That it should fruitless home return to earth!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Love is the fruit of beauty, then love one!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not your sweet self, for such self-love is none.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love one that only lives in loving you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose wronged deserts would you with pity view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This strange distaste which your affection sways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would relish love, and you find better days.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus till my happy sight your beauty views,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose sweet remembrance still my hope renews,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let these poor lines solicit love for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And place my joys where my desires would be.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s64a" id="s64a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals of Five and Six Parts</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Lady</span>, the birds right fairly</p>
+<span class="i6">Are singing ever early;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lark, the thrush, the nightingale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The make-sport cuckoo and the quail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These sing of Love! then why sleep ye?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To love your sleep it may not be.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s64b" id="s64b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Greaves’</span> <i>Songs of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Lady</span>, the melting crystal of your eye</p>
+<span class="i6">Like frozen drops upon your cheeks did lie;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine eye was dancing on them with delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw love’s flames within them burning bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which did mine eye entice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To play with burning ice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But O, my heart thus sporting with desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My careless eye did set my heart on fire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O that a drop from such a sweet fount flying<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should flame like fire and leave my heart a-dying!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I burn, my tears can never drench it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till in your eyes I bathe my heart and quench it:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there, alas, love with his fire lies sleeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all conspire to burn my heart with weeping.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s65a" id="s65a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Lady</span>, when I behold the roses sprouting,</p>
+<span class="i6">Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My eyes present me with a double doubting:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether the roses be your lips or your lips [be] the roses.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s66a" id="s66a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">J. Danyel</span>’s <i>Songs for the Lute, Viol and Voice</i>, 1606.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Let</span> not Chloris think, because</p>
+<span class="i6">She hath unvassel’d me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That her beauty can give laws<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To others that are free:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was made to be the prey<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And booty of her eyes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In my bosom, she may say.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her greatest kingdom lies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though others may her brow adore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet more must I that therein see far more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than any other’s eyes have power to see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More than to any others she can be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can discern more secret notes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than any else besides have art to read;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No looks proceed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O then why<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should she fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From him to whom her sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth add so much above her might?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why should not she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still joy to reign in me?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s67a" id="s67a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Songs and Sonnets</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Let</span> not the sluggish sleep</p>
+<span class="i6">Close up thy waking eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until with judgment deep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy daily deeds thou try:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that one sin in conscience keeps<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When he to quiet goes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More vent’rous is than he that sleeps<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With twenty mortal foes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s67b" id="s67b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">George Mason</span>’s and <span class="smcap">John Earsden</span>’s <i>Airs that were sung and played
+at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland in the King’s Entertainment given by
+the Earl of Cumberland</i>, 1618.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Let</span> us in a lovers’ round</p>
+<span class="i6">Circle all this hallowed ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Softly, softly trip and go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The light-foot Fairies jet it so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forward then, and back again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here and there and everywhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Winding to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Skipping high and louting low;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, like lovers, hand in hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">March around and make a stand.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s68a" id="s68a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals of Six Parts</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Like</span> two proud armies marching in the field,&mdash;</p>
+<span class="i6">Joining a thund’ring fight, each scorns to yield,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So in my heart your beauty and my reason:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One claims the crown, the other says ’tis treason.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oh! your beauty shineth as the sun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dazzled reason yields as quite undone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s68b" id="s68b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals to Three, Four, Five and Six Voices</i>,
+1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Lo</span>! country sport that seldom fades;</p>
+<span class="i6">A garland of the spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A prize for dancing, country maids<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With merry pipes we bring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then all at once <i>for our town</i> cries!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pipe on, for we will have the prize.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s68c" id="s68c"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Two Books of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Lo</span>, when back mine eye</p>
+<span class="i6">Pilgrim-like I cast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What fearful ways I spie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, blinded, I securely passed!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But now heaven hath drawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From my brows that night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As when the day doth dawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So clears my long-imprisoned sight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Straight the Caves of Hell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dressed with flowers I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein False Pleasures dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, winning most, most deadly be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Throngs of maskèd fiends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Winged like angels, fly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even in the gates of friends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In fair disguise black dangers lie.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Straight to heaven I raised<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My restorèd sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with loud voice I praised<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The <span class="smcap">Lord</span> of ever-during light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And since I had strayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From His ways so wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His grace I humbly prayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Henceforth to be my guard and guide.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s69a" id="s69a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Maynard</span>’s <i>Twelve Wonders of the World</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Courtier</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Long</span> have I lived in Court,</p>
+<span class="i6">Yet learned not all this while<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sell poor suiters smoke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor where I hate to smile;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Superiors to adore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Inferiors to despise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To flie from such as fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To follow such as rise:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To cloak a poor desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under a rich array,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor to aspire by Vice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though ’twere the quicker way.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s70a" id="s70a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap" style="margin-left:0.3em;"><span class="first-word">Love</span> is a bable,</p>
+<span class="i8">No man is able<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To say ’tis this or ’tis that;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So full of passions<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of sundry fashions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis like I cannot tell what.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Love’s fair in the cradle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Foul in the fable,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis either too cold or too hot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An arrant liar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fed by desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is and yet it is not.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Love is a fellow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clad oft in yellow,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The canker-worm of the mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A privy mischief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And such a sly thief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No man knows which way to find.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Love is a wonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That’s here and yonder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As common to one as to moe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A monstrous cheater,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Every man’s debtor;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hang him and so let him go.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10">
+</a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> The colour of jealousy.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s71a" id="s71a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Love</span> not me for comely grace,</p>
+<span class="i6">For my pleasing eye or face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor for any outward part:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, nor for a constant heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For these may fail or turn to ill:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So thou and I shall sever.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep therefore a true woman’s eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And love me still, but know not why!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So hast thou the same reason still<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To doat upon me ever.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s72a" id="s72a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Love’s</span> god is a boy,</p>
+<span class="i6">None but cowherds regard him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">His dart is a toy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Great opinion hath marred him:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The fear of the wag<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Hath made him so brag;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Chide him, he’ll flie thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And not come nigh thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little boy, pretty knave, shoot not at random,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if you hit me, slave, I’ll tell your grandam.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Fond love is a child<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And his compass is narrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Young fools are beguiled<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With the fame of his arrow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He dareth not strike<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">If his stroke do mislike:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Cupid, do you hear me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Come not too near me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little boy, pretty knave, hence I beseech you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if you hit me, knave, in faith I’ll breech you.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Th’ ape loves to meddle<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When he finds a man idle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Else is he a-flirting<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Where his mark is a-courting;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When women grow true<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Come teach me to sue,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">Then I’ll come to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Pray thee and woo thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little boy, pretty knave, make me not stagger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if you hit me, knave, I’ll call thee, beggar.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s73a" id="s73a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Love</span> winged my hopes and taught me how to fly</p>
+<span class="i6">Far from base earth, but not to mount too high;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For true pleasure<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Lives in measure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which if men forsake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But my vain hopes, proud of their new-taught flight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enamoured sought to woo the sun’s fair light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Whose rich brightness<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Moved their lightness<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To aspire so high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all scorched and consumed with fire now drown’d in woe they lie.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Love did know that their desires were true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Though Fate frownèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And now drownèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">They in sorrow dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s74a" id="s74a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="quote">“</span><p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Maids</span> are simple,� some men say,</p>
+<span class="i8">“They forsooth will trust no men.�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But should they men’s wills obey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Maids were very simple then.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Truth a rare flower now is grown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Few men wear it in their hearts;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lovers are more easily known<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By their follies than deserts.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Safer may we credit give<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To a faithless wandering Jew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than a young man’s vows believe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When he swears his love is true.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love they make a poor blind child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But let none trust such as he;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rather than to be beguiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ever let me simple be.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s74b" id="s74b"></a>
+From <i>Melismata</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Bellman’s Song</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Maids</span> to bed and cover coal;</p>
+<span class="i8">Let the mouse out of her hole;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Crickets in the chimney sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst the little bell doth ring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If fast asleep, who can tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the clapper hits the bell?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s75a" id="s75a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Martin Peerson</span>’s <i>Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music</i>, 1630.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">More</span> than most fair, full of all heavenly fire,</p>
+<span class="i8">Kindled above to shew the Maker’s glory;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty’s first-born, in whom all powers conspire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To write the Graces’ life and Muses’ story;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If in my heart all nymphs else be defacèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Honour the shrine where you alone are placèd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou window of the sky, and pride of spirits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">True character of honour in perfection,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou heavenly creature, judge of earthly merits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And glorious prison of men’s pure affection:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If in my heart all nymphs else be defacèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Honour the shrine where you alone are placèd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s75b" id="s75b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Vautor</span>’s <i>Songs of divers Airs and Natures</i>, 1619.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Mother</span>, I will have a husband,</p>
+<span class="i8">And I will have him out of hand!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mother, I will sure have one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spite of her that will have none.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">John-a-Dun should have had me long ere this:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said I had good lips to kiss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mother, I will sure have one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spite of her that will have none.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For I have heard ’tis trim when folks do love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By good Sir John I swear now I will prove.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, Mother, I will sure have one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spite of her that will have none.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To the town, therefore, will I gad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To get me a husband, good or bad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mother, I will sure have one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spite of her that will have none.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s76a" id="s76a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Michael Este</span>’s <i>Madrigals of Three, Four and Five Parts</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">My</span> hope a counsel with my heart</p>
+<span class="i8">Hath long desired to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And marvels much so dear a friend<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is not retain’d by me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She doth condemn my haste<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In passing the estate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my whole life into their hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who nought repays but hate:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And not sufficed with this, she says,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I did release the right<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my enjoyèd liberties<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto your beauteous sight.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s77a" id="s77a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">My</span> love bound me with a kiss</p>
+<span class="i8">That I should no longer stay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I felt so sweet a bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I had less power to part away:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas, that women doth not know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kisses make men loath to go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, she knows it but too well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For I heard when Venus’ dove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In her ear did softly tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That kisses were the seals of love:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O muse not then though it be so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kisses make men loath to go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wherefore did she thus inflame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My desires heat my blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instantly to quench the same<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And starve whom she had given food?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I the common sense can show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kisses make men loath to go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Had she bid me go at first<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It would ne’er have grieved my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hope delayed had been the worst;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But ah to kiss and then to part!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How deep it struck, speak, gods, you know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kisses make men loath to go.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s78a" id="s78a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">My</span> Love is neither young nor old,</p>
+<span class="i8">Not fiery-hot nor frozen-cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fresh and fair as springing briar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blooming the fruit of love’s desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not snowy-white nor rosy-red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fair enough for shepherd’s bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such a love was never seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On hill or dale or country-green.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s78b" id="s78b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs</i>, 1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">My</span> mind to me a kingdom is:</p>
+<span class="i8">Such perfect joy therein I find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That it excels all other bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That God or nature hath assigned.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though much I want, that most would have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet still my mind forbids to crave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">No princely port, nor wealthy store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No force to win a victory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wily wit to salve a sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No shape to win a loving eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To none of these I yield as thrall!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For why? my mind despise them all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see that plenty surfeits oft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hasty climbers soonest fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see that such as are aloft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mishap doth threaten most of all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These get with toil, and keep with fear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such cares my mind can never bear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I press to bear no haughty sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wish no more than may suffice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do no more, than well I may;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look, what I want, my mind supplies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo, thus I triumph like a king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mind content with any thing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I laugh not at another’s loss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor grudge not at another’s gain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No worldly waves my mind can toss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I brook that is another’s bane;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I loathe not life nor dread mine end.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My wealth is health and perfect ease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And conscience clear my chief defence;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never seek by bribes to please,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor by desert to give offence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus do I live, thus will I die:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would all did so as well as I!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s80a" id="s80a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Mundy</span>’s <i>Songs and Psalms</i>, 1594.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">My</span> prime of youth is but a frost of cares!</p>
+<span class="i8">My feast of joy is but a dish of pain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My crop of corn is but a field of tares!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all my good is but vain hope of gain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now I live, and now my life is done!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My youth is gone, and yet I am but young!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I saw the World and yet I was not seen!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now I live, and now my life is done.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s80b" id="s80b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion and Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent"><i>Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus.</i></p>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">My</span> sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,</p>
+<span class="i8">And though the sager sort our deeds reprove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us not weigh them. Heaven’s great lamps do dive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into their west, and straight again revive;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, soon as once is set our little light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then must we sleep one ever-during night.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If all would lead their lives in love like me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then bloody swords and armour should not be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fools do live and waste their little light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seek with pain their ever-during night.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When timely death my life and fortunes ends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And crown with love my ever-during night.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s81a" id="s81a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>First Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">My</span> Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love:</p>
+<span class="i8">Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And say, as she doth in the heavens move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whisper this, but softly, in her ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears.�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If for mistrust my mistress do you blame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As she doth change and yet remain the same;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Love is sweetest seasoned with Suspect.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If she for this with clouds do mask her eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make the heavens dark with her disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With windy sighs disperse them in the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thoughts, Hopes, and Love, return to me no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Cynthia shine as she hath done before.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s82a" id="s82a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Never</span> love unless you can</p>
+<span class="i6">Bear with all the faults of man:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men sometimes will jealous be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though but little cause they see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hang the head as discontent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And speak what straight they will repent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Men that but one saint adore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make a show of love to more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty must be scorned in none,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though but truly served in one:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For what is courtship but disguise?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True hearts may have dissembling eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Men, when their affairs require,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must awhile themselves retire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not ever sit and talk:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If these and such-like you can bear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then like, and love, and never fear!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s83a" id="s83a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Farmer</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1599. (Verses by
+Samuel Daniel.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> each creature joys the other,</p>
+<span class="i6">Passing happy days and hours:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One bird reports unto another<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the fall of silver showers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst the Earth, our common Mother,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hath her bosom decked with flowers.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s83b" id="s83b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> every tree renews his summer’s green,</p>
+<span class="i6">Why is your heart in winter’s garments clad?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your beauty says my love is summer’s queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But your cold love like winter makes me sad:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then either spring with buds of love again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else congeal my thoughts with your disdain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s83c" id="s83c"></a>
+From <i>Pammelia</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> God be with old Simeon,</p>
+<span class="i6">For he made cans for many-a-one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a good old man was he;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And Jinkin was his journeyman,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he could tipple of every can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thus he said to me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">“To whom drink you?�<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">“Sir knave, to you.�<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then hey-ho, jolly Jinkin!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I spie a knave in drinking.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s84a" id="s84a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs</i> (1608).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> have I learn’d with much ado at last</p>
+<span class="i6">By true disdain to kill desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This was the mark at which I shot so fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto this height I did aspire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thee and all thy shafts I care not.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What life to quicken dead desire?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I feel no heat in all thy fire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go, change thy bow and get a stronger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In vain thou bait’st thy hook with beauty’s blaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In vain thy wanton eyes allure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These are but toys for them that love to gaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know what harm thy looks procure:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some strange conceit must be devised,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or thou and all thy skill despised.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s85a" id="s85a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ford</span>’s <i>Music of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1607.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> I see thy looks were feignèd</p>
+<span class="i6">Quickly lost, and quickly gainèd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heart inconstant, light as feathers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tongue untrusty, subtle sighted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wanton will with change delighted.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Siren, pleasant foe to reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Cupid plague thee for thy treason!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of thine eye I made my mirror,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thy beauty came my error,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All thy words I counted witty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All thy sighs I deemèd pity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy false tears, that me aggrievèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First of all my trust deceivèd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Siren, pleasant foe to reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Cupid plague thee for thy treason!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Feigned acceptance when I askèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lovely words with cunning maskèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holy vows, but heart unholy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wretched man, my trust was folly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lily white, and pretty winking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Solemn vows but sorry thinking.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Siren, pleasant foe to reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Cupid plague thee for thy treason!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now I see, O seemly cruel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Others warm them at my fuel,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Wit shall guide me in this durance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since in love is no assurance:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty is a fading treasure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Siren, pleasant foe to reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Cupid, plague thee for thy treason!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Prime youth lasts not, age will follow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make white those tresses yellow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrinkled face, for looks delightful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall acquaint the dame despiteful.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when time shall date thy glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then too late thou wilt be sorry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Siren, pleasant foe to reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Cupid plague thee for thy treason!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s86a" id="s86a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> is my Chloris fresh as May,</p>
+<span class="i6">Clad all in green and flowers gay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O might I think August were near<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That harvest joy might soon appear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she keeps May throughout the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And August never comes the near.<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet will I hope, though she be May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">August will come another day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s87a" id="s87a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>First Book of Ballets</i>, 1595.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> is the month of maying,</p>
+<span class="i6">When merry lads are playing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each with his bonny lass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the greeny grass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The spring clad all in gladness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth laugh at winter’s sadness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the bagpipe’s sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The nymphs tread out their ground.<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fie then, why sit we musing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Youth’s sweet delight refusing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say, dainty nymphs, and speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall we play barley-break.<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s87b" id="s87b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> let her change! and spare not!</p>
+<span class="i6">Since she proves strange, I care not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feigned love charmed so my delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That still I doted on her sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she is gone! new joys embracing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my distress disgracing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">When did I err in blindness?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or vex her with unkindness?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If my cares served her alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why is she thus untimely gone?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True love abides to th’ hour of dying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">False love is ever flying.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">False! then farewell for ever!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once false proves faithful never!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that boasts now of thy love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall soon, my present fortunes prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were he as fair as bright Adonis:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Faith is not had where none is!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s88a" id="s88a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals of Five and Six Parts</i>, 1600</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> let us make a merry greeting</p>
+<span class="i6">And thank God Cupid for our meeting:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart is full of joy and pleasure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since thou art here, mine only treasure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now will we dance and sport and play<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sing a merry roundelay.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s89a" id="s89a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones</span>’s <i>Second Book of Airs</i>, 1601. (Attributed to Sir
+Walter Raleigh.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> what is love, I pray thee tell?</p>
+<span class="i6">It is that fountain and that well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where pleasures and repentance dwell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is perhaps that sancing-bell<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That tolls all in to heaven or hell:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love, as I hear tell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now what is love, I pray thee say?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a work on holyday,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is December matched with May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When lusty bloods in fresh array<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hear ten months after of their play:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love, as I hear say.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now what is love, I pray thee feign?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a sunshine mixed with rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a gentle pleasing pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A flower that dies and springs again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a No that would full fain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love as I hear sain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet what is love, I pray thee say?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a pretty shady way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As well found out by night as day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a thing will soon decay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then take the vantage whilst you may:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love, as I hear say.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Now what is love, I pray thee show?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thing that creeps, it cannot go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A prize that passeth to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thing for one, a thing for mo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he that proves shall find it so:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love, as I well know.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11">
+</a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>
+Saint’s-bell; the little bell that called to prayers.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s90a" id="s90a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Now</span> winter nights enlarge</p>
+<span class="i6">The number of their hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clouds their storms discharge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the airy towers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let now the chimneys blaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cups o’erflow with wine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let well-tuned words amaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With harmony divine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now yellow waxen lights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall wait on honey love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sleep’s leaden spells remove.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This time doth well dispense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lovers’ long discourse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much, speech hath some defence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though beauty no remorse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All do not all things well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some measures comely tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Some knotted riddles tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some poems smoothly read.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The summer hath his joys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And winter his delights;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They shorten tedious nights.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s91a" id="s91a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Ward</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1613.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">O</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;say, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries,</p>
+<span class="i6">So lovely-ripe, by my rude lips be tasted?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I not pluck (sweet, say not <i>nay</i>) those cherries?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O let them not with summer’s heat be blasted.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nature, thou know’st, bestow’d them free on thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then be thou kind&mdash;bestow them free on me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s91b" id="s91b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Farmer</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1599.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">O</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting;</p>
+<span class="i6">These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Warbling sweet notes only to delight us:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then stay, dear Love, for though thou run from me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Run ne’er so fast, yet I will follow thee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought, my love, that I should overtake you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet heart, sit down under this shadowed tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I will promise never to forsake you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So you will grant to me a lover’s fee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat she smiled and kindly to me said&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never meant to live and die a maid.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s92a" id="s92a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1594.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">O&nbsp;&nbsp;sweet</span>, alas, what say you?</p>
+<span class="i6">Ay me, that face discloses<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The scarlet blush of sweet vermilion roses.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet, alas, I know not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If such a crimson staining<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be for love or disdaining;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if of love it grow not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be it disdain conceivèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see us of love’s fruits so long bereavèd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s92b" id="s92b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">O&nbsp;&nbsp;sweet</span> delight, O more than human bliss</p>
+<span class="i6">With her to live that ever loving is!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hear her speak whose words are so well placed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she by them, as they by her are graced!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those looks to view that feast the viewer’s eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How blest is he that may so live and die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Such love as this the Golden Times did know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all did reap and none took care to sow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such love as this an endless summer makes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all distaste from frail affection takes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So loved, so blest in my beloved am I:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which till their eyes ache let iron men envy!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s93a" id="s93a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs</i> (1608).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Oft</span> have I mused the cause to find</p>
+<span class="i6">Why Love in lady’s eyes should dwell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought, because himself was blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He look’d that they should guide him well:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sure his hope but seldom fails,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Love by ladies’ eyes prevails.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But time at last hath taught me wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Although I bought my wit full dear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For by her eyes my heart is hit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deep is the wound though none appear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their glancing beams as darts he throws,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sure he hath no shafts but those.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I mused to see their eyes so bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And little thought they had been fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I gazed upon them with delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But that delight hath bred desire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What better place can Love desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than that where grow both shafts and fire?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s94a" id="s94a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Attye</span>’s <i>First Book of Airs</i>, 1622.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">On</span> a time the amorous Silvy</p>
+<span class="i6">Said to her shepherd, ‘Sweet, how do you?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kiss me this once, and then God be wi’ you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">My sweetest dear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kiss me this once and then God be wi’ you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For now the morning draweth near.’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With that, her fairest bosom showing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Opening her lips, rich perfumes blowing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, ‘Now kiss me and be going,<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">My sweetest dear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kiss me this once and then be going,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For now the morning draweth near.’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With that the shepherd waked from sleeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, spying where the day was peeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said, ‘Now take my soul in keeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">My sweetest dear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kiss me, and take my soul in keeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since I must go, now day is near.’<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s95a" id="s95a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>First Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Once</span> did I love and yet I live,</p>
+<span class="i6">Though love and truth be now forgotten;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then did I joy, now do I grieve<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That holy vows must now be broken.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hers be the blame that caused it so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mine be the grief though it be mickle;<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She shall have shame, I cause to know<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What ’tis to love a dame so fickle.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love her that list, I am content<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For that chameleon-like she changeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yielding such mists as may prevent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My sight to view her when she rangeth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let him not vaunt that gains my loss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For when that he and time hath proved her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She may him bring to Weeping-Cross:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I say no more, because I loved her.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12">
+</a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Old ed., “little�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s95b" id="s95b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Henry Youll</span>’s <i>Canzonets to Three Voices</i>, 1608.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Once</span> I thought to die for love,</p>
+<span class="i6">Till I found that women prove<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Traitors in their smiling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They say men unconstant be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they themselves Jove change, we see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all is but beguiling.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s96a" id="s96a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals</i>, 1597</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Our</span> country-swains in the morris dance</p>
+<span class="i6">Thus woo and win their brides,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will for our town the hobby horse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At pleasure frolic rides:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I woo with tears and ne’er the near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I die in grief and live in fear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s96b" id="s96b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Giles Farnaby</span>’s <i>Canzonets</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Pierce</span> did love fair Petronel</p>
+<span class="i6">Because she sang and dancèd well<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gallantly could prank it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He pulled her and he haul’d her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oftentimes he call’d her<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Primrose pearls prick’d in a blanket.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s97a" id="s97a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Francis Pilkington</span>’s <i>First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals</i>, 1613.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Pour</span> forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears;</p>
+<span class="i6">Break, heart, and die, for now no hope appears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hope, upon which before my thoughts were fed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath left me quite forlorn and from me fled.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, see, she smiles! O see, some hope appears!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hold, heart, and live; mine eyes, cease off your tears.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s97b" id="s97b"></a>
+From <i>Airs sung and played at Brougham Castle</i>, 1618, by <span class="smcap">George Mason</span>
+and <span class="smcap">John Earsden</span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Robin</span> is a lovely lad,</p>
+<span class="i6">No lass a smoother ever had;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tommy hath a look as bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As is the rosy morning light;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tib is dark and brown of hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But like her colour firm and true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jenny hath a lip to kiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein a spring of nectar is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Simkin well his mirth can place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And words to win a woman’s grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sib is all in all to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no Queen of Love but she.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s98a" id="s98a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ravenscroft</span>’s <i>Brief Discourse</i>, 1614.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Satyrs’ Dance</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Round</span>-a, round-a, keep your ring:</p>
+<span class="i6">To the glorious sun we sing,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Ho, ho!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that wears the flaming rays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And th’ imperial crown of bays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Him with shouts and songs we praise&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Ho, ho!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in his bounty he’d vouchsafe to grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The humble sylvans and their shaggy race.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s98b" id="s98b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>Canzonets</i>, 1593.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">See</span>, see, mine own sweet jewel,</p>
+<span class="i6">What I have for my darling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A robin-redbreast and a starling.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These I give both in hope to move thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet thou say’st I do not love thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s99a" id="s99a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Corkine</span>’s <i>Airs</i>, 1610.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Shall</span> a frown or angry eye,</p>
+<span class="i6">Shall a word unfitly placèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall a shadow make me flie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if I were with tigers chasèd?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love must not be so disgracèd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I woo her in despight?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I turn her from her flying?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I tempt her with delight?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I laugh at her denying?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No: beware of lovers’ crying.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I then with patient mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still attend her wayward pleasure?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Time will make her prove more kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let her coyness then take leisure:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is worthy such a treasure.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s99b" id="s99b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Richard Alison</span>’s <i>An Hours Recreation in Music</i>, 1606.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Shall</span> I abide this jesting?</p>
+<span class="i6">I weep, and she’s a-feasting!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O cruel fancy, that so doth blind me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To love one that doth not mind me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Can I abide this prancing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I weep, and she’s a-dancing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O cruel fancy, so to betray me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou goest about to slay me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s100a" id="s100a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Shall</span> I come, sweet Love, to thee</p>
+<span class="i6">When the evening beams are set?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I not excluded be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Will you find no feignèd let?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me not, for pity, more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell the long hours at your door.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who can tell what thief or foe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In the covert of the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For his prey will work my woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or through wicked foul despite?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So may I die unredrest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere my long love be possest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But to let such dangers pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which a lover’s thoughts disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis enough in such a place<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To attend love’s joys in vain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not mock me in thy bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While these cold nights freeze me dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s100b" id="s100b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs</i> (1608).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Shall</span> I look to ease my grief?</p>
+<span class="i6">No, my sight is lost with eying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I speak and beg relief?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No, my voice is hoarse with crying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What remains but only dying?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Love and I of late did part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But the boy, my peace envying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a Parthian threw his dart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Backward, and did wound me flying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What remains but only dying?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She whom then I lookèd on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My remembrance beautifying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stays with me though I am gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gone and at her mercy lying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What remains but only dying?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I try her thoughts and write?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No I have no means of trying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I should, yet at first sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She would answer with denying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What remains but only dying?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus my vital breath doth waste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And, my blood with sorrow drying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sighs and tears make life to last<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a while, their place supplying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What remains but only dying?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s101a" id="s101a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>First Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">She</span> whose matchless beauty staineth</p>
+<span class="i6">What best judgment fair’st maintaineth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She, O she, my love disdaineth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Can a creature, so excelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Harbour scorn in beauty’s dwelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All kind pity thence expelling?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pity beauty much commendeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And th’ embracer oft befriendeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all eye-contentment endeth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Time proves beauty transitory;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scorn, the stain of beauty’s glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In time makes the scorner sorry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">None adores the sun declining;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love all love falls to resigning<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the sun of love leaves shining.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So, when flower of beauty fails thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And age, stealing on, assails thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then mark what this scorn avails thee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then those hearts, which now complaining<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feel the wounds of thy disdaining,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall contemn thy beauty waning.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prizèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall with spite and grief surprisèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burst to find itself despisèd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When like harms have them requited<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who in others’ harms delighted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pleasingly the wrong’d are righted.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Such revenge my wrongs attending,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hope still lives on time depending,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By thy plagues thy torrents ending.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s103a" id="s103a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>First Book of Ballets to Five Voices</i>, 1595.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Shoot</span>, false Love! I care not;</p>
+<span class="i6">Spend thy shafts and spare not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear not, I, thy might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And less I weigh thy spite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All naked I unarm me,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If thou canst, now shoot and harm me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So lightly I esteem thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As now a child I dream thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Fa la la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long thy bow did fear<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While thy pomp did blear me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now I do perceive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy art is to deceive;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every simple lover<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All thy falsehood can discover.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then weep, Love! and be sorry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thou hast lost thy glory.<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Fa la la la!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13">
+</a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Frighten.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s104a" id="s104a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i>, (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Silly</span> boy! ’tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly;</p>
+<span class="i6">Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures be bereavèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little knows he how to love that never was deceivèd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is thy first maiden-flame that triumphs yet unstainèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All is artless now you speak, not one word is feignèd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth dejected;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith is folly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet be just and constant still, Love may beget a wonder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not unlike a summer’s frost or winter’s fatal thunder:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that holds his sweetheart true unto his day of dying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lives, of all that ever breathed, most worthy the envying.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s105a" id="s105a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Giles Farnaby</span>’s <i>Canzonets</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Simkin</span> said that Sis was fair,</p>
+<span class="i6">And that he meant to love her;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He set her on his ambling mare,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All this he did to prove her.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When they came home Sis floted cream<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And poured it through a strainer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But sware that Simkin should have none<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because he did disdain her.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s105b" id="s105b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ford</span>’s <i>Music Of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1607.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Since</span> first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye,</p>
+<span class="i6">If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What? I that loved and you that liked shall we begin to wrangle?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, no no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you may forgive me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, then justly might you leave me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I asked you leave, you bade me love; is’t now a time to chide me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No no no, I’ll love you still what fortune e’er betide me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where beauty moves, and wit delights and signs of kindness bind me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, O there! where’er I go I’ll leave my heart behind me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s106a" id="s106a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>First Book of Ballets</i>, 1595.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sing</span> we and chant it</p>
+<span class="i6">While love doth grant it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not long youth lasteth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And old age hasteth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now is best leisure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To take our pleasure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">All things invite us<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now to delight us.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hence care be packing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No mirth be lacking.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let spare no treasure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live in pleasure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s107a" id="s107a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Bateson</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sister</span>, awake! close not your eyes!</p>
+<span class="i6">The day her light discloses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the bright morning doth arise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Out of her bed of roses.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See, the clear sun, the world’s bright eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In at our window peeping:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo! how he blusheth to espy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Us idle wenches sleeping.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Therefore, awake! make haste, I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And let us, without staying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All in our gowns of green so gay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into the park a-maying.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s108a" id="s108a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sleep</span>, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me!</p>
+<span class="i6">For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It shall suffice me here to sit and see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What sight can more content a lover’s mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My words have charmed her, for secure she sleeps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though guilty much of wrong done to my love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dreams often more than waking passions move.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she in peace may wake and pity me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s108b" id="s108b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">So</span> light is love, in matchless beauty shining,</p>
+<span class="i6">When he revisits Cypris’ hallowed bowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two feeble doves, harness’d in silken twining,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can draw his chariot midst the Paphian flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lightness in love! how ill it fitteth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So heavy on my heart he sitteth.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s109a" id="s109a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Corkine</span>’s <i>Airs</i>, 1610.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Some</span> can flatter, some can feign,</p>
+<span class="i6">Simple truth shall plead for me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let not beauty truth disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Truth is even as fair as she.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But since pairs must equal prove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let my strength her youth oppose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love her beauty, faith her love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On even terms so may we close.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cork or lead in equal weight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Both one just proportion yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So may breadth be peis’d<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> with height,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Steepest mount with plainest field.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Virtues have not all one kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet all virtues merit be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Divers virtues are combined;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Differing so, deserts agree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let then love and beauty meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Making one divine concent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Constant as the sounds and sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That enchant the firmament.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14">
+</a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Balanced.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s110a" id="s110a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span>, come again!</p>
+<span class="i6">Your happy sight, so much desired<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Since you from hence are now retired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seek in vain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still I must mourn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And pine in longing pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Till you, my life’s delight, again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vouchsafe your wish’d return.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If true desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or faithful vow of endless love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thy heart inflamed may kindly move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With equal fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O then my joys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So long distraught, shall rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Reposèd soft in thy chaste breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exempt from all annoys.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You had the power<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My wand’ring thoughts first to restrain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">You first did hear my love speak plain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A child before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now it is grown<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Confirmed, do you it<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> keep!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And let ’t safe in your bosom sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There ever made your own!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And till we meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Teach absence inward art to find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Both to disturb and please the mind!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such thoughts are sweet:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such remain<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In hearts whose flames are true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Then such will I retain, till you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me return again.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Old ed. “do you keep it.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s111a" id="s111a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Corkine</span>’s <i>Airs</i>, 1610.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span> Cupid, ripen her desire,</p>
+<span class="i6">Thy joyful harvest may begin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If age approach a little nigher,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Twill be too late to get it in.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cold Winter storms lay standing Corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which once too ripe will never rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lovers wish themselves unborn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all their joys lie in their eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, sweet, let us embrace and kiss:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall beauty shale<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> upon the ground?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If age bereave us of this bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then will no more such sport be found.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Shell, husk (as peas).</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s112a" id="s112a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span> heart, arise! why do you sleep</p>
+<span class="i6">When lovers wanton sports do keep?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun doth shine, the birds do sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And May delight and joy doth bring:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then join we hands and dance till night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis pity love should want his right.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s112b" id="s112b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Musical Dream</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap" style="margin-left:1.3em"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span> Kate</p>
+<span class="i12">Of late<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ran away and left me plaining.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Abide!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">(I cried)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or I die with thy disdaining.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Te hee, quoth she;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Make no fool of me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But, their hopes attainèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">They bewray they feignèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their oaths are kept at leisure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Unkind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">I find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy delight is in tormenting:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
+<span class="i8">Abide!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">(I cried)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or I die with thy consenting.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Te hee, quoth she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Make no fool of me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But, their hopes attainèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">They bewray they feignèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their oaths are kept at leisure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Her words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Like swords,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cut my sorry heart in sunder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Her flouts<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">With doubts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kept my heart-affections under.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Te hee, quoth she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">What a fool is he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stands in awe of once denying!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Cause I had enough<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To become more rough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I did&mdash;O happy trying!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s113a" id="s113a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span> Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch’s glory,</p>
+<span class="i6">Subdue her heart who makes me glad and sorry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Out of thy golden quiver,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Take thou thy strongest arrow<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">That will through bone and marrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And me and thee of grief and fear deliver:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But come behind, for, if she look upon thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! poor Love, then thou art woe-begone thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s114a" id="s114a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span> Love, I will no more abuse thee,</p>
+<span class="i6">Nor with my voice accuse thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But tune my notes unto thy praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tell the world Love ne’er decays.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What wanteth concord soon must perish.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s114b" id="s114b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Ultimum Vale, or Third Book of Airs</i> (1608).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span> Love, my only treasure,</p>
+<span class="i6">For service long unfeignèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Wherein I nought have gainèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vouchsafe this little pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To tell me in what part<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My Lady keeps her heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If in her hair so slender,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Like golden nets entwinèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which fire and art have finèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her thrall my heart I render<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For ever to abide<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With locks so dainty tied.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If in her eyes she bind it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Wherein that fire was framèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By which it is inflamèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I dare not look to find it:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I only wish it sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To see that pleasant light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But if her breast have deignèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With kindness to receive it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I am content to leave it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though death thereby were gainèd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Then, Lady, take your own<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That lives by you alone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s115a" id="s115a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Pilgrim’s Solace</i>, 1612. (The first stanza is found
+in a poem of Donne.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span>, stay awhile; why will you rise?</p>
+<span class="i6">The light you see comes from your eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The day breaks not, it is my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To think that you and I must part.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O stay! or else my joys must die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And perish in their infancy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear, let me die in this fair breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far sweeter than the ph&oelig;nix nest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love raise Desire by his sweet charms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within this circle of thine arms!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let thy blissful kisses cherish<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine infant joys that else must perish.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s116a" id="s116a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Vautor</span>’s <i>Songs of divers Airs and Natures</i>, 1619.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Sweet</span> Suffolk owl, so trimly dight</p>
+<span class="i6">With feathers like a lady bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou sing’st alone, sitting by night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Te whit, te whoo!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy note, that forth so freely rolls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With shrill command the mouse controls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sings a dirge for dying souls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Te whit, te whoo!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s116b" id="s116b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals of Five and Six Parts</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Take</span> here my heart, I give it thee for ever!</p>
+<span class="i6">No better pledge can love to love deliver.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fear not, my dear, it will not fly away,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For hope and love command my heart to stay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if thou doubt, desire will make it range:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love but my heart, my heart will never change.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s117a" id="s117a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Farmer</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1599.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Take</span> time while time doth last,</p>
+<span class="i6">Mark how fair fadeth fast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beware if envy reign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take heed of proud disdain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hold fast now in thy youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Regard thy vowèd truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest, when thou waxeth old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Friends fail and love grow cold.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s117b" id="s117b"></a>
+From <i>Deuteromelia</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> Fly she sat in shamble-row</p>
+<span class="i6">And shambled with her heels I trow;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then came in Sir Cranion<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With legs so long and many a one;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And said “Jove speed, dame Fly, dame Fly�:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Marry, you be welcome, Sir,� quoth she:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">“The master Humble Bee hath sent me to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wit and if you will his true love be.�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But she said “Nay, that may not be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I must have the Butterfly,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For and a greater lord there may not be.�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But at the last consent did she.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And there was bid to this wedding<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All Flies in the field and Worms creeping.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Snail she came crawling all over the plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all her jolly trinkets in her train.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ten Bees there came, all clad in gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the rest did them behold;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the Thornbud refused this sight to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to a cow-plat away flies she.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But where now shall this wedding be?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For and hey-nonny-no in an old ivy-tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And where now shall we bake our bread?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For and hey-nonny-no in an old horse-head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And where now shall we brew our ale?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But even within one walnut-shale.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And also where shall we our dinner make?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But even upon a galled horse-back:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For there we shall have good company<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With humbling and bumbling and much melody.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When ended was this wedding-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Bee he took his Fly away,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And laid her down upon the marsh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between one marigold and the long grass.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And there they begot good master gnat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made him the heir of all,&mdash;that’s flat.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s119a" id="s119a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Airs or Fantastic Spirits</i>, 1608.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="indent"><i>Audivere, Lyce</i>.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Horace</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> gods have heard my vows,</p>
+<span class="i6">Fond Lyce, whose fair brows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wont scorn with such disdain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love, my tears, my pain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But now those spring-tide roses<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are turn’d to winter-posies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To rue and thyme and sage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fitting thy shrivell’d age.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now, youths, with hot desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See, see, that flameless fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Which erst your hearts so burned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quick into ashes turned.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s120a" id="s120a"></a>
+From <i>Pammelia</i>, 1609</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p><i>The household-bird with the red stomacher.</i>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Donne</span>.</p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best;</p>
+<span class="i6">Yet merrily sings little Robin, pretty Robin with the red breast.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s120b" id="s120b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Richard Carlton</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> love of change hath changed the world throughout,</p>
+<span class="i6">And what is counted good but that is strange?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New things wax old, old new, all turns about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all things change except the love of change.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet find I not that love of change in me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as I am so will I always be.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s121a" id="s121a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Third and last Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1603.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall,</p>
+<span class="i6">The fly her spleen, the little spark his heat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slender hairs cast shadows, though but small,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And bees have stings, although they be not great;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And love is love, in beggars and in kings!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where waters smoothest run, deep are the fords;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The firmest faith is in the fewest words;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s121b" id="s121b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> man of life upright,</p>
+<span class="i6">Whose guiltless heart is free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From all dishonest deeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or thought of vanity;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The man whose silent days<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In harmless joys are spent,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom hopes cannot delude<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor sorrow discontent:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That man needs neither towers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor armour for defence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor secret vaults to fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From thunder’s violence:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He only can behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With unaffrighted eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The horrors of the deep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And terrors of the skies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus scorning all the cares<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That fate or fortune brings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He makes the heaven his book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His wisdom heavenly things;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good thoughts his only friends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His wealth a well-spent age,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The earth his sober inn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And quiet pilgrimage.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s122a" id="s122a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure</p>
+<span class="i6">Doth stoop in hope to have her wishèd prey;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So many men do stoop to sights unsure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And courteous speech doth keep them at the bay:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let them beware lest friendly looks be like<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lure whereat the soaring hawk did strike.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s123a" id="s123a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets and Songs</i>, 1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> match that’s made for just and true respects,</p>
+<span class="i6">With evenness both of years and parentage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of force must bring forth many good effects.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Pari jugo dulcis tractus.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For where chaste love and liking sets the plant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And concord waters with a firm good-will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of no good thing there can be any want.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Pari jugo dulcis tractus.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sound is the knot that Chastity hath tied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet is the music Unity doth make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sure is the store that Plenty doth provide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Pari jugo dulcis tractus.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where Chasteness fails there Concord will decay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Concord fleets there Plenty will decease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Plenty wants there Love will wear away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Pari jugo dulcis tractus.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I, Chastity, restrain all strange desires;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, Concord, keep the course of sound consent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, Plenty, spare and spend as cause requires.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Pari jugo dulcis tractus.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Make much of us, all ye that married be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Speak well of us, all ye that mind to be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The time may come to want and wish all three.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Pari jugo dulcis tractus.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s124a" id="s124a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> Nightingale so pleasant and so gay</p>
+<span class="i6">In greenwood groves delights to make his dwelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In fields to fly, chanting his roundelay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At liberty, against the cage rebelling;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my poor heart with sorrows over swelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through bondage vile, binding my freedom short,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No pleasure takes in these his sports excelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor in his song receiveth no comfort.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s124b" id="s124b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Bateson</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1604. (By Sir
+Philip Sidney.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> Nightingale, so soon as April bringeth</p>
+<span class="i6">Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">White late-bare earth proud of her clothing springeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sings out her woes, a thorn her songbook making;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mournfully bewailing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her throat in tunes expresseth:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While grief her heart oppresseth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Tereus’ force o’er her chaste will prevailing.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s125a" id="s125a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Second Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">The</span> peaceful western wind</p>
+<span class="i6">The winter storms hath tamed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Nature in each kind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The kind heat hath inflamed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The forward buds so sweetly breathe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Out of their earthly bowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That heaven, which views their pomp beneath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would fain be decked with flowers.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See how the morning smiles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On her bright eastern hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with soft steps beguiles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Them that lie slumbering still!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The music-loving birds are come<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From cliffs and rocks unknown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see the trees and briars bloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That late were overthrown.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What Saturn did destroy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love’s Queen revives again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now her naked boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Doth in the fields remain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he such pleasing change doth view<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In every living thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if the world were born anew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To gratify the spring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If all things life present,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why die my comforts then?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why suffers my content?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Am I the worst of men?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, Beauty, be not thou accused<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Too justly in this case!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unkindly if true love be used,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">’Twill yield thee little grace.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Old ed. “overflown.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s126a" id="s126a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Fourth Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">There</span> is a garden in her face</p>
+<span class="i6">Where roses and white lilies grow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A heavenly paradise is that place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein all pleasant fruits doth flow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">There cherries grow which none may buy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Till “Cherry ripe� themselves do cry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those cherries fairly do enclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of orient pearl a double row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which when her lovely laughter shows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They look like rose-buds filled with snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Till “Cherry ripe� themselves do cry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her eyes like angels watch them still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her brows like bended bows do stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Threatening with piercing frowns to kill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that attempt with eye or hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Those sacred cherries to come nigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Till “Cherry ripe� themselves do cry.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s127a" id="s127a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ford</span>’s <i>Music of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1607.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">There</span> is a Lady sweet and kind,</p>
+<span class="i6">Was never face so pleased my mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did but see her passing by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I love her till I die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her gesture, motion and her smiles<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beguiles my heart, I know not why,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I love her till I die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her free behaviour, winning looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will make a Lawyer burn his books;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I touched her not, alas! not I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I love her till I die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had I her fast betwixt mine arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Judge you that think such sports were harms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were’t any harm? no, no, fie, fie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I will love her till I die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Should I remain confinèd there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So long as Ph&oelig;bus in his sphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I to request, she to deny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet would I love her till I die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cupid is wingèd and doth range,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her country so my love doth change:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But change she earth, or change she sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet will I love her till I die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s128a" id="s128a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+From <i>Melismata</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">There</span> were three Ravens sat on a tree,&mdash;</p>
+<span class="i6">Down-a-down, hey down, hey down!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were three Ravens sat on a tree,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">With a down!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There were three Ravens sat on a tree,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They were as black as they might be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a down, derry derry derry down down!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The one of them said to his make<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a>&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where shall we our breakfast take?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down in yonder greenè field<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There lies a knight slain under his shield.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His hounds they lie down at his feet:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So well they their master keep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His hawks they fly so eagerly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There’s no fowl dare him come nigh.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down there comes a fallow doe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great with young as she might go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She lift up his bloody head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And kist his wounds that were so red.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She gat him upon her back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And carried him to earthen lake.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">She buried him before the prime;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was dead ere even-time.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God send every gentleman<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such hounds, such hawks, and such a leman!<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">With a down, derry.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Old ed. “mate�; but
+“make,� which is required for the rhyme, was a recognised form of “mate.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s129a" id="s129a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs</i> (1608).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Think’st</span> thou, Kate, to put me down</p>
+<span class="i6">With a ‘No’ or with a frown?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since Love holds my heart in bands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I must do as Love commands.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love commands the hands to dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the tongue of speech is spare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chiefest lesson in Love’s school,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put it in adventure, fool!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fools are they that fainting flinch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a squeak, a scratch, a pinch:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Women’s words have double sense:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">‘Stand away!’&mdash;a simple fence.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If thy mistress swear she’ll cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fear her not, she’ll swear and lie:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such sweet oaths no sorrow bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the prick of conscience sting.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s130a" id="s130a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Fourth Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Think’st</span> thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning?</p>
+<span class="i6">Parrots so can learn to prate, our speech by pieces gleaning:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nurses teach their children so about the time of weaning.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that courts us, wanting art, soon falters when he feigneth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks asquint on his discourse and smiles when he complaineth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Skilful anglers hide their hooks, fit baits for every season;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do that want reason:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of treason.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ruth forgive me (if I erred) from human heart’s compassion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I laughed sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, alas, who less could do that found so good occasion!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s131a" id="s131a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thou</span> art but young, thou say’st,</p>
+<span class="i6">And love’s delight thou weigh’st not:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, take time while thou may’st,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest when thou would’st thou may’st not.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If love shall then assail thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A double anguish will torment thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thou wilt wish (but wishes all will fail thee,)<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">“O me! that I were young again!� and so repent thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s131b" id="s131b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601. (Ascribed to Dr.
