mM' :'i:l!i 'li ':m[\ 1 ;*;; m^ / / y^ ^^U/1/^ ' ^ LYRICS FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE ELIZABETHAN AGE. LYRICS FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE ELIZABETHAN AGE EDITED BY A. H. BULLEN New and Revised Edition %f^BM^ LONDON JOHN C. NIMMO 14, King William Street, Strand, W.C. 1889 CHISWICK PRESS :— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT. CHANCERY LANE. LIBRARY "" UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BAHBARA NOTE. About eighteen montlis ago I published a collection of Lyrics from the Song-books of the Elizabethan Age ; and this was followed recently by a second collection., More Lyrics from the Song-books of the Elizabethan Age. The present book consists of poems selected from those two volumes. In the preface to More Lyrics / announced that I intended to publish such an anthology as is here offered to the reader. August, 1888. PREFACE. IN Elizabethan times the art of song-writing was carried to perfection. Composers were not then 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. The old song-books preserve many graceful and delightful poems that would otherwise have perished. Some of these collections are extant only in unique exemplars preserved in the library of the British Museum, the Bodleian, the library of the Royal College of Music, or in private libraries : for others I have had to go to MSS. in the British Museum or at Oxford. The object that I have kept in view is to make my anthology at once novel and interesting. Well-known poems, or poems that ought to be well- known, I have avoided ; and, on the other hand, no poem has been included merely on account of its rarity. A book may be very rare and very worthless : that I admit. But an examination of the present volume will show that some choice lyrics have viii PREFACE. lain hidden out of sight for nearly three centuries. How many readers have heard of Captain Tobias Hume? He published in 1605 "The First Part of Airs, French, Polish and others together." Among these Airs I found the flawless verses that I have placed at the beginning of my anthology, " Fain would I change that note." Surely few, even among the very elect, have sung Love's praises in happier accents of heartfull devotion. Captain Hume wrote the music, but I know not who wrote the verses. It may be assumed that the composers, as a rule, were only responsible for the music. Dr. Thomas Campion, of whom I shall speak presently, was both a poet and a musician; but he was an exception to the rule. Take another example, the sweet and tender lullaby, worthy of William Blake, "Upon my lap my sovereign sits." It is from Martin Peerson's "Private Music," 1620, of which only one perfect copy, preserved in the Bodleian Library, is extant. From the same song-book I have taken the graceful and playful dialogue — "Open the door! Who's there within ? " — between an eager wooer and a discreet maid ; and other dainty little songs. A large and important collection of early MS. music-books is preserved in the library of Christ Church, Oxford. Here I found the fine verses PREFACE. ix beginning " Yet if his Majesty our sovereign lord.'^ The detailed description of the preparations made by a loyal subject for the entertainment of his "earthly king" is singularly impressive. Few could have dealt with common household objects. — tables and chairs and candles and the rest — in so dignified a spirit. Our poet has triumphed over the difficulties : — " ' Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall, See they be fitted all ; Let there be room to eat, And order taken that there want no meat. See every sconce and candlestick made bright, That without tapers they may give a light. Look to the presence : are the carpets spread, The dais o'er the head. The cushions in the chairs, And all the candles lighted on the stairs ? Perfume the chamber, and in any case Let each man give attendance in his place.' " It would be hard to improve on that description. Then the contrast between these preparations made for an earthly king and the reception provided for the King of Heaven ! — ■ " But at the coming of the King of Heaven All's set at six and seven ; We wallow in our sin, Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn. We entertain him always like a stranger. And as at first still lodge him in the manger." i PREFACE. The volume which contains this fine poem has more than one lyric, set to music, of Henry Vaughan the Silurist. Am I right in surmising that this unpubhshed poem is also by Vaughan? I know- no other devotional poet who could have written it. Whether it be Vaughan's or not, I am glad to include it in my anthology. I trust that the other Christ Church songs will also be acceptable. The odd little snatch, " Hey nonny no !/ Men are fools that wish to die I "' almost takes one's breath away by the vehemence of its rapture. " Daphnis came on a summer's day " is as good as the best things in Bateson's madrigals (no slight praise), and " Are you that she than whom no fairer is? " might have come from one of Robert Jones' song-books. The frog's wooing of the crab, " There was a frog swum in the lake," is a capital piece of fooling, almost worthy to rank with Ravenscroft's " It was the frog in the well." It was set to music by Alfonso Ferrabosco, but is not found in that composer's printed "Airs." The earliest of the Elizabethan song-writers was William Byrd. In the year of the Spanish Armada, 1588, he published " Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety," the first Elizabethan song-book of importance. He was probably a native of Lincoln, and was born in, or about, PREFACE. xi 1538.