+Donne.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thou</span> art not fair, for all thy red and white,</p>
+<span class="i6">For all those rosy ornaments in thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art not sweet, tho’ made of mere delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor fair, nor sweet&mdash;unless thou pity me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will not soothe thy fancies, thou shalt prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That beauty is no beauty without love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My thoughts with beauty were it more divine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I’ll not be wrapped up in those arms of thine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now show it, if thou be a woman right,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Embrace and kiss and love me in despite.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s132a" id="s132a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Danyel</span>’s <i>Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice</i>, 1606.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thou</span> pretty Bird, how do I see</p>
+<span class="i6">Thy silly state and mine agree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thou a prisoner art;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So is my heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou sing’st to her, and so do I address<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Music to her ear that’s merciless;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But herein doth the difference lie,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou art grac’d, so am not I;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou singing liv’st, and I must singing die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s132b" id="s132b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety</i>,
+1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Though</span> Amaryllis dance in green</p>
+<span class="i6">Like Fairy Queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And sing full clear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Corinna can, with smiling cheer.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet since their eyes make heart so sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey ho! chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My sheep are lost for want of food<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And I so wood<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i6">That all the day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sit and watch a herd-maid gay;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Who laughs to see me sigh so sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey ho! chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her loving looks, her beauty bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Is such delight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">That all in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I love to like, and lose my gain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For her, that thanks me not therefore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey ho! chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah wanton eyes! my friendly foes<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And cause of woes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Your sweet desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ye scorn to see me weep so sore!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey ho! chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love ye who list, I force him not:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Since God is wot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">The more I wail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The less my sighs and tears prevail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What shall I do? but say therefore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey ho! chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Distracted.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s133a" id="s133a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Airs or Fantastic Spirits</i>, 1608.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Though</span> my carriage be but careless,</p>
+<span class="i6">Though my looks be of the sternest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet my passions are compareless;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When I love, I love in earnest.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No; my wits are not so wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But a gentle soul may yoke me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor my heart so hard compiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But it melts, if love provoke me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s134a" id="s134a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Jones’</span> <i>Musical Dream</i>, 1609. (This song is also printed in
+Thomas Campion’s <i>Two Books of Airs</i>, circ.&nbsp;1613.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Though</span> your strangeness frets my heart,</p>
+<span class="i6">Yet must I not complain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You persuade me ’tis but art<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which secret love must feign;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If another you affect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis but a toy, t’ avoid suspect.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is this fair excusing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O no, all is abusing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When your wish’d sight I desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Suspicion you pretend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Causeless you yourself retire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whilst I in vain attend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus a lover, as you say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still made more eager by delay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is this fair excusing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O no, all is abusing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When another holds your hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You’ll swear I hold your heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst my rival close doth stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I sit far apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I am nearer yet than they,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hid in your bosom, as you say.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is this fair excusing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O no, all is abusing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Would a rival then I were<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> else a secret friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So much lesser should I fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And not so much attend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They enjoy you, every one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet must I seem your friend alone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is this fair excusing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O no, all is abusing.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Old ed. “Some.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s135a" id="s135a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Giles Farnaby</span>’s <i>Canzonets</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thrice</span> blessèd be the giver</p>
+<span class="i6">That gave sweet love that golden quiver,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And live he long among the gods anointed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That made the arrow-heads sharp-pointed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If either of them both had quailèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She of my love and I of hers had
+<ins class="correction" title="Original reads 'failed'">failèd</ins>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s136a" id="s136a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thrice</span> toss these oaken ashes in the air,</p>
+<span class="i6">Thrice sit thou mute in the enchanted chair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then thrice-three times tie up this true love’s knot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And murmur soft “She will or she will not.�<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go, burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These screech-owl’s feathers and this prickling briar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This cypress gathered at a dead man’s grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all my fears and cares an end may have.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;In vain are all the charms I can devise:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She hath an art to break them with her eyes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s136b" id="s136b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thus</span> I resolve and Time hath taught me so:</p>
+<span class="i6">Since she is fair and ever kind to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though she be wild and wanton-like in show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those little stains in youth I will not see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she be constant, heaven I oft implore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If prayers prevail not, I can do no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Palm-tree the more you press, the more it grows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Leave it alone, it will not much exceed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Free beauty, if you strive to yoke, you lose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And for affection strange distaste you breed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What nature hath not taught no art can frame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild-born be wild still, though by force you tame.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s137a" id="s137a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thus</span> saith my Chloris bright</p>
+<span class="i6">When we of love sit down and talk together:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Beware of Love, dear; Love is a walking sprite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">And Love is this and that<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">And, O, I know not what,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And comes and goes again I wot not whether.�<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, no, these are but bugs to breed amazing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For in her eyes I saw his torch-light blazing.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Old form of “whither.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s137b" id="s137b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>First Book of Ballets to Five Voices</i>, 1595.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Thus</span> saith my Galatea:</p>
+<span class="i6">Love long hath been deluded,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When shall it be concluded?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The young nymphs all are wedded:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, then why do I tarry?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, let me die or marry.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s138a" id="s138a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Fourth Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">To</span> his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres,</p>
+<span class="i6">The wondrous orders of the stars whose course divides the years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And all the mysteries above;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">But none of this could Midas move:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which purchased him his ass’s ears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then Pan with his rude pipe began the country wealth t’ advance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To boast of cattle, flocks of sheep, and goats on hills that dance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">With much more of this churlish kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">That quite transported Midas’ mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And held him wrapt in trance.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This wrong the God of Music scorned from such a sottish judge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the piper trudge:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Then Midas’ head he so did trim<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">That every age yet talks of him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Ph&oelig;bus’ right revengèd grudge.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s139a" id="s139a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Robert Dowland</span>’s <i>Musical Banquet</i>, 1610. (The lines are assigned
+to Robert Deveureux, Earl of Essex.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">To</span> plead my faith, where faith hath no reward,</p>
+<span class="i6">To move remorse where favour is not borne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To heap complaints where she doth not regard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were fruitless, bootless, vain, and yield but scorn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I lovèd her whom all the world admired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I was refused of her that can love none,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my vain hopes which far too high aspired<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is dead and buried and for ever gone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Forget my name since you have scorned my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And woman-like do not too late lament:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since for your sake I do all mischief prove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I none accuse nor nothing do repent:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was as fond as ever she was fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet loved I not more than I now despair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s139b" id="s139b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">To</span> shorten winter’s sadness</p>
+<span class="i6">See where the nymphs with gladness<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Disguisèd all are coming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right wantonly a-mumming.<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though masks encloud their beauty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet give the eye her duty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Heaven is dark it shineth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And unto love inclineth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s140a" id="s140a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Second Book of Songs and Airs</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Toss</span> not my soul, O Love, ’twixt hope and fear!</p>
+<span class="i6">Show me some ground where I may firmly stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or surely fall! I care not which appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So one will close me in a certain band.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When once of ill the uttermost is known;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Take me, Assurance, to thy blissful hold!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or thou Despair, unto thy darkest cell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each hath full rest: the one, in joys enroll’d;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Th’ other, in that he fears no more, is well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When once the uttermost of ill is known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s141a" id="s141a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Fourth Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Turn</span> all thy thoughts to eyes,</p>
+<span class="i6">Turn all thy hairs to ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Change all thy friends to spies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all thy joys to fears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">True love will yet be free<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In spite of jealousy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Turn darkness into day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Conjectures into truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Believe what th’ envious say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let age interpret youth:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">True love will yet be free<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In spite of jealousy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wrest every word and look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rack every hidden thought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or fish with golden hook,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True love cannot be caught:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For that will still be free<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In spite of jealousy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s141b" id="s141b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ford</span>’s <i>Music of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1607.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Unto</span> the temple of thy beauty,</p>
+<span class="i6">And to the tomb where pity lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, pilgrim-clad with zeal and duty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Do offer up my heart, mine eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart, lo! in the quenchless fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On love’s burning altar lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Conducted thither by desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be beauty’s sacrifice.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But pity on thy sable hearse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mine eyes the tears of sorrow shed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What though tears cannot fate reverse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet are they duties to the dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, Mistress, in thy sanctuary<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why wouldst thou suffer cold disdain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To use his frozen cruelty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gentle pity to be slain?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pity that to thy beauty fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And with thy beauty should have lived,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, in thy heart lies burièd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And nevermore may be revived;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet this last favour, dear, extend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To accept these vows, these tears I shed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Duties which I thy pilgrim send,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To beauty living, pity dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s142a" id="s142a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Airs or Fantastic Spirits</i>, 1608.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Upon</span> a hill the bonny boy</p>
+<span class="i6">Sweet Thyrsis sweetly played,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And called his lambs their master’s joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And more he would have said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But love that gives the lover wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Withdrew his mind from other things.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">His pipe and he could not agree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For Milla was his note;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The silly pipe could never get<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This lovely name by rote:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With that they both fell in a sound,<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He fell a-sleep, his pipe to ground.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Swoon.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s143a" id="s143a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Upon</span> a summer’s day Love went to swim,</p>
+<span class="i6">And cast himself into a sea of tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The clouds called in their light, and heaven waxed dim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And sighs did raise a tempest, causing fears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The naked boy could not so wield his arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But that the waves were masters of his might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And threatened him to work far greater harms<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If he devisèd not to scape by flight:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then for a boat his quiver stood instead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His bow unbent did serve him for a mast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereby to sail his cloth of veil he spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His shafts for oars on either board he cast:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From shipwreck safe this wag got thus to shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And sware to bathe in lovers’ tears no more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s143b" id="s143b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Second Book of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Vain</span> men! whose follies make a god of love;</p>
+<span class="i6">Whose blindness, beauty doth immortal deem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Praise not what you desire, but what you prove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Count those things good that are, not those that seem.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot call her true, that’s false to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor make of women, more than women be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How fair an entrance breaks the way to love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How rich the golden hope, and gay delight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What heart cannot a modest beauty move?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who seeing clear day once will dream of night?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She seemed a saint, that brake her faith with me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But proved a woman, as all other be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So bitter is their sweet that True Content<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unhappy men <i>in</i> them may never find:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! but <i>without</i> them, none. Both must consent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Else uncouth are the joys of either kind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us then praise their good, forget their ill!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men must be men, and women women still.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s144a" id="s144a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Francis Pilkington</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1624.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Wake</span>, sleepy Thyrsis, wake</p>
+<span class="i8">For Love and Venus’ sake!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, let us mount the hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which Zephyrus with cool breath fills;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or let us tread new alleys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In yonder shady valleys.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rise, rise, rise, rise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lighten thy heavy eyes:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">See how the streams do glide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the green meads divide:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But stream nor fire shall part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This and this joinèd heart.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s145a" id="s145a"></a>
+From <i>Deuteromelia</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">We</span> be soldiers three,</p>
+<span class="i8"><i>Pardona moy je vous an pree</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lately come forth of the Low Country<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With never a penny of money.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fa la la la lantido dilly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here, good fellow, I drink to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Pardona moy je vous an pree</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To all good fellows wherever they be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With never a penny of money.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And he that will not pledge me this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Pardona moy je vous an pree</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pays for the shot whatever it is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With never a penny of money.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Charge it again, boy, charge it again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Pardona moy je vous an pree</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As long as there is any ink in thy pen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With never a penny of money.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s146a" id="s146a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
+From <i>Deuteromelia</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">We</span> be three poor mariners,</p>
+<span class="i8">Newly come from the seas;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We spend our lives in jeopardy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While others live at ease.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall we go dance the round, the round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall we go dance the round?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he that is a bully boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come pledge me on this ground!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We care not for those martial men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That do our states disdain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we care for the merchant men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who do our states maintain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To them we dance this round, around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To them we dance this round;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he that is a bully boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come pledge me on this ground!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s146b" id="s146b"></a>
+From <i>Egerton MS., 2013</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">We</span> must not part as others do,</p>
+<span class="i8">With sighs and tears, as we were two:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though with these outward forms we part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We keep each other in our heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What search hath found a being, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am not, if that thou be there?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">True love hath wings, and can as soon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Survey the world as sun and moon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And everywhere our triumphs keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O’er absence which makes others weep:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By which alone a power is given<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live on earth, as they in heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s147a" id="s147a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">We</span> shepherds sing, we pipe, we play,</p>
+<span class="i8">With pretty sport we pass the day:<br /></span>
+<span class="i24">Fa la!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We care for no gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with our fold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We dance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And prance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As pleasure would.<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Fa la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s147b" id="s147b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets</i>, 1611.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Wedded</span> to will is witless,</p>
+<span class="i8">And seldom he is skilful<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That bears the name of wise and yet is wilful.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To govern he is fitless<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">That deals not by election,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But by his fond affection.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O that it might be treason<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For men to rule by will and not by reason.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s148a" id="s148a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Tomkins’</span> <i>Songs of Three, Four, Five, and Six Parts</i>, 1622.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Weep</span> no more, thou sorry boy;</p>
+<span class="i8">Love’s pleased and anger’d with a toy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love a thousand passion brings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laughs and weeps, and sighs and sings.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If <i>she</i> smiles, he dancing goes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thinks not on his future woes:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If <i>she</i> chide with angry eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits down, and sighs “Ah me, I die!�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet again, as soon revived,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Joys as much as late he grieved.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Change there is of joy and sadness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrow much, but more of gladness.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then weep no more, thou sorry boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn thy tears to weeping joy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sigh no more “Ah me! I die!�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But dance, and sing, and ti-hy cry.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s149a" id="s149a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Rowland</span>’s <i>Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1603.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Weep</span> you no more, sad fountains;</p>
+<span class="i8">What need you flow so fast?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look how the snowy mountains<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Heaven’s sun doth gently waste!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my sun’s heavenly eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">View not your weeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That now lies sleeping<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Softly, now softly lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Sleeping.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sleep is a reconciling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A rest that peace begets;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth not the sun rise smiling<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When fair at ev’n he sets?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rest you then, rest, sad eyes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Melt not in weeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While she lies sleeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Softly, now softly lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Sleeping.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s149b" id="s149b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Welcome</span>, sweet pleasure,</p>
+<span class="i8">My wealth and treasure;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To haste our playing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There’s no delaying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">No no!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This mirth delights me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When sorrow frights me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Then sing we all<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Fa la la la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sorrow, content thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mirth must prevent thee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though much thou grievest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou none relievest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">No no!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Joy, come delight me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though sorrow spite me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then sing we all<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Fa la la la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Grief is disdainful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sottish and painful:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then wait on pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lose no leisure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">No no!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heart’s ease it lendeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And comfort sendeth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Then sing we all<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Fa la la la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s151a" id="s151a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Mundy</span>’s <i>Songs and Psalms</i>, 1594.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Were</span> I a king, I might command content;</p>
+<span class="i8">Were I obscure, unknown should be my cares:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And were I dead, no thoughts should me torment,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor words, nor wrongs, nor loves, nor hopes, nor fears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A doubtful choice, of three things one to crave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s151b" id="s151b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Third Book Of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Were</span> my heart as some men’s are, thy errors would not move me,</p>
+<span class="i8">But thy faults I curious find and speak because I love thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than th’ obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hidden mischief to conceal in state and love is treason.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s152a" id="s152a"></a>
+From <i>Pammelia</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap" style="margin-left:0.6em;"><span class="first-word">What</span> hap had I to marry a shrow!</p>
+<span class="i10">For she hath given me many a blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how to please her alack I do not know.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">From morn to even her tongue ne’er lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Sometimes she brawls, sometimes she cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet I can scarce keep her talents<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> from mine eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">If I go abroad and late come in,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">“Sir knave,� saith she, “Where have you been?�<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And do I well or ill she claps me on the skin.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Old form of “talons.�</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s152b" id="s152b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Orlando Gibbons’</span> <i>First Set Of Madrigals</i>, 1612. (Ascribed to Sir
+Walter Raleigh.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">What</span> is our life? a play of passion:</p>
+<span class="i8">Our mirth? the music of division.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our mothers’ wombs the tyring-houses be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where we are drest for this short comedy:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sits and marks whoe’er doth act amiss:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Our graves, that hide us from the searching sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus march we playing to our latest rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only we die in earnest,&mdash;that’s no jest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s153a" id="s153a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">What</span> needeth all this travail and turmoiling,</p>
+<span class="i8">Short’ning the life’s sweet pleasure<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To seek this far-fetched treasure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In those hot climates under Ph&oelig;bus broiling?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O fools, can you not see a traffic nearer<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In my sweet lady’s face, where Nature showeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Rubies and diamonds dainty<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And orient pearls such plenty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Coral and ambergreece sweeter and dearer<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than which the South Seas or Moluccas lend us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or either Indies, East or West, do send us!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s153b" id="s153b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs</i>, 1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">What</span> pleasure have great princes</p>
+<span class="i8">More dainty to their choice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than herdsmen wild, who careless<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In quiet life rejoice,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And fortune’s fate not fearing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sing sweet in summer morning?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Their dealings plain and rightful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are void of all deceit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They never know how spiteful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is to kneel and wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On favourite presumptuous<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All day their flocks each tendeth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At night, they take their rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More quiet than who sendeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His ship into the East,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where gold and pearl are plenty;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But getting, very dainty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For lawyers and their pleading,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They ’steem it not a straw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They think that honest meaning<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is of itself a law:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence conscience judgeth plainly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They spend no money vainly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O happy who thus liveth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not caring much for gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With clothing which sufficeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To keep him from the cold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though poor and plain his diet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet merry it is, and quiet.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s155a" id="s155a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1603.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">What</span> poor astronomers are they,</p>
+<span class="i8">Take women’s eyes for stars!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And set their thoughts in battle ’ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To fight such idle wars;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When in the end they shall approve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis but a jest drawn out of Love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Love itself is but a jest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Devised by idle heads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To catch young Fancies in the nest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lay them in fool’s beds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That being hatched in beauty’s eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They may be fledged ere they be wise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But yet it is a sport to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How Wit will run on wheels!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Wit cannot persuaded be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With that which Reason feels,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That women’s eyes and stars are odd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Love is but a feignèd god!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But such as will run mad with Will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot clear their sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But leave them to their study still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To look where is no light!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till time too late, we make them try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They study false Astronomy!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s156a" id="s156a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Ford</span>’s <i>Music of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1607.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">What</span> then is love, sings Corydon,</p>
+<span class="i8">Since Phyllida is grown so coy?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A flattering glass to gaze upon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A busy jest, a serious toy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A flower still budding, never blown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A scanty dearth in fullest store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yielding least fruit where most is sown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My daily note shall be therefore&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Heigh ho, chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">’Tis like a morning dewy rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spread fairly to the sun’s arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when his beams he doth disclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That which then flourish’d quickly dies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a seld-fed dying hope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A promised bliss, a salveless sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An aimless mark, and erring scope.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My daily note shall be therefore,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Heigh ho, chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">’Tis like a lamp shining to all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst in itself it doth decay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seems to free whom it doth thrall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lead our pathless thoughts astray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is the spring of wintered hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Parched by the summer’s heat before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Faint hope to kindly warmth converts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My daily note shall be therefore&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Heigh ho, chil love no more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s157a" id="s157a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Richard Carlton</span>’s <i>Madrigals</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">When</span> Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth</p>
+<span class="i8">Of summer sweet with herbs and flowers adornèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The nightingale upon the hawthorn singeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Boreas’ blasts the birds and beasts have scornèd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When fresh Aurora with her colours painted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mingled with spears of gold, the sun appearing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Delights the hearts that are with love acquainted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And maying maids have then their time of cheering;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All creatures then with summer are delighted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beasts, the birds, the fish with scale of silver;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then stately dames by lovers are invited<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To walk in meads or row upon the river.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I all alone am from these joys exilèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No summer grows where love yet never smilèd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s157b" id="s157b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">When</span> I was otherwise than now I am,</p>
+<span class="i8">I lovèd more but skillèd not so much<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair words and smiles could have contented then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My simple age and ignorance was such:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But at the length experience made me wonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hearts and tongues did lodge so far asunder.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">As watermen which on the Thames do row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Look to the east but west keeps on the way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sovereign sweet her count’nance settled so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To feed my hope while she her snares might lay:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when she saw that I was in her danger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good God, how soon she provèd then a ranger!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I could not choose but laugh, although too late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To see great craft decypher’d in a toy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I love her still, but such conditions hate<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which so profanes my paradise of joy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love whets the wits, whose pain is but a pleasure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A toy, by fits to play withal at leisure.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s158a" id="s158a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">When</span> thou must home to shades of underground,</p>
+<span class="i8">And there arrived, a new admirèd guest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hear the stories of thy finished love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thou hast told these honours done to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s159a" id="s159a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-bottom:0;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><ins class="greek" title="deinos Erôs, deinos; ti de to pleon, ên palin eipô,">
+δεινὸς Ἔ�ως, δεινός· τί δὲ τὸ πλέον, ἢν πάλιν εἴπω,</ins><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><ins class="greek" title="kai palin, oimôzôn pollaki, deinos Erôs?">
+καὶ πάλιν, οἰμώζων πολλάκι, δεινὸς Ἔ�ως;</ins><br /></span>
+<span class="i32"><span class="smcap">Meleag.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">When</span> younglings first on Cupid fix their sight,</p>
+<span class="i8">And see him naked, blindfold, and a boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet ween they he can work them none annoy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And therefore with his purple wings they play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For glorious seemeth love though light as feather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when they have done they ween to scape away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For blind men, say they, shoot they know not whither.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when by proof they find that he did see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And that his wound did rather dim their sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They wonder more how such a lad as he<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should be of such surpassing power and might.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then shield me, heavens, from such a subtle thing!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s159b" id="s159b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Wilbye</span>’s <i>Second Set of Madrigals</i>, 1609.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Where</span> most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking;</p>
+<span class="i8">Where least I come there most my heart abideth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where most I love I never show my liking;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From what my mind doth hold my body slideth;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I show least care where most my care dependeth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A coy regard where most my soul attendeth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Despiteful thus unto myself I languish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in disdain myself from joy I banish.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These secret thoughts enwrap me so in anguish<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That life, I hope, will soon from body vanish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to some rest will quickly be conveyèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That on no joy, while so I lived, hath stayèd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s160a" id="s160a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Martin Pearson</span>’s <i>Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music</i>, 1630.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p><span class="smcap">A Mourning-Song for the Death of Sir Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke.</span></p>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Where</span> shall a sorrow great enough be sought</p>
+<span class="i8">For this sad ruin which the Fates have wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless the Fates themselves should weep and wish<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their curbless power had been controlled in this?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thy loss, worthiest Lord, no mourning eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has flood enough; no muse nor elegy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough expression to thy worth can lend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, though thy Sidney had survived his friend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dead, noble Brooke shall be to us a name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of grief and honour still, whose deathless fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such Virtue purchased as makes us to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unjust to Nature in lamenting thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wailing an old man’s fate as if in pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heat of Youth he had untimely died.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s161a" id="s161a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Campion</span> and <span class="smcap">Rosseter</span>’s <i>Book of Airs</i>, 1601.</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-bottom:0;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><ins class="greek" title="skênê pas ho bios, kai paignion.">
+σκηνὴ πᾶς � βίος, καὶ παίγνιον.</ins><br /></span>
+<span class="i32"><span class="smcap">Pallad.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Whether</span> men do laugh or weep,</p>
+<span class="i8">Whether they do wake or sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether they die young or old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether they feel heat or cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is underneath the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing in true earnest done.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All our pride is but a jest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None are worst and none are best;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grief and joy and hope and fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Play their pageants everywhere:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vain Opinion all doth sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the world is but a play.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Powers above in clouds do sit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mocking our poor apish wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That so lamely with such state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their high glory imitate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No ill can be felt but pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that happy men disdain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s162a" id="s162a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">While</span> that the sun with his beams hot</p>
+<span class="i8">Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Philon, the shepherd, late forgot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sitting beside a chrystal fountain<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">In shadow of a green oak-tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Upon his pipe this song play’d he:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So long as I was in your sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And evermore you sobb’d and sigh’d,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Burning in flames beyond all measure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Three days endured your love for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And it was lost in other three.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Another shepherd you did see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To whom your heart was soon enchainèd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full soon your love was leapt from me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Full soon my place he had obtainèd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Soon came a third your love to win;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And we were out, and he was in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new Love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Sure, you have made me passing glad<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That you your mind so soon removèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before that I the leisure had<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To choose you for my best belovèd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">For all my love was past and done<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Two days, before it was begun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s163a" id="s163a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Ballets and Madrigals</i>, 1598.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Whilst</span> youthful sports are lasting,</p>
+<span class="i8">To feasting turn our fasting.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With revels and with wassails<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make grief and care our vassals.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For youth it well beseemeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That pleasure he esteemeth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And sullen age is hated<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That mirth would have abated.<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s164a" id="s164a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Second Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">White</span> as lilies was her face:</p>
+<span class="i8">When she smilèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">She beguilèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quitting faith with foul disgrace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue’s service thus neglected.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heart with sorrows hath infected.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When I swore my heart her own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">She disdainèd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I complainèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she left me overthrown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Careless of my bitter grieving,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ruthless, bent to no relieving.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vows and oaths and faith assured,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Constant ever,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Changing never,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she could not be procured<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To believe my pains exceeding<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From her scant respect proceeding.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O that love should have the art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By surmises,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And disguises,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To destroy a faithful heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or that wanton-looking women<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should reward their friends as foemen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">All in vain is ladies’ love&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Quickly choosèd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Shortly loosèd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For their pride is to remove.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out, alas! their looks first won us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their pride hath straight undone us.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To thyself, the sweetest Fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thou hast wounded,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And confounded<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Changeless faith with foul despair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my service hast envièd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my succours hast denièd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By thine error thou hast lost<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Heart unfeignèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Truth unstainèd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the swain that lovèd most,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More assured in love than many,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Move despised in love than any.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For my heart, though set at nought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Since you will it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Spoil and kill it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will never change my thought:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But grieve that beauty e’er was born<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus to answer love with scorn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s166a" id="s166a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Francis Pilkington</span>’s <i>First Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1605.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Whither</span> so fast? see how the kindly flowers</p>
+<span class="i8">Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The climbing wood-bine, clipping all these bowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clips thee likewise for fear thou pass away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fortune our friend, our foe will not gainsay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stay but awhile, Ph&oelig;be no tell-tale is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She her Endymion, I’ll my Ph&oelig;be kiss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stay but awhile, Ph&oelig;be no tell-tale is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She her Endymion, I’ll my Ph&oelig;be kiss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See how the helitrope, herb of the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though he himself long since be gone to bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not of force thine eye’s bright beams to shun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And on my knee invites thee rest thy head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stay but awhile, Ph&oelig;be no tell-tale is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She her Endymion, I’ll my Ph&oelig;be kiss.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s167a" id="s167a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs</i>, 1588.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Who</span> likes to love, let him take heed!</p>
+<span class="i8">And wot you why?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the gods it is decreed<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That Love shall die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every wight that takes his part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall forfeit each a mourning heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The cause is this, as I have heard:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A sort of dames,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose beauty he did not regard<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Nor secret flames,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Complained before the gods above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That gold corrupts the god of love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The gods did storm to hear this news,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And there they swore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sith he did such dames abuse<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He should no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be god of love, but that he should<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both die and forfeit all his gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His bow and shafts they took away<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Before his eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gave these dames a longer day<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For to devise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who should them keep, and they be bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That love for gold should not be found.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">These ladies striving long, at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">They did agree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give them to a maiden chaste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Whom I did see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who with the same did pierce my breast:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her beauty’s rare, and so I rest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s168a" id="s168a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">William Byrd</span>’s <i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>, 1589.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="speaker">1.</span>
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Who</span> made thee, Hob, forsake the plough</p>
+<span class="i8">And fall in love?<br /></span>
+<span class="speaker">2.</span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gods above.<br /></span>
+<span class="speaker">1.</span>
+<span class="i0">What dost thou serve? &nbsp; 2.&nbsp; A shepherdess;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One such as hath no peer, I guess.<br /></span>
+<span class="speaker">1.</span>
+<span class="i0">What is her name who bears thy heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within her breast?<br /></span>
+<span class="speaker">2.</span>
+<span class="i0">Silvana fair, of high desert,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whom I love best.<br /></span>
+<span class="speaker">1.</span>
+<span class="i0">O, Hob, I fear she looks too high.<br /></span>
+<span class="speaker">2.</span>
+<span class="i0">Yet love I must, or else I die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s168b" id="s168b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Bateson</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Who</span> prostrate lies at women’s feet.</p>
+<span class="i8">And calls them darlings dear and sweet;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Protesting love, and craving grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And praising oft a foolish face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are oftentimes deceived at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then catch at nought and hold it fast.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s169a" id="s169a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">John Farmer</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1599.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Who</span> would have thought that face of thine</p>
+<span class="i8">Had been so full of doubleness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or that within those crystal eyn<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Had been so much unstableness?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy face so fair, thy look so strange!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who would have thought of such a change?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s169b" id="s169b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes’</span> <i>Madrigals of Five and Six Parts</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Why</span> are you Ladies staying,</p>
+<span class="i8">And your Lords gone a-maying?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Run apace and meet them<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with your garlands greet them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Twere pity they should miss you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For they will sweetly kiss you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s170a" id="s170a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>First Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1597.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Wilt</span> thou, Unkind! thus ’reave me</p>
+<span class="i8">Of my heart and so leave me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Farewell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kiss me, Sweet, my Jewel!<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Farewell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hope by disdain grows cheerless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fear doth love, love doth fear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Beauty peerless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Farewell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If no delays can move thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life shall die, death shall live<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Still to love thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Farewell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet be thou mindful ever!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heat from fire, fire from heat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">None can sever.<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Farewell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">True love cannot be changèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though delight from desert<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Be estrangèd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Farewell!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s171a" id="s171a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Campion</span>’s <i>Two Books of Airs</i> (circ.&nbsp;1613).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Wise</span> men patience never want,</p>
+<span class="i8">Good men pity cannot hide;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feeble spirits only vaunt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of revenge, the poorest pride:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He alone forgive that can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bears the true soul of a man.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some there are debate that seek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Making trouble their content;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy if they wrong the meek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Vex them that to peace are bent:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such undo the common tie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of mankind, Society.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Kindness grown is lately cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Conscience hath forgot her part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blessèd times were known of old<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Long ere Law became an art:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shame deterred, not statutes then;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Honest love was law to men.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Deeds from love, and words, that flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Foster like kind April showers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the warm sun all things grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowers:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All so thrives his gentle rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereon human love displays.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s172a" id="s172a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">John Dowland</span>’s <i>Second Book of Songs or Airs</i>, 1600.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Woeful</span> Heart, with grief oppressèd!</p>
+<span class="i8">Since my fortunes most distressèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">From my joys hath me removèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Follow those sweet eyes adorèd!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those sweet eyes wherein are storèd<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">All my pleasures best belovèd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fly my breast&mdash;leave me forsaken&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein Grief his seat hath taken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">All his arrows through me darting!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou mayst live by her sunshining:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall suffer no more pining<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By thy loss than by her parting.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s172b" id="s172b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Greaves’</span> <i>Songs of Sundry Kinds</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Ye</span> bubbling springs that gentle music makes</p>
+<span class="i6">To lovers’ plaints with heart-sore throbs immixed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When as my dear this way her pleasure takes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell her with tears how firm my love is fixed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, Philomel, report my timerous fears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, echo, sound my heigh-ho’s in her ears:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if she asks if I for love will die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith,&mdash;not I.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s173a" id="s173a"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
+From <span class="smcap">Farmer</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1599.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">You</span> blessèd bowers whose green leaves now are spreading,</p>
+<span class="i6">Shadow the sunshine from my mistress’ face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you, sweet roses, only for her bedding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When weary she doth take her resting-place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You fair white lilies and pretty flowers all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give your attendance at my mistress’ call.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s173b" id="s173b"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Morley</span>’s <i>First Book of Ballets</i>, 1595.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">You</span> that wont to my pipe’s sound</p>
+<span class="i6">Daintily to tread your ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Jolly shepherds and nymphs sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i28">(Lirum, lirum.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here met together<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hand in hand uniting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The lovely god come greet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i28">(Lirum, lirum)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lo, triumphing, brave comes he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All in pomp and majesty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Monarch of the world and king.<br /></span>
+<span class="i28">(Lirum, lirum.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Let whoso list him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dare to resist him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We our voices uniting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of his high acts will sing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i28">(Lirum, lirum.)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="source"><a name="s174a" id="s174a"></a>
+From <span class="smcap">Thomas Bateson</span>’s <i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>, 1604.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="cap"><span class="first-word">Your</span> shining eyes and golden hair,</p>
+<span class="i6">Your lily-rosèd lips so fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your various beauties which excel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men cannot choose but like them well:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet when for them they say they’ll die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Believe them not,&mdash;they do but lie.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum hidden"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
+<span class="pagenum hidden"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="notes">
+<h2><a name="NOTES" id="NOTES"></a>NOTES.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="first"><span class="first-word">Thomas Weelkes</span> was organist of Winchester College in 1600, and of
+Chichester Cathedral in 1608. His first collection, “Madrigals to three,
+four, five, or six voices,� was published in 1597. Here first appeared
+the verses (fraudulently ascribed, in “The Passionate Pilgrim,� 1599, to
+Shakespeare), “My flocks feed not.� In 1598 Weelkes published “Ballets
+and Madrigals to five voices,� which was followed in 1600 by “Madrigals
+of five and six parts.� Prefixed to the last-named work is the following
+dedicatory epistle:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p style="margin-bottom:0em;">“To the truly noble, virtuous, and honorable, my very good Lord Henry,
+Lord Winsor, Baron of Bradenham.<br />
+
+My Lord, in the College at Winchester, where I live, I have heard
+learned men say that some philosophers have mistaken the soul of man for
+an harmony: let the precedent of their error be a privilege for mine. I
+see not, if souls do not partly consist of music, how it should come to
+pass that so noble a spirit as your’s, so perfectly tuned to so
+perpetual a <i>tenor</i> of excellence as it is, should descend to the notice
+of a quality lying single in so low a personage as myself. But in music
+the <i>base</i> part is no disgrace to the best ears’ attendancy. I confess
+my conscience is untoucht with any other arts, and I hope my confession
+is unsuspected; many of us musicians think it as much praise to be
+somewhat more than musicians as it is for gold to be somewhat more than
+gold, and if <i>Jack Cade</i> were alive, yet some of us might live, unless
+we should think, as the artisans in the Universities of Poland and
+Germany think, that the Latin tongue comes by reflection. I hope your
+Lordship will pardon this presumption of mine; the rather, because I
+know before Nobility I am to deal sincerely; and this small faculty of
+mine, because it is alone in me, and without the assistance of other
+more confident sciences, is the more to be favoured and the rather to be
+received into your honour’s protection; so shall I
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> observe you with as
+humble and as true an heart, as he whose knowledge is as large as the
+world’s creation, and as earnestly pray for you to the world’s Creator.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-top:0em; text-align:right;">
+<span style="padding-right:3em">Your Honor’s in all humble service,</span><br />
+<span style="padding-right:2em"><span class="smcap">Thomas Weelkes</span>.�</span></p>
+
+<p>In 1608 appeared Weelkes’ last work, “Airs or Fantastic Spirits for
+three voices,� a collection of lively and humorous ditties. Oliphant
+writes:&mdash;“For originality of ideas, and ingenuity of construction in
+part writing, (I allude more especially to his ballets,) Weelkes in my
+opinion leaves all other composers of his time far behind.� The verses
+in Weelkes’ song-books are never heavy or laboured; they are always
+bright, cheerful, and arch.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</span> Robert Jones was a famous performer on the lute. He had a
+share in the management of the theatre in the Whitefriars (Collier’s
+“Annals of the Stage,� i. 395). His works are of the highest rarity. The
+delightful lyrics in Jones’ song-books have escaped the notice of all
+the editors of anthologies.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</span> Thomas Morley, who was a pupil of William Byrd, was the author
+of the first systematic treatise on music published in this country&mdash;“A
+plain and easy Introduction to practical Music,� 1597, quaintly set down
+in form of a dialogue. The verses in his collections are mere airy
+trifles, and hardly bear to be separated from the music.</p>
+
+<p>“About the maypole new,� &amp;c., is a translation of some Italian lines,
+beginning&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-bottom:0em">
+<span class="i0">“Al suon d’una sampogn’ e d’una citera,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Sopra l’herbette floride<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Dansava Tirsi con l’amata Cloride,� &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>In Morley’s “Canzonets to three Voices,� 1593, we have the following
+pleasant description of the preparations for a country wedding:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-bottom:0em">
+<span class="i0">“Arise, get up, my dear, make haste, begone thee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo! where the bride, fair Daphne, tarries on thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hark! O hark! yon merry maidens squealing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spice-cakes, sops-in-wine are a-dealing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Run, then run apace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And get a bride-lace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gilt rosemary branch the while there yet is catching<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then hold fast for fear of old snatching.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! my dear, why weep ye?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O fear not that, dear love, the next day keep we.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">List, yon minstrels! hark how fine they firk it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how the maidens jerk it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Kate and Will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tom and Gill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now a skip,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then a trip,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Finely fet aloft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There again as oft;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey ho! blessed holiday!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All for Daphne’s wedding day!�<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</span> John Wilbye is styled by Oliphant “the first of madrigal
+writers.� He published his “First Set of English Madrigals� in 1598, and
+his “Second Set� in 1609. The Second Set was dedicated to the
+unfortunate Lady Arabella Stuart. The composer concludes his dedicatory
+epistle with the prayer, “I beseech the Almighty to make you in all the
+passages of your life truly happy, as you are in the world’s true
+opinion, virtuous.� In the very year when the epistle was written the
+gifted patroness of art and learning was accused before the Privy
+Council and ordered to be kept in close confinement. She made her
+escape, but after a few hours was captured at sea in her flight to
+Dunkirk, brought back to London, and committed to the Tower, where she
+died of a broken heart in 1615. It is pleasant to think that the
+song-book dedicated to her honour may have cheered her in the long hours
+of solitude. The collection consists chiefly of love-lyrics; but such
+verses as “Happy, O happy he,� &amp;c. (p. 37) and “Draw on, sweet Night�
+(p. 21), must have been carefully cherished by the poor captive.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</span> “April is in my mistress’ face.�&mdash;Compare Robert Greene’s
+verses in “Perimedes, the Blacksmith,� 1588:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Fair is my love, for April in her face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her lovely breasts September claims his part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lordly July in her eyes takes place:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But cold December dwelleth in her heart:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Accurs’d that month that hindereth my desire!�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+<span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</span> “The Urchins’ Dance� is from the anonymous play “The Maid’s
+Metamorphosis,� 1600. In the same play are the following dainty
+verses;&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div style="float:left;">“<i>1 Fairy.</i></div>
+<span class="i12">I do come about the copse<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Leaping upon flowers’ tops;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Then I get upon a fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">She carries me above the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">And trip and go!<br /></span>
+
+<div style="float:left;"><i>2 Fairy.</i></div>
+<span class="i12">When a dew-drop falleth down<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">And doth light upon my crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Then I shake my head and skip<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">And about I trip.<br /></span>
+
+<div style="float:left;"><i>3 Fairy.</i></div>
+<span class="i12">When I feel a girl a-sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Underneath her frock I peep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">There to sport, and there I play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Then I bite her like a flea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">And about I skip.�<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Thomas Ravenscroft, compiler of the “Brief Discourse,� won his spurs at
+a very early age. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music before he had
+reached his fifteenth year, as we learn from some commendatory verses
+prefixed to the “Brief Discourse;�&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<span class="i0">“Non vidit tria lustra puer, quin arte probatus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Vita laudatus, sumpsit in arte gradum.�<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>He was twenty-two when he published the “Brief Discourse� in 1614: but
+in 1611 be had published “Melismata, musical fancies fitting the court,
+city, and country humours,� and he edited two collections that appeared
+in 1609&mdash;“Pammelia� and “Deuteromelia.� “Pammelia� is the earliest
+English printed collection of Catches, Rounds, and Canons; both words
+and music were for the most part older than the date of publication.
+“Deuteromelia� was intended as a continuation of “Pammelia.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</span> Robert Dowland, editor of “A Musical Banquet,� was a son of
+John Dowland; he succeeded his father as one of the Court musicians in
+1626, and was alive in 1641.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.</span> Thomas Ford, when he published his “Music of sundry kinds,�
+1607, was a musician in the suite of Prince Henry.
+At the accession of Charles I. he was appointed one of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
+his musicians, and he died in 1648&mdash;the year before his royal patron
+was beheaded.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</span> “Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn.�&mdash;The Pawn was a
+corridor, serving as a bazaar, in the Royal Exchange (Gresham’s).</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.</span> “Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies.�&mdash;“J. C.� in
+“Alcilia,� 1595, writes:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Love is honey mixed with gall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thraldom free, a freedom thrall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Got in a year, lost in an hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A peaceful war, a warlike peace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose wealth brings want, whose want increase;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full long pursuit and little gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uncertain pleasure, certain pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Regard of neither right nor wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For short delights repentance long.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love is the sickness of the thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Conceit of pleasure dearly bought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A restless passion of the mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A labyrinth of arrows blind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sugared poison, fair deceit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bait for fools, a furious heat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chilling cold, a wondrous passion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exceeding man’s imagination;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which none can tell in whole or part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But only he that feels the smart.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Robert Greene has a somewhat similar description of Love (“What thing is
+Love? it is a power divine,� &amp;c.) in “Menaphon,� 1589.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</span> “Fond wanton youths.�&mdash;This piece is also printed in “The
+Golden Garland of Princely Delights,� 1620, where it is headed “Of the
+Inconveniences by Marriage,� and is directed to be sung to the tune of
+“When Troy town.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, l. 22.</span> “Their <i>longings</i> must not be beguiled.�&mdash;The original
+gives “Their <i>laughings</i>� (which is unintelligible).</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</span> It was at Wanstead House, a seat of the Earl of Leicester,
+that Sidney wrote his masque the “Lady of the May� in honour of Queen
+Elizabeth’s visit in 1578. “Was Raleigh
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> retired there,� writes Mr. W.
+J. Linton (<i>Rare Poems</i>, p. 257), “during some season of her
+displeasure? There is a look of him about this song, not unlike the
+lines to Cynthia; and what mistress but Majesty should appoint his place
+of retirement?</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">‘Wanstead, my Mistress saith this is the doom.’�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The two lines that close each stanza are from a song in Sidney’s
+“Arcadia.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</span> “Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies.� From Seneca’s
+“Thyestes:�&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">“qui notus nimis omnibus<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ignotus moritur sibi.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</span> “How many things.�&mdash;I have given four of John Maynard’s
+“Twelve Wonders of the World� (cf. pp. 44-5, 69); and, if I am not
+mistaken, the reader will like to see the remaining eight. There is much
+freshness and piquancy in these quaint old rhymes, which were written by
+no less a poet than Sir John Davies.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;">“<span class="smcap">The Divine</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">My calling is Divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I from God am sent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will no chop-church be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor pay my patron rent,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nor yield to sacrilege;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But like the kind true mother,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rather will lose all the child<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than part it with another.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Much wealth I will not seek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor worldly masters serve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So to grow rich and fat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While my poor flock doth starve.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-top:2em"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;"><span class="smcap">The Soldier</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">My occupation is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The noble trade of kings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The trial that decides<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The highest right of things.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Though Mars my master be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I do not Venus love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor honour Bacchus oft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor often swear by Jove.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of speaking of myself<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I all occasion shun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rather love to do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than boast what I have done.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-top:2em"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;"><span class="smcap">The Lawyer</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">The law my calling is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My robe, my tongue, my pen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wealth and opinion gain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And make me judge of men.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The known dishonest cause,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I never did defend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor spun out suits in length,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But wish’d and sought an end;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nor counsel did bewray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor of both parties take,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor ever took I fee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For which I never spake.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-top:2em"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;"><span class="smcap">The Physician</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">I study to uphold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The slippery state of man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who dies when we have done<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The best and all we can.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From practice and from books<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I draw my learned skill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not from the known receipt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or ’pothecary’s bill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The earth my faults doth hide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The world my cures doth see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What youth and time effects<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is oft ascribed to me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-top:2em"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
+<span class="smcap">The Merchant</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">My trade doth everything<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To every land supply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discovers unknown coasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strange countries doth ally.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I never did forestall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I never did engross,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor custom did withdraw<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though I return’d with loss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I thrive by fair exchange,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By selling and by buying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not by Jewish use,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reprisal, fraud, or lying.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-top:2em"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;"><span class="smcap">The Country Gentleman</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">Though strange outlandish spirits<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Praise towns and countries scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The country is my home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I dwell where I was born.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There profit and command<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With pleasure I partake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet do not hawks and dogs<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My sole companions make.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I rule, but not oppress;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">End quarrels, not maintain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See towns, but dwell not there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To abridge my charge or train.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-top:2em"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;"><span class="smcap">The Wife</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">The first of all our sex<br /></span>
+	<span class="i2">Came from the side of man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thither am return’d<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From whence our sex began.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I do not visit oft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor many when I do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I tell my mind to few<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And that in counsel too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I seem not sick in health,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor sullen but in sorrow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I care for somewhat else<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than what to wear to-morrow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-top:2em"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="indent" style="margin-bottom:0em;"><span class="smcap">The Widow</span>.</p>
+<span class="i0">My dying husband knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How much his death would grieve me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And therefore left me wealth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To comfort and relieve me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though I no more will have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I must not love disdain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Penelope her self<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Did suitors entertain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet to draw on such<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As are of best esteem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor younger than I am<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor richer will I seem.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</span> “I have house and land in Kent.�&mdash;This admirable song has
+been frequently reprinted. Miss De Vaynes, in her very valuable “Kentish
+Garland� (i., 142), observes:&mdash;“We have met with no other song in the
+Kentish dialect except Jan Ploughshare’s� (printed on p. 372, vol. i.,
+of the “Garland�). Rimbault in his “Little Book of Songs and Ballads�
+(1851), gives the following lines from an old MS. (temp. Henry VIII.):&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Joan, quoth John, when will this be?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell me when wilt thou marry me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My corn and eke my calf and rents,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My lands and all my tenements?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say, Joan, quoth John, what wilt thou do?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot come every day to woo?�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>David Herd printed a fragment of a Scotch song that was founded on the
+English song:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“I hae layen three herring a’ sa’t,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bonny lass, gin ze’ll take me, tell me now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I hae brew’n three pickles o’ ma’t<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I hae a wee ca’f that wad fain be a cow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bonny lassie, gin ye’ll take me, tell me now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hae a wee gryce that wad fain be a sow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.</i>�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</span> “I joy not in no earthly bliss.�&mdash;These stanzas are usually
+printed with “My mind to me a kingdom is� (p. 78), and the whole poem
+has been attributed to Sir Edward Dyer.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.</span> “I weigh not Fortune’s frown nor smile.�&mdash;These lines (which
+seem to have been modelled on “I joy not in no earthly bliss�) are by
+Joshua Sylvester.</p>
+
+<p>In the second stanza, “I sound not at the news of wreck,� <i>sound</i> is an
+old form of <i>swoon</i>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</span> “If women could be fair.�&mdash;This poem is ascribed to Edward,
+Earl of Oxford, in Rawlinson, MS. 85, fol. 16.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</span> “In darkness let me dwell.�&mdash;These lines are also found in
+Robert Dowland’s “Musical Banquet,� 1610, set to music by John Dowland.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</span> “In the merry month of May.�&mdash;First printed in “The Honorable
+Entertainment given to the Queen’s Majesty in Progress at Elvetham in
+Hampshire, by the Right Honorable the Earl of Hertford,� 1591, under the
+title of “The Ploughman’s Song.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</span> “It was the frog in the well.�&mdash;There are several versions of
+this old ditty: the following is from Kirkpatrick Sharpe’s “Ballad
+Book,� 1824:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“There lived a puddy in a well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a merry mouse in a mill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Puddy he’d a wooin ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sword and pistol by his side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Puddy came to the mouse’s wonne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">‘Mistress mouse, are you within?’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">‘Yes, kind sir, I am within;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saftly do I sit and spin.’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">‘Madam, I am come to woo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Marriage I must have of you.’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">‘Marriage I will grant you nane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until uncle Rotten he comes hame.’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">‘Uncle Rotten’s now come hame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fy! gar busk the bride alang.’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lord Rotten sat at the head o’ the table,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because he was baith stout and able.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wha is’t that sits next the wa’,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma’?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What is’t that sits next the bride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the sola puddy wi’ his yellow side?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Syne came the deuk, but and the drake;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The deuk took puddy, and garred him squaik.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then cam in the carl cat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wi’ a fiddle on his back.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">‘Want ye ony music here?’<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The puddy he swam doun the brook;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The drake he catched him in his fluke.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The cat he pu’d Lord Rotten doun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The kittens they did claw his croun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma’,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crept into a hole beneath the wa’;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">‘Squeak!’ quoth she, ‘I’m weel awa.’�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Doubtless Ravenscroft’s version is more ancient. A ballad entitled “A
+most strange weddinge of the frogge and the mouse� was licensed for
+printing in 1580.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
+<span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</span> “Lady, when I behold.�&mdash;Gracefully Paraphrased from an
+Italian original:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Quand’ io miro le rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ch’in voi natura pose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">E quelle che v’ ha l’arte<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nel vago seno sparte;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Non so conoscer poi<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in voi.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</span> John Danyel is supposed to have been a brother of Samuel
+Daniel, the poet. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music in 1604. “At
+the commencement of the reign of Charles the First he was one of the
+Court Musicians, and his name occurs among the ‘Musicians for the Lutes
+and Voices’ in a privy seal, dated December 20th, 1625, exempting the
+musicians belonging to the Court from the payment of subsidies�
+(Rimbault).</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</span> “Then all at once <i>for our town</i> cries.�&mdash;“I should imagine,�
+says Oliphant, “that there was occasionally a sort of friendly
+contention in the sports between neighbouring villages; which idea is
+rather corroborated by a passage from an old play called the
+‘Vow-breaker’ by Samson, 1636: ‘Let the major play the hobby-horse an’
+he will; I hope <i>our Town lads</i> cannot want a hobby-horse.’� In an old
+play. “The Country Girl,� (first printed in 1647), attributed to that
+shadowy personage Antony Brewer, we have an allusion to this pleasant
+form of rivalry:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-left:0em;margin-right:0em;">
+<span class="i0">“<i>Abraham.</i> Sister Gillian,&mdash;I have the rarest news for you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Gillian.</i> For me? ’tis well. And what news have you got, sir?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Abr.</i> Skipping news, lipping news, tripping news.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Gil.</i> How! dancing, brother Abram, dancing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Abr.</i> Prancing, advancing, dancing. Nay, ’tis a match, a match upon a wager.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Gil.</i> A match. Who be they?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Abr.</i> Why all the wenches of <i>our town</i> Edmonton,
+                             and all the mad wenches of Waltham.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Gil.</i> A match, and leave me out! When, when is’t, brother?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Abr.</i> Marry, e’en this morning:&mdash;they are now going to’t helter-skelter.
+                             &nbsp; [<i>A&nbsp;treble&nbsp;plays&nbsp;within</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Gil.</i> And leave me out! where, brother, where?<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Abr.</i> Why there, Sister Gillian; there, at our own door almost,&mdash;on the
+                             green there, close by the may-pole. Hark! you may hear them hither.�
+                             &nbsp; (Sig.&nbsp;D.)<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The stage-direction at the entrance of the dancers runs thus:&mdash;“Enter
+six country wenches, all red petticoats, white stitch’d bodies, in their
+smock-sleeves, the fiddler before them, and Gillian with her tippet up
+in the midst of them dancing.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</span> “It was the purest light of heaven� &amp;c.&mdash;I am reminded of a
+fine passage in Drayton’s “Barons’ Wars,� canto VI.:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Looking upon proud Phaeton wrapped in fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gentle queen did much bewail his fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Mortimer commended his desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lose one poor life or to govern all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">‘What though,’ quoth he, ‘he madly did aspire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his great mind made him proud Fortune’s thrall?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, in despight when she her worst had done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>He perish’d in the chariot of the sun</i>.’�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</span> “The Bellman’s Song.�&mdash;In “Robin Goodfellow; his mad pranks
+and merry jests,� 1628, we have another specimen of a Bellman’s Song:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many pretty
+verses delight the ears of those that waked at his bell-ringing: his
+verses were these:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Maids in your smocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look well to your locks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And your tinder-box,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your wheels and your rocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your hens and your cocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your cows and your ox,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And beware of the fox.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the bellman knocks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put out your fire and candle-light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So they shall not you affright.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May you dream of your delights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In your sleeps see pleasing sights!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good rest to all, both old and young:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bellman now hath done his song.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Then would he go laughing <i>Ho ho ho!</i> as his use was.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
+<span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</span> “That kisses were the <i>seals of love</i>.�&mdash;Every reader will
+recall</p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="margin-bottom:0px;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“But my kisses bring again, bring again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Seals of love</i> but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>(The first stanza is found among the poems of Sir Philip Sidney.)</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.</span> “My prime of youth.�&mdash;This song is also set to music in
+Richard Alison’s “Hour’s Recreation,� 1606, and Michael Este’s
+“Madrigals of three, four, and five parts,� 1604. It is printed in
+“Reliquiæ: Wottonianæ� as “By Chidick Tychborn, being young and then in
+the tower, the night before his execution.� Chidiock Tychbourne of
+Southampton was executed with Ballard and Babington in 1586.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.</span> “My sweetest Lesbia.�&mdash;The first stanza is an elegant
+paraphrase from Catullus, though the last line fails to render the
+rhythmical sweetness long-drawn-out of “Nox est perpetua una dormienda.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</span> “My Thoughts are winged with Hopes.�&mdash;This piece is also
+found in “England’s Helicon.� A MS. copy, in a commonplace book found at
+Hamburg, is signed “W. S.� I have frequently met with these initials in
+volumes of MS. poetry of the early part of the seventeenth century. The
+following pretty verses in Add. MS. 21, 433, fol. 158, are subscribed “W.
+S.�:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“O when will Cupid show such art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To strike two lovers with one dart?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I’m ice to him or he to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two hearts alike there seldom be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If ten thousand meet together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scarce one face is like another:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If scarce two faces can agree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two hearts alike there seldom be.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>There is not the slightest ground for identifying “W. S.� with
+Shakespeare. Mr. Linton (“Rare Poems,� p. 255) conjectures that “My
+Thoughts are winged with Hopes�&mdash;which has the heading “To Cynthia� in
+“England’s Helicon�&mdash;may be by Raleigh.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</span> “Now each creature.�&mdash;The first stanza of “An Ode� by Samuel
+Daniel, originally printed in the 1592 edition of “Delia.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
+“Now God be with old Simeon.�&mdash;Here is another round from “Pammelia�:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Come drink to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I to thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then shall we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full well agree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I’ve loved the jolly tankard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Full seven winters and more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I loved it so long<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I went upon the score.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who loveth not the tankard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He is no honest man;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he is no right soldier,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That loveth not the can.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tap the cannikin, troll the cannikin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toss the cannikin, turn the cannikin!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hold now, good son, and fill us a fresh can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we may quaff it round from man to man.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Good honest verse, but ill-suited to these degenerate, tea-drinking
+days.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.</span> “Now I see thy looks were feignèd.�&mdash;First printed in “The
+Ph&oelig;nix Nest,� 1593, subscribed “T. L. Gent,� <i>i.e.</i> Thomas Lodge, one
+of the most brilliant of Elizabethan lyrists.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</span> “Shall we play barley-break.�&mdash;The fullest description of the
+rustic game of barley-break is to be found in the first book of Sidney’s
+“Arcadia.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</span> “Now let her change.� This song is also set to Music in
+Robert Jones’ “Ultimum Vale� (1608).</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</span> “Now what is love� &amp;c.&mdash;This poem originally appeared in “The
+Ph&oelig;nix Nest,� 1593; it is also printed (in form of a dialogue) in
+“England’s Helicon,� 1600, and Davison’s “Poetical Rhapsody,� 1602. It
+is ascribed to Raleigh in a MS. list of Davison’s. See Canon Hannah’s
+edition of Raleigh’s poems.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</span> “Oft have I mused.�&mdash;This poem was printed in Davison’s
+“Poetical Rhapsody,� 1602.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
+<span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</span> “Our country-swains in the morris-dance.�&mdash;In Morley’s
+“Madrigals to Four Voices,� 1594, there is a lively description of the
+morris-dance:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Ho! who comes here with bag-piping and drumming?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, ’tis I see the morris-dance a coming.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, ladies, out, O come, come quickly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And see about how trim they dance and trickly:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey! there again: hark! how the bells they shake it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now <i>for our town</i>! once there, now for our town and take it:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft awhile, not away so fast, they melt them!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Piper be hang’d, knave! look, the dancers swelt them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out, there, stand out!&mdash;you come too far (I say) in&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There give the hobby-horse more room to play in!�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>“I woo with tears and <i>ne’er the near</i>.�&mdash;<i>Ne’er the near</i> (a proverbial
+expression) = Never the nigher.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</span> “When they came home Sis <i>floted</i> cream.�&mdash;I suppose the
+meaning is that Sis skimmed the cream from the milk. Halliwell (<i>Arch.
+Dict.</i>) gives “Flotten-milk. Same as Flet-mitte� and “flet-mitte� is a
+north-country term for skimmed milk.</p>
+
+<p>“Since first I saw.�&mdash;This exquisite song is also found in “The Golden
+Garland of Princely Delights,� 1620.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</span> “Sweet Love, my only treasure.�&mdash;Printed in Davison’s
+“Poetical Rhapsody,� 1602, where it is subscribed with the mysterious
+initials “A. W.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.</span> “Sweet, stay awhile.�&mdash;I suspect that this stanza does not
+really belong to Donne’s “Break of day;� it is not found in MS. copies
+of Donne’s poems, nor in any edition prior to that of 1669. Probably
+Donne’s verses were written as a companion-piece to the present poem.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.</span> “Yet merrily sings little Robin.�&mdash;The loveliest of all
+verses in praise of Robin Redbreast are in Chapman’s “Tears of Peace,�
+1609:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Whose face <i>the bird</i> hid <i>that loves humans best,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>That hath the bugle eyes and rosy breast,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>And is the yellow autumn’s nightingale</i>.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.</span> “The love of change.�&mdash;This is the first stanza of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
+a poem which is printed entire (in six stanzas) in Davison’s “Poetical
+Rhapsody,� 1602.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</span> “The lowest trees have tops.�&mdash;Printed in Davison’s
+“Poetical Rhapsody� with the signature “Incerto.�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</span> “The man of life upright.�&mdash;In some old MS. copies this poem
+is ascribed to Francis Bacon: see Hannah’s “Poems of Raleigh and
+Wotton,� p. 119. Canon Hannah makes no mention of Campion’s claim.
+Campion distinctly tells us that he wrote both the verses and the music
+of his songs: and I have no doubt that he was the author of the present
+lyric, which has more merit than any of Bacon’s poems. In an epigram
+printed in his “Observations in the Art of English Poetry,� 1602, there
+is a striking image that reappears in the present poem:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<span class="i0">“A wise man wary lives yet most secure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sorrows move not him greatly, nor delights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fortune and death he scorning only makes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Th’ earth his sober inn</i>, but still heaven his home.�<br /></span>
+<span class="i32">(<span class="smcap">Sig.</span> C2).<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Henceforward let nobody claim “The man of life upright� for Bacon.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.</span> “The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay.�&mdash;“According to
+Peacham,� says Oliphant (“<i>Musa Madrigalesca</i>,� p. 45), “there was a
+virtuous contention between W. Byrd and Ferrabosco who of the two should
+best set these words; in which according to his (Peacham’s) opinion,
+Ferrabosco succeeded so well that ‘it could not be bettered for
+sweetness of ayre and depth of judgment.’�</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.</span> “The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth.�&mdash;From the first
+stanza of a poem printed in the third edition of Sidney’s “Arcadia,�
+1598.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</span> “There is a garden in her face.�&mdash;This poem is also set to
+music in Alison’s “Hour’s Recreation,� 1606, and Robert Jones’ “Ultimum
+Vale� (1608). Herrick’s dainty verses “Cherry-Ripe� are well-known:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe! I cry:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full and fair ones, come and buy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If so be you ask me where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They do grow, I answer,&mdash;There,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Where my Julia’s lips do smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There’s the land or cherry-isle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose plantations fully show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the year where cherries grow.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</span> “There is a lady sweet and kind.�&mdash;Printed also in “The
+Golden Garland of Princely Delights,� 1620.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.</span> “There were three Ravens.�&mdash;The north-country version of
+this noble dirge contains some verses of appalling intensity:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“His horse is to the huntin gane<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His hounds to bring the wild deer hame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His lady’s ta’en another mate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we may mak our dinner sweet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“O we’ll sit on his bonny breast-bane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we’ll pyke out his bonny gray een;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We’ll theek our nest when it blaws bare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“<i>Mony a ane for him makes mane,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>But none sall ken where he is gane:</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Ower his banes when they are bare,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>The wind sall blaw for evermair</i>.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</span> “Think’st thou to seduce me,� &amp;c.&mdash;In William Corkine’s
+“Airs,� 1610, this song is found with considerable variations. Corkine
+gives only three stanzas. The first stanza agrees closely with Campion’s
+text; the second and third stanzas run thus:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that hath not art to hide, soon falters when he feigneth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, as one that wants his wits, he smiles when he complaineth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“If with wit we be deceived our faults may be excusèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeming good with flattery graced is but of few refusèd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But of all accursed are they that are by fools abusèd.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</span> “Thou art not fair for all thy red and white.�&mdash;These lines
+are printed in Dr. Grosart’s edition of Donne’s
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> poems, vol. ii. p. 259.
+They are ascribed to Donne in an early MS.; but I see no reason for
+depriving Campion of them. (The first stanza is also set to music in
+Thomas Vautor’s “Airs,� 1619.)</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</span> “Though Amaryllis dance in green.�&mdash;Also printed in
+“England’s Helicon,� 1600.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</span> “We must not part as others do.�&mdash;These lines are very much
+in Donne’s manner. The MS. from which they are taken (Egerton MS. 2013)
+contains some undoubted poems of Donne.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</span> “Were I a king.�&mdash;Canon Hannah prints these verses (in his
+“Poems of Raleigh and Wotton,� p. 147) from a MS. copy, in which they
+are assigned to Edward Earl of Oxford. Appended in the MS. are the
+following answers:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">“<span class="smcap">Answered thus by Sir P. S.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wert thou a king, yet not command content,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sith empire none thy mind could yet suffice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wert thou obscure, still cares would thee torment;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But wert thou dead all care and sorrow dies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An easy choice, of these three which to crave:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No kingdom, nor a cottage, but a grave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">“<span class="smcap">Another of another mind</span>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A king? oh, boon for my aspiring mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A cottage makes a country swad rejoice:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as for death, I like him in his kind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But God forbid that he should be my choice!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A kingdom or a cottage or a grave,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor last, nor next, but first and best I crave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rest I can, whenas I list, enjoy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till then salute me thus&mdash;<i>Vive le roy</i>!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">“<span class="smcap">Another of another mind</span>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The greatest kings do least command content;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The greatest cares do still attend a crown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A grave all happy fortunes doth prevent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Making the noble equal with the clown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A quiet country life to lead I crave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A cottage then; no kingdom nor a grave.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
+<span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</span> “What is our life?�&mdash;A MS. copy of these verses is
+subscribed “S<sup>r</sup> W. R.�, <i>i.e.</i>, Sir Walter Raleigh. See Hannah’s “Poems
+of Raleigh and Wotton,� p. 27.</p>
+
+<p>Compare the sombre verses, signed “Ignoto,� in “Reliquiæ Wottonianæ�:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Man’s life’s a tragedy; his mother’s womb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From which he enters, is the tiring-room;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This spacious earth the theatre, and the stage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That country which he lives in: passions, rage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Folly and vice are actors; the first cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The prologue to the ensuing tragedy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The former act consisteth of dumb shows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The second, he to more perfection grows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I’ the third he is a man and doth begin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To nurture vice and act the deeds of sin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I’ the fourth declines; i’ the fifth diseases clog<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trouble him; then death’s his epilogue.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</span> “What needeth all this travail and turmoiling?�&mdash;Suggested
+by Spenser’s fifteenth sonnet:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Ye tradefull Merchants that with weary toyle<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do seeke most pretious things to make your gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And both the Indias of their treasure spoile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For loe! my Love doth in her selfe containe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this worlds riches that may farre be found.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Saphyres, loe! her eies be Saphyres plaine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Rubies, loe! hir lips be Rubies sound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Yvorie, her forehead yvory weene;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Silver, her faire hands are silver sheene:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But that which fairest is but few behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Her mind, adornd with vertues manifold.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, l. 1.</span> “And fortune’s fate not fearing.�&mdash;Oliphant boldly
+reads, for the sake of the rhyme, “And <i>fickle fortune scorning</i>.�&mdash;in
+“England’s Helicon� the text is the same as in the song-book.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, l. 5.</span> “And when she saw that I was in her
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
+danger.�&mdash;<i>Within one’s danger</i> = to be in a person’s power or control.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap">L. 16.</span> “White <i>Iope</i>.�&mdash;Campion must have had in his mind a passage of
+Propertius (ii. 28);&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pulchra sit in superis, si licet, una locis.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vobiscum est <i>Iope</i>, vobiscum candida Tyro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Vobiscum Europe, nec proba Pasiphae.�<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>See Hertzberg’s note on that passage.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</span> “While that the sun.�&mdash;Also printed in “England’s Helicon,�
+1600.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist">
+<hr class="mid" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="BOOKS" id="BOOKS"></a>LIST OF SONG-BOOKS.</h2>
+
+<p class="first"><span class="gap"><span class="first-word">Alison, Richard</span>.</span>
+<i>An Hour’s Recreation in Music</i>,
+<span class="gap">1606.</span> Page <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left:3em;"><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Attye, John</span>.</span>
+<i>First Book of Airs of Four Parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1622.</span> <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Bateson, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>First Set of English Madrigals</i>,
+<span class="gap">1604.</span> <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Byrd, William</span>.</span>
+<i>Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety</i>,
+<span class="gap">1588.</span> <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Songs of Sundry Natures</i>,
+<span class="gap">1589.</span> <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets</i>,
+<span class="gap">1611.</span> <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Campion, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Rosseter, Philip</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Two Books of Airs</i>
+<span class="gap">[circ. 1613].</span> <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The Third and Fourth Book of Airs</i>
+<span class="gap">[circ. 1613].</span> <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>,
+<a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Carlton, Richard</span>.</span>
+<i>Madrigals to five voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1601.</span> <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Coprario, John</span>.</span>
+<i>Funeral Tears for the death of the Right Honourable the Earl of Devonshire</i>,
+<span class="gap">1606.</span> <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Corkine, William</span>.</span>
+<i>Airs to sing and play to the Lute and Bass-viol</i>,
+<span class="gap">1610.</span> <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The Second Book of Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1612.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Danyel, John</span>.</span>
+<i>Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice</i>,
+<span class="gap">1606.</span> <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Dowland, John</span>.</span>
+<i>The First Book of Songs or Airs of four parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1597.</span> <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The Second Book of Songs or Airs, of two, four, and five parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1600.</span> <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1603.</span> <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>A Pilgrims Solace</i>,
+<span class="gap">1612.</span> <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.</p>
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Dowland, Robert</span>.</span>
+<i>A Musical Banquet furnished with variety of delicious Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1610.</span> <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Earsden, John</span>, and <span class="smcap">Mason, George</span>.</span>
+<i>The Airs that were sung and played at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland</i>,
+<span class="gap">1618.</span> <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Egerton</span>,</span>
+MS. 2013. <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Este, Michael</span>.</span>
+<i>Madrigals to three four and five parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1604.</span> <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Farmer, John</span>.</span>
+<i>The first set of English Madrigals to four voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1599.</span> <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Farnaby, Giles</span>.</span>
+<i>Canzonets to four voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1598.</span> <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Ford, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>Music of sundry kinds</i>,
+<span class="gap">1607.</span> <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Gibbons, Orlando</span>.</span>
+<i>The first set of Madrigals and Mottets</i>,
+<span class="gap">1612.</span> <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Greaves, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>Songs of sundry kinds</i>,
+<span class="gap">1604.</span> <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Jones, Robert</span>.</span>
+<i>The first took of Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1601.</span> <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The second book of Songs and Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1601.</span> <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Ultimum Vale, or the third book of Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1608.</span> <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>A Musical Dream, or the Fourth Book of Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1609.</span> <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Lichfild, Henry</span>.</span>
+<i>The first set of Madrigals to five parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1614.</span> <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Maynard, John</span>.</span>
+<i>The XII wonders of the world</i>,
+<span class="gap">1611.</span> <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Morley, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>Canzonets or little short songs to three voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1593.</span> <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Madrigals to four voices</i>,
+1594; <span class="gap">1600.</span> <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The first book of Ballets to five voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1595.</span> <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Mundy, John</span>.</span>
+<i>Songs and Psalms</i>,
+<span class="gap">1594.</span> <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Peerson, Martin</span>.</span>
+<i>Mottects, or grave chamber-music</i>,
+<span class="gap">1630.</span> <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Pilkington, Francis</span>.</span>
+<i>The first Book of Songs or Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1605.</span> <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals</i>,
+<span class="gap">1613.</span> <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</p>
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The Second Set of Madrigals</i>,
+<span class="gap">1624.</span> <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Ravenscroft, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>Pammelia; Music’s Miscellany or mixed variety of Pleasant Roundelays</i>,
+<span class="gap">1609.</span> <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Deuteromelia; or the second part of Music’s Melody</i>,
+<span class="gap">1609.</span> <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Melismata; Musical Fancies fitting the court, city, and country humours</i>,
+<span class="gap">1611.</span> <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Brief Discourse of the true use of Charact’ring the Degrees, &amp;c.</i>,
+<span class="gap">1614.</span> <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosseter, Philip</span>, and <span class="smcap">Campion, Thomas</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>A Book of Airs</i>,
+<span class="gap">1601.</span> <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Tomkins, Thomas</span>.</span> <i>Songs of three, four, five, and six parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1622.</span> <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Vautor, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>The First Set: being songs of divers Airs and Natures, of five and six parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1619.</span> <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Ward, John</span>.</span>
+<i>The First Set of English Madrigals to three, four, five and six parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1613.</span> <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Weelkes, Thomas</span>.</span>
+<i>Madrigals to three, four, five and six voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1597.</span> <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Ballets and Madrigals to five voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1598.</span> <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Madrigals of five and six parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1600.</span> <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Madrigals of six parts</i>,
+<span class="gap">1600.</span> <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>Airs or Fantastic Spirits for three voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1608.</span> <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Wilbye, John</span>.</span>
+<i>The First Set of English Madrigals to three, four, five and six voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1598.</span> <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</p>
+
+<p class="sub"><i>The Second Set of English Madrigals to three, four, five and six voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1609.</span> <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Yonge, Nicholas</span>.</span>
+<i>Musica Transalpina: the Second Book of Madrigals to five and six voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1597.</span> <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="gap"><span class="smcap">Youll, Henry</span>.</span>
+<i>Canzonets to three voices</i>,
+<span class="gap">1608.</span> <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="mid" />
+
+<h5>
+CHISWICK PRESS:&mdash;C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO.<br />
+TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.<br />
+</h5>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyrics from the Song-Books of the
+Elizabethan Age, by Various
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+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyrics from the Song-Books of the
+Elizabethan Age, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: A. H. Bullen
+
+Release Date: November 2, 2008 [EBook #27129]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Nigel Blower and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                CENTRE
+                  for
+              REFORMATION
+                  and
+              RENAISSANCE
+                STUDIES
+
+               VICTORIA
+              UNIVERSITY
+
+               TORONTO
+
+
+
+
+                LYRICS
+      FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE
+           ELIZABETHAN AGE.
+
+
+
+
+NOTE.--_Two hundred and fifty copies of this large paper edition
+printed, each of which is numbered._
+
+_No. 221._
+
+
+
+
+                LYRICS
+      FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE
+           ELIZABETHAN AGE:
+
+
+              Edited by
+             A.H. BULLEN.
+
+
+               LONDON:
+            JOHN C. NIMMO,
+14, King William Street, Strand, W.C.
+                1887.