^ From 1563 to 1569 he was organist of Lincoln Cathedral, and on 22 February, 1569-70, he was appointed Gentleman of the Chapel Royal. In 1598 he became possessed of Stondon Place, Essex. He adhered to the Roman Catholic faith ; and his wife, Ellen Birley (by whom he had five children), was also a zealous Romanist. His last work was published in 161 1, and he died at a ripe old age on 24 July, 1623. The "Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs "are dedicated to Sir Christopher Hatton. From the title one would gather that the collection was mainly of a sacred character, but in an epistle to the reader Byrd 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 ^ I have made no attempt to give any full biographical account of the composers. Excellent notices of Byrd and John Dowland, by Mr. Barclay Squire, may be seen in the " Dictionary of National Biography." A full account of Dr. Thomas Campion is prefixed to my edition of Campion's Works (privately printed). For notices of the other com- posers I must be content to refer the reader to Grove's " Dictionary of Music." xii PREFACE. 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 be- half 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," 15 89, which was dedicated to Sir Henry Carey, first Lord Hunsdon, who seems to have been as staunch a patron of Byrd as his son. Sir George Carey, was of Dowland. In 161 1 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 copious store of genial wisdom, upon which he could draw freely in the closing days of an honourable life. His earlier works had been PREFACE. xiii 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." Quaint old-fashioned moral verses were much affected by Byrd, particularly in his latest song- book. He inculcates precepts of homely piety in a cheerful spirit, with occasional touches of naive epigrammatic terseness. Many men strongly ob- ject to be bullied from a pulpit, but he must be a born churl who could be offended at such an exhortation as the following : — ' ' Let not the sluggish sleep Close up thy waking eye, Until with judgement 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." xiv PREFACE. 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 West- minster in 1562. At the age of twenty, or there- abouts, 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 that 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 Christian IV. The work was dedicated to the famous Lucy Countess of Bedford, whom Ben PREFACE. XV Jon son 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 Iain 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 16 12, when he was lutenist to Lord Walden, Dowland issued his last work, "A Pilgrim's Solace." He is supposed to have died about 1615, leaving a son, Robert Dowland, who gained credit as a composer. Some modern critics have judged that Dowland's music was 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 xvi PREFACE. by the wealth of material. The rich clusters of ■golden verse hang so temptingly that it is hard to ■cease plucking when once we have begun. Byrd and Dowland are distinguished names in the annals of Elizabethan song, but unquestion- ably Dr. Thomas Campion is greater than either. Campion wrote not only the music, but the poetry for his songs — he was at once an eminent composer and a lyric poet of the first rank. He published a volume of Latin verse which displays fluency and elegance and wit ; as a masque-writer he was hardly inferior to Ben Jonson ; he was the author of treatises on music and poetry ; and he practised with success as a physician. It is probable that he was the second son of Thomas Campion of Witham, Essex, and it is supposed that he was distantly related to Edmund Campion the Jesuit. His first work was " Epigrammatum Libri Duo," originally published in 1595 and republished with additions in 161 9, the year of his death. Francis Meres, in "Wit's Treasury," 1598, mentions Campion among the " English men, being Latin poets," who had " attained good report and honourable advance- ment in the Latin tongue." But many of the English lyrics must have been written, though they were not published, towards the close of the six- teenth century. So early as 1593 George Peele PREFACE. xvii made a complimentary reference to Campion in the prologue to the " Honour of the Garter." W[illiam] C[lerke] in " Polimanteia," 1595, speaks of " sweet Master Campion," obviously in reference to his English poems ; and in Harleian IMS. 6910, which was written circ. 1596, there are three Eng- lish poems by Campion. We may therefore assume that many of his best songs were written in the last decade of the sixteenth century. 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 belongs to Campion. From the 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 "unre- spectively 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 b xviii PREFACE. 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 odd 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 treatise ("Observations in the Art of English Poesy ") to prove that the use of rhyme should 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 Avith 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." Tlie work was pub- lished in 1602, the year after he had issued the first collection of his lyrics. It was in answer to Campion that Samuel Daniel wrote his admirable " Defence of Rhyme " (1603). Daniel was puzzled, as well he might be, that an attack on rhyme should PREFACE. xix 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," Drummond reports that Ben Jonson wrote " a Discourse of Poesy both against Campion and Daniel ; " but the discourse was never published. Fortunately Campion did not abandon rhyme. Kis second collection, "Two Books of Airs," is undated ; but from an allusion to the death of Prince Henry we may conclude that it was pub- lished about 1 6 13. The first book consists of " Divine and Moral Poems," and the second of " Light Conceits of Lovers." In dealing with sacred themes our English poets seldom do them- selves justice ; but Campion's devotional lyrics are never stiff or awkward or vapid. "Awake, awake ! thou heavy sprite " by its impassioned fervour re- calls Henry Vaughan. Among the moral poems are some delightful verses (" Jack and Joan they think no ill ") 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 Nicolas Breton. "The Third and Fourth Books of Airs" are also XX PREFACE. undated, but they cannot have been published earlier than 1617.' In this collection, where all is good, my favourite is " Now winter nights enlarge." Others may prefer the melodious serenade, worthy even of Shelley, " Shall I come, sweet love, to thee ? " But there