+
+
+
+
+CHISWICK PRESS:--C. Whittingham and Co., Tooks Court, Chancery Lane.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The present Anthology is intended to serve as a companion volume to the
+Poetical Miscellanies published in England at the close of the sixteenth
+and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries. A few of the lyrics here
+collected are, it is true, included in "England's Helicon," Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody," and "The Ph[oe]nix' Nest"; and some are to be found
+in the modern collections of Oliphant, Collier, Rimbault, Mr. W.J.
+Linton, Canon Hannah, and Professor Arber. But many of the poems in the
+present volume are, I have every reason to believe, unknown even to
+those who have made a special study of Elizabethan poetry. I have gone
+carefully through all the old song-books preserved in the library of the
+British Museum, and I have given extracts from two books of which there
+is no copy in our national library. A first attempt of this kind must
+necessarily be imperfect. Were I to go over the ground again I should
+enlarge the collection, and I should hope to gain tidings of some
+song-books (mentioned by bibliographers) which I have hitherto been
+unable to trace.
+
+In Elizabeth's days composers were not content to regard the words of a
+song as a mere peg on which to hang the music, but sought the services
+of true-born lyrists. It is not too much to say that, for delicate
+perfection of form, some of the Elizabethan songs can compare with the
+choicest epigrams in the Greek Anthology. At least one composer, Thomas
+Campion, wrote both the words and the music of his songs; and there are
+no sweeter lyrics in English poetry than are to be found in Campion's
+song-books. But it may be assumed that, as a rule, the composers are
+responsible only for the music.
+
+It was in the year of the Spanish Armada, 1588, that William Byrd
+published "Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety," the first
+Elizabethan song-book of importance. Few biographical particulars
+concerning Byrd have come down. As he was senior chorister of St. Paul's
+in 1554, he is conjectured to have been born about 1538. From 1563 to
+1569 he was organist of Lincoln Cathedral. He and Tallis were granted a
+patent, which must have proved fairly lucrative, for the printing of
+music and the vending of music-paper. In later life he appears to have
+become a convert to Romanism. His last work was published in 1611, and
+he died at a ripe old age on the 24th of July, 1623. The "Psalms,
+Sonnets, and Songs" are dedicated to Sir Christopher Hatton. In the
+dedicatory epistle he terms the collection "this first printed work of
+mine _in English_;" in 1575 he had published with Tallis "Cantiones
+Sacrae." From the title one would gather that Byrd's first English
+collection was mainly of a sacred character, but in an epistle to the
+reader he hastens to set us right on that point:--"Benign reader, here
+is offered unto thy courteous acceptance music of sundry sorts, and to
+content divers humours. If thou be disposed to pray, here are psalms; if
+to be merry, here are sonnets." There is, indeed, fare for all comers;
+and a reader has only himself to blame if he goes away dissatisfied. In
+those days, as in these, it was not uncommon for a writer to attribute
+all faults, whether of omission or commission, to the luckless printer.
+Byrd, on the other hand, solemnly warns us that "in the expression of
+these songs either by voices or instruments, if there be any jar or
+dissonance," we are not to blame the printer, who has been at the
+greatest pains to secure accuracy. Then the composer makes a modest
+appeal on behalf of himself, requesting those who find any fault in the
+composition "either with courtesy to let the same be concealed," or "in
+friendly sort" point out the errors, which shall be corrected in a
+future impression. This is the proper manner of dealing between
+gentlemen. His next publication was "Songs of Sundry Natures," 1589,
+which was dedicated to Sir Henry Carey, who seems to have been as
+staunch a patron of Byrd as his son, Sir George Carey, was of Dowland.
+In 1611 appeared Byrd's last work, "Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets." The
+composer must have taken to heart the precepts set down by Sir Edward
+Dyer in "My mind to me a kingdom is," (printed in "Psalms, Sonnets, and
+Songs") for his dedicatory epistle and his address to the reader show
+him to have been a man who had laid up a large store of genial wisdom,
+upon which he could draw freely in the closing days of an honourable
+life. His earlier works had been well received, and in addressing "all
+true lovers of music" he knew that he could rely upon their cordial
+sympathy. "I am much encouraged," he writes, "to commend to you these my
+last labours, for mine _ultimum vale_;" and then follows a piece of
+friendly counsel: "Only this I desire, that you will be as careful to
+hear them well expressed, as I have been both in the composing and
+correcting of them. Otherwise the best song that ever was made will seem
+harsh and unpleasant; for that the well expressing of them either by
+voices or instruments is the life of our labours, which is seldom or
+never well performed at the first singing or playing."
+
+No musician of the Elizabethan age was more famous than John Dowland,
+whose "heavenly touch upon the lute" was commended in a well-known
+sonnet (long attributed to Shakespeare) by Richard Barnfield. Dowland
+was born at Westminster in 1562. At the age of twenty, or thereabouts,
+he started on his travels; and, after rambling through "the chiefest
+parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety of music," he
+bent his course "towards the famous province of Germany," where he found
+"both excellent masters and most honourable patrons of music." In the
+course of his travels he visited Venice, Padua, Genoa, Ferrara, and
+Florence, gaining applause everywhere by his musical skill. On his
+return to England he took his degree at Oxford, as Bachelor of Music, in
+1588. In 1597 he published "The First Book of Songs or Airs of four
+parts, with Tableture for the Lute." Prefixed is a dedicatory epistle to
+Sir George Carey (second Lord Hunsdon), in which the composer alludes
+gracefully to the kindness he had received from Lady Elizabeth Carey,
+the patroness of Spenser. A "Second Book of Songs or Airs" was published
+in 1600, when the composer was at the Danish Court, serving as lutenist
+to King Christian the Fourth. The work was dedicated to the famous
+Countess of Bedford, whom Ben Jonson immortalized in a noble sonnet.
+From a curious address to the reader by George Eastland, the publisher,
+it would appear that in spite of Dowland's high reputation the sale of
+his works was not very profitable. "If the consideration of mine own
+estate," writes Eastland, "or the true worth of money, had prevailed
+with me above the desire of pleasing you and showing my love to my
+friends, these second labours of Master Dowland--whose very name is a
+large preface of commendation to the book--had for ever lain hid in
+darkness, or at the least frozen in a cold and foreign country." The
+expenses of publication were heavy, but he consoled himself with the
+thought that his high-spirited enterprise would be appreciated by a
+select audience. In 1603 appeared "The Third and Last Book of Songs or
+Airs;" and, in 1612, when he was acting as lutenist to Lord Walden,
+Dowland issued his last work, "A Pilgrime's Solace." He is supposed to
+have died about 1615, leaving a son, Robert Dowland, who gained some
+fame as a composer. Modern critics have judged that Dowland's music was
+somewhat overrated by his contemporaries, and that he is wanting in
+variety and originality. Whether these critics are right or wrong, it
+would be difficult to overrate the poetry. In attempting to select
+representative lyrics one is embarrassed by the wealth of material. The
+rich clusters of golden verse hang so temptingly that it is difficult to
+cease plucking when once we have begun.
+
+In his charming collection of "Rare Poems" Mr. Linton quotes freely from
+the song-books of Byrd and Dowland, but gives only one lyric of Dr.
+Thomas Campion. As Mr. Linton is an excellent judge of poetry, I can
+only suppose that he had no wide acquaintance with Campion's writings,
+when he put together his dainty Anthology. There is clear evidence[1]
+that Campion wrote not only the music but the words for his songs--that
+he was at once an eminent composer and a lyric poet of the first rank.
+He published a volume of Latin verse, which displays ease and fluency
+(though the prosody is occasionally erratic); as a masque-writer he was
+inferior only to Ben Jonson; he was the author of treatises on the arts
+of music and poetry; and he practised as a physician. It would be
+interesting to ascertain some facts about the life of this
+highly-gifted man; but hitherto little information has been collected.
+The Oxford historian, good old Anthony-a-Wood, went altogether wrong and
+confused our Thomas Campion with another person of the same name who
+took his degree in 1624--five years after the poet's death. It is
+probable that our Thomas Campion was the second son of Thomas Campion of
+Witham, Essex, and that he was distantly related to Edmund Campion the
+famous Jesuit. His first work was his "Epigrammatum Libri duo,"
+published in 1595, and republished in 1619. The first edition is
+exceedingly rare; there is no copy in the British Museum. Francis Meres,
+in his very valuable (and very tedious) "Wit's Treasury," 1598, mentions
+Campion among the "English men, being Latin poets," who had "attained
+good report and honorable advancement in the Latin empire." In 1601
+Campion and Philip Rosseter published jointly "A Book of Airs." The
+music was partly written by Campion and partly by Rosseter; but the
+whole of the poetry may be safely assigned to Campion. From a dedicatory
+epistle, by Rosseter, to Sir Thomas Monson, we learn that Campion's
+songs, "made at his vacant hours and privately imparted to his friends,"
+had been passed from hand to hand and had suffered from the carelessness
+of successive transcribers. Some impudent persons, we are told, had
+"unrespectively challenged" (_i.e._ claimed) the credit both of the
+music and the poetry. The address _To the Reader_, which follows the
+dedicatory epistle, is unsigned, but appears to have been written by
+Campion. "What epigrams are in poetry," it begins, "the same are airs in
+music: then in their chief perfection when they are short and well
+seasoned. But to clog a light song with a long preludium is to corrupt
+the nature of it. Many rests in music were invented either for necessity
+of the fugue, or granted as an harmonical licence in songs of many
+parts; but in airs I find no use they have, unless it be to make a
+vulgar and trivial modulation seem to the ignorant strange, and to the
+judicial tedious." It is among the curiosities of literature that this
+true poet, who had so exquisite a sense of form, and whose lyrics are
+frequently triumphs of metrical skill, should have published a work
+(entitled "Observations in the Art of English Poesy") to prove that the
+use of rhyme ought to be discontinued, and that English metres should be
+fashioned after classical models. "Poesy," he writes, "in all kind of
+speaking is the chief beginner and maintainer of eloquence, not only
+helping the ear with the acquaintance of sweet numbers, but also raising
+the mind to a more high and lofty conceit. For this end have I studied
+to induce a true form of versifying into our language; for the vulgar
+and artificial custom of rhyming hath, I know, deterr'd many excellent
+wits from the exercise of English poesy." The work was published in
+1602, the year after he had issued the first collection of his charming
+lyrics. It was in answer to Campion that Samuel Daniel wrote his
+"Defence of Rhyme" (1603), one of the ablest critical treatises in the
+English language. Daniel was puzzled, as well he might be, that an
+attack on rhyme should have been made by one "whose commendable rhymes,
+albeit now himself an enemy to rhyme, have given heretofore to the world
+the best notice of his worth." It is pleasant to find Daniel testifying
+to the fact that Campion was "a man of fair parts and good reputation."
+Ben Jonson, as we are informed by Drummond of Hawthornden, wrote "a
+Discourse of Poesy both against Campion and Daniel;" but the discourse
+was never published. In his "Observations" Campion gives us a few
+specimen-poems written in the unrhymed metres that he proposed to
+introduce. The following verses are the least objectionable that I can
+find:--
+
+            "Just beguiler,
+    Kindest love yet only chastest,
+    Royal in thy smooth denials,
+    Frowning or demurely smiling,
+            Still my pure delight.
+
+            Let me view thee
+    With thoughts and with eyes affected,
+    And if then the flames do murmur,
+    Quench them with thy virtue, charm them
+            With thy stormy brows.
+
+            Heaven so cheerful
+    Laughs not ever; hoary winter
+    Knows his season, even the freshest
+    Summer morns from angry thunder
+            Yet not still secure."
+
+There is artful ease and the touch of a poet's hand in those verses; but
+the Muses shield us from such innovations! Campion's second collection,
+"Two Books of Airs," is undated; but, from an allusion to the death of
+Prince Henry, we may conclude that it was published about the year 1613.
+The first book consists of "Divine and Moral Songs" and the second of
+"light conceits of lovers." In dealing with sacred themes, particularly
+when they venture on paraphrases of the Psalms, our poets seldom do
+themselves justice; but I claim for Campion that he is neither stiff nor
+awkward. Henry Vaughan is the one English poet whose devotional fervour
+found the highest lyrical expression; and Campion's impassioned poem
+"Awake, awake, thou heavy sprite!" (p. 6) is not unworthy of the great
+Silurist. Among the sacred verses are some lines ("Jack and Joan they
+think no ill," p. 61) in praise of a contented countryman and his good
+wife. A sweeter example of an old pastoral lyric could nowhere be found,
+not even in the pages of Nicholas Breton. The "Third and Fourth Books of
+Airs" are also undated, but they were probably published in 1613. In
+this collection, where all is good, my favourite is "Now winter nights
+enlarge" (p. 90). Others may prefer the melodious serenade, worthy even
+of Shelley, "Shall I come, sweet love, to thee" (p. 100). But there is
+one poem of Campion (printed in the collection of 1601) which, for
+strange richness of romantic beauty, could hardly be matched outside the
+sonnets of Shakespeare:--
+
+    "When thou must home to shades of underground,
+    And there arrived, a new admired guest,
+    The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,
+    White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,
+    To hear the stories of thy finish'd love
+    From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move:
+
+    Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,
+    Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,
+    Of tourneys and great challenges of knights,
+    And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake:
+    When thou hast told these honours done to thee,
+    Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me!"
+
+The mention of "White Iope" was suggested by a passage of Propertius:--
+
+    "Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum;
+      Pulchra sit, in superis, si licet, una locis.
+    Vobiscum[2] est _Iope_, vobiscum candida Tyro," &c.
+
+Campion was steeped in classical feeling: his rendering of Catullus'
+"Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus" (p. 80) is, so far as it goes,
+delightful. It is time that Campion should again take his rightful place
+among the lyric poets of England. In his own day his fame stood high.
+Camden did not hesitate to couple his name with the names of Spenser and
+Sidney; but modern critics have persistently neglected him. The present
+anthology contains a large number of his best poems; and I venture to
+hope that my attempt to recall attention to the claims of this true poet
+will not be fruitless.
+
+There is much excellent verse hidden away in the Song-books of Robert
+Jones, a famous performer on the lute. Between 1601 and 1611 Jones
+issued six musical works. Two of these--"The First Set of Madrigals,"
+1607, and "The Muses' Garden for Delight," 1611,--I have unfortunately
+not been able to see, as I have not yet succeeded in discovering their
+present resting-place. Of "Ultimum Vale, or the Third Book of Airs"
+[1608], only one copy is known. It formerly belonged to Rimbault, and is
+now preserved in the library of the Royal College of Music. The other
+publications of Jones are of the highest rarity. By turns the songs are
+grave and gay. On one page is the warning to Love--
+
+    "Little boy, pretty knave, hence, I beseech you!
+    For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you." (p. 72.)
+
+On another we read "Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly," (p.
+73); but the vain hopes, seeking to woo the sun's fair light, were
+scorched with fire and drown'd in woe,
+
+    "And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,
+    For Love did know that their desires were true;
+                  Though Fate frowned.
+                  And now drowned
+                  They in sorrow dwell,
+    It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell."
+
+The last line is superb.
+
+I have drawn freely from the madrigals of Weelkes, Morley, Farmer,
+Wilbye and others. Thomas Ford's "Music of Sundry Kinds," 1607, has
+yielded some very choice verse; and Francis Pilkington's collections
+have not been consulted in vain. From John Attye's "First Book of Airs,"
+1622, I have selected one song, (p. 94), only one,--warm and tender and
+delicious. Some pleasant verses have been drawn from the rare song-books
+of William Corkine; and Thomas Vautor's "Songs of Divers Airs and
+Natures," 1619, have supplied some quaint snatches, notably the address
+to the owl, (p. 116) "Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight." I have
+purposely refrained from giving many humorous ditties. Had I been
+otherwise minded there was plenty of material to my hand in the
+rollicking rounds and catches of Ravenscroft's admirable collections.
+
+As I have no technical knowledge of the subject, it would be impertinent
+for me to attempt to estimate the merits of the music contained in these
+old song-books; but I venture with all confidence to commend the poetry
+to the reader's attention. There is one poem which I have deliberately
+kept back. It occurs in "The First Part of Airs, French, Polish, and
+others together, some in tableture and some in prick-song," 1605. The
+composer was a certain Captain Tobias Hume, but who the author of the
+poem was I know not. Here is the first stanza:--
+
+    "Fain would I change that note
+    To which fond love hath charm'd me,
+    Long long to sing by rote,
+    Fancying that that harm'd me:
+    Yet when this thought doth come,
+    'Love is the perfect sum
+    Of all delight,'
+    I have no other choice
+    Either for pen or voice
+    To sing or write."
+
+The other stanza shall occupy the place of honour in the front of my
+Anthology; for among all the Elizabethan song-books I have found no
+lines of more faultless beauty, of happier cadence or sweeter
+simplicity, no lines that more justly deserve to be treasured in the
+memory while memory lasts.
+
+[1] In his address _To The Reader_ prefixed to the "Fourth Book of Airs"
+he writes:--"Some words are in these books which have been clothed in
+music by others, and I am content they then served their turn: _yet give
+me leave to make use of mine own_." Again, in the address _To the
+Reader_ prefixed to the "Third Book of Airs:"--"In these English airs I
+have chiefly aimed to _couple my words and notes lovingly together;
+which will be much for him to do that hath not power over both_."
+
+[2] Some editions read "Vobiscum Antiope."
+
+
+
+
+    _IN LAVDEM AMORIS._
+
+    O LOVE, THEY WRONG THEE MVCH
+    THAT SAY THY SWEET IS BITTER,
+    WHEN THY RICH FRVIT IS SVCH
+    AS NOTHING CAN BE SWEETER.
+    FAIR HOVSE OF JOY AND BLISS,
+    WHERE TRVEST PLEASVRE IS,
+    I DO ADORE THEE;
+    I KNOW THEE WHAT THOV ART,
+    I SERVE THEE WITH MY HEART,
+    AND FALL BEFORE THEE.
+
+CAPTAIN HUME's _First Part of Airs_, 1605.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX OF FIRST LINES
+
+
+A little pretty bonny lass was walking (Farmer)
+A shepherd in a shade his plaining made (John Dowland)
+A sparrow-hawk proud did hold in wicked jail (Weelkes)
+A woman's looks (Jones)
+About the maypole new, with glee and merriment (Morley)
+Adieu! sweet Amaryllis (Wilbye)
+April is in my mistress' face (Morley)
+Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun (Jones)
+Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite (Campion)
+Awake, sweet Love! 'tis time to rise (Youll)
+Ay me, can every rumour (Wilbye)
+Ay me, my mistress scorns my love (Bateson)
+
+Behold a wonder here (John Dowland)
+Brown is my Love, but graceful (Musica Transalpina)
+By a fountain where I lay (John Dowland)
+By the moon we sport and play (Ravenscroft)
+
+Canst thou love and lie alone (Melismata)
+Change thy mind since she doth change (Robert Dowland)
+Cold Winter's ice is fled and gone (Weelkes)
+Come away! come, sweet Love! (John Dowland)
+Come, O come, my life's delight (Campion)
+Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers (Ford)
+Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing (Wilbye)
+Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton (Campion)
+Could my heart more tongues employ (Campion)
+Crowned with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis (Byrd)
+
+Dare you haunt our hallow'd green (Ravenscroft)
+Dear, if I with guilt would gild a true intent (Campion)
+Dear, if you change I'll never choose again (John Dowland)
+Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing (Morley)
+Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares (Wilbye)
+
+Each day of thine, sweet month of May (Youll)
+Every dame affects good fame, whate'er her doings be (Campion)
+
+Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone (Farmer)
+Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies (Byrd)
+Farewell, my joy! (Weelkes)
+Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new (John Dowland)
+Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed (Campion)
+Flora gave me fairest flowers (Wilbye)
+Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet (Campion and Rosseter)
+Fond wanton youths make Love a God (Jones)
+From Citheron the warlike boy is fled (Byrd)
+From Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired (John Dowland)
+
+Give Beauty all her right (Campion)
+Go, crystal tears! like to the morning showers (John Dowland)
+Go, turn away those cruel eyes (Egerton MS. 2013)
+Good men, show! if you can tell (Campion)
+
+Ha! ha! ha! this world doth pass (Weelkes)
+Happy he (Jones)
+Happy, O! happy he, who not affecting (Wilbye)
+Have I found her? O rich finding (Pilkington)
+Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more (Mundy)
+How many things as yet (Maynard)
+How shall I then describe my Love (Ford)
+
+I always loved to call my lady Rose (Lichfild)
+I have house and land in Kent (Melismata)
+I joy not in no earthly bliss (Byrd)
+I live and yet methinks I do not breathe (Wilbye)
+I marriage would forswear (Maynard)
+I only am the man (Maynard)
+I saw my Lady weep (John Dowland)
+I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy's pleasure (Wilbye)
+I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile (Gibbons)
+I will no more come to thee (Morley)
+If fathers knew but how to leave (Jones)
+If I urge my kind desires (Campion and Rosseter)
+If my complaints could passions move (John Dowland)
+If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 'tis to love (Campion)
+If women could be fair and never fond (Byrd)
+In crystal towers and turrets richly set (Byrd)
+In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be (Coprario)
+In midst of woods or pleasant grove (Mundy)
+In pride of May (Weelkes)
+In Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood (Jones)
+In the merry month of May (Este)
+Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave (Greaves)
+Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me (Lichfild)
+Is Love a boy,--what means he then to strike (Byrd)
+It was the frog in the well (Melismata)
+
+Jack and Joan they think no ill (Campion)
+
+Kind are her answers (Campion)
+Kind in unkindness, when will you relent (Campion and Rosseter)
+
+Lady, the birds right fairly (Weelkes)
+Lady, the melting crystal of your eye (Greaves)
+Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting (Wilbye)
+Let not Chloris think, because (Danyel)
+Let not the sluggish sleep (Byrd)
+Let us in a lovers' round (Mason and Earsden)
+Like two proud armies marching in the field (Weelkes)
+Lo! country sport that seldom fades (Weelkes)
+Lo! when back mine eye (Campion)
+Long have I lived in Court (Maynard)
+Love is a bable (Jones)
+Love not me for comely grace (Wilbye)
+Love's god is a boy (Jones)
+Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly (Jones)
+
+"Maids are simple," some men say (Campion)
+Maids to bed and cover coal (Melismata)
+More than most fair, full of all heavenly fire (Peerson)
+Mother, I will have a husband (Vautor)
+My hope a counsel with my heart (Este)
+My love bound me with a kiss (Jones)
+My love is neither young nor old (Jones)
+My mind to me a kingdom is (Byrd)
+My prime of youth is but a frost of cares (Mundy)
+My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love (Campion)
+My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love (John Dowland)
+
+Never love unless you can (Campion)
+Now each creature joys the other (Farmer)
+Now every tree renews his summer's green (Weelkes)
+Now God be with old Simeon (Pammelia)
+Now have I learn'd with much ado at last (Jones)
+Now I see thy looks were feigned (Ford)
+Now is my Chloris fresh as May (Weelkes)
+Now is the month of maying (Morley)
+Now let her change! and spare not (Campion)
+Now let us make a merry greeting (Weelkes)
+Now what is love, I pray thee tell (Jones)
+Now winter nights enlarge (Campion)
+
+O say, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries (Ward)
+O stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting (Farmer)
+O sweet, alas, what say you (Morley)
+O sweet delight, O more than human bliss (Campion)
+Oft have I mused the cause to find (Jones)
+On a time the amorous Silvy (Attye)
+Once did I love and yet I live (Jones)
+Once I thought to die for love (Youll)
+Our country swains in the morris dance (Weelkes)
+
+Pierce did love fair Petronel (Farnaby)
+Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears (Pilkington)
+
+Robin is a lovely lad (Mason and Earsden)
+Round-a, round-a, keep your ring (Ravenscroft)
+
+See, see, mine own sweet jewel (Morley)
+Shall a frown or angry eye (Corkine)
+Shall I abide this jesting (Alison)
+Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee (Campion)
+Shall I look to ease my grief (Jones)
+She whose matchless beauty staineth (Jones)
+Shoot, false Love! I care not (Morley)
+Silly boy! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly (Campion)
+Simkin said that Sis was fair (Farnaby)
+Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye (Ford)
+Sing we and chant it (Morley)
+Sister, awake! close not your eyes (Bateson)
+Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me (Campion)
+So light is love, in matchless beauty shining (Wilbye)
+Some can flatter, some can feign (Corkine)
+Sweet, come again (Campion and Rosseter)
+Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire (Corkine)
+Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep (Weelkes)
+Sweet Kate (Jones)
+Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory (Wilbye)
+Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee (Weelkes)
+Sweet Love, my only treasure (Jones)
+Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise (John Dowland)
+Sweet Suffolk owl so trimly dight (Vautor)
+
+Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever (Weelkes)
+Take time while time doth last (Farmer)
+The fly she sat in shamble-row (Deuteromelia)
+The Gods have heard my vows (Weelkes)
+The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best (Pammelia)
+The love of change hath changed the world throughout (Carlton)
+The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall (John Dowland)
+The man of life upright (Campion and Rosseter)
+The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure (Byrd)
+The match that's made for just and true respects (Byrd)
+The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay (Byrd)
+The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth (Bateson)
+The peaceful western wind (Campion)
+There is a garden in her face (Campion)
+There is a lady sweet and kind (Ford)
+There were three Ravens sat on a tree (Melismata)
+Think'st thou, Kate, to put me down (Jones)
+Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning (Campion)
+Thou art but young, thou say'st (Wilbye)
+Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white (Campion and Rosseter)
+Thou pretty bird, how do I see (Danyel)
+Though Amaryllis dance in green (Byrd)
+Though my carriage be but careless (Weelkes)
+Though your strangeness frets my heart (Jones)
+Thrice blessed be the giver (Farnaby)
+Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air (Campion)
+Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so (Campion)
+Thus saith my Chloris bright (Wilbye)
+Thus saith my Galatea (Morley)
+To his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres (Campion)
+To plead my faith, where faith hath no reward (Robert Dowland)
+To shorten winter's sadness (Weelkes)
+Toss not my soul, O Love, 'twixt hope and fear (John Dowland)
+Turn all thy thoughts to eyes (Campion)
+
+Unto the temple of thy beauty (Ford)
+Upon a hill the bonny boy (Weelkes)
+Upon a summer's day Love went to swim (Byrd)
+
+Vain men! whose follies make a god of love (Campion)
+
+Wake, sleepy Thyrsis, wake (Pilkington)
+We be soldiers three (Deuteromelia)
+We be three poor mariners (Deuteromelia)
+We must not part as others do (Egerton MS. 2013)
+We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play (Weelkes)
+Wedded to will is witless (Byrd)
+Weep no more, thou sorry boy (Tomkins)
+Weep you no more, sad fountains (John Dowland)
+Welcome, sweet pleasure (Weelkes)
+Were I a king I might command content (Mundy)
+Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me (Campion)
+What hap had I to marry a shrow (Pammelia)
+What is our life? a play of passion (Gibbons)
+What needeth all this travail and turmoiling (Wilbye)
+What pleasure have great Princes (Byrd)
+What poor astronomers are they (John Dowland)
+What then is love, sings Corydon (Ford)
+When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth (Carlton)
+When I was otherwise than now I am (Byrd)
+When thou must home to shades of underground (Campion and Rosseter)
+When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight (Byrd)
+Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking (Wilbye)
+Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought (Peerson)
+Whether men do laugh or weep (Campion and Rosseter)
+While that the sun with his beams hot (Byrd)
+Whilst youthful sports are lasting (Weelkes)
+White as lilies was her face (John Dowland)
+Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers (Pilkington)
+Who likes to love, let him take heed (Byrd)
+Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough (Byrd)
+Who prostrate lies at women's feet (Bateson)
+Who would have thought that face of thine (Farmer)
+Why are you Ladies staying (Weelkes)
+Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me (John Dowland)
+Wise men patience never want (Campion)
+Woeful heart with grief oppressed (John Dowland)
+
+Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes (Greaves)
+You blessed bowers whose green leaves now are spreading (Farmer)
+You that wont to my pipe's sound (Morley)
+Your shining eyes and golden hair (Bateson)
+
+
+
+
+      LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN
+            SONG-BOOKS.
+
+
+    _Let well-tuned words amaze
+    With harmony divine._
+                        CAMPION.
+
+
+
+
+LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN SONG-BOOKS.
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    A little pretty bonny lass was walking
+      In midst of May before the sun gan rise;
+    I took her by the hand and fell to talking
+      Of this and that as best I could devise:
+    I swore I would--yet still she said I should not;
+    Do what I would, and yet for all I could not.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    A shepherd in a shade his plaining made
+      Of love and lover's wrong
+    Unto the fairest lass that trod on grass,
+      And thus began his song:
+    "Since Love and Fortune will, I honour still
+      Your fair and lovely eye:
+    What conquest will it be, sweet Nymph, for thee
+      If I for sorrow die?
+        Restore, restore my heart again
+        Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,
+        Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
+        I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.'
+
+    "My heart where have you laid? O cruel maid,
+      To kill when you might save!
+    Why have ye cast it forth as nothing worth,
+      Without a tomb or grave?
+    O let it be entombed and lie
+      In your sweet mind and memory,
+    Lest I resound on every warbling string
+      'Fie, fie on love! that is a foolish thing.'
+        Restore, restore my heart again
+        Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,
+        Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
+        I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.'"
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    A Sparrow-Hawk proud did hold in wicked jail
+    Music's sweet chorister, the nightingale,
+    To whom with sighs she said: "O set me free!
+    And in my song I'll praise no bird but thee."
+    The hawk replied, "I will not lose my diet
+    To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet."
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+        A woman's looks
+        Are barbed hooks,
+        That catch by art
+        The strongest heart
+    When yet they spend no breath;
+        But let them speak,
+        And sighing break
+        Forth into tears,
+        Their words are spears
+    That wound our souls to death.
+
+        The rarest wit
+        Is made forget,
+        And like a child
+        Is oft beguiled
+    With love's sweet-seeming bait;
+        Love with his rod
+        So like a God
+        Commands the mind;
+        We cannot find,
+    Fair shows hide foul deceit.
+
+        Time, that all things
+        In order brings,
+        Hath taught me how
+        To be more slow
+    In giving faith to speech,
+        Since women's words
+        No truth affords,
+        And when they kiss
+        They think by this
+    Us men to over-reach.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.
+
+    About the maypole new, with glee and merriment,
+        While as the bagpipe tooted it,
+        Thyrsis and Chloris fine together footed it:
+    And to the joyous instrument
+        Still they went to and fro, and finely flaunted it,
+        And then both met again and thus they chaunted it.
+                                            Fa la!
+
+    The shepherds and the nymphs them round enclosed had,
+        Wond'ring with what facility,
+        About they turn'd them in such strange agility;
+    And still when they unloosed had,
+        With words full of delight they gently kissed them,
+        And thus sweetly to sing they never missed them.
+                                            Fa la!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Adieu, sweet Amaryllis!
+    For since to part your will is,
+    O heavy, heavy tiding!
+    Here is for me no biding.
+    Yet once again, ere that I part with you,
+    Adieu, sweet Amaryllis; sweet, adieu!
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Madrigals_, 1594.
+
+    April is in my mistress' face,
+    And July in her eyes hath place;
+    Within her bosom is September,
+    But in her heart a cold December.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun,
+    Call all the winds to make you speedy wings,
+    And to my fairest Maya see you run
+    And weep your last while wantonly she sings;
+    Then if you cannot move her heart to pity,
+    Let _Oh, alas, ay me_ be all your ditty.
+
+    Arise, my thoughts, no more, if you return
+    Denied of grace which only you desire,
+    But let the sun your wings to ashes burn
+    And melt your passions in his quenchless fire;
+    Yet, if you move fair Maya's heart to pity,
+    Let smiles and love and kisses be your ditty.
+
+    Arise, my thoughts, beyond the highest star
+    And gently rest you in fair Maya's eye,
+    For that is fairer than the brightest are;
+    But, if she frown to see you climb so high,
+    Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty,
+    Of smiles and love and kisses, beg for pity.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite
+        That sleep'st the deadly sleep of sin!
+    Rise now and walk the ways of light,
+        'Tis not too late yet to begin.
+    Seek heaven early, seek it late;
+    True Faith finds still an open gate.
+
+    Get up, get up, thou leaden man!
+        Thy track, to endless joy or pain,
+    Yields but the model of a span:
+        Yet burns out thy life's lamp in vain!
+    One minute bounds thy bane or bliss;
+    Then watch and labour while time is.
+
+
+From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to three voices_, 1608.
+
+    Awake, sweet Love! 'tis time to rise:
+        Ph[oe]bus is risen in the east,
+    Spreading his beams on those fair eyes
+        Which are enclosed with Nature's rest.
+    Awake, awake from heavy sleep
+    Which all thy thoughts in silence keep!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Ay me, can every rumour
+    Thus start my lady's humour?
+    Name ye some galante to her,
+    Why straight forsooth I woo her.
+    Then burst[s] she forth in passion
+    "You men love but for fashion;"
+    Yet sure I am that no man
+    Ever so loved woman.
+    Then alas, Love, be wary,
+    For women be contrary.
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Ay me, my mistress scorns my love;
+    I fear she will most cruel prove.
+    I weep, I sigh, I grieve, I groan;
+    Yet she regardeth not my moan.
+    Then, Love, adieu! it fits not me
+    To weep for her that laughs at thee.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    Behold a wonder here!
+    Love hath receiv'd his sight!
+    Which many hundred year
+    Hath not beheld the light.
+
+    Such beams infused be
+    By Cynthia in his eyes,
+    As first have made him see
+    And then have made him wise.
+
+    Love now no more will weep
+    For them that laugh the while!
+    Nor wake for them that sleep,
+    Nor sigh for them that smile!
+
+    So powerful is the Beauty
+    That Love doth now behold,
+    As Love is turned to Duty
+    That's neither blind nor bold.
+
+    Thus Beauty shows her might
+    To be of double kind;
+    In giving Love his sight
+    And striking Folly blind.
+
+
+From the Second Book of _Musica Transalpina_, 1597.
+
+          Brown is my Love, but graceful:
+          And each renowned whiteness
+    Match'd with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness.
+
+          Fair is my Love, but scornful:
+          Yet have I seen despised
+    Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prized.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    By a fountain where I lay,
+    (All blessed be that blessed day!)
+    By the glimm'ring of the sun,
+    (O never be her shining done!)
+        When I might see alone
+        My true Love, fairest one!
+            Love's dear light!
+            Love's clear sight!
+    No world's eyes can clearer see!
+    A fairer sight, none can be!
+
+    Fair with garlands all addrest,
+    (Was never Nymph more fairly blest!)
+    Blessed in the highest degree,
+    (So may she ever blessed be!)
+        Came to this fountain near,
+        With such a smiling cheer!
+            Such a face,
+            Such a grace!
+    Happy, happy eyes, that see
+    Such a heavenly sight as She!
+
+    Then I forthwith took my pipe,
+    Which I all fair and clean did wipe,
+    And upon a heavenly ground,
+    All in the grace of beauty found,
+        Play'd this roundelay:
+        "Welcome, fair Queen of May!
+            Sing, sweet air!
+            Welcome, Fair!
+    Welcome be the Shepherds' Queen,
+    The glory of all our green!"
+
+
+From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse, &c._, 1614.
+
+    THE URCHINS' DANCE.
+
+    By the moon we sport and play,
+    With the night begins our day:
+    As we frisk the dew doth fall;
+    Trip it, little urchins all!
+    Lightly as the little bee,
+    Two by two, and three by three;
+    And about, about go we.
+
+
+    THE ELVES' DANCE.
+
+    Round about in a fair ring-a,
+    Thus we dance and thus we sing-a;
+    Trip and go, to and fro,
+    Over this green-a;
+    All about, in and out,
+    Over this green-a.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    THE COURTIER'S GOOD MORROW TO HIS MISTRESS.
+
+    Canst thou love and lie alone?
+    Love is so disgraced,
+    Pleasure is best
+    Wherein is rest
+    In a heart embraced.
+    Rise, rise, rise!
+    Daylight do not burn out;
+    Bells do ring and birds do sing,
+    Only I that mourn out.
+
+    Morning-star doth now appear,
+    Wind is hushed and sky is clear;
+    Come, come away, come, come away!
+    Canst thou love and burn out day?
+    Rise, rise, rise!
+    Daylight do not burn out;
+    Bells do ring [and] birds do sing,
+    Only I that mourn out.
+
+
+From ROBERT DOWLAND's _Musical Banquet_, 1610. (Lines by the Earl of
+Essex.)
+
+    Change thy mind since she doth change,
+      Let not fancy still abuse thee,
+    Thy untruth cannot seem strange
+      When her falsehood doth excuse thee:
+    Love is dead and thou art free,
+    She doth live but dead to thee.
+
+    Whilst she loved thee best a while,
+      See how she hath still delayed thee:
+    Using shows for to beguile,
+      Those vain hopes that have deceived thee:
+    Now thou seest, although too late,
+    Love loves truth which women hate.
+
+    Love no more since she is gone,
+      She is gone and loves another:
+    Being once deceived by one,
+      Leave her love but love none other.
+    She was false, bid her adieu,
+    She was best but yet untrue.
+
+    Love, farewell, more dear to me
+      Than my life, which thou preservest.
+    Life, all joys are gone from thee;
+      Others have what thou deservest.
+    Oh my death doth spring from hence,
+    I must die for her offence.
+
+    Die, but yet before thou die,
+      Make her know what she hath gotten,
+    She in whom my hopes did lie
+      Now is changed, I quite forgotten.
+    She is changed, but changed base,
+    Baser in so vild a place.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Cold Winter's ice is fled and gone,
+      And Summer brags on every tree,
+    The red-breast peeps amidst the throng
+      Of wood-born birds that wanton be:
+    Each one forgets what they have been,
+    And so doth Phyllis, Summer's queen.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Come away! come, sweet Love!
+    The golden morning breaks;
+    All the earth, all the air,
+    Of love and pleasure speaks!
+    Teach thine arms then to embrace,
+    And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
+    And mix our souls in mutual bliss.
+    Eyes were made for beauty's grace
+    Viewing, ruing, love's long pain;
+    Procured by beauty's rude disdain.
+
+    Come away![3] come, sweet Love!
+    The golden morning wastes
+    While the sun from his sphere
+    His fiery arrows casts:
+    Making all the shadows fly,
+    Playing, staying in the grove
+    To entertain the stealth of love.
+    Thither, sweet Love, let us hie,
+    Flying, dying in desire,
+    Wing'd with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.
+
+    Come away! come, sweet Love!
+    Do not in vain adorn
+    Beauty's grace, that should rise
+    Like to our naked morn!
+    Lilies on the river's side,
+    And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown,
+    Desire no beauties but their own:
+    Ornament is nurse of pride.
+    Pleasure measure[s] love's delight:
+    Haste then, sweet love, our wished flight!
+
+[3] This stanza is not in the original, but is added in _England's
+Helicon_.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Come, O come, my life's delight!
+      Let me not in languor pine!
+    Love loves no delay; thy sight
+      The more enjoyed, the more divine!
+    O come, and take from me
+    The pain of being deprived of thee!
+
+    Thou all sweetness dost enclose,
+      Like a little world of bliss;
+    Beauty guards thy looks, the rose
+      In them pure and eternal is:
+    Come, then, and make thy flight
+    As swift to me as heavenly light!
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers:
+    Here shelter is from sharpest showers,
+    Cool gales of wind breathe in these shades,
+    Danger none this place invades;
+        Here sit and note the chirping birds
+        Pleading my love in silent words.
+
+    Come, Phyllis, come, bright heaven's eye
+    Cannot upon thy beauty pry;
+    Glad Echo in distinguished voice
+    Naming thee will here rejoice;
+        Then come and hear her merry lays
+        Crowning thy name with lasting praise.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing,
+          Now sigh and groan!
+    Dead is my Love, my Hope, my Joy, my Spring;
+          Dead, dead, and gone!
+    O, She that was your Summer's Queen,
+          Your days' delight,
+    Is gone and will no more be seen;
+          O, cruel spite!
+    Break all your pipes that wont to sound
+          With pleasant cheer,
+    And cast yourselves upon the ground
+          To wail my Dear!
+    Come, shepherd swains, come, nymphs, and all a-row
+          To help me cry:
+    Dead is my Love, and, seeing She is so,
+          Lo, now I die!
+
+
+From _Two Books of Airs_, by THOMAS CAMPION (circ. 1613).
+
+    Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton,
+      Leave your crafty smiling!
+    Think you to escape me now
+      With slipp'ry words beguiling?
+    No; you mocked me th' other day;
+      When you got loose, you fled away;
+    But, since I have caught you now,
+      I'll clip your wings for flying:
+    Smoth'ring kisses fast I'll heap
+      And keep you so from crying.
+
+    Sooner may you count the stars
+      And number hail down-pouring,
+    Tell the osiers of the Thames,
+      Or Goodwin sands devouring,
+    Than the thick-showered kisses here
+       Which now thy tired lips must bear.
+    Such a harvest never was
+       So rich and full of pleasure,
+    But 'tis spent as soon as reaped,
+      So trustless is lore's treasure.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Could my heart more tongues employ
+      Than it harbours thoughts of grief,
+    It is now so far from joy
+      That it scarce could ask relief:
+    Truest hearts by deeds unkind
+    To despair are most inclined.
+
+    Happy minds that can redeem
+      Their engagements how they please,
+    That no joys or hopes esteem
+      Half so precious as their ease:
+    Wisdom should prepare men so,
+    As if they did all foreknow.
+
+    Yet no art or caution can
+      Grown affections easily change;
+    Use is such a lord of man
+      That he brooks worst what is strange:
+    Better never to be blest
+    Than to lose all at the best.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    Crowned with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis
+      By Thyrsis sit, hard by a fount of crystal,
+    And with her hand more white than snow or lilies,
+      On sand she wrote _My faith shall be immortal_:
+    And suddenly a storm of wind and weather
+    Blew all her faith and sand away together.
+
+
+From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse_, 1614.
+
+    THE FAIRIES' DANCE.
+
+    Dare you haunt our hallow'd green?
+    None but fairies here are seen.
+    Down and sleep,
+    Wake and weep,
+    Pinch him black, and pinch him blue,
+    That seeks to steal a lover true!
+    When you come to hear us sing,
+    Or to tread our fairy ring,
+    Pinch him black, and pinch him blue!
+    O thus our nails shall handle you!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent,
+    Heaping flatt'ries that in heart were never meant,
+          Easily could I then obtain
+            What now in vain I force;
+          Falsehood much doth gain,
+            Truth yet holds the better course.
+
+    Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive,
+    Or, in praising you, myself of truth deprive!
+          Let not your high thoughts debase
+            A simple truth in me;
+          Great is Beauty's grace,
+            Truth is yet as fair as she.
+
+    Praise is but the wind of pride if it exceeds,
+    Wealth prized in itself no outward value needs:
+          Fair you are, and passing fair;
+            You know it, and 'tis true;
+          Yet let none despair
+            But to find as fair as you.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again;
+    Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love;
+    Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain;
+    Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove.
+    Dear, sweet, fair, wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak;
+    And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.
+
+    Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
+    Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move;
+    Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born;
+    Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
+    Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
+    Ere I prove false to faith or strange to you.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Canzonets_, 1593.
+
+    Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing?
+    Because with me once gazing
+    On those fair eyes where all powers have their being,
+    She with her beauty blazing,
+    Which death might have revived,
+    Him of his sight and me of heart deprived.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares
+      That do arise from painful melancholy;
+    My life so ill through want of comfort fares,
+      That unto thee I consecrate it wholly.
+
+    Sweet Night, draw on; my griefs, when they be told
+      To shades and darkness, find some ease from paining;
+    And while thou all in silence dost enfold,
+      I then shall have best time for my complaining.
+
+
+From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to three Voices_, 1608.
+
+    Each day of thine, sweet month of May,
+    Love makes a solemn holyday:
+        I will perform like duty,
+    Since thou resemblest every way
+        Astraea, Queen of Beauty.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Every dame affects good fame, whate'er her doings be,
+    But true praise is Virtue's bays, which none may wear but she.
+    Borrowed guise fits not the wise, a simple look is best;
+    Native grace becomes a face though ne'er so rudely drest.
+    Now such new-found toys are sold these women to disguise,
+    That before the year grows old the newest fashion dies.
+
+    Dames of yore contended more in goodness to exceed,
+    Than in pride to be envied for that which least they need.
+    Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn, if Pawn at all there were;
+    Homespun thread and household bread then held out all the year.
+    But th' attires of women now wear out both house and land;
+    That the wives in silk may flow, at ebb the good men stand.
+
+    Once again, Astraea! then from heaven to earth descend,
+    And vouchsafe in their behalf these errors to amend.
+    Aid from heaven must make all even, things are so out of frame;
+    For let man strive all he can, he needs must please his dame.
+    Happy man, content that gives and what he gives enjoys!
+    Happy dame, content that lives and breaks no sleep for toys!
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone,
+        Feeding her flock near to the mountain-side;
+    The shepherds knew not whither she was gone,
+        But after her lover Amyntas hied.
+    Up and down he wandered, whilst she was missing;
+    When he found her, oh then they fell a-kissing!
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies,
+      A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
+    An envious boy from whom all cares arise,
+      A bastard vile, a beast with rage possest;
+    A way of error, a temple full of treason,
+    In all effects contrary unto reason.
+
+    A poison'd serpent cover'd all with flowers,
+      Mother of sighs and murderer of repose;
+    A sea of sorrows from whence are drawn such showers
+      As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
+    A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
+    A gilded hook that holds a poison'd bait.
+
+    A fortress foiled which Reason did defend,
+      A Siren song, a fever of the mind,
+    A maze wherein affection finds no end,
+      A raging cloud that runs before the wind;
+    A substance like the shadow of the sun,
+    A goal of grief for which the wisest run.
+
+    A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,
+      A path that leads to peril and mishap,
+    A true retreat of sorrow and despair,
+      An idle boy that sleeps in Pleasure's lap;
+    A deep distrust of that which certain seems,
+    A hope of that which Reason doubtful deems.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Farewell, my joy!
+        Adieu, my love and pleasure!
+    To sport and toy
+        We have no longer leisure.
+                              Fa la la!
+
+    Farewell, adieu
+        Until our next consorting!
+    Sweet love, be true!
+        And thus we end our sporting.
+                              Fa la la!
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new,
+      Good pennyworths,--but money cannot move:
+    I keep a fair but for the Fair to view,--
+      A beggar may be liberal of love.
+    Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,
+                                The heart is true.
+
+    Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again,
+      My trifles come as treasures from my mind;
+    It is a precious jewel to be plain;
+      Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearls we find:
+    Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain!
+                                Of me a grain!
+
+    Within this pack pins, points, laces, and gloves,
+      And divers toys fitting a country fair,
+    But my heart, wherein duty serves and loves,
+      Turtles and twins, court's brood, a heavenly pair--
+    Happy the heart that thinks of no removes!
+                                Of no removes!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed,
+    Flowers that will thrive in sunny soil are bred:
+    How can a heart feel heat that no hope finds?
+    Or can he love on whom no comfort shines?
+
+    Fair, I confess there's pleasure in your sight;
+    Sweet, you have power, I grant, of all delight;
+    But what is all to me if I have none?
+    Churl that you are t'enjoy such wealth alone!
+
+    Prayers move the heavens but find no grace with you,
+    Yet in your looks a heavenly form I view;
+    Then will I pray again, hoping to find,
+    As well as in your looks, heaven in your mind.
+
+    Saint of my heart, queen of my life and love,
+    O let my vows thy loving spirit move!
+    Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain,
+    But with one touch of grace cure all my pain!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Flora gave me fairest flowers,
+      None so fair in Flora's treasure;
+    These I placed on Phyllis' bowers,
+      She was pleased, and she my pleasure:
+    Smiling meadows seem to say,
+    "Come, ye wantons, here to play."
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet!
+    Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet!
+    There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move,
+    And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:
+    But, if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,
+    Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne'er return again.
+
+    All that I sang still to her praise did tend,
+    Still she was first, still she my songs did end;
+    Yet she my love and music both doth fly,
+    The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy:
+    Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight!
+    It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her delight.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    {ouk esti gemas hostis ou cheimazetai,
+    legousi pantes; kai gamousin eidotes.}
+                                 _Anthol. Graec._
+
+    Fond wanton youths make love a God
+    Which after proveth Age's rod;
+    Their youth, their time, their wit, their art
+    They spend in seeking of their smart;
+    And, which of follies is the chief,
+    They woo their woe, they wed their grief.
+
+    All find it so who wedded are,
+    Love's sweets, they find, enfold sour care;
+    His pleasures pleasing'st in the eye,
+    Which tasted once with loathing die:
+    They find of follies 'tis the chief,
+    Their woe to woo, to wed their grief.
+
+    If for their own content they choose
+    Forthwith their kindred's love they lose;
+    And if their kindred they content,
+    For ever after they repent;
+    O 'tis of all our follies chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+    In bed, what strifes are bred by day,
+    Our puling wives do open lay;
+    None friends, none foes we must esteem
+    But whom they so vouchsafe to deem:
+    O 'tis of all our follies chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+    Their smiles we want if aught they want,
+    And either we their wills must grant
+    Or die they will, or are with child;
+    Their longings must not be beguiled:
+    O 'tis of all our follies chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+    Foul wives are jealous, fair wives false,
+    Marriage to either binds us thrall;
+    Wherefore being bound we must obey
+    And forced be perforce to say,--
+    Of all our bliss it is the chief,
+    Our woe to woo, to wed our grief.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    From Citheron the warlike boy is fled
+        And smiling sits upon a Virgin's lap,--
+        Thereby to train poor misers to the trap,
+    Whom Beauty draws with fancy to be fed:
+    And when Desire with eager looks is led,
+            Then from her eyes
+            The arrow flies,
+    Feather'd with flame, arm'd with a golden head.
+
+    Her careless thoughts are freed of that flame
+        Wherewith her thralls are scorched to the heart:
+        If Love would so, would God the enchanting dart
+    Might once return and burn from whence it came!
+    Not to deface of Beauty's work the frame,
+            But by rebound
+            It might be found
+    What secret smart I suffer by the same.
+
+    If Love be just, then just is my desire;
+        And if unjust, why is he call'd a God?
+        O God, O God, O Just! reserve thy rod
+    To chasten those that from thy laws retire!
+    But choose aright (good Love! I thee require)
+            The golden head,
+            Not that of lead!
+    Her heart is frost and must dissolve by fire.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1600.
+
+    TO MASTER HUGH HOLLAND.
+
+    From Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired,
+    In these sad groves an hermit's life I lead:
+    And those false pleasures, which I once admired,
+    With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread.
+    To birds, to trees, to earth, impart I this;
+    For she less secret, and as senseless is.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+    Experience which repentance only brings,
+    Doth bid me, now, my heart from Love estrange!
+    Love is disdained when it doth look at Kings;
+    And Love low placed base and apt to change.
+    There Power doth take from him his liberty,
+    Her[e] Want of Worth makes him in cradle die.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+    You men that give false worship unto Love,
+    And seek that which you never shall obtain;
+    The endless work of Sisyphus you prove,
+    Whose end is this, to know you strive in vain.
+    Hope and Desire, which now your idols be,
+    You needs must lose, and feel Despair with me.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+    You woods, in you the fairest Nymphs have walked:
+    Nymphs at whose sights all hearts did yield to love.
+    You woods, in whom dear lovers oft have talked,
+    How do you now a place of mourning prove?
+    Wanstead! my Mistress saith this is the doom.
+    Thou art love's child-bed, nursery, and tomb.
+        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
+        O how much do I love your solitariness!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Give Beauty all her right!
+      She's not to one form tied;
+    Each shape yields fair delight
+      Where her perfections bide:
+    Helen, I grant, might pleasing be,
+    And Ros'mond was as sweet as she.
+
+    Some the quick eye commends,
+      Some swelling[4] lips and red;
+    Pale looks have many friends,
+      Through sacred sweetness bred:
+    Meadows have flowers that pleasures move,
+    Though roses are the flowers of love.
+
+    Free beauty is not bound
+      To one unmoved clime;
+    She visits every ground
+      And favours every time.
+    Let the old loves with mine compare,
+    My sovereign is as sweet and fair.
+
+[4] Old ed. "smelling."
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Go crystal tears! like to the morning showers,
+      And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast!
+    And as the dews revive the drooping flowers,
+      So let your drops of pity be addrest!
+    To quicken up the thoughts of my desert,
+    Which sleeps too sound whilst I from her depart.
+
+    Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath
+      Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart!
+    Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,
+      Feels never any touch of my desert.
+    Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice
+    Both from a spotless heart and patient eyes.
+
+
+From EGERTON MS., 2013. _The Verses were set to Music by Dr. John
+Wilson._
+
+    Go, turn away those cruel eyes,
+      For they have quite undone me;
+    They used not so to tyrannize
+      When first those glances won me.
+
+    But 'tis the custom of you men,--
+      False men thus to deceive us!
+    To love but till we love again,
+      And then again to leave us.
+
+    Go, let alone my heart and me,
+      Which thou hast thus affrighted!
+    I did not think I could by thee
+      Have been so ill requited.
+
+    But now I find 'tis I must prove
+      That men have no compassion;
+    When we are won, you never love
+      Poor women, but for fashion,
+
+    Do recompense my love with hate,
+      And kill my heart! I'm sure
+    Thou'lt one day say, when 'tis too late,
+      Thou never hadst a truer.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Second Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Good men show! if you can tell,
+    Where doth Human Pity dwell?
+    Far and near her I would seek,
+    So vexed with sorrow is my breast.
+    "She," they say, "to all, is meek;
+    And only makes th' unhappy blest."
+
+    Oh! if such a saint there be,
+    Some hope yet remains for me:
+    Prayer or sacrifice may gain
+    From her implored grace, relief;
+    To release me of my pain,
+    Or at the least to ease my grief.
+
+    Young am I, and far from guile,
+    The more is my woe the while:
+    Falsehood, with a smooth disguise,
+    My simple meaning hath abused:
+    Casting mists before mine eyes,
+    By which my senses are confused.
+
+    Fair he is, who vowed to me,
+    That he only mine would be;
+    But alas, his mind is caught
+    With every gaudy bait he sees:
+    And, too late, my flame is taught
+    That too much kindness makes men freeze.
+
+    From me, all my friends are gone,
+    While I pine for him alone;
+    And not one will rue my case,
+    But rather my distress deride:
+    That I think, there is no place,
+    Where Pity ever yet did bide.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    Ha ha! ha ha! this world doth pass
+      Most merrily, I'll be sworn;
+    For many an honest Indian ass
+      Goes for an Unicorn.
+                  Farra, diddle dino;
+                  This is idle fino.
+
+    Ty hye! ty hye! O sweet delight!
+      He tickles this age that can
+    Call Tullia's ape a marmosyte
+      And Leda's goose a swan.
+                  Farra diddle dino;
+                  This is idle fino.
+
+    So so! so so! fine English days!
+      When false play's no reproach:
+    For he that doth the coachman praise,
+      May safely use the coach.
+                  Farra diddle dino;
+                  This is idle fino.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES's _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+          Happy he
+        Who, to sweet home retired,
+        Shuns glory so admired,
+          And to himself lives free,
+    Whilst he who strives with pride to climb the skies
+    Falls down with foul disgrace before he rise.
+
+          Let who will
+        The active life commend
+        And all his travels bend
+          Earth with his fame to fill:
+    Such fame, so forced, at last dies with his death,
+    Which life maintain'd by others' idle breath.
+
+          My delights,
+        To dearest home confined,
+        Shall there make good my mind
+          Not aw'd with fortune's spites:
+    High trees heaven blasts, winds shake and honors[5] fell,
+    When lowly plants long time in safety dwell.
+
+          All I can,
+        My worldly strife shall be
+        They one day say of me
+          'He died a good old man':
+    On his sad soul a heavy burden lies
+    Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies.
+
+[5] Qy. "hammers"?
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Happy, O! happy he, who not affecting
+      The endless toils attending worldly cares,
+    With mind reposed, all discontents rejecting,
+      In silent peace his way to heaven prepares,
+    Deeming this life a scene, the world a stage
+    Whereon man acts his weary pilgrimage.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Set Of Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    Have I found her? O rich finding!
+      Goddess-like for to behold,
+    Her fair tresses seemly binding
+      In a chain of pearl and gold.
+    Chain me, chain me, O most fair,
+    Chain me to thee with that hair!
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more!
+      Sit down and take thy rest;
+    Of golden groats I have full store
+      To flaunt it with the best.
+    But I love and I love, and who thinks you?
+    The finest lass that e'er you knew,
+    Which makes me sing when I should cry
+    Heigh ho! for love I die.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE BACHELOR.
+
+    How many things as yet
+      Are dear alike to me!
+    The field, the horse, the dog,
+      Love, arms, or liberty.
+
+    I have no wife as yet
+      That I may call mine own;
+    I have no children yet
+      That by my name are known.
+
+    Yet, if I married were,
+      I would not wish to thrive
+    If that I could not tame
+      The veriest shrew alive.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    How shall I then describe my Love?
+      When all men's skilful art
+    Is far inferior to her worth,
+      To praise the unworthiest part.
+
+    She's chaste in looks, mild in her speech,
+      In actions all discreet,
+    Of nature loving, pleasing most,
+      In virtue all complete.
+
+    And for her voice a Philomel,
+      Her lips may all lips scorn;
+    No sun more clear than is her eye,
+      In brightest summer morn.
+
+    A mind wherein all virtues rest
+      And take delight to be,
+    And where all virtues graft themselves
+      In that most fruitful tree:
+
+    A tree that India doth not yield,
+      Nor ever yet was seen,
+    Where buds of virtue always spring,
+      And all the year grow green.
+
+    That country's blest wherein she grows,
+      And happy is that rock
+    From whence she springs: but happiest he
+      That grafts in such a stock.
+
+
+From HENRY LICHFILD's _First Set of Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    I always loved to call my lady Rose,
+    For in her cheeks roses do sweetly glose,
+    And from her lips she such sweet odours threw
+    As roses do 'gainst Ph[oe]bus' morning-view:
+    But when I thought to pull't, hope was bereft me,--
+    My rose was gone and naught but prickles left me.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    A WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT'S SON.
+
+    I have house and land in Kent,
+      And if you'll love me, love me now;
+    Twopence-halfpenny is my rent,
+      I cannot come every day to woo.
+        Chorus. _Twopence-halfpenny is his rent,
+                And he cannot come every day to woo._
+
+    Ich am my vather's eldest zonne,
+      My mother eke doth love me well,
+    For ich can bravely clout my shoone,
+      And ich full well can ring a bell.
+        Chorus. _For he can bravely clout his shoone,
+                And he full well can ring a bell._
+
+    My vather he gave me a hog,
+      My mouther she gave me a zow;
+    I have a God-vather dwels thereby,
+      And he on me bestowed a plow.
+        Chorus. _He has a God-vather dwells thereby,
+                And he on him bestowed a plough._
+
+    One time I gave thee a paper of pins,
+      Another time a tawdry-lace;
+    And if thou wilt not grant me love,
+      In truth ich die bevore thy face.
+        Chorus. _And if thou wilt not grant his love,
+                In truth he'll die bevore thy vace._
+
+    Ich have been twice our Whitson-lord,
+      Ich have had ladies many vair,
+    And eke thou hast my heart in hold
+      And in my mind zeems passing rare.
+        Chorus. _And eke thou hast his heart in hold
+                And in his mind seems passing rare._
+
+    Ich will put on my best white slops
+      And ich will wear my yellow hose,
+    And on my head a good grey hat,
+      And in't ich stick a lovely rose.
+        Chorus. _And on his head a good grey hat,
+                And in't he'll stick a lovely rose._
+
+    Wherefore cease off, make no delay,
+      And if you'll love me, love me now;
+    Or else ich zeek zome oderwhere,
+      For I cannot come every day to woo.
+        Chorus. _Or else he'll zeek zome oderwhere,
+                For he cannot come every day to woo._
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety_,
+1588.
+
+    I joy not in no earthly bliss,
+    I force not Cr[oe]sus' wealth a straw;
+    For care I know not what it is
+    I fear not Fortune's fatal law:
+    My mind is such as may not move
+    For beauty bright nor force of love.
+
+    I wish but what I have at will,
+    I wander not to seek for more;
+    I like the plain, I climb no hill;
+    In greatest storms I sit on shore
+    And laugh at them that toil in vain
+    To get what must be lost again.
+
+    I kiss not where I wish to kill;
+    I feign not love where most I hate;
+    I break no sleep to win my will;
+    I wait not at the mighty's gate;
+    I scorn no poor, nor fear no rich;
+    I feel no want, nor have too much.
+
+    The court and cart I like nor loath;
+    Extremes are counted worst of all;
+    The golden mean between them both
+    Doth surest sit and fears no fall.
+    This is my choice: for why? I find
+    No wealth is like the quiet mind.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    I live, and yet methinks I do not breathe;
+    I thirst and drink, I drink and thirst again;
+    I sleep and yet do dream I am awake;
+    I hope for that I have; I have and want:
+    I sing and sigh; I love and hate at once.
+      O, tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar
+      Doth cause in store such want, in peace such war?
+
+                      _Risposta._
+    There is a jewel which no Indian mines
+    Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit;
+    It makes men rich in greatest poverty;
+    Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
+    The homely whistle to sweet music's strain:
+      Seldom it come, to few from heaven sent,
+      That much in little, all in nought,--Content.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE MAID.
+
+    I marriage would forswear,
+      But that I hear men tell
+    That she that dies a maid
+      Must lead an ape in hell.
+
+    Therefore, if fortune come,
+      I will not mock and play
+    Nor drive the bargain on
+      Till it be driven away.
+
+    Titles and lands I like,
+      Yet rather fancy can
+    A man that wanteth gold
+      Than gold that wants a man.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE MARRIED MAN.
+
+    I only am the man
+      Among all married men
+    That do not wish the priest,
+      To be unlinked again.
+
+    And though my shoe did wring
+      I would not make my moan,
+    Nor think my neighbours' chance
+      More happy than mine own.
+
+    Yet court I not my wife,
+      But yield observance due,
+    Being neither fond nor cross,
+      Nor jealous nor untrue.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+        I saw my Lady weep,
+    And sorrow proud to be advanced so
+    In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
+        Her face was full of woe,
+    But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts
+    Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.
+
+        Sorrow was there made fair,
+    And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing;
+    Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare;
+        She made her sighs to sing,
+    And all things with so sweet a sadness move
+    As made my heart at once both grieve and love.
+
+        O fairer than aught else
+    The world can show, leave off in time to grieve.
+    Enough, enough; your joyful look excels;
+        Tears kill the heart, believe.
+    O strive not to be excellent in woe,
+    Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy's pleasure,
+    Where I did list, or time served best and leisure;
+    While Daphne did invite me
+    To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.
+    I smiled, but yet did doubt her,
+    And drank where she had drunk before, to flout her;
+    But, O! while I did eye her,
+    Mine eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.
+
+
+From ORLANDO GIBBONS' _First Set of Madrigals_, 1612.
+
+    I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile,
+    I joy not much in earthly joys,
+    I seek not state, I reak [_sic_] not style,
+    I am not fond of Fancy's toys.
+    I rest so pleased with what I have
+    I wish no more, no more I crave.
+
+    I tremble not at noise of war,
+    I quake not at the thunder's crack,
+    I shrink not at a blazing star,
+    I sound not at the news of wreck,
+    I fear no loss, I hope no gain,
+    I envy none, I none disdain.
+
+    I see Ambition never pleased,
+    I see some Tantals starve in store,
+    I see gold's dropsy seldom eased,
+    I see each Midas gape for more:
+    I neither want nor yet abound,
+    Enough's a feast, content is crowned.
+
+    I feign not friendship where I hate,
+    I fawn not on the great for grace,
+    I prize, I praise a mean estate
+    Ne yet too lofty, nor too base,
+    This is all my choice, my cheer--
+    A mind content and conscience clear.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Madrigals to Four Voices_, 1600.
+
+        I will no more come to thee
+        That flout'st me when I woo thee;
+        Still ty hy thou criest
+    And all my lovely rings and pins denyest.
+        O say, alas, what moves thee
+        To grieve him so that loves thee?
+    Leave, alas, then, ah leave tormenting
+    And give my burning some relenting.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    If fathers knew but how to leave
+        Their children wit as they do wealth,
+    And could constrain them to receive
+        That physic which brings perfect health,
+    The world would not admiring stand
+    A woman's face and woman's hand.
+
+    Women confess they must obey,
+      We men will needs be servants still;
+    We kiss their hands, and what they say
+      We must commend, be't ne'er so ill:
+    Thus we, like fools, admiring stand
+    Her pretty foot and pretty hand.
+
+    We blame their pride, which we increase
+      By making mountains of a mouse;
+    We praise because we know we please;
+      Poor women are too credulous
+    To think that we admiring stand
+    Or foot, or face, or foolish hand.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    If I urge my kind desires,
+      She, unkind, doth them reject,
+    Women's hearts are painted fires,
+      To deceive them that affect.
+    I alone love's fires include:
+    She alone doth them delude.
+
+    She hath often vowed her love:
+      But alas no fruit I find.
+    That her fires are false I prove
+      Yet, in her, no fault I find.
+    I was thus unhappy born,
+    And ordained to be her scorn.
+
+    Yet if human care or pain,
+      May the heavenly order change;
+    She will hate her own disdain,
+      And repent she was so strange:
+    For a truer heart than I,
+    Never lived, nor loved to die.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1597.
+
+    If my complaints could passions move,
+      Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong;
+    My passions were enough to prove
+      That my despairs had governed me too long.
+    O Love, I live and die in thee!
+    Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me.
+
+    Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks,
+      Yet thou dost hope when I despair;
+    My heart for thy unkindness breaks;
+      Thou say'st thou can'st my harms repair,
+    And when I hope thou mak'st me hope in vain;
+    Yet for redress thou let'st me still complain.
+
+    Can Love be rich, and yet I want?
+      Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemned?
+    Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant;
+      Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned!
+    That I do live, it is thy power;
+    That I desire it is thy worth.
+
+    If love doth make men's lives too sour,
+      Let me not love, nor live henceforth!
+    Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,
+      That you, that of my fall may hearers be,
+    May hear Despair, which truly saith
+    "I was more true to Love, than Love to me."
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 'tis to love,
+    Do but fix thy thoughts on me and thou shalt quickly prove:
+          Little suit at first shall win
+            Way to thy abashed desire,
+          But then will I hedge thee in,
+            Salamander-like, with fire.
+
+    With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dalliance bear;
+    We the grovy hills will climb and play the wantons there;
+          Other whiles we'll gather flowers,
+            Lying dallying on the grass;
+          And thus our delightful hours,
+            Full of waking dreams, shall pass.
+
+    When thy joys were thus at height, my love should turn from thee,
+    Old acquaintance then should grow as strange, as strange might be:
+          Twenty rivals thou shouldst find,
+            Breaking all their hearts for me,
+          While to all I'll prove more kind
+            And more forward than to thee.
+
+    Thus thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love defy,
+    But, alas, poor soul, too late! clipt wings can never fly.
+          Those sweet hours which we had past,
+            Called to thy mind, thy heart would burn;
+          And couldst thou fly ne'er so fast,
+            They would make thee straight return.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    If women could be fair and never fond,
+      Or that their beauty might continue still,
+    I would not marvel though they made men bond
+      By service long to purchase their goodwill:
+    But when I see how frail these creatures are,
+    I laugh that men forget themselves so far.
+
+    To mark what choice they make and how they change,
+      How, leaving best, the worst they choose out still;
+    And how, like haggards wild, about they range,
+      And scorning reason follow after will![6]
+    Who would not shake such buzzards from the fist
+    And let them fly (fair fools!) which way they list?
+
+    Yet for our sport we fawn and flatter both,
+      To pass the time when nothing else can please:
+    And train them on to yield by subtle oath
+      The sweet content that gives such humour ease:
+    And then we say, when we their follies try,
+      "To play with fools, O, what a fool was I!"
+
+[6] So Oliphant.--Old ed., "Scorning after reason to follow will."
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    In crystal towers and turrets richly set
+        With glitt'ring gems that shine against the sun,
+    In regal rooms of jasper and of jet,
+        Content of mind not always likes to won;[7]
+    But oftentimes it pleaseth her to stay
+    In simple cotes enclosed with walls of clay.
+
+[7] Dwell.
+
+
+From JOHN COPRARIO's _Funeral Tears, etc._, 1606.
+
+    In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be,
+    The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me,
+    The walls of marble black that moistened still shall weep,
+    My music hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleep:
+    Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb
+    O let me dying live till death doth come.
+
+    My dainties grief shall be, and tears my poisoned wine,
+    My sighs the air through which my panting heart shall pine,
+    My robes my mind shall suit exceeding blackest night,
+    My study shall be tragic thoughts sad fancy to delight,
+    Pale ghosts and frightful shades shall my acquaintance be:
+    O thus, my hapless joy, I haste to thee.
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    In midst of woods or pleasant grove,
+      Where all sweet birds do sing,
+    Methought I heard so rare a sound
+      Which made the heavens to ring.
+
+    The charm was good, the noise full sweet,
+      Each bird did play his part;
+    And I admired to hear the same,
+      Joy sprang into my heart.
+
+    The black bird made the sweetest sound,
+      Whose tunes did far excel;
+    Full pleasantly, and most profound
+      Was all things placed well.
+
+    Thy pretty tunes, mine own sweet bird,
+      Done with so good a grace,
+    Extolls thy name, prefers the same
+      Abroad in every place.
+
+    Thy music grave, bedecked well
+      With sundry points of skill,
+    Bewrays thy knowledge excellent
+      Ingrafted in thy will.
+
+    My tongue shall speak, my pen shall write
+      In praise of thee to tell;
+    The sweetest bird that ever was,
+      In friendly sort farewell.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    In pride of May
+    The fields are gay,
+    The birds do sweetly sing. Fa la la!
+        So Nature would
+        That all things should
+    With joy begin the spring. Fa la la!
+
+    Then, Lady dear,
+    Do you appear
+    In beauty like the spring: Fa la la!
+        I dare well say
+        The birds that day
+    More cheerfully will sing. Fa la la!
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES's _Musical Dream_, 1609.
+
+    {Pheugein de ton Erota kenos ponos.}--_Archias_.
+
+    In Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood,
+      An archer great, none greater,
+    His bow and shafts were sure and good,
+      Yet Cupid's were much better;
+    Robin could shoot at many a hart and miss,
+    Cupid at first could hit a heart of his.
+      Hey, jolly Robin Hood, ho jolly Robin Hood,
+        Love finds out me
+        As well as thee,
+      To follow me to the green-wood.
+
+    A noble thief was Robin Hood,
+      Wise was he could deceive him;
+    Yet Marian in his bravest mood
+      Could of his heart bereave him:
+    No greater thief lies hidden under skies,
+    Than beauty closely lodged in women's eyes.
+      Hey, jolly Robin, &c.
+
+    An outlaw was this Robin Hood,
+      His life free and unruly,
+    Yet to fair Marian bound he stood
+      And love's debt paid her duly:
+    Whom curb of strictest law could not hold in,
+    Love[8] to obedience with a wink could win.
+      Hey, jolly Robin, &c.
+
+    Now wend we home, stout Robin Hood,
+      Leave we the woods behind us,
+    Love-passions must not be withstood,
+      Love everywhere will find us.
+    I lived in field and town, and so did he;
+    I got me to the woods, Love followed me.
+      Hey, jolly Robin, &c.
+
+[8] Old ed.,--"Love with obeyednes and a winke could winne."
+
+
+From MICHAEL ESTE's _Madrigals of three, four and five parts_, 1604. (By
+Nicholas Breton. Originally published in 1591.)
+
+    In the merry month of May,
+    On a morn by break of day,
+    Forth I walk'd by the wood-side,
+    Whereas May was in her pride:
+    There I spyed all alone
+    Phillida and Corydon.
+    Much ado there was, God wot!
+    He would love and she would not.
+    She said, never man was true;
+    He said, none was false to you.
+    He said, he had loved her long;
+    She said, Love should have no wrong.
+    Corydon would kiss her then;
+    She said, maids must kiss no men
+    Till they did for good and all;
+    Then she made the shepherd call
+    All the heavens to witness truth
+    Never lov'd a truer youth.
+    Thus with many a pretty oath,
+    Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
+    Such as seely shepherds use
+    When they will not love abuse,
+    Love, which had been long deluded,
+    Was with kisses sweet concluded;
+    And Phillida with garlands gay
+    Was made the Lady of the May.
+
+
+From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.
+
+    Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave,
+    For wanting her I must embrace my grave;
+    A little grave will ease my malady
+    And set me free from love's fell tyranny.
+    Intomb me then and show her where I lie,
+    And say I died through her inconstancy.
+
+
+From HENRY LICHFILD's _First Set of Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me,
+    With speedy wings you fly and so release me;
+    But if some sorrow do oppress my heart,
+    You creep as if you never meant to part.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    Is Love a boy,--what means he then to strike?
+    Or is he blind,--why will he be a guide?
+    Is he a man,--why doth he hurt his like?
+    Is he a God,--why doth he men deride?
+    No one of these, but one compact of all:
+    A wilful boy, a man still dealing blows,
+    Of purpose blind to lead men to their thrall,
+    A god that rules unruly--God, he knows.
+
+    Boy, pity me that am a child again;
+    Blind, be no more my guide to make me stray;
+    Man, use thy might to force away my pain;
+    God, do me good and lead me to my way;
+    And if thou beest a power to me unknown,
+    Power of my life, let here thy grace be shown.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+THE MARRIAGE OF THE FROG AND THE MOUSE.
+
+    It was the frog in the well,
+        Humbledum, humbledum,
+    And the merry mouse in the mill,
+            Tweedle, tweedle, twino.
+
+    The frog would a wooing ride
+    Sword and buckler by his side.
+
+    When he upon his high horse set,
+    His boots they shone as black as jet.
+
+    When he came to the merry mill-pin,--
+    "Lady Mouse, been you within?"
+
+    Then came out the dusty mouse:
+    "I am Lady of this house:
+
+    Hast thou any mind of me?"
+    "I have e'en great mind of thee?"
+
+    "Who shall this marriage make?"
+    "Our Lord which is the rat,"
+
+    "What shall we have to our supper?"
+    "Three beans in a pound of butter?"
+
+    When supper they were at,
+    The frog, the mouse, and e'en the rat;
+
+    Then came in Gib our cat,
+    And catched the mouse e'en by the back.
+
+    Then did they separate,
+    And the frog leaped on the floor so flat.
+
+    Then came in Dick our drake,
+    And drew the frog e'en to the lake.
+
+    The rat run up the wall,
+        Humbledum, humbledum;
+    A goodly company, the Devil go with all!
+        Tweedle tweedle twino.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Jack and Joan, they think no ill,
+    But loving live, and merry still;
+    Do their week-days' work, and pray
+    Devoutly on the holy day:
+    Skip and trip it on the green,
+    And help to choose the Summer Queen;
+    Lash out at a country feast
+    Their silver penny with the best.
+
+    Well can they judge of nappy ale,
+    And tell at large a winter tale;
+    Climb up to the apple loft,
+    And turn the crabs till they be soft.
+    Tib is all the father's joy,
+    And little Tom the mother's boy.
+    All their pleasure is Content;
+    And Care, to pay their yearly rent.
+
+    Joan can call by name her cows
+    And deck her windows with green boughs;
+    She can wreaths and tutties[9] make,
+    And trim with plums a bridal cake.
+    Jack knows what brings gain or loss;
+    And his long flail can stoutly toss:
+    Makes the hedge which others break,
+    And ever thinks what he doth speak.
+
+    Now, you courtly dames and knights,
+    That study only strange delights;
+    Though you scorn the homespun gray
+    And revel in your rich array;
+    Though your tongues dissemble deep,
+    And can your heads from danger keep;
+    Yet, for all your pomp and train,
+    Securer lives the silly swain.
+
+[9] Nosegays.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Kind are her answers,
+    But her performance keeps no day;
+    Breaks time, as dancers,
+    From their own music when they stray.
+    All her free favours and smooth words
+    Wing my hopes in vain.
+    O, did ever voice so sweet but only feign?
+    Can true love yield such delay,
+    Converting joy to pain?
+
+    Lost is our freedom
+    When we submit to women so:
+    Why do we need 'em
+    When, in their best, they work our woe?
+    There is no wisdom
+    Can alter ends by Fate prefixt.
+    O, why is the good of man with evil mixt?
+    Never were days yet called two
+    But one night went betwixt.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Kind in unkindness, when will you relent
+    And cease with faint love true love to torment?
+    Still entertained, excluded still I stand;
+    Her glove still hold, but cannot touch the hand.
+
+    In her fair hand my hopes and comforts rest:
+    O might my fortunes with that hand be blest!
+    No envious breaths then my deserts could shake,
+    For they are good whom such true love doth make.
+
+    O let not beauty so forget her birth
+    That it should fruitless home return to earth!
+    Love is the fruit of beauty, then love one!
+    Not your sweet self, for such self-love is none.
+
+    Love one that only lives in loving you;
+    Whose wronged deserts would you with pity view,
+    This strange distaste which your affection sways
+    Would relish love, and you find better days.
+
+    Thus till my happy sight your beauty views,
+    Whose sweet remembrance still my hope renews,
+    Let these poor lines solicit love for me,
+    And place my joys where my desires would be.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Lady, the birds right fairly
+    Are singing ever early;
+    The lark, the thrush, the nightingale,
+    The make-sport cuckoo and the quail.
+    These sing of Love! then why sleep ye?
+    To love your sleep it may not be.
+
+
+From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.
+
+    Lady, the melting crystal of your eye
+    Like frozen drops upon your cheeks did lie;
+    Mine eye was dancing on them with delight,
+    And saw love's flames within them burning bright,
+    Which did mine eye entice
+    To play with burning ice;
+    But O, my heart thus sporting with desire,
+    My careless eye did set my heart on fire.
+
+    O that a drop from such a sweet fount flying
+    Should flame like fire and leave my heart a-dying!
+    I burn, my tears can never drench it
+    Till in your eyes I bathe my heart and quench it:
+    But there, alas, love with his fire lies sleeping,
+    And all conspire to burn my heart with weeping.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
+    Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
+    And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours,
+    My eyes present me with a double doubting:
+    For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
+    Whether the roses be your lips or your lips [be] the roses.
+
+
+From J. DANYEL's _Songs for the Lute, Viol and Voice_, 1606.
+
+    Let not Chloris think, because
+      She hath unvassel'd me,
+    That her beauty can give laws
+      To others that are free:
+    I was made to be the prey
+      And booty of her eyes!
+    In my bosom, she may say.
+      Her greatest kingdom lies.
+
+    Though others may her brow adore,
+    Yet more must I that therein see far more
+    Than any other's eyes have power to see;
+    She is to me
+    More than to any others she can be.
+    I can discern more secret notes
+    That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes
+    Than any else besides have art to read;
+    No looks proceed
+    From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed.
+
+    O then why
+    Should she fly
+    From him to whom her sight
+    Doth add so much above her might?
+    Why should not she
+    Still joy to reign in me?
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    Let not the sluggish sleep
+      Close up thy waking eye,
+    Until with judgment deep
+      Thy daily deeds thou try:
+    He that one sin in conscience keeps
+      When he to quiet goes,
+    More vent'rous is than he that sleeps
+      With twenty mortal foes.
+
+
+From GEORGE MASON's and JOHN EARSDEN's _Airs that were sung and played
+at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland in the King's Entertainment given by
+the Earl of Cumberland_, 1618.