is one poem of Campion (printed in the collection of 1601) which, for 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 lope, blithe Helen and the rest, To hear the stories of thy finished love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; ' In the dedicatory address to Sir Thomas Mounson (or Monson), prefixed to the "Third Book," Campion writes : — " Since now those clouds, that lately overcast Your fame and fortune, are dispersed at last ; And now since all to you fair greetings make. Some out of love and some for pity's sake ; Shall I but with a common style salute Your new enlargement, or stand only mute ? I, to whose trust and care you durst commit Your pined health when art despaired of it ? " Mounson was examined in 161 5 with reference to the Overbury murder ; the warrant for his arrest was issued in October, 1615 ; he was liberated on bail in October, 1616,. and his pardon was granted in February, 1616-17, Mr. Barclay Squire kindly pointed out these facts to me. PREFACE. xxi 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's sake ; When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me." The mention of " white lope " was suggested by a passage of Propertius : — " Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum ; Pulchra sit in superis, si licet, una locis. Vobiscum est lope, vobiscum Candida Tyro," &c. Campion was steeped in classical feeling : his ren- dering of Catullus' " Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus " (" My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love ") is, so far as it goes, delightful. It is time that Campion should again take his rightful place among the lyric poets of England. He was, like Shelley, occasionally careless in re- gard to the observance of metrical exactness, and it must be owned that he had not learned the art of blotting. But his best work is singularly pre- cious. Whoever cannot feel the witchery of such poems as " Hark, all you ladies that do sleep ! " or " Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air," is past praying for. In his own day his fame stood high. His contemporary, John Davies of Hereford, who was himself a genuine poet, though he wrote far xxii PREFACE. too much and seldom did himself justice, addressed to him a sonnet which contains words of neat and appropriate praise : — " Never did lyrics' more than happy strains, Strained out of Art by Nature so with ease, So purely hit the moods and various veins Of music and her hearers as do these. So thou canst cure the body and the mind, Rare doctor, with thy two-fold soundest art : Hippocrates hath taught thee the one kind, Apollo and the Muse the other part : And both so well that thou with both dost please, The mind with pleasure and the corps with ease." Camden did not hesitate to couple his name with the names of Spenser and Sidney; but he has been persistently neglected by modern critics. The rare song-books of the lutenist Robert Jones, who had a share in the Whitefriars Theatre, con- tain some excellent poetry. Between 1601 and 16 10 he issued six musical works. One of these, "The Muses' Garden of Delights," 1610, I have not been able to see, as I have not discovered its present resting-place; but in 1S12 Beloe printed some songs from it in the sixth volume of his "Anecdotes," and I have availed myself of his transcript. These songs (which include " How many new years have grown old," "Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow," and "The sea hath PKEFA CE. xxiii many thousand sands") are so charming that I am consumed with a desire to see the rest of the collection. The Royal College of Music possesses one unique book of Robert Jones, his " Ultimuni Vale," 1608 ; but many of the choicest songs in that song-book were printed in Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody." His other publications 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 Til breech you." On another we read " Love winged my Hopes and taught me how to fly"; but the vain Hopes, seek- ing to woo the sun's fair light, were scorched with fire and drowned 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 tlie purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell." The last line is superb. I have drawn freely from the collections of Weelkes, Morley, Farmer, Bateson, Wilbye, and others. The "Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice," 1 606, of John Danyel (who is supposed to have been the brother of Samuel Danyel), and Thomas Ford's xxiv PREFACE. " Music of Sundry Kinds," 1607, have yielded some choice verse. William Corkine, Francis Pil- kington, and John Attey have not been consulted in vain ; and in Thomas Vautor's "Songs of Divers Airs and Natures," 16 19, I found the charming address to the owl, " Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight." One sonnet (" Those eyes that set my fancy on a fire ") is taken from a very rare book — preserved under glass in a show-case at the British Museum — William Barley's " New Book of Tabliture," 1596. The conclusion of the sonnet is in the great Elizabethan style:— " O eyes that pierce our hearts without remorse ! O hairs of right that wear a royal crown ! O hands that conquer more than Cesar's force ! O wit that turns huge kingdoms upside down !" Many volumes of selected sonnets have been published of late years, but you may search them all without finding this sonnet from Barley's " New Book of Tabliture." As I have no technical knowledge of the subject, it would be impertinent for me to attempt to esti- mate the merit of the music contained in these old song-books ; but I venture with all confidence to commend the poetry to the reader's attention. It must be clearly understood that the present volume does not for a moment claim to be a representative PREFACE. XXV anthology of the whole wealth of Elizabethan lyrical poetry. I have conducted the reader through only one tract of those wonderful Realms of Gold. It is solely with the old song-books, the music books, that I have here dealt. Song-writing is now almost as completely a lost art as play-writing. Our poets, who ought to make " music and sweet poetry agree," leave the writing of songs to meaner hands. Con- trast the poor thin wretched stuff that one hears in drawing-rooms to-day with the rich full-throated songs of Campion and Dowland. O what a fall is there, my countrymen ! In Elizabethan times music was " married to immortal verse." Let us hope that the present separation will not always continue. TABLE OF FIRST LINES. t'AGE A LITTLE pretty bonny lass luas iL'alking {Farmer) . . . 