+
+    Let us in a lovers' round
+    Circle all this hallowed ground;
+    Softly, softly trip and go,
+    The light-foot Fairies jet it so.
+    Forward then, and back again,
+    Here and there and everywhere,
+    Winding to and fro,
+    Skipping high and louting low;
+    And, like lovers, hand in hand,
+    March around and make a stand.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Like two proud armies marching in the field,--
+    Joining a thund'ring fight, each scorns to yield,--
+    So in my heart your beauty and my reason:
+    One claims the crown, the other says 'tis treason.
+    But oh! your beauty shineth as the sun;
+    And dazzled reason yields as quite undone.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals to Three, Four, Five and Six Voices_,
+1597.
+
+    Lo! country sport that seldom fades;
+      A garland of the spring,
+    A prize for dancing, country maids
+      With merry pipes we bring.
+    Then all at once _for our town_ cries!
+    Pipe on, for we will have the prize.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Lo, when back mine eye
+    Pilgrim-like I cast,
+    What fearful ways I spie
+    Which, blinded, I securely passed!
+
+    But now heaven hath drawn
+      From my brows that night;
+    As when the day doth dawn,
+    So clears my long-imprisoned sight.
+
+    Straight the Caves of Hell
+      Dressed with flowers I see,
+    Wherein False Pleasures dwell,
+    That, winning most, most deadly be.
+
+    Throngs of masked fiends,
+      Winged like angels, fly;
+    Even in the gates of friends,
+    In fair disguise black dangers lie.
+
+    Straight to heaven I raised
+      My restored sight,
+    And with loud voice I praised
+    The LORD of ever-during light.
+
+    And since I had strayed
+      From His ways so wide,
+    His grace I humbly prayed
+    Henceforth to be my guard and guide.
+
+
+From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.
+
+    THE COURTIER.
+
+    Long have I lived in Court,
+      Yet learned not all this while
+    To sell poor suiters smoke,
+      Nor where I hate to smile;
+    Superiors to adore,
+      Inferiors to despise,
+    To flie from such as fall,
+      To follow such as rise:
+
+    To cloak a poor desire
+      Under a rich array,
+    Nor to aspire by Vice,
+      Though 'twere the quicker way.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+      Love is a bable,
+      No man is able
+    To say 'tis this or 'tis that;
+      So full of passions
+      Of sundry fashions,
+    'Tis like I cannot tell what.
+
+      Love's fair in the cradle,
+      Foul in the fable,
+    'Tis either too cold or too hot;
+      An arrant liar,
+      Fed by desire,
+    It is and yet it is not.
+
+      Love is a fellow
+      Clad oft in yellow,[10]
+    The canker-worm of the mind,
+      A privy mischief,
+      And such a sly thief
+    No man knows which way to find.
+
+      Love is a wonder
+      That's here and yonder,
+    As common to one as to moe;
+      A monstrous cheater,
+      Every man's debtor;
+    Hang him and so let him go.
+
+[10] The colour of jealousy.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Love not me for comely grace,
+    For my pleasing eye or face,
+    Nor for any outward part:
+    No, nor for a constant heart!
+    For these may fail or turn to ill:
+        So thou and I shall sever.
+    Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
+    And love me still, but know not why!
+    So hast thou the same reason still
+        To doat upon me ever.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+        Love's god is a boy,
+        None but cowherds regard him,
+        His dart is a toy,
+        Great opinion hath marred him:
+        The fear of the wag
+        Hath made him so brag;
+        Chide him, he'll flie thee
+        And not come nigh thee.
+    Little boy, pretty knave, shoot not at random,
+    For if you hit me, slave, I'll tell your grandam.
+
+        Fond love is a child
+        And his compass is narrow,
+        Young fools are beguiled
+        With the fame of his arrow;
+        He dareth not strike
+        If his stroke do mislike:
+        Cupid, do you hear me?
+        Come not too near me.
+    Little boy, pretty knave, hence I beseech you,
+    For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you.
+
+        Th' ape loves to meddle
+        When he finds a man idle,
+        Else is he a-flirting
+        Where his mark is a-courting;
+        When women grow true
+        Come teach me to sue,
+        Then I'll come to thee
+        Pray thee and woo thee.
+    Little boy, pretty knave, make me not stagger,
+    For if you hit me, knave, I'll call thee, beggar.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly
+    Far from base earth, but not to mount too high;
+        For true pleasure
+        Lives in measure,
+        Which if men forsake,
+    Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.
+
+    But my vain hopes, proud of their new-taught flight,
+    Enamoured sought to woo the sun's fair light,
+        Whose rich brightness
+        Moved their lightness
+        To aspire so high
+    That all scorched and consumed with fire now drown'd in woe they lie.
+
+    And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,
+    For Love did know that their desires were true;
+        Though Fate frowned,
+        And now drowned
+        They in sorrow dwell,
+    It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    "Maids are simple," some men say,
+       "They forsooth will trust no men."
+    But should they men's wills obey,
+       Maids were very simple then.
+
+    Truth a rare flower now is grown,
+       Few men wear it in their hearts;
+    Lovers are more easily known
+       By their follies than deserts.
+
+    Safer may we credit give
+       To a faithless wandering Jew,
+    Than a young man's vows believe
+       When he swears his love is true.
+
+    Love they make a poor blind child,
+       But let none trust such as he;
+    Rather than to be beguiled,
+       Ever let me simple be.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    THE BELLMAN's SONG.
+
+    Maids to bed and cover coal;
+    Let the mouse out of her hole;
+    Crickets in the chimney sing
+    Whilst the little bell doth ring;
+    If fast asleep, who can tell
+    When the clapper hits the bell?
+
+
+From MARTIN PEERSON's _Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music_, 1630.
+
+    More than most fair, full of all heavenly fire,
+      Kindled above to shew the Maker's glory;
+    Beauty's first-born, in whom all powers conspire
+      To write the Graces' life and Muses' story;
+    If in my heart all nymphs else be defaced,
+    Honour the shrine where you alone are placed.
+
+    Thou window of the sky, and pride of spirits,
+      True character of honour in perfection,
+    Thou heavenly creature, judge of earthly merits,
+      And glorious prison of men's pure affection:
+    If in my heart all nymphs else be defaced
+    Honour the shrine where you alone are placed.
+
+
+From THOMAS VAUTOR's _Songs of divers Airs and Natures_, 1619.
+
+    Mother, I will have a husband,
+    And I will have him out of hand!
+    Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+    John-a-Dun should have had me long ere this:
+    He said I had good lips to kiss.
+    Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+    For I have heard 'tis trim when folks do love;
+    By good Sir John I swear now I will prove.
+    For, Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+    To the town, therefore, will I gad
+    To get me a husband, good or bad.
+    Mother, I will sure have one
+    In spite of her that will have none.
+
+
+From MICHAEL ESTE's _Madrigals of Three, Four and Five Parts_, 1604.
+
+    My hope a counsel with my heart
+      Hath long desired to be,
+    And marvels much so dear a friend
+      Is not retain'd by me.
+
+    She doth condemn my haste
+      In passing the estate
+    Of my whole life into their hands
+      Who nought repays but hate:
+
+    And not sufficed with this, she says,
+      I did release the right
+    Of my enjoyed liberties
+      Unto your beauteous sight.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    My love bound me with a kiss
+      That I should no longer stay;
+    When I felt so sweet a bliss
+      I had less power to part away:
+    Alas, that women doth not know
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+    Yes, she knows it but too well,
+      For I heard when Venus' dove
+    In her ear did softly tell
+      That kisses were the seals of love:
+    O muse not then though it be so,
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+    Wherefore did she thus inflame
+      My desires heat my blood,
+    Instantly to quench the same
+      And starve whom she had given food?
+    I the common sense can show,
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+    Had she bid me go at first
+      It would ne'er have grieved my heart,
+    Hope delayed had been the worst;
+      But ah to kiss and then to part!
+    How deep it struck, speak, gods, you know
+    Kisses make men loath to go.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    My Love is neither young nor old,
+    Not fiery-hot nor frozen-cold,
+    But fresh and fair as springing briar
+    Blooming the fruit of love's desire;
+    Not snowy-white nor rosy-red,
+    But fair enough for shepherd's bed;
+    And such a love was never seen
+    On hill or dale or country-green.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    My mind to me a kingdom is:
+    Such perfect joy therein I find
+    That it excels all other bliss
+    That God or nature hath assigned.
+    Though much I want, that most would have,
+    Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
+
+    No princely port, nor wealthy store,
+    No force to win a victory,
+    No wily wit to salve a sore,
+    No shape to win a loving eye;
+    To none of these I yield as thrall!
+    For why? my mind despise them all.
+
+    I see that plenty surfeits oft,
+    And hasty climbers soonest fall;
+    I see that such as are aloft,
+    Mishap doth threaten most of all.
+    These get with toil, and keep with fear:
+    Such cares my mind can never bear.
+
+    I press to bear no haughty sway,
+    I wish no more than may suffice,
+    I do no more, than well I may;
+    Look, what I want, my mind supplies.
+    Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
+    My mind content with any thing.
+
+    I laugh not at another's loss,
+    Nor grudge not at another's gain.
+    No worldly waves my mind can toss,
+    I brook that is another's bane;
+    I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend,
+    I loathe not life nor dread mine end.
+
+    My wealth is health and perfect ease;
+    And conscience clear my chief defence;
+    I never seek by bribes to please,
+    Nor by desert to give offence,
+    Thus do I live, thus will I die:
+    Would all did so as well as I!
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    My prime of youth is but a frost of cares!
+      My feast of joy is but a dish of pain!
+    My crop of corn is but a field of tares!
+      And all my good is but vain hope of gain!
+    My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun!
+    And now I live, and now my life is done!
+
+    The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung!
+      The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green!
+    My youth is gone, and yet I am but young!
+      I saw the World and yet I was not seen!
+    My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun!
+    And now I live, and now my life is done.
+
+
+From CAMPION AND ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    _Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus._
+
+    My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,
+    And though the sager sort our deeds reprove
+    Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive
+    Into their west, and straight again revive;
+    But, soon as once is set our little light,
+    Then must we sleep one ever-during night.
+
+    If all would lead their lives in love like me,
+    Then bloody swords and armour should not be;
+    No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,
+    Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love:
+    But fools do live and waste their little light,
+    And seek with pain their ever-during night.
+
+    When timely death my life and fortunes ends,
+    Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends;
+    But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come
+    And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb:
+    And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light
+    And crown with love my ever-during night.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love:
+    Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night,
+    And say, as she doth in the heavens move,
+    In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight:
+    And whisper this, but softly, in her ears,
+    "Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears."
+
+    And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry,
+    If for mistrust my mistress do you blame,
+    Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary,
+    As she doth change and yet remain the same;
+    Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect,
+    And Love is sweetest seasoned with Suspect.
+
+    If she for this with clouds do mask her eyes
+    And make the heavens dark with her disdain,
+    With windy sighs disperse them in the skies
+    Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain.
+    Thoughts, Hopes, and Love, return to me no more
+    Till Cynthia shine as she hath done before.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Never love unless you can
+    Bear with all the faults of man:
+    Men sometimes will jealous be
+    Though but little cause they see;
+    And hang the head as discontent,
+    And speak what straight they will repent.
+
+    Men that but one saint adore
+    Make a show of love to more;
+    Beauty must be scorned in none,
+    Though but truly served in one:
+    For what is courtship but disguise?
+    True hearts may have dissembling eyes.
+
+    Men, when their affairs require,
+    Must awhile themselves retire;
+    Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk,
+    And not ever sit and talk:
+    If these and such-like you can bear,
+    Then like, and love, and never fear!
+
+
+From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599. (Verses by
+Samuel Daniel.)
+
+    Now each creature joys the other,
+      Passing happy days and hours:
+    One bird reports unto another
+      By the fall of silver showers;
+    Whilst the Earth, our common Mother,
+      Hath her bosom decked with flowers.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals_, 1597.
+
+    Now every tree renews his summer's green,
+      Why is your heart in winter's garments clad?
+    Your beauty says my love is summer's queen,
+      But your cold love like winter makes me sad:
+    Then either spring with buds of love again
+    Or else congeal my thoughts with your disdain.
+
+
+From _Pammelia_, 1609.
+
+    Now God be with old Simeon,
+    For he made cans for many-a-one,
+    And a good old man was he;
+    And Jinkin was his journeyman,
+    And he could tipple of every can,
+      And thus he said to me:
+            "To whom drink you?"
+            "Sir knave, to you."
+      Then hey-ho, jolly Jinkin!
+      I spie a knave in drinking.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Now have I learn'd with much ado at last
+      By true disdain to kill desire;
+    This was the mark at which I shot so fast,
+      Unto this height I did aspire:
+    Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not,
+    For thee and all thy shafts I care not.
+
+    What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,
+      What life to quicken dead desire?
+    I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,
+      I feel no heat in all thy fire:
+    Go, change thy bow and get a stronger,
+    Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer.
+
+    In vain thou bait'st thy hook with beauty's blaze,
+      In vain thy wanton eyes allure;
+    These are but toys for them that love to gaze,
+      I know what harm thy looks procure:
+    Some strange conceit must be devised,
+    Or thou and all thy skill despised.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Now I see thy looks were feigned
+    Quickly lost, and quickly gained;
+    Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers,
+    Heart inconstant, light as feathers,
+    Tongue untrusty, subtle sighted,
+    Wanton will with change delighted.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Of thine eye I made my mirror,
+    From thy beauty came my error,
+    All thy words I counted witty,
+    All thy sighs I deemed pity,
+    Thy false tears, that me aggrieved
+    First of all my trust deceived.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Feigned acceptance when I asked,
+    Lovely words with cunning masked,
+    Holy vows, but heart unholy;
+    Wretched man, my trust was folly;
+    Lily white, and pretty winking,
+    Solemn vows but sorry thinking.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Now I see, O seemly cruel,
+    Others warm them at my fuel,
+    Wit shall guide me in this durance
+    Since in love is no assurance:
+    Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure,
+    Beauty is a fading treasure.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid, plague thee for thy treason!
+
+    Prime youth lasts not, age will follow
+    And make white those tresses yellow;
+    Wrinkled face, for looks delightful,
+    Shall acquaint the dame despiteful.
+    And when time shall date thy glory,
+    Then too late thou wilt be sorry.
+          Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
+          Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Now is my Chloris fresh as May,
+    Clad all in green and flowers gay.
+                          Fa la la!
+    O might I think August were near
+    That harvest joy might soon appear.
+                          Fa la la!
+    But she keeps May throughout the year,
+    And August never comes the near.
+                          Fa la la!
+    Yet will I hope, though she be May,
+    August will come another day.
+                          Fa la la!
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets_, 1595.
+
+    Now is the month of maying,
+    When merry lads are playing
+    Each with his bonny lass
+    Upon the greeny grass.
+                    Fa la la!
+
+    The spring clad all in gladness
+    Doth laugh at winter's sadness,
+    And to the bagpipe's sound
+    The nymphs tread out their ground.
+                    Fa la la!
+
+    Fie then, why sit we musing,
+    Youth's sweet delight refusing?
+    Say, dainty nymphs, and speak,
+    Shall we play barley-break.
+                   Fa la la!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Now let her change! and spare not!
+    Since she proves strange, I care not!
+    Feigned love charmed so my delight,
+    That still I doted on her sight.
+    But she is gone! new joys embracing,
+    And my distress disgracing.
+
+    When did I err in blindness?
+    Or vex her with unkindness?
+    If my cares served her alone,
+    Why is she thus untimely gone?
+    True love abides to th' hour of dying:
+    False love is ever flying.
+
+    False! then farewell for ever!
+    Once false proves faithful never!
+    He that boasts now of thy love,
+    Shall soon, my present fortunes prove
+    Were he as fair as bright Adonis:
+    Faith is not had where none is!
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600
+
+    Now let us make a merry greeting
+    And thank God Cupid for our meeting:
+    My heart is full of joy and pleasure
+    Since thou art here, mine only treasure.
+    Now will we dance and sport and play
+    And sing a merry roundelay.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES's _Second Book of Airs_, 1601. (Attributed to Sir
+Walter Raleigh.)
+
+    Now what is love, I pray thee tell?
+    It is that fountain and that well
+    Where pleasures and repentance dwell;
+    It is perhaps that sancing-bell[11]
+    That tolls all in to heaven or hell:
+    And this is love, as I hear tell.
+
+    Now what is love, I pray thee say?
+    It is a work on holyday,
+    It is December matched with May,
+    When lusty bloods in fresh array
+    Hear ten months after of their play:
+    And this is love, as I hear say.
+
+    Now what is love, I pray thee feign?
+    It is a sunshine mixed with rain,
+    It is a gentle pleasing pain,
+    A flower that dies and springs again,
+    It is a No that would full fain:
+    And this is love as I hear sain.
+
+    Yet what is love, I pray thee say?
+    It is a pretty shady way
+    As well found out by night as day,
+    It is a thing will soon decay;
+    Then take the vantage whilst you may:
+    And this is love, as I hear say.
+    Now what is love, I pray thee show?
+    A thing that creeps, it cannot go,
+    A prize that passeth to and fro,
+    A thing for one, a thing for mo,
+    And he that proves shall find it so:
+    And this is love, as I well know.
+
+[11] Saint's-bell; the little bell that called to prayers.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Now winter nights enlarge
+    The number of their hours,
+    And clouds their storms discharge
+    Upon the airy towers.
+    Let now the chimneys blaze,
+    And cups o'erflow with wine;
+    Let well-tuned words amaze
+    With harmony divine.
+    Now yellow waxen lights
+    Shall wait on honey love,
+    While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
+    Sleep's leaden spells remove.
+
+    This time doth well dispense
+    With lovers' long discourse;
+    Much, speech hath some defence
+    Though beauty no remorse.
+    All do not all things well;
+    Some measures comely tread,
+    Some knotted riddles tell,
+    Some poems smoothly read.
+    The summer hath his joys
+    And winter his delights;
+    Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
+    They shorten tedious nights.
+
+
+From JOHN WARD's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1613.
+
+    O say, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries,
+      So lovely-ripe, by my rude lips be tasted?
+    Shall I not pluck (sweet, say not _nay_) those cherries?
+      O let them not with summer's heat be blasted.
+    Nature, thou know'st, bestow'd them free on thee;
+    Then be thou kind--bestow them free on me.
+
+
+From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    O stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting;
+      These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us,
+    And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting,
+      Warbling sweet notes only to delight us:
+    Then stay, dear Love, for though thou run from me,
+    Run ne'er so fast, yet I will follow thee.
+
+    I thought, my love, that I should overtake you;
+      Sweet heart, sit down under this shadowed tree,
+    And I will promise never to forsake you,
+      So you will grant to me a lover's fee.
+    Whereat she smiled and kindly to me said--
+    I never meant to live and die a maid.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Madrigals_, 1594.
+
+    O sweet, alas, what say you?
+    Ay me, that face discloses
+    The scarlet blush of sweet vermilion roses.
+    And yet, alas, I know not
+    If such a crimson staining
+    Be for love or disdaining;
+    But if of love it grow not,
+    Be it disdain conceived
+    To see us of love's fruits so long bereaved.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    O sweet delight, O more than human bliss
+    With her to live that ever loving is!
+    To hear her speak whose words are so well placed
+    That she by them, as they by her are graced!
+    Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye,
+    How blest is he that may so live and die!
+
+    Such love as this the Golden Times did know,
+    When all did reap and none took care to sow;
+    Such love as this an endless summer makes,
+    And all distaste from frail affection takes.
+    So loved, so blest in my beloved am I:
+    Which till their eyes ache let iron men envy!
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Oft have I mused the cause to find
+      Why Love in lady's eyes should dwell;
+    I thought, because himself was blind,
+      He look'd that they should guide him well:
+    And sure his hope but seldom fails,
+    For Love by ladies' eyes prevails.
+
+    But time at last hath taught me wit,
+      Although I bought my wit full dear;
+    For by her eyes my heart is hit,
+      Deep is the wound though none appear:
+    Their glancing beams as darts he throws,
+    And sure he hath no shafts but those.
+
+    I mused to see their eyes so bright,
+      And little thought they had been fire;
+    I gazed upon them with delight,
+      But that delight hath bred desire:
+    What better place can Love desire
+    Than that where grow both shafts and fire?
+
+
+From JOHN ATTYE's _First Book of Airs_, 1622.
+
+    On a time the amorous Silvy
+    Said to her shepherd, 'Sweet, how do you?
+    Kiss me this once, and then God be wi' you,
+                             My sweetest dear!
+    Kiss me this once and then God be wi' you,
+    For now the morning draweth near.'
+
+    With that, her fairest bosom showing,
+    Opening her lips, rich perfumes blowing,
+    She said, 'Now kiss me and be going,
+                             My sweetest dear!
+    Kiss me this once and then be going,
+    For now the morning draweth near.'
+
+    With that the shepherd waked from sleeping,
+    And, spying where the day was peeping,
+    He said, 'Now take my soul in keeping,
+                             My sweetest dear!
+    Kiss me, and take my soul in keeping,
+    Since I must go, now day is near.'
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Once did I love and yet I live,
+      Though love and truth be now forgotten;
+    Then did I joy, now do I grieve
+      That holy vows must now be broken.
+
+    Hers be the blame that caused it so,
+      Mine be the grief though it be mickle;[12]
+    She shall have shame, I cause to know
+      What 'tis to love a dame so fickle.
+
+    Love her that list, I am content
+      For that chameleon-like she changeth,
+    Yielding such mists as may prevent
+      My sight to view her when she rangeth.
+
+    Let him not vaunt that gains my loss,
+      For when that he and time hath proved her,
+    She may him bring to Weeping-Cross:
+      I say no more, because I loved her.
+
+[12] Old ed., "little"
+
+
+From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to Three Voices_, 1608.
+
+    Once I thought to die for love,
+    Till I found that women prove
+      Traitors in their smiling:
+    They say men unconstant be,
+    But they themselves Jove change, we see,
+      And all is but beguiling.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals_, 1597
+
+    Our country-swains in the morris dance
+      Thus woo and win their brides,
+    Will for our town the hobby horse
+      At pleasure frolic rides:
+    I woo with tears and ne'er the near,
+    I die in grief and live in fear.
+
+
+From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.
+
+    Pierce did love fair Petronel
+    Because she sang and danced well
+      And gallantly could prank it;
+    He pulled her and he haul'd her
+    And oftentimes he call'd her
+      Primrose pearls prick'd in a blanket.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals_, 1613.
+
+    Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears;
+    Break, heart, and die, for now no hope appears;
+    Hope, upon which before my thoughts were fed,
+    Hath left me quite forlorn and from me fled.
+    Yet, see, she smiles! O see, some hope appears!
+    Hold, heart, and live; mine eyes, cease off your tears.
+
+
+From _Airs sung and played at Brougham Castle_, 1618, by GEORGE MASON
+and JOHN EARSDEN.
+
+    Robin is a lovely lad,
+    No lass a smoother ever had;
+    Tommy hath a look as bright
+    As is the rosy morning light;
+    Tib is dark and brown of hue,
+    But like her colour firm and true;
+    Jenny hath a lip to kiss
+    Wherein a spring of nectar is;
+    Simkin well his mirth can place
+    And words to win a woman's grace;
+    Sib is all in all to me,
+    There is no Queen of Love but she.
+
+
+From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse_, 1614.
+
+    THE SATYRS' DANCE.
+
+    Round-a, round-a, keep your ring:
+    To the glorious sun we sing,--
+                        Ho, ho!
+    He that wears the flaming rays,
+    And th' imperial crown of bays,
+    Him with shouts and songs we praise--
+                        Ho, ho!
+    That in his bounty he'd vouchsafe to grace
+    The humble sylvans and their shaggy race.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _Canzonets_, 1593.
+
+    See, see, mine own sweet jewel,
+    What I have for my darling:
+    A robin-redbreast and a starling.
+    These I give both in hope to move thee;
+    Yet thou say'st I do not love thee.
+
+
+From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.
+
+    Shall a frown or angry eye,
+    Shall a word unfitly placed,
+    Shall a shadow make me flie
+    As if I were with tigers chased?
+    Love must not be so disgraced.
+
+    Shall I woo her in despight?
+    Shall I turn her from her flying?
+    Shall I tempt her with delight?
+    Shall I laugh at her denying?
+    No: beware of lovers' crying.
+
+    Shall I then with patient mind
+    Still attend her wayward pleasure?
+    Time will make her prove more kind,
+    Let her coyness then take leisure:
+    She is worthy such a treasure.
+
+
+From RICHARD ALISON's _An Hours Recreation in Music_, 1606.
+
+    Shall I abide this jesting?
+    I weep, and she's a-feasting!
+    O cruel fancy, that so doth blind me
+    To love one that doth not mind me!
+
+    Can I abide this prancing?
+    I weep, and she's a-dancing!
+    O cruel fancy, so to betray me!
+    Thou goest about to slay me.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee
+        When the evening beams are set?
+    Shall I not excluded be,
+        Will you find no feigned let?
+    Let me not, for pity, more
+    Tell the long hours at your door.
+
+    Who can tell what thief or foe,
+        In the covert of the night,
+    For his prey will work my woe,
+        Or through wicked foul despite?
+    So may I die unredrest
+    Ere my long love be possest.
+
+    But to let such dangers pass,
+        Which a lover's thoughts disdain,
+    'Tis enough in such a place
+        To attend love's joys in vain:
+    Do not mock me in thy bed,
+    While these cold nights freeze me dead.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Shall I look to ease my grief?
+      No, my sight is lost with eying:
+    Shall I speak and beg relief?
+      No, my voice is hoarse with crying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    Love and I of late did part,
+      But the boy, my peace envying,
+    Like a Parthian threw his dart
+      Backward, and did wound me flying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    She whom then I looked on,
+      My remembrance beautifying,
+    Stays with me though I am gone,
+      Gone and at her mercy lying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    Shall I try her thoughts and write?
+      No I have no means of trying:
+    If I should, yet at first sight
+      She would answer with denying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+    Thus my vital breath doth waste,
+      And, my blood with sorrow drying,
+    Sighs and tears make life to last
+      For a while, their place supplying:
+      What remains but only dying?
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    She whose matchless beauty staineth
+    What best judgment fair'st maintaineth,
+    She, O she, my love disdaineth.
+
+    Can a creature, so excelling,
+    Harbour scorn in beauty's dwelling,
+    All kind pity thence expelling?
+
+    Pity beauty much commendeth
+    And th' embracer oft befriendeth
+    When all eye-contentment endeth.
+
+    Time proves beauty transitory;
+    Scorn, the stain of beauty's glory,
+    In time makes the scorner sorry.
+
+    None adores the sun declining;
+    Love all love falls to resigning
+    When the sun of love leaves shining.
+
+    So, when flower of beauty fails thee,
+    And age, stealing on, assails thee,
+    Then mark what this scorn avails thee.
+
+    Then those hearts, which now complaining
+    Feel the wounds of thy disdaining,
+    Shall contemn thy beauty waning.
+
+    Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prized,
+    Shall with spite and grief surprised
+    Burst to find itself despised.
+
+    When like harms have them requited
+    Who in others' harms delighted,
+    Pleasingly the wrong'd are righted.
+
+    Such revenge my wrongs attending,
+    Hope still lives on time depending,
+    By thy plagues thy torrents ending.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.
+
+    Shoot, false Love! I care not;
+    Spend thy shafts and spare not!
+                               Fa la la!
+    I fear not, I, thy might,
+    And less I weigh thy spite;
+    All naked I unarm me,--
+    If thou canst, now shoot and harm me!
+    So lightly I esteem thee
+    As now a child I dream thee.
+                               Fa la la la!
+
+    Long thy bow did fear[13] me,
+    While thy pomp did blear me;
+                               Fa la la!
+    But now I do perceive
+    Thy art is to deceive;
+    And every simple lover
+    All thy falsehood can discover.
+    Then weep, Love! and be sorry,
+    For thou hast lost thy glory.
+                               Fa la la la!
+
+[13] Frighten.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_, (circ. 1613).
+
+    Silly boy! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly;
+    Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.
+    Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures be bereaved,
+    Little knows he how to love that never was deceived.
+
+    This is thy first maiden-flame that triumphs yet unstained,
+    All is artless now you speak, not one word is feigned;
+    All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed,
+    But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.
+
+    Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected,
+    And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth dejected;
+    Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy
+    And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith is folly.
+
+    Yet be just and constant still, Love may beget a wonder,
+    Not unlike a summer's frost or winter's fatal thunder:
+    He that holds his sweetheart true unto his day of dying,
+    Lives, of all that ever breathed, most worthy the envying.
+
+
+From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.
+
+    Simkin said that Sis was fair,
+      And that he meant to love her;
+    He set her on his ambling mare,--
+      All this he did to prove her.
+
+    When they came home Sis floted cream
+      And poured it through a strainer,
+    But sware that Simkin should have none
+      Because he did disdain her.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music Of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye,
+    If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye.
+    What? I that loved and you that liked shall we begin to wrangle?
+    No, no no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle.
+
+    If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you may forgive me
+    Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, then justly might you leave me.
+    I asked you leave, you bade me love; is't now a time to chide me?
+    No no no, I'll love you still what fortune e'er betide me.
+
+    The sun whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder,
+    And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder,
+    Where beauty moves, and wit delights and signs of kindness bind me
+    There, O there! where'er I go I'll leave my heart behind me.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets_, 1595.
+
+    Sing we and chant it
+    While love doth grant it.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Not long youth lasteth,
+    And old age hasteth.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Now is best leisure
+    To take our pleasure.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    All things invite us
+    Now to delight us.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Hence care be packing,
+    No mirth be lacking.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+    Let spare no treasure
+    To live in pleasure.
+                      Fa la la!
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Sister, awake! close not your eyes!
+      The day her light discloses,
+    And the bright morning doth arise
+      Out of her bed of roses.
+
+    See, the clear sun, the world's bright eye,
+      In at our window peeping:
+    Lo! how he blusheth to espy
+      Us idle wenches sleeping.
+
+    Therefore, awake! make haste, I say,
+      And let us, without staying,
+    All in our gowns of green so gay
+      Into the park a-maying.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me!
+      For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?
+    It shall suffice me here to sit and see
+      Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke:
+    What sight can more content a lover's mind
+    Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind?
+
+    My words have charmed her, for secure she sleeps,
+      Though guilty much of wrong done to my love;
+    And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps:
+      Dreams often more than waking passions move.
+    Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee:
+    That she in peace may wake and pity me.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    So light is love, in matchless beauty shining,
+      When he revisits Cypris' hallowed bowers,
+    Two feeble doves, harness'd in silken twining,
+      Can draw his chariot midst the Paphian flowers,
+    Lightness in love! how ill it fitteth!
+    So heavy on my heart he sitteth.
+
+
+From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.
+
+    Some can flatter, some can feign,
+      Simple truth shall plead for me;
+    Let not beauty truth disdain,
+      Truth is even as fair as she.
+
+    But since pairs must equal prove,
+      Let my strength her youth oppose,
+    Love her beauty, faith her love;
+      On even terms so may we close.
+
+    Cork or lead in equal weight
+      Both one just proportion yield,
+    So may breadth be peis'd[14] with height,
+      Steepest mount with plainest field.
+
+    Virtues have not all one kind,
+      Yet all virtues merit be,
+    Divers virtues are combined;
+      Differing so, deserts agree.
+
+    Let then love and beauty meet,
+      Making one divine concent
+    Constant as the sounds and sweet,
+      That enchant the firmament.
+
+[14] Balanced.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    Sweet, come again!
+        Your happy sight, so much desired
+        Since you from hence are now retired,
+    I seek in vain:
+    Still I must mourn,
+        And pine in longing pain,
+        Till you, my life's delight, again
+    Vouchsafe your wish'd return.
+
+    If true desire,
+        Or faithful vow of endless love,
+        Thy heart inflamed may kindly move
+    With equal fire;
+    O then my joys,
+        So long distraught, shall rest,
+        Reposed soft in thy chaste breast,
+    Exempt from all annoys.
+
+    You had the power
+        My wand'ring thoughts first to restrain,
+        You first did hear my love speak plain;
+    A child before,
+    Now it is grown
+        Confirmed, do you it[15] keep!
+        And let 't safe in your bosom sleep,
+    There ever made your own!
+
+    And till we meet,
+        Teach absence inward art to find,
+        Both to disturb and please the mind!
+    Such thoughts are sweet:
+    And such remain
+        In hearts whose flames are true;
+        Then such will I retain, till you
+    To me return again.
+
+[15] Old ed. "do you keep it."
+
+
+From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.
+
+    Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire,
+    Thy joyful harvest may begin;
+    If age approach a little nigher,
+    'Twill be too late to get it in.
+
+    Cold Winter storms lay standing Corn,
+    Which once too ripe will never rise,
+    And lovers wish themselves unborn,
+    When all their joys lie in their eyes.
+
+    Then, sweet, let us embrace and kiss:
+    Shall beauty shale[16] upon the ground?
+    If age bereave us of this bliss,
+    Then will no more such sport be found.
+
+[16] Shell, husk (as peas).
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep
+    When lovers wanton sports do keep?
+    The sun doth shine, the birds do sing,
+    And May delight and joy doth bring:
+    Then join we hands and dance till night,
+    'Tis pity love should want his right.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Musical Dream_, 1609.
+
+            Sweet Kate
+            Of late
+    Ran away and left me plaining.
+            Abide!
+            (I cried)
+    Or I die with thy disdaining.
+        Te hee, quoth she;
+        Make no fool of me;
+    Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure,
+        But, their hopes attained,
+        They bewray they feigned,
+    And their oaths are kept at leisure.
+
+            Unkind,
+            I find
+    Thy delight is in tormenting:
+            Abide!
+            (I cried)
+    Or I die with thy consenting.
+        Te hee, quoth she,
+        Make no fool of me;
+    Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure,
+        But, their hopes attained,
+        They bewray they feigned,
+    And their oaths are kept at leisure.
+
+            Her words,
+            Like swords,
+    Cut my sorry heart in sunder,
+            Her flouts
+            With doubts
+    Kept my heart-affections under.
+        Te hee, quoth she,
+        What a fool is he
+    Stands in awe of once denying!
+        Cause I had enough
+        To become more rough,
+    So I did--O happy trying!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory,
+    Subdue her heart who makes me glad and sorry;
+        Out of thy golden quiver,
+        Take thou thy strongest arrow
+        That will through bone and marrow,
+        And me and thee of grief and fear deliver:
+    But come behind, for, if she look upon thee,
+    Alas! poor Love, then thou art woe-begone thee.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee,
+    Nor with my voice accuse thee;
+    But tune my notes unto thy praise
+    And tell the world Love ne'er decays.
+    Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish:
+    What wanteth concord soon must perish.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale, or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Sweet Love, my only treasure,
+        For service long unfeigned
+        Wherein I nought have gained,
+    Vouchsafe this little pleasure,
+        To tell me in what part
+        My Lady keeps her heart.
+
+    If in her hair so slender,
+        Like golden nets entwined
+        Which fire and art have fined,
+    Her thrall my heart I render
+        For ever to abide
+        With locks so dainty tied.
+
+    If in her eyes she bind it,
+        Wherein that fire was framed
+        By which it is inflamed,
+    I dare not look to find it:
+        I only wish it sight
+        To see that pleasant light.
+
+    But if her breast have deigned
+        With kindness to receive it,
+        I am content to leave it
+    Though death thereby were gained:
+        Then, Lady, take your own
+        That lives by you alone.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Pilgrim's Solace_, 1612. (The first stanza is found
+in a poem of Donne.)
+
+    Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise?
+    The light you see comes from your eyes;
+    The day breaks not, it is my heart,
+    To think that you and I must part.
+    O stay! or else my joys must die
+    And perish in their infancy.
+
+    Dear, let me die in this fair breast,
+    Far sweeter than the ph[oe]nix nest.
+    Love raise Desire by his sweet charms
+    Within this circle of thine arms!
+    And let thy blissful kisses cherish
+    Mine infant joys that else must perish.
+
+
+From THOMAS VAUTOR's _Songs of divers Airs and Natures_, 1619.
+
+    _Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o._
+
+    Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight
+    With feathers like a lady bright,
+    Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night,
+        Te whit, te whoo!
+    Thy note, that forth so freely rolls,
+    With shrill command the mouse controls,
+    And sings a dirge for dying souls,
+        Te whit, te whoo!
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever!
+    No better pledge can love to love deliver.
+    Fear not, my dear, it will not fly away,
+    For hope and love command my heart to stay.
+    But if thou doubt, desire will make it range:
+    Love but my heart, my heart will never change.
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    Take time while time doth last,
+    Mark how fair fadeth fast;
+    Beware if envy reign,
+    Take heed of proud disdain;
+    Hold fast now in thy youth,
+    Regard thy vowed truth,
+    Lest, when thou waxeth old,
+    Friends fail and love grow cold.
+
+
+From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.
+
+    The Fly she sat in shamble-row
+    And shambled with her heels I trow;
+
+    And then came in Sir Cranion
+    With legs so long and many a one;
+
+    And said "Jove speed, dame Fly, dame Fly":
+    "Marry, you be welcome, Sir," quoth she:
+
+    "The master Humble Bee hath sent me to thee
+    To wit and if you will his true love be."
+
+    But she said "Nay, that may not be,
+    For I must have the Butterfly,
+
+    For and a greater lord there may not be."
+    But at the last consent did she.
+
+    And there was bid to this wedding
+    All Flies in the field and Worms creeping.
+
+    The Snail she came crawling all over the plain,
+    With all her jolly trinkets in her train.
+
+    Ten Bees there came, all clad in gold,
+    And all the rest did them behold;
+
+    But the Thornbud refused this sight to see,
+    And to a cow-plat away flies she.
+
+    But where now shall this wedding be?--
+    For and hey-nonny-no in an old ivy-tree.
+
+    And where now shall we bake our bread?--
+    For and hey-nonny-no in an old horse-head.
+
+    And where now shall we brew our ale?--
+    But even within one walnut-shale.
+
+    And also where shall we our dinner make?--
+    But even upon a galled horse-back:
+
+    For there we shall have good company
+    With humbling and bumbling and much melody.
+
+    When ended was this wedding-day,
+    The Bee he took his Fly away,
+
+    And laid her down upon the marsh
+    Between one marigold and the long grass.
+
+    And there they begot good master gnat
+    And made him the heir of all,--that's flat.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    _Audivere, Lyce_.--HORACE.
+
+    The gods have heard my vows,
+    Fond Lyce, whose fair brows
+    Wont scorn with such disdain
+    My love, my tears, my pain.
+                            Fa la!
+
+    But now those spring-tide roses
+    Are turn'd to winter-posies,
+    To rue and thyme and sage,
+    Fitting thy shrivell'd age.
+                            Fa la!
+
+    Now, youths, with hot desire
+    See, see, that flameless fire,
+    Which erst your hearts so burned,
+    Quick into ashes turned.
+                            Fa la!
+
+
+From _Pammelia_, 1609
+
+    _The household-bird with the red stomacher._--DONNE.
+
+    The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best;
+    Yet merrily sings little Robin, pretty Robin with the red breast.
+
+
+From RICHARD CARLTON's _Madrigals_, 1601.
+
+    The love of change hath changed the world throughout,
+    And what is counted good but that is strange?
+    New things wax old, old new, all turns about,
+    And all things change except the love of change.
+    Yet find I not that love of change in me,
+    But as I am so will I always be.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and last Book of Songs and Airs_, 1603.
+
+    The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall,
+      The fly her spleen, the little spark his heat;
+    And slender hairs cast shadows, though but small,
+      And bees have stings, although they be not great;
+    Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs;
+    And love is love, in beggars and in kings!
+
+    Where waters smoothest run, deep are the fords;
+      The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move;
+    The firmest faith is in the fewest words;
+      The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love;
+    True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak;
+    They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break!