131 yj. A sheplierd ill a shade his plainitig made {JoJiii Do7ulaud) 44 A sparroiu-ha'Mk proud did hold ill -wicked jail (li'eelkei) . . . 210 A woman's looks {/ones) 119 Adieu, sweet Amaryllis! (U'ilbye) 5 Ah me ! my wonted joys forsake vie OVeclkcs) 47 Ah, siveet, alas ! when first I saw those eyes (^Kirhye) 58 Ambitious lo%ie hath forced me to aspire (_]}yrd) 47 Arise, my Thoughts, and mount you with the sun (, /ones) ... 9 Art thou that she than whom no fairer is {Christ Church MS.) . 5 At her fair hands how haiie I grace entreated {J ones) .... 2 Awake, awake, thou heavy sprite ! (Campion) 176 Awake, thou spring of speaking grace (Campion) 2S Ay me, can every rumour (Wilbye) 16S Ay me, my mistress scorns my love (Bateson) 6 Be thou then my Beauty named (Campion) 43 Beauty is but a painted hell (Campion) 152 Behold a 7vonder here (John Do7uland) 12 Blame not my cheeks, though pale -with love they be (Campion and Kosseter) 48 Blush, my rude present ; blushing, yet say this (Vautor) . ... 4S Brown is my Love, but graceful (Musica Transalpina) . . . . 170 By the moon we sport and play (Ravcnscroft) 205 Camella fair tripped o'er the plain (Bateson) 49 Can a tnaid that is well bred (Pecrson) 88 Care for thy soul as thing of greatest price [By rd) 186 Cease, troubled thoughts, to sigh (J ones) 132 Change me, O heavens, into the ruby stone (Wilbye) 49 Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me (Campion) 185 Come, lusty ladies, come, come, come ! (Christ Church MS.) . . iii Come, O come, my life's deligitt (Campion) 6 Xxviii TABLE OF FIRST LINES. I'AGE ■Coitte, sJiepherd s'lvains, that liiottt io hear vte sing (H'ilbye) . . 129 'Come, Sorrcnv, come, sit down and mourn ivitlt me {iMor/ey) . . 191 Come, ye heavy states 0/ niglit (^Jokn Dowland) 192 Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton (^Campion] 4 Content thyself with thy estate {Carlton) 178 Cro7vned ivith flowers I saw fair Amaryllis {Byrd) 72 Cupid,inabedofroses(Bateson) 133 Daphnis came on a stimmers day (Christ CInirch MS.) .... 64 Dare you haunt our hallow'd green (Ravenscroft) 205 Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong (Musica Antiquci) .... 173 Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent (Campion) ... 16 Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again (Dowla7id) .... 139 Disdain me still that I 7nay ever love (John Dowland) .... 52 Do not, O do twt prize (Jones) 51 Do you not know how Lo7ie lost first his seeing (Morley) ... 74 Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares (Wilbye) . . 192 Drown not with tears, my faire!,t Love (Ferrabosco) 159 Every dame affects good fame (Campion) 212 Fain I vjould, but oh I dare twt (Ferrabosco) 53 Fain ivould I change that note (Hume) i Fair Hebe, when dame Flora meets (Bateson) 159 Fair is the rose, yet fades 'with heat and cold (Gibbons) .... 160 Fareivell, dear love ! since thou wilt needs be gone (Jones) . . . 153 Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies (Byrd) 144 Farewell, 7ny joy (Weelkes) 128 Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new (John Do7u- land) 20 Fi7-e that must fiajue is with apt fuel fed (Campion) 7 Follo^v thy fair sun, unhappy shadow (Campion and Rosseter) . 14 Folloiv your saint, follow with accents sweet (Campion and Rosscter) 8 From Citheron the warlike boy is fied (Byrd) 17 Giz'e Beauty all her right (Campion) 19 Go, nightly cares, the ene^ny to rest (John Dowland j 190 Greedy lover, pause awhile (Wilson) 130 Ha! ha I ha! this ivorld doth pass (Weelkes) 209 Happy he (Jones) 184 Harden nozv thy tired heart (Campion) 53 Hark, all you ladies that do sleep (Campion and Rosseter) . . . 169 TABLE OF FIRST LINES. xxix PAGE Have I found her '? O rich finding ! (^Pilkingiptt) 88 Heigh ho ! chill go to plough no 7nore (Mundy) 153 Her fair inflaming eyes {Campion) 54 Her hair the net 0/ golden wire {Bateson) 55 Hey nonny no (Christ Church MS.) 195. Hozu eas'ly luert thou chained (Campion) 142 How many 7te'M years have grown old(Joncs) 15 How shall I then describe my Love (^Fo7-d) 73. I heard of late that Love was fall' n asleep (Dartlet) 56 I live, and yet methitiks I do not breathe (IVilbye) 1S3 I saw my Lady 7ueep (John Dowlatid) 13 If fathers knew but ho7u to leave [Jones) 50. If I could shut the gate against my thoughts (^Danyel) .... 179 If I urge 7uy kind desires (Ca>npion and Rosseter) 76 J f ill thine heart thou nourish ill (Byrd) 183 If love loves truth then wotnen do not love (Catnpion) .... 59. If my complai'tts could passions jnovc (John Do'cvland) . ... 23 If she forsake me, I must die (Cajnpion and Rosseter) 60. Jf thou long' st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 'tis to love (Campio>i) 69 If women could be fair and never fond (Byrd) loi In crystal towers and turrets richly set {Byrd) 185, In Sher^vood lived stout Robin Hood (^Joncs) 25 In the merry inonth of May {Este) 121 IsLoveaboy,—what}neanshet/te?ttostrike? (Byrd) . . . . 112 Is not that my fancy s Queen {Feerson) 58. It was the frog iti the well {Melismata) 202 Jack and Joan, they think ito ill {Campion) 197 Joy in thy hope, the earnest of thy love (Jottes) 57 Kind are her answers (Ca77ipion} 140 Ki/id i7i unki7td7iess, when will you relent (Ca7npioii ami Ri sseici-) 96 Lady, the 77ielti7ig crystal of your eye (Greaves) 134 Lady, whe/i I behold the roses sprouti7tg { IVilbye) 64 Lais, now old, that erst atte77tpti7ig lass (Gibbo/is) 162 Let d7-ead of pai7i for sin i/i after-time {Greaves) 182 Lei }iot Chloris t/ti/ik because {Danyel) 46 Let 7tot the sluggish sleep (Byrd) 181 Let 7is i/i a lover's 7vu7!d (Mason a)id Earsde/i) 206 Lie dow/i, poor heart, a7id die awhile for grief (Jo/ies) .... 189 Lo, whe7i back 77ii/!e eye {Ca7npion) 177 Love her 710 7nore, herself she doth 7:ct love (Pcerso/i) 61 XXX TABLE OF FIRST LINES. PAGE Love in thy youth, /air maid, he un'se (Porter) 172 Love me or ?tot, lozie her I must or die (Campion) 62 Love not itie for comely grace [Wilbye) 26 Love's god is ahoy (Jones) 103 Love winged my Hopes and taught me hozu tojiy (Jones) ... 11 Maids are simple, some men say (Ca)npion) 24 Music, some think, no music is (Bateson) 148 My complaining is but feigning (Jones) 148 My hope a counsel with my heart (Esie) 116 My love bound me with a kiss ( Jones) 18 My Love is neither young nor old (Jones) 100 My i7iistress after service due (Batesoti) 61 My prime of youth is but a frost of cares (Muttdy) 194 My sweetest Lesbia, let vs live and love (Campion and Rosseter) . 102 My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, 7ny Hopes with Love (John Dowland ) 10 Neither buskin now, 7ior hays (Campion) 196 Never love unless you can (Cajupion) 37 Noiv every tree renews his summer s green (Weellces) 84 Now have I learned with jnucJi ado at last (J 07ies) 27 Now I see thy looks were feigned (Ford) 29 Now is my Clitoris f resit as May (IVeelkes) 30 NcM is the month of tnaying (Morley) 210 Now let her change and spare not (Campion') 104 Notv let us make a merry greeting (IVeelkes) 134 Now winter flights enlarge (Campion) 200 'O love, where are thy shafts, thy quiver and thy bow (Campion) . 63 O my poor eyes, the sun whose shine ( Jones) 122 'O, sweet, alas ! luhat say you ? (Morley) 75 'O sweet delight, O tnore than human bliss (Campion) 84 <0f Neptune's etnpire let us sing (Catnpion) 201 ■Of t have 1 7>tused the cause to fnd (Jozies) 82 t07t a fair 77iorni7ig, as I came by the 7vay (Morley) 156 On a ti77ie the aj7ioro7ts Silvy (Attey) 161 iOnce did / love, and yet / live (Jones) 83 Once did 77ty thoughts both ebb and flow (J 07ies) 65 •Open the door ! Who's there within? (Peerson) 66 Phillis, a herd-maid dainty (Add. MS.) 100 J'our forth 77ii/ie eyes the fo7i7itains of your tears (Pilkington) , , 81 TABLE OF FIRST LINES. xxxi PAGE Rest aivhile, yon CJiiel cares {John Doivland) 145 Round about in a /air ring-a(^Rave>iscroft) 205 Rou>id-a, ro!i>id-a, kceji your ring {Raz'enscroft) 206 Say, Love, if ever thou didst find {John Doivland) 127 See, see, mine owji STX!cet jewel f^Morley) 87 See where my love a-maying goes (Pilkington) 124 See zvhere she flics enraged fro7n me (Ca)npio7i a)id Rosseicr) . . 123 Shall a/rown or angry eye [Corkine) 125 Shall a smile or gnile/nl glance {Corkine) 124 Shall I abide this jesting {Alison) 125 Shall I come, szueet Love, to thee {Campion) 70 Shall I look to ease my grief {Jones) 165 Shoot, false Love '. I care 7iot {Morley) 13S Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet {Ca7npion) 3g Since first I sazu your face {Ford) 40 Sing we and chant it {Morley) 211 Sister, awake ! close not your eyes {Bateson) ig8 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear 7tot }?ie {Campion) .... 38 Sleep, O sleep, fo>td fancy {Morley) 62 Sly thief , if so you will believe {Este) 141 So light is love in matchless beauty shining {U^ilbye) 38 So quick, so hot, so mad is thy fond suit {Campion) 137 So saith my fair and beautiful Lycoris {Musica Transalpina) . . 71 So sweet is thy discourse to jne {Cainpion) 143 Soft, Cupid, soft, tlicre is 710 haste (Jones) 90 So7/te ca7i fiattcr, so/7ie ca7ifeig7i {Corkine) 106 So7/ietii7!e she would and so7/ieti/7ie not {Far-naby) 155 Stay, Corydo7i, thou swain {Wilbye) 155 S"weet, co7/ie agai7i {Ca/npio7i a7id Rosseter) 107 Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire {Corki7ie) io3 Sweet, if yon like a7id love t7ie still {J o/ies) 126 Sweet, let me go .' sweet, let >7ie go .' {Corkine) 133 Sweet Love, I will 710 77iore abuse thee {IVeelkes) 117 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gai7i a 7no7iarch' s glory {Wilbye) . . . 117 Sweet Love, 7/iy 07ily treasure {Jones) 105 Sweet Suffolk owl so tri77zly dight {Vautor) 195 Sweet, yet cruel tinkind is she {Christ Chjirck MS.) 93 Take ti77te while time doth last [Farmer) 173 The cypress curtain of the night is spread {Ca7npion a7id Rosseter) 193 The lowest trees have tops, the a7it her gall {Dowla7id) .... 120 The 7nan of life upright {Ca/iipio/i a/id Rosseter) 180 The 77iatch titat's 7nadc for jtcst a7id true respects {Byrd) . . . 171 xxxii TABLE OF FIRST LIXES. PAGE The peaceful ii'cstcrn wind {Ca7npion) 113 The Queen of Paphos, Erycine {Bartlet) 21 The sea hath many thousand sands (/ones) 22 The witless boy that blind is to beSiold (Carlton) 166 There is a garden in her face (Campion) 80 There is a lady siueet and kind (Ford) 31 There is none, O none but you (Campion) 135 There luas a frog swum in tlie lake [Ferrabosco) 204 Think' st thou, Kate, to put me doxun (J ones) 118 Tiiink'st thojc to seduce vie then (Campion) 32 Those eyes that set iny fancy on afire (Barley) 68 Thou art but young, thou say' st (Wilbye) 33 Thou art not fair, for all thy red and ivhite (Campion and Rosseter) 33 Thou joyest, fond boy, to be by many loved (Campion) 149 Thou pretty bird, how do I see (Danyel) 114 Though Amaryllis dance in green (Byrd) 34 Though my carriage be bjit careless (IVeelkes) no Though you are young and I am old (Campion and Rosseter) . . 97 Three times a day my prayer is [Weelkes) 97 Thrice blessed be the giver (Far naby) 109 Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air (Campion) 45 Thule, the period of cosmography (Weelkes) 88 Thtis I resolve, atid Time hath taught me so (Campion) .... no Thus saith 7)iy C hloris brigitt [Wilbye) 71 Thus saith my Galatea (Morley) 160 Time, cruel Time, canst thou subdue that brow (Danyel) ... 67 To his sweet lute Apollo sang (Campion) 199 To jnusic bent is jny retired mind (Campion) iSi To plead my faith where faith hath no reward (Robert Dovjland) 93 Toss 7iot ]ny soul, O Love, 'twixt hope and fear (John Do^vland) . 74 Turn all thy thoughts to eyes (Cam/>ion) 35 Turn back, you 7vanton flyer (Campion and Rosseter) .... 150 Turn in, }ny Lord, turn into 7ne (Christ Chufxh MS.) .... 176 Unquiet thoughts, your civil slaughter stint (John Dowlaiui) . . 