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    The man of life upright,
+      Whose guiltless heart is free
+    From all dishonest deeds,
+      Or thought of vanity;
+
+    The man whose silent days
+      In harmless joys are spent,
+    Whom hopes cannot delude
+      Nor sorrow discontent:
+
+    That man needs neither towers
+      Nor armour for defence,
+    Nor secret vaults to fly
+      From thunder's violence:
+
+    He only can behold
+      With unaffrighted eyes
+    The horrors of the deep
+      And terrors of the skies.
+
+    Thus scorning all the cares
+      That fate or fortune brings,
+    He makes the heaven his book,
+      His wisdom heavenly things;
+
+    Good thoughts his only friends,
+      His wealth a well-spent age,
+    The earth his sober inn
+      And quiet pilgrimage.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure
+      Doth stoop in hope to have her wished prey;
+    So many men do stoop to sights unsure,
+      And courteous speech doth keep them at the bay:
+    Let them beware lest friendly looks be like
+    The lure whereat the soaring hawk did strike.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    The match that's made for just and true respects,
+    With evenness both of years and parentage,
+    Of force must bring forth many good effects.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    For where chaste love and liking sets the plant,
+    And concord waters with a firm good-will,
+    Of no good thing there can be any want.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    Sound is the knot that Chastity hath tied,
+    Sweet is the music Unity doth make,
+    Sure is the store that Plenty doth provide.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    Where Chasteness fails there Concord will decay,
+    Where Concord fleets there Plenty will decease,
+    Where Plenty wants there Love will wear away.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    I, Chastity, restrain all strange desires;
+    I, Concord, keep the course of sound consent;
+    I, Plenty, spare and spend as cause requires.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+    Make much of us, all ye that married be;
+    Speak well of us, all ye that mind to be;
+    The time may come to want and wish all three.
+                      Pari jugo dulcis tractus.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay
+      In greenwood groves delights to make his dwelling,
+    In fields to fly, chanting his roundelay,
+      At liberty, against the cage rebelling;
+    But my poor heart with sorrows over swelling,
+      Through bondage vile, binding my freedom short,
+    No pleasure takes in these his sports excelling,
+      Nor in his song receiveth no comfort.
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604. (By Sir
+Philip Sidney.)
+
+    The Nightingale, so soon as April bringeth
+      Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,
+    White late-bare earth proud of her clothing springeth,
+      Sings out her woes, a thorn her songbook making;
+    And mournfully bewailing,
+      Her throat in tunes expresseth:
+      While grief her heart oppresseth,
+    For Tereus' force o'er her chaste will prevailing.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Second Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    The peaceful western wind
+      The winter storms hath tamed,
+    And Nature in each kind
+      The kind heat hath inflamed:
+    The forward buds so sweetly breathe
+      Out of their earthly bowers,
+    That heaven, which views their pomp beneath,
+      Would fain be decked with flowers.
+
+    See how the morning smiles
+      On her bright eastern hill,
+    And with soft steps beguiles
+      Them that lie slumbering still!
+    The music-loving birds are come
+      From cliffs and rocks unknown,
+    To see the trees and briars bloom
+      That late were overthrown.[17]
+
+    What Saturn did destroy,
+      Love's Queen revives again;
+    And now her naked boy
+      Doth in the fields remain,
+    Where he such pleasing change doth view
+      In every living thing,
+    As if the world were born anew
+      To gratify the spring.
+
+    If all things life present,
+      Why die my comforts then?
+    Why suffers my content?
+      Am I the worst of men?
+    O, Beauty, be not thou accused
+      Too justly in this case!
+    Unkindly if true love be used,
+      'Twill yield thee little grace.
+
+[17] Old ed. "overflown."
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    There is a garden in her face
+    Where roses and white lilies grow;
+    A heavenly paradise is that place
+    Wherein all pleasant fruits doth flow.
+            There cherries grow which none may buy,
+            Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.
+
+    Those cherries fairly do enclose
+    Of orient pearl a double row,
+    Which when her lovely laughter shows,
+    They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
+            Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
+            Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.
+
+    Her eyes like angels watch them still,
+    Her brows like bended bows do stand,
+    Threatening with piercing frowns to kill
+    All that attempt with eye or hand
+            Those sacred cherries to come nigh
+            Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    There is a Lady sweet and kind,
+    Was never face so pleased my mind;
+    I did but see her passing by,
+    And yet I love her till I die.
+
+    Her gesture, motion and her smiles
+    Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,
+    Beguiles my heart, I know not why,
+    And yet I love her till I die.
+
+    Her free behaviour, winning looks
+    Will make a Lawyer burn his books;
+    I touched her not, alas! not I,
+    And yet I love her till I die.
+
+    Had I her fast betwixt mine arms,
+    Judge you that think such sports were harms;
+    Were't any harm? no, no, fie, fie,
+    For I will love her till I die.
+
+    Should I remain confined there
+    So long as Ph[oe]bus in his sphere,
+    I to request, she to deny,
+    Yet would I love her till I die.
+
+    Cupid is winged and doth range,
+    Her country so my love doth change:
+    But change she earth, or change she sky,
+    Yet will I love her till I die.
+
+
+From _Melismata_, 1611.
+
+    There were three Ravens sat on a tree,--
+    Down-a-down, hey down, hey down!
+    There were three Ravens sat on a tree,--
+                            With a down!
+
+    There were three Ravens sat on a tree,--
+    They were as black as they might be:
+      With a down, derry derry derry down down!
+
+    The one of them said to his make[18]--
+    Where shall we our breakfast take?
+
+    Down in yonder greene field
+    There lies a knight slain under his shield.
+
+    His hounds they lie down at his feet:
+    So well they their master keep.
+
+    His hawks they fly so eagerly,
+    There's no fowl dare him come nigh.
+
+    Down there comes a fallow doe,
+    Great with young as she might go.
+
+    She lift up his bloody head,
+    And kist his wounds that were so red.
+
+    She gat him upon her back
+    And carried him to earthen lake.
+
+    She buried him before the prime;
+    She was dead ere even-time.
+
+    God send every gentleman
+    Such hounds, such hawks, and such a leman!
+                        With a down, derry.
+
+[18] Old ed. "mate"; but "make," which is required for the rhyme, was a
+recognised form of "mate."
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).
+
+    Think'st thou, Kate, to put me down
+    With a 'No' or with a frown?
+    Since Love holds my heart in bands
+    I must do as Love commands.
+
+    Love commands the hands to dare
+    When the tongue of speech is spare,
+    Chiefest lesson in Love's school,--
+    Put it in adventure, fool!
+
+    Fools are they that fainting flinch
+    For a squeak, a scratch, a pinch:
+    Women's words have double sense:
+    'Stand away!'--a simple fence.
+
+    If thy mistress swear she'll cry,
+    Fear her not, she'll swear and lie:
+    Such sweet oaths no sorrow bring
+    Till the prick of conscience sting.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning?
+    Parrots so can learn to prate, our speech by pieces gleaning:
+    Nurses teach their children so about the time of weaning.
+
+    Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth:
+    He that courts us, wanting art, soon falters when he feigneth,
+    Looks asquint on his discourse and smiles when he complaineth.
+
+    Skilful anglers hide their hooks, fit baits for every season;
+    But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do that want reason:
+    Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of treason.
+
+    Ruth forgive me (if I erred) from human heart's compassion,
+    When I laughed sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion:
+    But, alas, who less could do that found so good occasion!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Thou art but young, thou say'st,
+      And love's delight thou weigh'st not:
+    O, take time while thou may'st,
+      Lest when thou would'st thou may'st not.
+
+    If love shall then assail thee,
+      A double anguish will torment thee;
+    And thou wilt wish (but wishes all will fail thee,)
+      "O me! that I were young again!" and so repent thee.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601. (Ascribed to Dr.
+Donne.)
+
+    Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white,
+      For all those rosy ornaments in thee;
+    Thou art not sweet, tho' made of mere delight,
+      Nor fair, nor sweet--unless thou pity me.
+    I will not soothe thy fancies, thou shalt prove
+      That beauty is no beauty without love.
+
+    Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure
+      My thoughts with beauty were it more divine;
+    Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,
+      I'll not be wrapped up in those arms of thine:
+    Now show it, if thou be a woman right,--
+      Embrace and kiss and love me in despite.
+
+
+From JOHN DANYEL's _Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice_, 1606.
+
+    Thou pretty Bird, how do I see
+    Thy silly state and mine agree!
+    For thou a prisoner art;
+    So is my heart.
+    Thou sing'st to her, and so do I address
+    My Music to her ear that's merciless;
+    But herein doth the difference lie,--
+    That thou art grac'd, so am not I;
+    Thou singing liv'st, and I must singing die.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety_,
+1588.
+
+    Though Amaryllis dance in green
+          Like Fairy Queen,
+          And sing full clear;
+    Corinna can, with smiling cheer.
+    Yet since their eyes make heart so sore,
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    My sheep are lost for want of food
+          And I so wood[19]
+          That all the day
+    I sit and watch a herd-maid gay;
+    Who laughs to see me sigh so sore,
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    Her loving looks, her beauty bright,
+          Is such delight!
+          That all in vain
+    I love to like, and lose my gain
+    For her, that thanks me not therefore.
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    Ah wanton eyes! my friendly foes
+          And cause of woes;
+          Your sweet desire
+    Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire!
+    Ye scorn to see me weep so sore!
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+    Love ye who list, I force him not:
+          Since God is wot,
+          The more I wail,
+    The less my sighs and tears prevail.
+    What shall I do? but say therefore,
+    Hey ho! chil love no more.
+
+[19] Distracted.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    Though my carriage be but careless,
+      Though my looks be of the sternest,
+    Yet my passions are compareless;
+      When I love, I love in earnest.
+
+    No; my wits are not so wild,
+      But a gentle soul may yoke me;
+    Nor my heart so hard compiled,
+      But it melts, if love provoke me.
+
+
+From ROBERT JONES' _Musical Dream_, 1609. (This song is also printed in
+Thomas Campion's _Two Books of Airs_, circ. 1613.)
+
+    Though your strangeness frets my heart,
+      Yet must I not complain;
+    You persuade me 'tis but art
+      Which secret love must feign;
+    If another you affect,
+    'Tis but a toy, t' avoid suspect.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+    When your wish'd sight I desire,
+      Suspicion you pretend,
+    Causeless you yourself retire
+      Whilst I in vain attend,
+    Thus a lover, as you say,
+    Still made more eager by delay.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+    When another holds your hand
+      You'll swear I hold your heart;
+    Whilst my rival close doth stand
+      And I sit far apart,
+    I am nearer yet than they,
+    Hid in your bosom, as you say.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+    Would a rival then I were
+      Or[20] else a secret friend,
+    So much lesser should I fear
+      And not so much attend.
+    They enjoy you, every one,
+    Yet must I seem your friend alone.
+    Is this fair excusing?
+    O no, all is abusing.
+
+[20] Old ed. "Some."
+
+
+From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.
+
+    Thrice blessed be the giver
+    That gave sweet love that golden quiver,
+    And live he long among the gods anointed
+    That made the arrow-heads sharp-pointed:
+    If either of them both had quailed,
+    She of my love and I of hers had failed.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,
+    Thrice sit thou mute in the enchanted chair,
+    Then thrice-three times tie up this true love's knot,
+    And murmur soft "She will or she will not."
+
+    Go, burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire,
+    These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar,
+    This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,
+    That all my fears and cares an end may have.
+
+    Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round!
+    Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound!
+    --In vain are all the charms I can devise:
+    She hath an art to break them with her eyes.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so:
+      Since she is fair and ever kind to me,
+    Though she be wild and wanton-like in show,
+      Those little stains in youth I will not see.
+    That she be constant, heaven I oft implore;
+    If prayers prevail not, I can do no more.
+
+    Palm-tree the more you press, the more it grows;
+      Leave it alone, it will not much exceed:
+    Free beauty, if you strive to yoke, you lose,
+      And for affection strange distaste you breed.
+    What nature hath not taught no art can frame;
+    Wild-born be wild still, though by force you tame.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Thus saith my Chloris bright
+    When we of love sit down and talk together:--
+    "Beware of Love, dear; Love is a walking sprite,
+                And Love is this and that
+                And, O, I know not what,
+    And comes and goes again I wot not whether."[21]
+    No, no, these are but bugs to breed amazing,
+    For in her eyes I saw his torch-light blazing.
+
+[21] Old form of "whither."
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.
+
+    Thus saith my Galatea:
+      Love long hath been deluded,
+      When shall it be concluded?
+
+    The young nymphs all are wedded:
+      Ah, then why do I tarry?
+      Oh, let me die or marry.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    To his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres,
+    The wondrous orders of the stars whose course divides the years,
+            And all the mysteries above;
+            But none of this could Midas move:
+    Which purchased him his ass's ears.
+
+    Then Pan with his rude pipe began the country wealth t' advance,
+    To boast of cattle, flocks of sheep, and goats on hills that dance,
+            With much more of this churlish kind,
+            That quite transported Midas' mind,
+    And held him wrapt in trance.
+
+    This wrong the God of Music scorned from such a sottish judge,
+    And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the piper trudge:
+            Then Midas' head he so did trim
+            That every age yet talks of him
+    And Ph[oe]bus' right revenged grudge.
+
+
+From ROBERT DOWLAND's _Musical Banquet_, 1610. (The lines are assigned
+to Robert Deveureux, Earl of Essex.)
+
+    To plead my faith, where faith hath no reward,
+      To move remorse where favour is not borne,
+    To heap complaints where she doth not regard,
+      Were fruitless, bootless, vain, and yield but scorn.
+
+    I loved her whom all the world admired,
+      I was refused of her that can love none,
+    And my vain hopes which far too high aspired
+      Is dead and buried and for ever gone.
+
+    Forget my name since you have scorned my love,
+      And woman-like do not too late lament:
+    Since for your sake I do all mischief prove,
+      I none accuse nor nothing do repent:
+    I was as fond as ever she was fair,
+    Yet loved I not more than I now despair.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    To shorten winter's sadness
+    See where the nymphs with gladness
+                                Fa la la!
+
+    Disguised all are coming,
+    Right wantonly a-mumming.
+                                Fa la la!
+
+    Though masks encloud their beauty,
+    Yet give the eye her duty.
+                                Fa la la!
+
+    When Heaven is dark it shineth
+    And unto love inclineth.
+                                Fa la la!
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1600.
+
+    Toss not my soul, O Love, 'twixt hope and fear!
+      Show me some ground where I may firmly stand,
+    Or surely fall! I care not which appear,
+      So one will close me in a certain band.
+    When once of ill the uttermost is known;
+    The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown!
+
+    Take me, Assurance, to thy blissful hold!
+      Or thou Despair, unto thy darkest cell!
+    Each hath full rest: the one, in joys enroll'd;
+      Th' other, in that he fears no more, is well.
+    When once the uttermost of ill is known,
+    The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Turn all thy thoughts to eyes,
+    Turn all thy hairs to ears,
+    Change all thy friends to spies
+    And all thy joys to fears;
+        True love will yet be free
+        In spite of jealousy.
+
+    Turn darkness into day,
+    Conjectures into truth,
+    Believe what th' envious say,
+    Let age interpret youth:
+        True love will yet be free
+        In spite of jealousy.
+
+    Wrest every word and look,
+    Rack every hidden thought;
+    Or fish with golden hook,
+    True love cannot be caught:
+        For that will still be free
+        In spite of jealousy.
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    Unto the temple of thy beauty,
+      And to the tomb where pity lies,
+    I, pilgrim-clad with zeal and duty,
+      Do offer up my heart, mine eyes.
+    My heart, lo! in the quenchless fire,
+      On love's burning altar lies,
+    Conducted thither by desire
+      To be beauty's sacrifice.
+
+    But pity on thy sable hearse,
+      Mine eyes the tears of sorrow shed;
+    What though tears cannot fate reverse,
+      Yet are they duties to the dead.
+    O, Mistress, in thy sanctuary
+      Why wouldst thou suffer cold disdain
+    To use his frozen cruelty,
+      And gentle pity to be slain?
+
+    Pity that to thy beauty fled,
+      And with thy beauty should have lived,
+    Ah, in thy heart lies buried,
+      And nevermore may be revived;
+    Yet this last favour, dear, extend,
+      To accept these vows, these tears I shed,
+    Duties which I thy pilgrim send,
+      To beauty living, pity dead.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
+
+    Upon a hill the bonny boy
+      Sweet Thyrsis sweetly played,
+    And called his lambs their master's joy,
+      And more he would have said;
+    But love that gives the lover wings
+    Withdrew his mind from other things.
+
+    His pipe and he could not agree,
+      For Milla was his note;
+    The silly pipe could never get
+      This lovely name by rote:
+    With that they both fell in a sound,[22]
+    He fell a-sleep, his pipe to ground.
+
+[22] Swoon.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    Upon a summer's day Love went to swim,
+      And cast himself into a sea of tears;
+    The clouds called in their light, and heaven waxed dim,
+      And sighs did raise a tempest, causing fears;
+    The naked boy could not so wield his arms,
+      But that the waves were masters of his might,
+    And threatened him to work far greater harms
+      If he devised not to scape by flight:
+    Then for a boat his quiver stood instead,
+      His bow unbent did serve him for a mast,
+    Whereby to sail his cloth of veil he spread,
+      His shafts for oars on either board he cast:
+    From shipwreck safe this wag got thus to shore,
+      And sware to bathe in lovers' tears no more.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Second Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Vain men! whose follies make a god of love;
+      Whose blindness, beauty doth immortal deem,
+    Praise not what you desire, but what you prove;
+      Count those things good that are, not those that seem.
+    I cannot call her true, that's false to me;
+    Nor make of women, more than women be.
+
+    How fair an entrance breaks the way to love!
+      How rich the golden hope, and gay delight!
+    What heart cannot a modest beauty move?
+      Who seeing clear day once will dream of night?
+    She seemed a saint, that brake her faith with me;
+    But proved a woman, as all other be.
+
+    So bitter is their sweet that True Content
+      Unhappy men _in_ them may never find:
+    Ah! but _without_ them, none. Both must consent,
+      Else uncouth are the joys of either kind.
+    Let us then praise their good, forget their ill!
+    Men must be men, and women women still.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1624.
+
+    Wake, sleepy Thyrsis, wake
+    For Love and Venus' sake!
+    Come, let us mount the hills
+    Which Zephyrus with cool breath fills;
+    Or let us tread new alleys,
+    In yonder shady valleys.
+    Rise, rise, rise, rise!
+    Lighten thy heavy eyes:
+    See how the streams do glide
+    And the green meads divide:
+    But stream nor fire shall part
+    This and this joined heart.
+
+
+From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.
+
+    We be soldiers three,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    Lately come forth of the Low Country
+    With never a penny of money.
+                  Fa la la la lantido dilly.
+
+    Here, good fellow, I drink to thee,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    To all good fellows wherever they be,
+    With never a penny of money.
+
+    And he that will not pledge me this,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    Pays for the shot whatever it is,
+    With never a penny of money.
+
+    Charge it again, boy, charge it again,
+    _Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
+    As long as there is any ink in thy pen,
+    With never a penny of money.
+
+
+From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.
+
+    We be three poor mariners,
+      Newly come from the seas;
+    We spend our lives in jeopardy
+      While others live at ease.
+    Shall we go dance the round, the round,
+      Shall we go dance the round?
+    And he that is a bully boy
+      Come pledge me on this ground!
+
+    We care not for those martial men
+      That do our states disdain;
+    But we care for the merchant men
+      Who do our states maintain:
+    To them we dance this round, around,
+      To them we dance this round;
+    And he that is a bully boy
+      Come pledge me on this ground!
+
+
+From _Egerton MS., 2013_.
+
+    We must not part as others do,
+    With sighs and tears, as we were two:
+    Though with these outward forms we part,
+    We keep each other in our heart.
+    What search hath found a being, where
+    I am not, if that thou be there?
+
+    True love hath wings, and can as soon
+    Survey the world as sun and moon,
+    And everywhere our triumphs keep
+    O'er absence which makes others weep:
+    By which alone a power is given
+    To live on earth, as they in heaven.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices_, 1598.
+
+    We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play,
+    With pretty sport we pass the day:
+                                    Fa la!
+    We care for no gold,
+    But with our fold
+    We dance
+    And prance
+    As pleasure would.
+                        Fa la!
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+    Wedded to will is witless,
+        And seldom he is skilful
+        That bears the name of wise and yet is wilful.
+    To govern he is fitless
+        That deals not by election,
+        But by his fond affection.
+    O that it might be treason
+    For men to rule by will and not by reason.
+
+
+From THOMAS TOMKINS' _Songs of Three, Four, Five, and Six Parts_, 1622.
+
+    Weep no more, thou sorry boy;
+    Love's pleased and anger'd with a toy.
+    Love a thousand passion brings,
+    Laughs and weeps, and sighs and sings.
+    If _she_ smiles, he dancing goes,
+    And thinks not on his future woes:
+    If _she_ chide with angry eye,
+    Sits down, and sighs "Ah me, I die!"
+    Yet again, as soon revived,
+    Joys as much as late he grieved.
+    Change there is of joy and sadness,
+    Sorrow much, but more of gladness.
+    Then weep no more, thou sorry boy,
+    Turn thy tears to weeping joy.
+    Sigh no more "Ah me! I die!"
+    But dance, and sing, and ti-hy cry.
+
+
+From JOHN ROWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    Weep you no more, sad fountains;
+      What need you flow so fast?
+    Look how the snowy mountains
+      Heaven's sun doth gently waste!
+    But my sun's heavenly eyes,
+      View not your weeping,
+      That now lies sleeping
+    Softly, now softly lies
+                        Sleeping.
+
+    Sleep is a reconciling,
+      A rest that peace begets;
+    Doth not the sun rise smiling
+      When fair at ev'n he sets?
+    Rest you then, rest, sad eyes!
+      Melt not in weeping,
+      While she lies sleeping,
+    Softly, now softly lies
+                        Sleeping.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices_, 1598.
+
+    Welcome, sweet pleasure,
+    My wealth and treasure;
+    To haste our playing
+    There's no delaying,
+                    No no!
+    This mirth delights me
+    When sorrow frights me.
+        Then sing we all
+                    Fa la la la la!
+
+    Sorrow, content thee,
+    Mirth must prevent thee:
+    Though much thou grievest
+    Thou none relievest.
+                    No no!
+    Joy, come delight me,
+    Though sorrow spite me.
+    Then sing we all
+                    Fa la la la la!
+
+    Grief is disdainful,
+    Sottish and painful:
+    Then wait on pleasure,
+    And lose no leisure.
+                   No no!
+    Heart's ease it lendeth
+    And comfort sendeth.
+        Then sing we all
+                   Fa la la la la!
+
+
+From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+    Were I a king, I might command content;
+      Were I obscure, unknown should be my cares:
+    And were I dead, no thoughts should me torment,
+      Nor words, nor wrongs, nor loves, nor hopes, nor fears.
+    A doubtful choice, of three things one to crave;
+    A kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave.
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book Of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me,
+    But thy faults I curious find and speak because I love thee;
+    Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me.
+
+    Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting,
+    Than th' obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting;
+    Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting.
+
+    While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of reason,
+    Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season;
+    Hidden mischief to conceal in state and love is treason.
+
+
+From _Pammelia_, 1609.
+
+        What hap had I to marry a shrow!
+        For she hath given me many a blow,
+    And how to please her alack I do not know.
+
+        From morn to even her tongue ne'er lies,
+        Sometimes she brawls, sometimes she cries,
+    Yet I can scarce keep her talents[23] from mine eyes.
+
+        If I go abroad and late come in,--
+        "Sir knave," saith she, "Where have you been?"
+    And do I well or ill she claps me on the skin.
+
+[23] Old form of "talons."
+
+
+From ORLANDO GIBBONS' _First Set Of Madrigals_, 1612. (Ascribed to Sir
+Walter Raleigh.)
+
+    What is our life? a play of passion:
+    Our mirth? the music of division.
+    Our mothers' wombs the tyring-houses be
+    Where we are drest for this short comedy:
+    Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is
+    That sits and marks whoe'er doth act amiss:
+    Our graves, that hide us from the searching sun,
+    Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:
+    Thus march we playing to our latest rest,
+    Only we die in earnest,--that's no jest.
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    What needeth all this travail and turmoiling,
+        Short'ning the life's sweet pleasure
+        To seek this far-fetched treasure
+    In those hot climates under Ph[oe]bus broiling?
+
+    O fools, can you not see a traffic nearer
+      In my sweet lady's face, where Nature showeth
+      Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth?
+        Rubies and diamonds dainty
+        And orient pearls such plenty,
+    Coral and ambergreece sweeter and dearer
+      Than which the South Seas or Moluccas lend us,
+      Or either Indies, East or West, do send us!
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    What pleasure have great princes
+    More dainty to their choice
+    Than herdsmen wild, who careless
+    In quiet life rejoice,
+    And fortune's fate not fearing
+    Sing sweet in summer morning?
+
+    Their dealings plain and rightful,
+    Are void of all deceit;
+    They never know how spiteful,
+    It is to kneel and wait
+    On favourite presumptuous
+    Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.
+
+    All day their flocks each tendeth;
+    At night, they take their rest;
+    More quiet than who sendeth
+    His ship into the East,
+    Where gold and pearl are plenty;
+    But getting, very dainty.
+
+    For lawyers and their pleading,
+    They 'steem it not a straw;
+    They think that honest meaning
+    Is of itself a law:
+    Whence conscience judgeth plainly,
+    They spend no money vainly.
+
+    O happy who thus liveth!
+    Not caring much for gold;
+    With clothing which sufficeth
+    To keep him from the cold.
+    Though poor and plain his diet
+    Yet merry it is, and quiet.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+
+    What poor astronomers are they,
+    Take women's eyes for stars!
+    And set their thoughts in battle 'ray,
+    To fight such idle wars;
+    When in the end they shall approve
+    'Tis but a jest drawn out of Love.
+
+    And Love itself is but a jest
+    Devised by idle heads,
+    To catch young Fancies in the nest,
+    And lay them in fool's beds;
+    That being hatched in beauty's eyes
+    They may be fledged ere they be wise.
+
+    But yet it is a sport to see,
+    How Wit will run on wheels!
+    While Wit cannot persuaded be,
+    With that which Reason feels,
+    That women's eyes and stars are odd
+    And Love is but a feigned god!
+
+    But such as will run mad with Will,
+    I cannot clear their sight
+    But leave them to their study still,
+    To look where is no light!
+    Till time too late, we make them try,
+    They study false Astronomy!
+
+
+From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
+
+    What then is love, sings Corydon,
+    Since Phyllida is grown so coy?
+    A flattering glass to gaze upon,
+    A busy jest, a serious toy,
+    A flower still budding, never blown,
+    A scanty dearth in fullest store
+    Yielding least fruit where most is sown.
+        My daily note shall be therefore--
+        Heigh ho, chil love no more.
+
+    'Tis like a morning dewy rose
+    Spread fairly to the sun's arise,
+    But when his beams he doth disclose
+    That which then flourish'd quickly dies;
+    It is a seld-fed dying hope,
+    A promised bliss, a salveless sore,
+    An aimless mark, and erring scope.
+        My daily note shall be therefore,--
+        Heigh ho, chil love no more.
+
+    'Tis like a lamp shining to all,
+    Whilst in itself it doth decay;
+    It seems to free whom it doth thrall,
+    And lead our pathless thoughts astray.
+    It is the spring of wintered hearts
+    Parched by the summer's heat before
+    Faint hope to kindly warmth converts.
+        My daily note shall be therefore--
+        Heigh ho, chil love no more.
+
+
+From RICHARD CARLTON's _Madrigals_, 1601.
+
+    When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth
+    Of summer sweet with herbs and flowers adorned,
+    The nightingale upon the hawthorn singeth
+    And Boreas' blasts the birds and beasts have scorned;
+    When fresh Aurora with her colours painted,
+    Mingled with spears of gold, the sun appearing,
+    Delights the hearts that are with love acquainted,
+    And maying maids have then their time of cheering;
+    All creatures then with summer are delighted,
+    The beasts, the birds, the fish with scale of silver;
+    Then stately dames by lovers are invited
+    To walk in meads or row upon the river.
+    I all alone am from these joys exiled,
+    No summer grows where love yet never smiled.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    When I was otherwise than now I am,
+        I loved more but skilled not so much
+    Fair words and smiles could have contented then,
+        My simple age and ignorance was such:
+    But at the length experience made me wonder
+    That hearts and tongues did lodge so far asunder.
+
+    As watermen which on the Thames do row,
+        Look to the east but west keeps on the way;
+    My sovereign sweet her count'nance settled so,
+        To feed my hope while she her snares might lay:
+    And when she saw that I was in her danger,
+    Good God, how soon she proved then a ranger!
+
+    I could not choose but laugh, although too late,
+        To see great craft decypher'd in a toy;
+    I love her still, but such conditions hate
+        Which so profanes my paradise of joy.
+    Love whets the wits, whose pain is but a pleasure;
+    A toy, by fits to play withal at leisure.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    When thou must home to shades of underground,
+    And there arrived, a new admired guest,
+    The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,
+    White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,
+    To hear the stories of thy finished love
+    From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move;
+
+    Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,
+    Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,
+    Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights,
+    And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake:
+    When thou hast told these honours done to thee,
+    Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    {deinos Eros, deinos; ti de to pleon, en palin eipo,
+    kai palin, oimozon pollaki, deinos Eros?}
+                                          MELEAG.
+
+    When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight,
+      And see him naked, blindfold, and a boy,
+    Though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might,
+      Yet ween they he can work them none annoy;
+    And therefore with his purple wings they play,
+      For glorious seemeth love though light as feather,
+    And when they have done they ween to scape away,
+      For blind men, say they, shoot they know not whither.
+    But when by proof they find that he did see,
+      And that his wound did rather dim their sight,
+    They wonder more how such a lad as he
+      Should be of such surpassing power and might.
+    But ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting:
+      Then shield me, heavens, from such a subtle thing!
+
+
+From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.
+
+    Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking;
+      Where least I come there most my heart abideth;
+    Where most I love I never show my liking;
+      From what my mind doth hold my body slideth;
+    I show least care where most my care dependeth;
+      A coy regard where most my soul attendeth.
+
+    Despiteful thus unto myself I languish,
+      And in disdain myself from joy I banish.
+    These secret thoughts enwrap me so in anguish
+      That life, I hope, will soon from body vanish,
+    And to some rest will quickly be conveyed
+      That on no joy, while so I lived, hath stayed.
+
+
+From MARTIN PEARSON's _Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music_, 1630.
+
+    A MOURNING-SONG FOR THE DEATH OF SIR FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE.
+
+    Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought
+    For this sad ruin which the Fates have wrought,
+    Unless the Fates themselves should weep and wish
+    Their curbless power had been controlled in this?
+    For thy loss, worthiest Lord, no mourning eye
+    Has flood enough; no muse nor elegy
+    Enough expression to thy worth can lend;
+    No, though thy Sidney had survived his friend.
+    Dead, noble Brooke shall be to us a name
+    Of grief and honour still, whose deathless fame
+    Such Virtue purchased as makes us to be
+    Unjust to Nature in lamenting thee;
+    Wailing an old man's fate as if in pride
+    And heat of Youth he had untimely died.
+
+
+From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+    {skene pas ho bios, kai paignion.}
+                                   PALLAD.
+
+    Whether men do laugh or weep,
+    Whether they do wake or sleep,
+    Whether they die young or old,
+    Whether they feel heat or cold;
+    There is underneath the sun
+    Nothing in true earnest done.
+
+    All our pride is but a jest,
+    None are worst and none are best;
+    Grief and joy and hope and fear
+    Play their pageants everywhere:
+    Vain Opinion all doth sway,
+    And the world is but a play.
+
+    Powers above in clouds do sit,
+    Mocking our poor apish wit,
+    That so lamely with such state
+    Their high glory imitate.
+    No ill can be felt but pain,
+    And that happy men disdain.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    While that the sun with his beams hot
+      Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain,
+    Philon, the shepherd, late forgot
+      Sitting beside a chrystal fountain
+          In shadow of a green oak-tree,
+          Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    So long as I was in your sight,
+      I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
+    And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd,
+      Burning in flames beyond all measure.
+          Three days endured your love for me,
+          And it was lost in other three.
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    Another shepherd you did see,
+      To whom your heart was soon enchained;
+    Full soon your love was leapt from me,
+      Full soon my place he had obtained:
+          Soon came a third your love to win;
+          And we were out, and he was in.
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new Love.
+
+    Sure, you have made me passing glad
+      That you your mind so soon removed,
+    Before that I the leisure had
+      To choose you for my best beloved:
+          For all my love was past and done
+          Two days, before it was begun.
+    Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.
+
+    Whilst youthful sports are lasting,
+    To feasting turn our fasting.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+    With revels and with wassails
+    Make grief and care our vassals.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+    For youth it well beseemeth
+    That pleasure he esteemeth.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+    And sullen age is hated
+    That mirth would have abated.
+                        Fa la la!
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    White as lilies was her face:
+        When she smiled
+        She beguiled,
+    Quitting faith with foul disgrace.
+    Virtue's service thus neglected.
+    Heart with sorrows hath infected.
+
+    When I swore my heart her own,
+        She disdained;
+        I complained,
+    Yet she left me overthrown:
+    Careless of my bitter grieving,
+    Ruthless, bent to no relieving.
+
+    Vows and oaths and faith assured,
+        Constant ever,
+        Changing never,--
+    Yet she could not be procured
+    To believe my pains exceeding
+    From her scant respect proceeding.
+
+    O that love should have the art,
+        By surmises,
+        And disguises,
+    To destroy a faithful heart;
+    Or that wanton-looking women
+    Should reward their friends as foemen.
+
+    All in vain is ladies' love--
+        Quickly choosed.
+        Shortly loosed;
+    For their pride is to remove.
+    Out, alas! their looks first won us,
+    And their pride hath straight undone us.
+
+    To thyself, the sweetest Fair!
+        Thou hast wounded,
+        And confounded
+    Changeless faith with foul despair;
+    And my service hast envied
+    And my succours hast denied.
+
+    By thine error thou hast lost
+        Heart unfeigned,
+        Truth unstained.
+    And the swain that loved most,
+    More assured in love than many,
+    Move despised in love than any.
+
+    For my heart, though set at nought,
+        Since you will it,
+        Spoil and kill it!
+    I will never change my thought:
+    But grieve that beauty e'er was born
+    Thus to answer love with scorn.
+
+
+From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1605.
+
+    Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers
+      Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay:
+    The climbing wood-bine, clipping all these bowers,
+      Clips thee likewise for fear thou pass away;
+      Fortune our friend, our foe will not gainsay.
+    Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
+    She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
+
+    Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet;
+      Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings!
+    Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet
+      Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs,
+      And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings.
+    Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
+    She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
+
+    See how the helitrope, herb of the sun,
+      Though he himself long since be gone to bed,
+    Is not of force thine eye's bright beams to shun,
+      But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread,
+      And on my knee invites thee rest thy head.
+    Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
+    She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
+
+    Who likes to love, let him take heed!
+        And wot you why?
+    Among the gods it is decreed
+        That Love shall die;
+    And every wight that takes his part
+    Shall forfeit each a mourning heart.
+
+    The cause is this, as I have heard:
+        A sort of dames,
+    Whose beauty he did not regard
+        Nor secret flames,
+    Complained before the gods above
+    That gold corrupts the god of love.
+
+    The gods did storm to hear this news,
+        And there they swore,
+    That sith he did such dames abuse
+        He should no more
+    Be god of love, but that he should
+    Both die and forfeit all his gold.
+
+    His bow and shafts they took away
+        Before his eyes,
+    And gave these dames a longer day
+        For to devise
+    Who should them keep, and they be bound
+    That love for gold should not be found.
+
+    These ladies striving long, at last
+        They did agree
+    To give them to a maiden chaste,
+        Whom I did see,
+    Who with the same did pierce my breast:
+    Her beauty's rare, and so I rest.
+
+
+From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+
+    1. Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough
+          And fall in love?
+    2. Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow
+          The gods above.
+    1. What dost thou serve? 2. A shepherdess;
+          One such as hath no peer, I guess.
+    1. What is her name who bears thy heart
+          Within her breast?
+    2. Silvana fair, of high desert,
+          Whom I love best.
+    1. O, Hob, I fear she looks too high.
+    2. Yet love I must, or else I die.
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Who prostrate lies at women's feet.
+    And calls them darlings dear and sweet;
+    Protesting love, and craving grace,
+    And praising oft a foolish face;
+    Are oftentimes deceived at last,
+    Then catch at nought and hold it fast.
+
+
+From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    Who would have thought that face of thine
+        Had been so full of doubleness,
+    Or that within those crystal eyn
+        Had been so much unstableness?
+    Thy face so fair, thy look so strange!
+    Who would have thought of such a change?
+
+
+From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
+
+    Why are you Ladies staying,
+    And your Lords gone a-maying?
+    Run apace and meet them
+    And with your garlands greet them.
+    'Twere pity they should miss you,
+    For they will sweetly kiss you.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
+
+    Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me
+    Of my heart and so leave me?
+                      Farewell!
+    But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel,
+    Kiss me, Sweet, my Jewel!
+                      Farewell!
+
+    Hope by disdain grows cheerless,
+    Fear doth love, love doth fear;
+        Beauty peerless,
+                      Farewell!
+
+    If no delays can move thee,
+    Life shall die, death shall live
+        Still to love thee.
+                      Farewell!
+
+    Yet be thou mindful ever!
+    Heat from fire, fire from heat,
+        None can sever.
+                      Farewell!
+
+    True love cannot be changed,
+    Though delight from desert
+        Be estranged.
+                      Farewell!
+
+
+From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
+
+    Wise men patience never want,
+      Good men pity cannot hide;
+    Feeble spirits only vaunt
+      Of revenge, the poorest pride:
+    He alone forgive that can
+    Bears the true soul of a man.
+
+    Some there are debate that seek,
+      Making trouble their content;
+    Happy if they wrong the meek,
+      Vex them that to peace are bent:
+    Such undo the common tie
+    Of mankind, Society.
+
+    Kindness grown is lately cold,
+      Conscience hath forgot her part;
+    Blessed times were known of old
+      Long ere Law became an art:
+    Shame deterred, not statutes then;
+    Honest love was law to men.
+
+    Deeds from love, and words, that flow,
+      Foster like kind April showers;
+    In the warm sun all things grow,
+      Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowers:
+    All so thrives his gentle rays
+    Whereon human love displays.
+
+
+From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
+
+    Woeful Heart, with grief oppressed!
+    Since my fortunes most distressed
+        From my joys hath me removed,
+    Follow those sweet eyes adored!
+    Those sweet eyes wherein are stored
+        All my pleasures best beloved.
+
+    Fly my breast--leave me forsaken--
+    Wherein Grief his seat hath taken,
+        All his arrows through me darting!
+    Thou mayst live by her sunshining:
+    I shall suffer no more pining
+        By thy loss than by her parting.
+
+
+From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.
+
+    Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes
+    To lovers' plaints with heart-sore throbs immixed,
+    When as my dear this way her pleasure takes,
+    Tell her with tears how firm my love is fixed;
+    And, Philomel, report my timerous fears,
+    And, echo, sound my heigh-ho's in her ears:
+    But if she asks if I for love will die,
+    Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith,--not I.
+
+
+From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
+
+    You blessed bowers whose green leaves now are spreading,
+      Shadow the sunshine from my mistress' face,
+    And you, sweet roses, only for her bedding
+      When weary she doth take her resting-place;
+    You fair white lilies and pretty flowers all,
+    Give your attendance at my mistress' call.
+
+
+From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets_, 1595.
+
+    You that wont to my pipe's sound
+    Daintily to tread your ground,
+        Jolly shepherds and nymphs sweet,
+                                (Lirum, lirum.)
+
+    Here met together
+    Under the weather,
+    Hand in hand uniting,
+        The lovely god come greet.