146 Unto the te77tple of thy beauty (Ford) 164 Upon a su7ti/ner s day Love went to swi7/i (By/'tl) 85 Upon 7/iy lap 77iy sovereign sits (Peerson) 207 Vain 7ncn whose follies 77take a god of love (Ca7npioti) 86 P'iezu i/ic. Lord, a work of thine (Cai7ipio/i) 175 Weep yo7i no 77iore, sad fo2t7itains (J ohn Dozvland) 76 Were 7ny heart as so/nc 77icn's are (Ca7iipion) 75 TABLE OF FIRST LINES. xxxiii PAGE What delight can they enjoy {Danyel) 162 What if I seek for love 0/ thee { Jones) 163 What is it all that men possess (Campion') 79 What needeth all this travail and turmoiling {Wilbye) .... 87 What pleasure have great princes {Byrd) 208 What poor astronomers are they (John Doiuland) 36 What then is Lo^'e, sings Corydon (Ford) 115 When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringetli (Carlton) . . . 109 When I uias born Lncina cross-legged sate (Corkinc) 189 When from my loz'e I look'dfor loz-e (Bartlei) 147 Whe>i I sit reading all alone (Jones) 174 When lo7>e on tinte and measure tnakes his ground (Jones) ... 95 Whe>i the god of merry love (Campion and Rosseier) 157 When thou must home to shades of underground (Campion) . . 94 When to her lute Corinna sings (Campion and Rossctei) . • . . 157 When 7c/ill the fountain of my rears be dry (Jones) 158 When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight (Byrd) .... 72 WJure lingering fear doth o>ue possess the heart (Jones) . . . . 151 Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking ( Wilbye) 81 Whether men do laugh or 7Lieep [Campion and Rosseter) . . . . 213 While that the sun ivith his beams hot (Byrd) 167 White as lilies 7vas her face (John Doivland) 98" Who likes to love let hi)n take heed {Byrd) 41 Who made thee. Hob, forsake the plough ( (Byrd) 166 Who prostrate lies at women s feet (Bateson) 42 Who would have thought that face of thine (Farmer) .... 42 Whoever thinks or hopes of love for love (J ohn Doivland) ... 91 Why canst thou jiot as others do ( Danyel) 91 Woeful heart 7uith grief oppressed (John Doivland) iii Women, luhat are they f (Jones) 136 Wounded I am, and dare not seek relief (By >-d) 77 Ve bubbling springs that gentle music makes (Greaves) .... 92 Vet if his majesty our sovereign lord (Christ Church AIS.) . . . 187 y'ou gentle nymphs that on these >ncado7VS play (Pilkington) . . 95 i'ou say you lo7'e me, nay, can siucar it too (Wilson) 156 y'o2ing Cupid hath proclaimed a bloody war (Weclkes) .... 147 Your shining eyes and golden hair (Bateson) 45 LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN SONG-BOOKS. Let •well-ttined words amaze With harmony divine. Campion. LOVE-POEMS. From Captain Tobias Hume's The First Part of Airs, French, Polish, and others together, 1605. Ti^AIN 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. Love, they wrong thee much That say thy sweet is bitter, When thy rich fruit is such As nothing can be sweeter. Fair house of joy and bliss, Where truest pleasure is, 1 do adore thee ; I know thee what thou art, I serve thee with my heart, And fall before thee. LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' UlH»ium Vale, 1608. AT her fair hands how have I grace entreated With prayers oft repeated, Yet still my love is thwarted ! Heart, let her go, for she'll not be converted. Say, shall she go ? O, no, no, no, no, no ! She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted. How often have my sighs declared my anguish Wherein I daily languish, Yet still she doth procure it ! Heart, let her go, for I cannot endure it. Say, shall she go .'' O, no, no, no, no, no ! She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. The trickling tears that down my cheeks have flowed My love hath often showed, Yet still unkind I prove her. Heart, let her go, for nought I do can move her. Say, shall she go ? O, no, no, no, no, no ! Though me she hate I cannot chuse but love her. LOVE-POEMS. 3 But shall I still a true affection owe^ her, Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her. And shall she still disdain me ? Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me. Say, shall she go ? O, no, no, no, no, no ! She made me hers and hers she will retain me. But if the love that hath and still doth burn me No love at length return me. Out of my thoughts I'll set her : Heart, let her go, O heart, I pray thee, let her. Say, shall she go ? O, no, no, no, no, no ! Fixed in the heart, how can the heart forget her ? But if I weep and sigh and often wail me Till tears, sighs, prayers fail me. Shall yet my love persever ! •' Heart, let her go, if she will right thee never. Say, shall she go ? O no, no, no, no, no ! Tears, sighs, prayers fail, but true love lasteth ever. 1 This is the reading of the 1608 edition of Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. The song-book reads " bear her." - Old form of "persevere." LOVE-POEMS. 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 love's treasure- LOVE-POEMS. t From Christ Cluirch MS. i. 5 49. RT thou that she than whom no fairer is, Art thou that she desire so strives to kiss ? " " Say I am : how then ? Maids may not kiss Such wanton-humour'd men." " Art thou that she the world commends for wit ? Art thou so wise and makest no use of it ? " " Say I am : how then ? My wit doth teach me shun Such foolish foolish men." A 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 ! LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 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 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. LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs {arc. 1617). 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 ! LOVE-POEMS. From Camfmon and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet ! Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet I 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. LO VE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' ^^rowi/^yc/^ of Songs and Airs, 1601. A RISE, 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. LOVE-POEMS. 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 dehght : 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. LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' ^ei:o«a'5o(?/J 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, BHnded 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, Yox 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. > LOVE-POEMS. From John Dowland's Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs, 1603. T) EHOLD a wonder here ! -*-^ Love hath received his sight ! Which many hundred year ' Hath not beheld the Hght. 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. 1 Old ed. " vcares." LOVE-POEMS. 13 I From John Rowland's Second Book of Songs or Airs, 1600. 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. 14 LOVE-POEMS. From Campion and Rosseter's BookofAhs, 1 60 1. FOLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! Though thou be black as night, And she made all of light, Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth ! Though here thou liv'st disgraced. And she in heaven is placed. Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth ! Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth ! That so have scorched thee As thou still black must be Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. Follow her, while yet her glory shineth ! There comes a luckless night That will dim all her light ; And this the black unhappy shade divineth. Follow still, since so thy fates ordained ! The sun must have his shade. Till both at once do fade, The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. LO VE-POEMS. 15 From Robert Jones' The Muses' Garden of Delights, 1610. HOW many new years have grown old Since first your servant old was new ! How many long hours have I told Since first my love was vowed to you ! And yet, alas ! she doth not know Whether her servant love or no. How many walls as white as snow, And windows clear as any glass, Have I conjured to tell you so, Which faithfully performed was ! And yet you'll swear you do not know Whether your servant love or no. How often hath my pale lean face. With true characters of my love, Petitioned to you for grace, Whom neither sighs nor tears can move ! cruel, yet do you not know Whether your servant love or no .'' And wanting oft a better token, 1 have been fain to send my heart, Which now your cold disdain hath broken, Nor can you heal't by any art : O look upon't, and you shall know Whether your servant love or no. i6 LOVE-POEMS. D From ThomasCampion's/^'^/^M Book of Airs (circ. 1617). EAR, 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. LOVE-POEMS. 17 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 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. 1 Olded. "There." C i8 LOVE-POEMS. 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 : 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 .^ 1 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. LOVE-POEMS. 19 From Thomas Campion's Two Books of Airs (c\TC. 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 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. 1 Old ed. "smelling.'' LOVE-POEMS. 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 Hberal 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 ! LO VE-POEMS. From John Bartlet's Airs, 1606. THE Queen of Paphos, Erycine, In heart did rose-cheeked Adon love ; He mortal was, but she divine, And oft with kisses did him move ; With great gifts still she did him woo. But he would never yield thereto. Then since the Queen of Love by Love To love was once a subject made, And could thereof no pleasure prove. By day, by night, by light or shade, Why, being mortal, should I grieve, Since she herself could not relieve ? She was a goddess heavenly And loved a fair-faced earthly boy, Who did contemn her deity And would not grant her hope of joy ; For Love doth govern by a fate That here plants will and there leaves hate. But I a hapless mortal wight To an immortal beauty sue ; No marvel then she loathes my sight Since Adon Venus would not woo. Hence groaning sighs, mirth be my friend'! Before my life, my love shall end. LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' The Muses' Garden of Delights, 1610. THE sea hath many thousand sands, The sun hath motes as many ; The sky is full of stars, and love As full of woes as any : Believe me, that do know the elf. And make no trial by thyself. It is in truth a pretty toy For babes to play withal ; But O the honies of our youth Are oft our age's gall ! Self-proof in time will make thee know He was a prophet told thee so : A prophet that, Cassandra-like, Tells truth without belief; For headstrong youth will run his race. Although his goal be grief : Love's martyr, when his heat is past, Proves Care's confessor at the last. ,LOVE-POEMS. 23 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 saith " I was more true to Love than Love to me." 24 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). " ly /T AIDS are simple," some men say, iV J. " 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. LOVE-POEMS. 25 From Robert Jones' Musical Dream, 1609. T N 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 ' to obedience with a wink could win. Hey, jolly Robin 'llis 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 ^ 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. ' Distracted. LO VE-POEMS. 35 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. From Thomas Campion 's/^i^wr/// Book of Airs {c\vc. 1617). 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. 36 LOVE-POEMS. 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. 1 Olded. "it." LOVE-POEMS. 37 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 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 ! 38 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 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. LO VE-POEMS. 39 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 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 yet 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. 40 LOVE-POEMS. 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 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 ihere ! where'er I go I'll leave my heart behind me. LO VE-POEMS. 41 From William Bykd's Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs, 1^88. 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. 42 LOVE-POEMS. 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 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 chrystal eyn Had been so much unstableness } Thy face so fair, thy look so strange ! Who would have thought of such a change .'' LOVE-POEMS. 