+                                (Lirum, lirum)
+
+    Lo, triumphing, brave comes he,
+    All in pomp and majesty,
+        Monarch of the world and king.
+                                (Lirum, lirum.)
+
+    Let whoso list him
+    Dare to resist him,
+    We our voices uniting,
+        Of his high acts will sing.
+                                (Lirum, lirum.)
+
+
+From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+    Your shining eyes and golden hair,
+    Your lily-rosed lips so fair;
+    Your various beauties which excel,
+    Men cannot choose but like them well:
+    Yet when for them they say they'll die,
+    Believe them not,--they do but lie.
+
+
+
+
+NOTES.
+
+
+_Page_ 3.
+
+Thomas Weelkes was organist of Winchester College in 1600, and of
+Chichester Cathedral in 1608. His first collection, "Madrigals to three,
+four, five, or six voices," was published in 1597. Here first appeared
+the verses (fraudulently ascribed, in "The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599, to
+Shakespeare), "My flocks feed not." In 1598 Weelkes published "Ballets
+and Madrigals to five voices," which was followed in 1600 by "Madrigals
+of five and six parts." Prefixed to the last-named work is the following
+dedicatory epistle:--
+
+"To the truly noble, virtuous, and honorable, my very good Lord Henry,
+Lord Winsor, Baron of Bradenham.
+
+My Lord, in the College at Winchester, where I live, I have heard
+learned men say that some philosophers have mistaken the soul of man for
+an harmony: let the precedent of their error be a privilege for mine. I
+see not, if souls do not partly consist of music, how it should come to
+pass that so noble a spirit as your's, so perfectly tuned to so
+perpetual a _tenor_ of excellence as it is, should descend to the notice
+of a quality lying single in so low a personage as myself. But in music
+the _base_ part is no disgrace to the best ears' attendancy. I confess
+my conscience is untoucht with any other arts, and I hope my confession
+is unsuspected; many of us musicians think it as much praise to be
+somewhat more than musicians as it is for gold to be somewhat more than
+gold, and if _Jack Cade_ were alive, yet some of us might live, unless
+we should think, as the artisans in the Universities of Poland and
+Germany think, that the Latin tongue comes by reflection. I hope your
+Lordship will pardon this presumption of mine; the rather, because I
+know before Nobility I am to deal sincerely; and this small faculty of
+mine, because it is alone in me, and without the assistance of other
+more confident sciences, is the more to be favoured and the rather to be
+received into your honour's protection; so shall I observe you with as
+humble and as true an heart, as he whose knowledge is as large as the
+world's creation, and as earnestly pray for you to the world's Creator.
+
+    Your Honor's in all humble service,
+                        THOMAS WEELKES."
+
+In 1608 appeared Weelkes' last work, "Airs or Fantastic Spirits for
+three voices," a collection of lively and humorous ditties. Oliphant
+writes:--"For originality of ideas, and ingenuity of construction in
+part writing, (I allude more especially to his ballets,) Weelkes in my
+opinion leaves all other composers of his time far behind." The verses
+in Weelkes' song-books are never heavy or laboured; they are always
+bright, cheerful, and arch.
+
+_Page_ 3. Robert Jones was a famous performer on the lute. He had a
+share in the management of the theatre in the Whitefriars (Collier's
+"Annals of the Stage," i. 395). His works are of the highest rarity. The
+delightful lyrics in Jones' song-books have escaped the notice of all
+the editors of anthologies.
+
+_Page_ 4. Thomas Morley, who was a pupil of William Byrd, was the author
+of the first systematic treatise on music published in this country--"A
+plain and easy Introduction to practical Music," 1597, quaintly set down
+in form of a dialogue. The verses in his collections are mere airy
+trifles, and hardly bear to be separated from the music.
+
+"About the maypole new," &c., is a translation of some Italian lines,
+beginning--
+
+    "Al suon d'una sampogn' e d'una citera,
+        Sopra l'herbette floride
+        Dansava Tirsi con l'amata Cloride," &c.
+
+In Morley's "Canzonets to three Voices," 1593, we have the following
+pleasant description of the preparations for a country wedding:--
+
+    "Arise, get up, my dear, make haste, begone thee:
+    Lo! where the bride, fair Daphne, tarries on thee.
+    Hark! O hark! yon merry maidens squealing
+    Spice-cakes, sops-in-wine are a-dealing.
+    Run, then run apace
+    And get a bride-lace
+    And gilt rosemary branch the while there yet is catching
+    And then hold fast for fear of old snatching.
+
+    Alas! my dear, why weep ye?
+    O fear not that, dear love, the next day keep we.
+    List, yon minstrels! hark how fine they firk it,
+    And how the maidens jerk it!
+    With Kate and Will,
+    Tom and Gill,
+    Now a skip,
+    Then a trip,
+    Finely fet aloft,
+    There again as oft;
+    Hey ho! blessed holiday!
+    All for Daphne's wedding day!"
+
+_Page_ 9. John Wilbye is styled by Oliphant "the first of madrigal
+writers." He published his "First Set of English Madrigals" in 1598, and
+his "Second Set" in 1609. The Second Set was dedicated to the
+unfortunate Lady Arabella Stuart. The composer concludes his dedicatory
+epistle with the prayer, "I beseech the Almighty to make you in all the
+passages of your life truly happy, as you are in the world's true
+opinion, virtuous." In the very year when the epistle was written the
+gifted patroness of art and learning was accused before the Privy
+Council and ordered to be kept in close confinement. She made her
+escape, but after a few hours was captured at sea in her flight to
+Dunkirk, brought back to London, and committed to the Tower, where she
+died of a broken heart in 1615. It is pleasant to think that the
+song-book dedicated to her honour may have cheered her in the long hours
+of solitude. The collection consists chiefly of love-lyrics; but such
+verses as "Happy, O happy he," &c. (p. 37) and "Draw on, sweet Night"
+(p. 21), must have been carefully cherished by the poor captive.
+
+_Page_ 9. "April is in my mistress' face."--Compare Robert Greene's
+verses in "Perimedes, the Blacksmith," 1588:--
+
+    "Fair is my love, for April in her face,
+      Her lovely breasts September claims his part,
+    And lordly July in her eyes takes place:
+      But cold December dwelleth in her heart:
+    Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire,
+    Accurs'd that month that hindereth my desire!"
+
+_Page_ 11. "The Urchins' Dance" is from the anonymous play "The Maid's
+Metamorphosis," 1600. In the same play are the following dainty
+verses;--
+
+    "_1 Fairy._ I do come about the copse
+                 Leaping upon flowers' tops;
+                 Then I get upon a fly,
+                 She carries me above the sky,
+                 And trip and go!
+
+     _2 Fairy._ When a dew-drop falleth down
+                 And doth light upon my crown,
+                 Then I shake my head and skip
+                 And about I trip.
+
+     _3 Fairy._ When I feel a girl a-sleep,
+                 Underneath her frock I peep,
+                 There to sport, and there I play;
+                 Then I bite her like a flea,
+                 And about I skip."
+
+Thomas Ravenscroft, compiler of the "Brief Discourse," won his spurs at
+a very early age. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music before he had
+reached his fifteenth year, as we learn from some commendatory verses
+prefixed to the "Brief Discourse;"--
+
+    "Non vidit tria lustra puer, quin arte probatus,
+      Vita laudatus, sumpsit in arte gradum."
+
+He was twenty-two when he published the "Brief Discourse" in 1614: but
+in 1611 be had published "Melismata, musical fancies fitting the court,
+city, and country humours," and he edited two collections that appeared
+in 1609--"Pammelia" and "Deuteromelia." "Pammelia" is the earliest
+English printed collection of Catches, Rounds, and Canons; both words
+and music were for the most part older than the date of publication.
+"Deuteromelia" was intended as a continuation of "Pammelia."
+
+_Page_ 12. Robert Dowland, editor of "A Musical Banquet," was a son of
+John Dowland; he succeeded his father as one of the Court musicians in
+1626, and was alive in 1641.
+
+_Page_ 16. Thomas Ford, when he published his "Music of sundry kinds,"
+1607, was a musician in the suite of Prince Henry. At the accession of
+Charles I. he was appointed one of his musicians, and he died in
+1648--the year before his royal patron was beheaded.
+
+_Page_ 23. "Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn."--The Pawn was a
+corridor, serving as a bazaar, in the Royal Exchange (Gresham's).
+
+_Page_ 24. "Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies."--"J. C." in
+"Alcilia," 1595, writes:--
+
+    "Love is honey mixed with gall,
+    A thraldom free, a freedom thrall;
+    A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour,
+    Got in a year, lost in an hour;
+    A peaceful war, a warlike peace,
+    Whose wealth brings want, whose want increase;
+    Full long pursuit and little gain,
+    Uncertain pleasure, certain pain;
+    Regard of neither right nor wrong,
+    For short delights repentance long.
+
+    Love is the sickness of the thought,
+    Conceit of pleasure dearly bought;
+    A restless passion of the mind,
+    A labyrinth of arrows blind:
+    A sugared poison, fair deceit,
+    A bait for fools, a furious heat;
+    A chilling cold, a wondrous passion,
+    Exceeding man's imagination;
+    Which none can tell in whole or part,
+    But only he that feels the smart."
+
+Robert Greene has a somewhat similar description of Love ("What thing is
+Love? it is a power divine," &c.) in "Menaphon," 1589.
+
+_Page_ 28. "Fond wanton youths."--This piece is also printed in "The
+Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620, where it is headed "Of the
+Inconveniences by Marriage," and is directed to be sung to the tune of
+"When Troy town."
+
+_Page_ 29, l. 22. "Their _longings_ must not be beguiled."--The original
+gives "Their _laughings_" (which is unintelligible).
+
+_Page_ 31. It was at Wanstead House, a seat of the Earl of Leicester,
+that Sidney wrote his masque the "Lady of the May" in honour of Queen
+Elizabeth's visit in 1578. "Was Raleigh retired there," writes Mr. W.
+J. Linton (_Rare Poems_, p. 257), "during some season of her
+displeasure? There is a look of him about this song, not unlike the
+lines to Cynthia; and what mistress but Majesty should appoint his place
+of retirement?
+
+    'Wanstead, my Mistress saith this is the doom.'"
+
+The two lines that close each stanza are from a song in Sidney's
+"Arcadia."
+
+_Page_ 37. "Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies." From Seneca's
+"Thyestes:"--
+
+      "qui notus nimis omnibus
+    Ignotus moritur sibi."
+
+_Page_ 39. "How many things."--I have given four of John Maynard's
+"Twelve Wonders of the World" (cf. pp. 44-5, 69); and, if I am not
+mistaken, the reader will like to see the remaining eight. There is much
+freshness and piquancy in these quaint old rhymes, which were written by
+no less a poet than Sir John Davies.
+
+
+"THE DIVINE.
+
+    My calling is Divine,
+      And I from God am sent;
+    I will no chop-church be,
+      Nor pay my patron rent,
+
+    Nor yield to sacrilege;
+      But like the kind true mother,
+    Rather will lose all the child
+      Than part it with another.
+
+    Much wealth I will not seek,
+      Nor worldly masters serve,
+    So to grow rich and fat
+      While my poor flock doth starve.
+
+
+THE SOLDIER.
+
+    My occupation is
+      The noble trade of kings
+    The trial that decides
+      The highest right of things.
+
+    Though Mars my master be,
+      I do not Venus love,
+    Nor honour Bacchus oft,
+      Nor often swear by Jove.
+
+    Of speaking of myself
+      I all occasion shun,
+    And rather love to do,
+      Than boast what I have done.
+
+
+THE LAWYER.
+
+    The law my calling is;
+      My robe, my tongue, my pen
+    Wealth and opinion gain
+      And make me judge of men.
+
+    The known dishonest cause,
+      I never did defend
+    Nor spun out suits in length,
+      But wish'd and sought an end;
+
+    Nor counsel did bewray,
+      Nor of both parties take,
+    Nor ever took I fee
+      For which I never spake.
+
+
+THE PHYSICIAN.
+
+    I study to uphold
+      The slippery state of man,
+    Who dies when we have done
+      The best and all we can.
+
+    From practice and from books
+      I draw my learned skill,
+    Not from the known receipt
+      Or 'pothecary's bill.
+
+    The earth my faults doth hide,
+      The world my cures doth see,
+    What youth and time effects
+      Is oft ascribed to me.
+
+
+THE MERCHANT.
+
+    My trade doth everything
+      To every land supply,
+    Discovers unknown coasts,
+      Strange countries doth ally.
+
+    I never did forestall,
+      I never did engross,
+    Nor custom did withdraw
+      Though I return'd with loss.
+
+    I thrive by fair exchange,
+      By selling and by buying,
+    And not by Jewish use,
+      Reprisal, fraud, or lying.
+
+
+THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.
+
+    Though strange outlandish spirits
+      Praise towns and countries scorn,
+    The country is my home,
+      I dwell where I was born.
+
+    There profit and command
+      With pleasure I partake,
+    Yet do not hawks and dogs
+      My sole companions make.
+
+    I rule, but not oppress;
+      End quarrels, not maintain;
+    See towns, but dwell not there
+      To abridge my charge or train.
+
+
+THE WIFE.
+
+    The first of all our sex
+      Came from the side of man,
+    I thither am return'd
+      From whence our sex began.
+
+    I do not visit oft,
+      Nor many when I do,
+    I tell my mind to few
+      And that in counsel too.
+
+    I seem not sick in health,
+      Nor sullen but in sorrow;
+    I care for somewhat else
+      Than what to wear to-morrow.
+
+
+THE WIDOW.
+
+    My dying husband knew
+      How much his death would grieve me,
+    And therefore left me wealth
+      To comfort and relieve me.
+
+    Though I no more will have,
+      I must not love disdain;
+    Penelope her self
+      Did suitors entertain.
+
+    And yet to draw on such
+      As are of best esteem,
+    Nor younger than I am
+      Nor richer will I seem."
+
+_Page_ 41. "I have house and land in Kent."--This admirable song has
+been frequently reprinted. Miss De Vaynes, in her very valuable "Kentish
+Garland" (i., 142), observes:--"We have met with no other song in the
+Kentish dialect except Jan Ploughshare's" (printed on p. 372, vol. i.,
+of the "Garland"). Rimbault in his "Little Book of Songs and Ballads"
+(1851), gives the following lines from an old MS. (temp. Henry VIII.):--
+
+    "Joan, quoth John, when will this be?
+    Tell me when wilt thou marry me,
+    My corn and eke my calf and rents,
+    My lands and all my tenements?
+    Say, Joan, quoth John, what wilt thou do?
+    I cannot come every day to woo?"
+
+David Herd printed a fragment of a Scotch song that was founded on the
+English song:--
+
+    "I hae layen three herring a' sa't,
+      Bonny lass, gin ze'll take me, tell me now,
+    And I hae brew'n three pickles o' ma't
+      And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.
+    _To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,
+    And I cannae cum ilka day to woo_.
+
+    I hae a wee ca'f that wad fain be a cow,
+      Bonny lassie, gin ye'll take me, tell me now,
+    I hae a wee gryce that wad fain be a sow,
+      And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.
+    _To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,
+    And I cannae cum ilka day to woo_."
+
+_Page_ 43. "I joy not in no earthly bliss."--These stanzas are usually
+printed with "My mind to me a kingdom is" (p. 78), and the whole poem
+has been attributed to Sir Edward Dyer.
+
+_Page_ 47. "I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile."--These lines (which
+seem to have been modelled on "I joy not in no earthly bliss") are by
+Joshua Sylvester.
+
+In the second stanza, "I sound not at the news of wreck," _sound_ is an
+old form of _swoon_.
+
+_Page_ 52. "If women could be fair."--This poem is ascribed to Edward,
+Earl of Oxford, in Rawlinson, MS. 85, fol. 16.
+
+_Page_ 53. "In darkness let me dwell."--These lines are also found in
+Robert Dowland's "Musical Banquet," 1610, set to music by John Dowland.
+
+_Page_ 57. "In the merry month of May."--First printed in "The Honorable
+Entertainment given to the Queen's Majesty in Progress at Elvetham in
+Hampshire, by the Right Honorable the Earl of Hertford," 1591, under the
+title of "The Ploughman's Song."
+
+_Page_ 60. "It was the frog in the well."--There are several versions of
+this old ditty: the following is from Kirkpatrick Sharpe's "Ballad
+Book," 1824:--
+
+    "There lived a puddy in a well,
+    And a merry mouse in a mill.
+
+    Puddy he'd a wooin ride,
+    Sword and pistol by his side.
+
+    Puddy came to the mouse's wonne,
+    'Mistress mouse, are you within?'
+
+    'Yes, kind sir, I am within;
+    Saftly do I sit and spin.'
+
+    'Madam, I am come to woo;
+    Marriage I must have of you.'
+
+    'Marriage I will grant you nane,
+    Until uncle Rotten he comes hame.'
+
+    'Uncle Rotten's now come hame;
+    Fy! gar busk the bride alang.'
+
+    Lord Rotten sat at the head o' the table,
+    Because he was baith stout and able.
+
+    Wha is't that sits next the wa',
+    But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma'?
+
+    What is't that sits next the bride,
+    But the sola puddy wi' his yellow side?
+
+    Syne came the deuk, but and the drake;
+    The deuk took puddy, and garred him squaik.
+
+    Then cam in the carl cat,
+    Wi' a fiddle on his back.
+    'Want ye ony music here?'
+
+    The puddy he swam doun the brook;
+    The drake he catched him in his fluke.
+
+    The cat he pu'd Lord Rotten doun;
+    The kittens they did claw his croun.
+
+    But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma',
+    Crept into a hole beneath the wa';
+    'Squeak!' quoth she, 'I'm weel awa.'"
+
+Doubtless Ravenscroft's version is more ancient. A ballad entitled "A
+most strange weddinge of the frogge and the mouse" was licensed for
+printing in 1580.
+
+_Page_ 65. "Lady, when I behold."--Gracefully Paraphrased from an
+Italian original:--
+
+    "Quand' io miro le rose,
+    Ch'in voi natura pose;
+    E quelle che v' ha l'arte
+    Nel vago seno sparte;
+    Non so conoscer poi
+    Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in voi."
+
+_Page_ 66. John Danyel is supposed to have been a brother of Samuel
+Daniel, the poet. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music in 1604. "At
+the commencement of the reign of Charles the First he was one of the
+Court Musicians, and his name occurs among the 'Musicians for the Lutes
+and Voices' in a privy seal, dated December 20th, 1625, exempting the
+musicians belonging to the Court from the payment of subsidies"
+(Rimbault).
+
+_Page_ 68. "Then all at once _for our town_ cries."--"I should imagine,"
+says Oliphant, "that there was occasionally a sort of friendly
+contention in the sports between neighbouring villages; which idea is
+rather corroborated by a passage from an old play called the
+'Vow-breaker' by Samson, 1636: 'Let the major play the hobby-horse an'
+he will; I hope _our Town lads_ cannot want a hobby-horse.'" In an old
+play. "The Country Girl," (first printed in 1647), attributed to that
+shadowy personage Antony Brewer, we have an allusion to this pleasant
+form of rivalry:--
+
+  "_Abraham._ Sister Gillian,--I have the rarest news for you.
+
+  _Gillian._ For me? 'tis well. And what news have you got, sir?
+
+  _Abr._ Skipping news, lipping news, tripping news.
+
+  _Gil._ How! dancing, brother Abram, dancing?
+
+  _Abr._ Prancing, advancing, dancing. Nay, 'tis a match, a
+  match upon a wager.
+
+  _Gil._ A match. Who be they?
+
+  _Abr._ Why all the wenches of _our town_ Edmonton, and all the
+  mad wenches of Waltham.
+
+  _Gil._ A match, and leave me out! When, when is't, brother?
+
+  _Abr._ Marry, e'en this morning:--they are now going to't
+  helter-skelter.                           [_A treble plays within_.
+
+  _Gil._ And leave me out! where, brother, where?
+
+  _Abr._ Why there, Sister Gillian; there, at our own door almost,--on
+  the green there, close by the may-pole. Hark! you may hear them
+  hither." (Sig. D.)
+
+The stage-direction at the entrance of the dancers runs thus:--"Enter
+six country wenches, all red petticoats, white stitch'd bodies, in their
+smock-sleeves, the fiddler before them, and Gillian with her tippet up
+in the midst of them dancing."
+
+_Page_ 73. "It was the purest light of heaven" &c.--I am reminded of a
+fine passage in Drayton's "Barons' Wars," canto VI.:--
+
+    "Looking upon proud Phaeton wrapped in fire,
+    The gentle queen did much bewail his fall;
+    But Mortimer commended his desire
+    To lose one poor life or to govern all.
+    'What though,' quoth he, 'he madly did aspire
+    And his great mind made him proud Fortune's thrall?
+    Yet, in despight when she her worst had done,
+    _He perish'd in the chariot of the sun_.'"
+
+_Page_ 74. "The Bellman's Song."--In "Robin Goodfellow; his mad pranks
+and merry jests," 1628, we have another specimen of a Bellman's Song:--
+
+"Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many pretty
+verses delight the ears of those that waked at his bell-ringing: his
+verses were these:--
+
+    Maids in your smocks,
+    Look well to your locks,
+    And your tinder-box,
+    Your wheels and your rocks,
+    Your hens and your cocks,
+    Your cows and your ox,
+    And beware of the fox.
+    When the bellman knocks
+    Put out your fire and candle-light,
+    So they shall not you affright.
+    May you dream of your delights,
+    In your sleeps see pleasing sights!
+    Good rest to all, both old and young:
+    The bellman now hath done his song.
+
+Then would he go laughing _Ho ho ho!_ as his use was."
+
+_Page_ 77. "That kisses were the _seals of love_."--Every reader will
+recall
+
+    "But my kisses bring again, bring again.
+    _Seals of love_ but sealed in vain, sealed in vain."
+
+(The first stanza is found among the poems of Sir Philip Sidney.)
+
+_Page_ 80. "My prime of youth."--This song is also set to music in
+Richard Alison's "Hour's Recreation," 1606, and Michael Este's
+"Madrigals of three, four, and five parts," 1604. It is printed in
+"Reliquiae: Wottonianae" as "By Chidick Tychborn, being young and then in
+the tower, the night before his execution." Chidiock Tychbourne of
+Southampton was executed with Ballard and Babington in 1586.
+
+_Page_ 80. "My sweetest Lesbia."--The first stanza is an elegant
+paraphrase from Catullus, though the last line fails to render the
+rhythmical sweetness long-drawn-out of "Nox est perpetua una dormienda."
+
+_Page_ 81. "My Thoughts are winged with Hopes."--This piece is also
+found in "England's Helicon." A MS. copy, in a commonplace book found at
+Hamburg, is signed "W. S." I have frequently met with these initials in
+volumes of MS. poetry of the early part of the seventeenth century. The
+following pretty verses in Add. MS. 21, 433, fol. 158, are subscribed
+"W. S.":--
+
+    "O when will Cupid show such art
+    To strike two lovers with one dart?
+    I'm ice to him or he to me;
+    Two hearts alike there seldom be.
+
+    If ten thousand meet together,
+    Scarce one face is like another:
+    If scarce two faces can agree,
+    Two hearts alike there seldom be."
+
+There is not the slightest ground for identifying "W. S." with
+Shakespeare. Mr. Linton ("Rare Poems," p. 255) conjectures that "My
+Thoughts are winged with Hopes"--which has the heading "To Cynthia" in
+"England's Helicon"--may be by Raleigh.
+
+_Page_ 83. "Now each creature."--The first stanza of "An Ode" by Samuel
+Daniel, originally printed in the 1592 edition of "Delia."
+
+"Now God be with old Simeon."--Here is another round from "Pammelia":--
+
+    "Come drink to me,
+    And I to thee.
+    And then shall we
+    Full well agree.
+
+    I've loved the jolly tankard,
+      Full seven winters and more;
+    I loved it so long
+      That I went upon the score.
+
+    Who loveth not the tankard,
+      He is no honest man;
+    And he is no right soldier,
+      That loveth not the can.
+
+    Tap the cannikin, troll the cannikin,
+    Toss the cannikin, turn the cannikin!
+    Hold now, good son, and fill us a fresh can,
+    That we may quaff it round from man to man."
+
+Good honest verse, but ill-suited to these degenerate, tea-drinking
+days.
+
+_Page_ 85. "Now I see thy looks were feigned."--First printed in "The
+Ph[oe]nix Nest," 1593, subscribed "T. L. Gent," _i.e._ Thomas Lodge, one
+of the most brilliant of Elizabethan lyrists.
+
+_Page_ 87. "Shall we play barley-break."--The fullest description of the
+rustic game of barley-break is to be found in the first book of Sidney's
+"Arcadia."
+
+_Page_ 87. "Now let her change." This song is also set to Music in
+Robert Jones' "Ultimum Vale" (1608).
+
+_Page_ 89. "Now what is love" &c.--This poem originally appeared in "The
+Ph[oe]nix Nest," 1593; it is also printed (in form of a dialogue) in
+"England's Helicon," 1600, and Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602. It
+is ascribed to Raleigh in a MS. list of Davison's. See Canon Hannah's
+edition of Raleigh's poems.
+
+_Page_ 93. "Oft have I mused."--This poem was printed in Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody," 1602.
+
+_Page_ 96. "Our country-swains in the morris-dance."--In Morley's
+"Madrigals to Four Voices," 1594, there is a lively description of the
+morris-dance:--
+
+    "Ho! who comes here with bag-piping and drumming?
+    O, 'tis I see the morris-dance a coming.
+    Come, ladies, out, O come, come quickly,
+    And see about how trim they dance and trickly:
+    Hey! there again: hark! how the bells they shake it!
+    Now _for our town_! once there, now for our town and take it:
+    Soft awhile, not away so fast, they melt them!
+    Piper be hang'd, knave! look, the dancers swelt them.
+    Out, there, stand out!--you come too far (I say) in--
+    There give the hobby-horse more room to play in!"
+
+"I woo with tears and _ne'er the near_."--_Ne'er the near_ (a proverbial
+expression) = Never the nigher.
+
+_Page_ 107. "When they came home Sis _floted_ cream."--I suppose the
+meaning is that Sis skimmed the cream from the milk. Halliwell (_Arch.
+Dict._) gives "Flotten-milk. Same as Flet-mitte" and "flet-mitte" is a
+north-country term for skimmed milk.
+
+"Since first I saw."--This exquisite song is also found in "The Golden
+Garland of Princely Delights," 1620.
+
+_Page_ 114. "Sweet Love, my only treasure."--Printed in Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody," 1602, where it is subscribed with the mysterious
+initials "A. W."
+
+_Page_ 115. "Sweet, stay awhile."--I suspect that this stanza does not
+really belong to Donne's "Break of day;" it is not found in MS. copies
+of Donne's poems, nor in any edition prior to that of 1669. Probably
+Donne's verses were written as a companion-piece to the present poem.
+
+_Page_ 120. "Yet merrily sings little Robin."--The loveliest of all
+verses in praise of Robin Redbreast are in Chapman's "Tears of Peace,"
+1609:--
+
+    "Whose face _the bird_ hid _that loves humans best,
+    That hath the bugle eyes and rosy breast,
+    And is the yellow autumn's nightingale_."
+
+_Page_ 120. "The love of change."--This is the first stanza of a poem
+which is printed entire (in six stanzas) in Davison's "Poetical
+Rhapsody," 1602.
+
+_Page_ 121. "The lowest trees have tops."--Printed in Davison's
+"Poetical Rhapsody" with the signature "Incerto."
+
+_Page_ 121. "The man of life upright."--In some old MS. copies this poem
+is ascribed to Francis Bacon: see Hannah's "Poems of Raleigh and
+Wotton," p. 119. Canon Hannah makes no mention of Campion's claim.
+Campion distinctly tells us that he wrote both the verses and the music
+of his songs: and I have no doubt that he was the author of the present
+lyric, which has more merit than any of Bacon's poems. In an epigram
+printed in his "Observations in the Art of English Poetry," 1602, there
+is a striking image that reappears in the present poem:--
+
+    "A wise man wary lives yet most secure,
+      Sorrows move not him greatly, nor delights,
+    Fortune and death he scorning only makes
+      _Th' earth his sober inn_, but still heaven his home."
+                                                    (SIG. C2).
+
+Henceforward let nobody claim "The man of life upright" for Bacon.
+
+_Page_ 124. "The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay."--"According to
+Peacham," says Oliphant ("_Musa Madrigalesca_," p. 45), "there was a
+virtuous contention between W. Byrd and Ferrabosco who of the two should
+best set these words; in which according to his (Peacham's) opinion,
+Ferrabosco succeeded so well that 'it could not be bettered for
+sweetness of ayre and depth of judgment.'"
+
+_Page_ 124. "The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth."--From the first
+stanza of a poem printed in the third edition of Sidney's "Arcadia,"
+1598.
+
+_Page_ 126. "There is a garden in her face."--This poem is also set to
+music in Alison's "Hour's Recreation," 1606, and Robert Jones' "Ultimum
+Vale" (1608). Herrick's dainty verses "Cherry-Ripe" are well-known:--
+
+    "Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe! I cry:
+    Full and fair ones, come and buy.
+    If so be you ask me where
+    They do grow, I answer,--There,
+    Where my Julia's lips do smile,
+    There's the land or cherry-isle,
+    Whose plantations fully show
+    All the year where cherries grow."
+
+_Page_ 127. "There is a lady sweet and kind."--Printed also in "The
+Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620.
+
+_Page_ 128. "There were three Ravens."--The north-country version of
+this noble dirge contains some verses of appalling intensity:--
+
+    "His horse is to the huntin gane
+    His hounds to bring the wild deer hame;
+    His lady's ta'en another mate,
+    So we may mak our dinner sweet.
+
+    "O we'll sit on his bonny breast-bane,
+    And we'll pyke out his bonny gray een;
+    Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,
+    We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.
+
+    "_Mony a ane for him makes mane,
+    But none sall ken where he is gane:
+    Ower his banes when they are bare,
+    The wind sall blaw for evermair_."
+
+_Page_ 130. "Think'st thou to seduce me," &c.--In William Corkine's
+"Airs," 1610, this song is found with considerable variations. Corkine
+gives only three stanzas. The first stanza agrees closely with Campion's
+text; the second and third stanzas run thus:--
+
+    "Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth;
+    He that hath not art to hide, soon falters when he feigneth,
+    And, as one that wants his wits, he smiles when he complaineth.
+
+    "If with wit we be deceived our faults may be excused,
+    Seeming good with flattery graced is but of few refused,
+    But of all accursed are they that are by fools abused."
+
+_Page_ 131. "Thou art not fair for all thy red and white."--These lines
+are printed in Dr. Grosart's edition of Donne's poems, vol. ii. p. 259.
+They are ascribed to Donne in an early MS.; but I see no reason for
+depriving Campion of them. (The first stanza is also set to music in
+Thomas Vautor's "Airs," 1619.)
+
+_Page_ 132. "Though Amaryllis dance in green."--Also printed in
+"England's Helicon," 1600.
+
+_Page_ 148. "We must not part as others do."--These lines are very much
+in Donne's manner. The MS. from which they are taken (Egerton MS. 2013)
+contains some undoubted poems of Donne.
+
+_Page_ 151. "Were I a king."--Canon Hannah prints these verses (in his
+"Poems of Raleigh and Wotton," p. 147) from a MS. copy, in which they
+are assigned to Edward Earl of Oxford. Appended in the MS. are the
+following answers:--
+
+            "ANSWERED THUS BY SIR P. S.
+    Wert thou a king, yet not command content,
+      Sith empire none thy mind could yet suffice;
+    Wert thou obscure, still cares would thee torment;
+      But wert thou dead all care and sorrow dies.
+    An easy choice, of these three which to crave:
+    No kingdom, nor a cottage, but a grave.
+
+            "ANOTHER OF ANOTHER MIND.
+    A king? oh, boon for my aspiring mind,
+      A cottage makes a country swad rejoice:
+    And as for death, I like him in his kind
+      But God forbid that he should be my choice!
+    A kingdom or a cottage or a grave,--
+    Nor last, nor next, but first and best I crave;
+    The rest I can, whenas I list, enjoy,
+    Till then salute me thus--_Vive le roy_!
+
+            "ANOTHER OF ANOTHER MIND.
+    The greatest kings do least command content;
+      The greatest cares do still attend a crown;
+    A grave all happy fortunes doth prevent
+      Making the noble equal with the clown:
+    A quiet country life to lead I crave;
+    A cottage then; no kingdom nor a grave."
+
+_Page_ 152. "What is our life?"--A MS. copy of these verses is
+subscribed "S^r W. R.", _i.e._, Sir Walter Raleigh. See Hannah's "Poems
+of Raleigh and Wotton," p. 27.
+
+Compare the sombre verses, signed "Ignoto," in "Reliquiae Wottonianae":--
+
+    "Man's life's a tragedy; his mother's womb,
+    From which he enters, is the tiring-room;
+    This spacious earth the theatre, and the stage
+    That country which he lives in: passions, rage,
+    Folly and vice are actors; the first cry
+    The prologue to the ensuing tragedy;
+    The former act consisteth of dumb shows;
+    The second, he to more perfection grows;
+    I' the third he is a man and doth begin
+    To nurture vice and act the deeds of sin;
+    I' the fourth declines; i' the fifth diseases clog
+    And trouble him; then death's his epilogue."
+
+_Page_ 153. "What needeth all this travail and turmoiling?"--Suggested
+by Spenser's fifteenth sonnet:--
+
+    "Ye tradefull Merchants that with weary toyle
+    Do seeke most pretious things to make your gain,
+    And both the Indias of their treasure spoile,
+    What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?
+    For loe! my Love doth in her selfe containe
+    All this worlds riches that may farre be found.
+    If Saphyres, loe! her eies be Saphyres plaine;
+    If Rubies, loe! hir lips be Rubies sound;
+    If Pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round;
+    If Yvorie, her forehead yvory weene;
+    If Gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
+    If Silver, her faire hands are silver sheene:
+        But that which fairest is but few behold,
+        Her mind, adornd with vertues manifold."
+
+_Page_ 154, l. 1. "And fortune's fate not fearing."--Oliphant boldly
+reads, for the sake of the rhyme, "And _fickle fortune scorning_."--in
+"England's Helicon" the text is the same as in the song-book.
+
+_Page_ 158, l. 5. "And when she saw that I was in her danger."--_Within
+one's danger_ = to be in a person's power or control.
+
+L. 16. "White _Iope_."--Campion must have had in his mind a passage of
+Propertius (ii. 28);--
+
+    "Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum:
+      Pulchra sit in superis, si licet, una locis.
+    Vobiscum est _Iope_, vobiscum candida Tyro,
+      Vobiscum Europe, nec proba Pasiphae."
+
+See Hertzberg's note on that passage.
+
+_Page_ 162. "While that the sun."--Also printed in "England's Helicon,"
+1600.
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF SONG-BOOKS.
+
+
+ALISON, RICHARD. _An Hour's Recreation in Music_,
+1606.
+
+ATTYE, JOHN. _First Book of Airs of Four Parts_, 1622.
+
+BATESON, THOMAS. _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
+
+BYRD, WILLIAM. _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and
+Piety_, 1588.
+  _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
+  _Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets_, 1611.
+
+CAMPION, THOMAS. _see_ ROSSETER, PHILIP.
+  _Two Books of Airs_ [circ. 1613].
+  _The Third and Fourth Book of Airs_ [circ. 1613].
+
+CARLTON, RICHARD. _Madrigals to five voices_, 1601.
+
+COPRARIO, JOHN. _Funeral Tears for the death of the Right
+Honourable the Earl of Devonshire_, 1606.
+
+CORKINE, WILLIAM. _Airs to sing and play to the Lute and Bass-viol_,
+1610.
+  _The Second Book of Airs_, 1612.
+
+DANYEL, JOHN. _Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice_, 1606.
+
+DOWLAND, JOHN. _The First Book of Songs or Airs of four
+parts_, 1597.
+  _The Second Book of Songs or Airs, of two, four, and five
+parts_, 1600.
+  _The Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
+  _A Pilgrims Solace_, 1612.
+
+DOWLAND, ROBERT. _A Musical Banquet furnished with
+variety of delicious Airs_, 1610.
+
+EARSDEN, JOHN and MASON, GEORGE. _The Airs that were
+sung and played at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland_,
+1618.
+
+EGERTON, MS. 2013.
+
+ESTE, MICHAEL. _Madrigals to three four and five parts_, 1604.
+
+FARMER, JOHN. _The first set of English Madrigals to four
+voices_, 1599.
+
+FARNABY, GILES. _Canzonets to four voices_, 1598.
+
+FORD, THOMAS. _Music of sundry kinds_, 1607.
+
+GIBBONS, ORLANDO. _The first set of Madrigals and Mottets_,
+1612.
+
+GREAVES, THOMAS. _Songs of sundry kinds_, 1604.
+
+JONES, ROBERT. _The first took of Airs_, 1601.
+  _The second book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
+  _Ultimum Vale, or the third book of Airs_, 1608.
+  _A Musical Dream, or the Fourth Book of Airs_, 1609.
+
+LICHFILD, HENRY. _The first set of Madrigals to five parts_,
+1614.
+
+MAYNARD, JOHN. _The XII wonders of the world_, 1611.
+
+MORLEY, THOMAS. _Canzonets or little short songs to three
+voices_, 1593.
+  _Madrigals to four voices_, 1594; 1600.
+  _The first book of Ballets to five voices_, 1595.
+
+MUNDY, JOHN. _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.
+
+PEERSON, MARTIN. _Mottects, or grave chamber-music_, 1630.
+
+PILKINGTON, FRANCIS. _The first Book of Songs or Airs_, 1605.
+  _The First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals_, 1613.
+  _The Second Set of Madrigals_, 1624.
+
+RAVENSCROFT, THOMAS. _Pammelia; Music's Miscellany or
+mixed variety of Pleasant Roundelays_, 1609.
+  _Deuteromelia; or the second part of Music's Melody_, 1609.
+  _Melismata; Musical Fancies fitting the court, city, and
+country humours_, 1611.
+  _Brief Discourse of the true use of Charact'ring the Degrees,
+&c._, 1614.
+
+ROSSETER, PHILIP and CAMPION, THOMAS.
+  _A Book of Airs_, 1601.
+
+TOMKINS, THOMAS. _Songs of three, four, five, and six parts_,
+1622.
+
+VAUTOR, THOMAS. _The First Set: being songs of divers Airs
+and Natures, of five and six parts_, 1619.
+
+WARD, JOHN. _The First Set of English Madrigals to three,
+four, five and six parts_, 1613.
+
+WEELKES, THOMAS. _Madrigals to three, four, five and six
+voices_, 1597.
+  _Ballets and Madrigals to five voices_, 1598.
+  _Madrigals of five and six parts_, 1600.
+  _Madrigals of six parts_, 1600.
+  _Airs or Fantastic Spirits for three voices_, 1608.
+
+WILBYE, JOHN. _The First Set of English Madrigals to three,
+four, five and six voices_, 1598.
+  _The Second Set of English Madrigals to three, four, five
+and six voices_, 1609.
+
+YONGE, NICHOLAS. _Musica Transalpina: the Second Book of
+Madrigals to five and six voices_, 1597.
+
+YOULL, HENRY. _Canzonets to three voices_, 1608.
+
+
+    CHISWICK PRESS:--C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
+          TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
+
+Greek has been transliterated in this version of the e-text, and is
+surrounded by braces, {like this}.
+
+A caret (^) is used to indicate a superscript in "S^r W. R."
+
+"... land in Kent (Malismata)" corrected to "Melismata".
+
+"... full of all heavenby fire" corrected to "heavenly fire".
+
+"She of my love and I of hers had failed" corrected to "failed".
+
+Minor punctuation omissions have been silently corrected.
+
+Inconsistencies in the spelling and hyphenation of words between
+different songs have been retained.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyrics from the Song-Books of the
+Elizabethan Age, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICS ***
+
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