43 From Thomas Campion's Third- Book of Airs (circ. 1617). BE thou then my Beauty named, Since thy will is to be mine ; For by that I am enflamed Which on all alike doth shine ; Others may the light admire, I only truly feel the fire. But if lofty titles move thee. Challenge then a Sovereign's place ; Say I honour when I love thee, Let me call thy kindness Grace : State and Love things diverse be, Yet will we teach them to agree. Or if this be not sufficing, Be thou styled my Goddess then : I will love thee, sacrificing ; In thine honour hymns I'll pen : To be thine, what canst thou more 'i ril love thee, serve thee, and adore. 44 LOVE-POEMS. 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, fie, on love ! it is a foolish thing.' " My heart where have you laid ? O cruel maid, To kill where 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 stream ' 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, fie on love ! it Ms a foolish thing.'" 1 Olded. " that." LO VE-POEMS. 45 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs [qxxz. 1617). THRICE toss these oaken ashes in the air, Thrice sit thou mute in this 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 Bateson's First Set of English i\fadrigals, 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. 46 LO VE-POEMS. From J. DMi^KlJ?, Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice, 1606. LET me not Chloris think, because She hath envassel'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 1 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 ? LOVE-POEMS. 47 From William Byrd's Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs, 1588. AMBITIOUS love hath forced me to aspire The beauties rare which do adorn thy face ; Thy modest life yet bridles my desire, Whose severe law doth promise me no grace. But what ! may Love live under any law ? No, no, his power exceedeth man's conceit, Of which the Gods themselves do stand in awe, For on his frown a thousand torments wait. Proceed then in this desperate enterprise With good advice, and follow Love thy guide, That leads thee to thy wished paradise. Thy climbing thoughts this comfort take withal : That, if it be thy foul disgrace to slide. Thy brave attempt shall yet excuse thy fall. From Thomas Weelkes' Ma- drigals, 1597. AH me ! my wonted joys forsake me, And deep despair doth overtake me ; I whilome sung, but now I weep : Thus sorrows run, when joys do creep. I wish to live, and yet I die ; For love hath wrought my misery. LOVE-POEMS. From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. BLAME not my cheeks, though pale with love they be; The kindly heat unto my heart is flown To cherish it that is dismayed by thee, Who art so cruel and unsteadfast grown ; For Nature, called for by distressed hearts. Neglects and quite forsakes the outward parts. But they whose cheeks with careless blood are stained Nurse not one spark of love within their hearts ; And, when they woo, they speak with passion feigned, For their fat love lies in their outward parts : But in their breasts where love his court should hold. Poor Cupid sits and blows his nails for cold. From Thomas Vautor's Songs of divers Airs and Natures, 1619. BLUSH, my rude present ; blushing, yet say this, — That he that sent thee meant a better thing : Best meaners oft of their best purpose miss, Best runners sometimes fail to hit the ring ; What wants in show he doth supply in mind : Tell my sweet mistress, saint of woman-kind. LO VE-POEMS. 49 From John Wilbye's Second Set of Madrigals, 1609. CHANGE me, O heavens into the ruby stone That on my love's fair locks doth hang in gold, Yet leave me speech to her to make my moan, And give me eyes her beauties to behold ; Or if you will not make my flesh a stone, Make her hard heart seem flesh that now seems none. From Thomas Bateson 's Second Set of Madrigals, 1618. CAM ELLA fair tripped o'er the plain, I followed quickly after ; Have overtaken her I would fain. And kissed her when I caught her. But hope being passed her to obtain, " Camella ! " loud I call : She answered me with great disdain, " I will not kiss at all." so LO VE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' Fi?-st Book of Songs and Aiis, 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. D LO VE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' Ultimum Vale, 1608. O not, O do not prize thy beauty at too high a rate, Love to be loved whilst thou art lovely, lest thou love too late ; Frowns print wrinkles in thy brows At which spiteful age doth smile, Women in their froward vows Glorying to beguile. Wert thou the only world's admired thou canst love but one. And many have before been loved, thou art not loved alone : Couldst thou speak with heavenly grace, Sappho might with thee compare ; Blush the roses in thy face, Rosamond was as fair. Pride is the canker that consumeth beauty in her prime, They that delight in long debating feel the curse of time : All things with the time do change. That will not the time obey ; Some even to themselves seem strange Thorough their own delay. 52 LOVE-POEMS. From John Dowland's A Pil- grim' s Solace, 1612. DISDAIN me still that I may ever love, For who his love enjoys can love no more : The war once past, with ease men cowards prove, And ships returned do rot upon the shore : And though thou frown, I'll say thou art most fair, And still I'll love, though still I must despair. As heat to life, so is desire to love, And these once quenched both life and love are gone : Let not my sighs nor tears thy virtue move, Like baser metals do not melt too soon : Laugh at my woes although I ever mourn ; Love surfeits with reward, his nurse is scorn. From Alfonso Ferrabosco's Airs, 1609. FAIN I would, but oh I dare not. Speak my thoughts at full to praise her : " Speak the best," cries Love, " and spare not ; Thy speech can no higher raise her : Thy speech than thy thoughts are lower, Yet thy thousrhts doth not half know her." LO VE-POEMS. S3 From Thomas Campion's Two Books of Airs (circ. 1613. ) HARDEN now thy tired heart with more than flinty rage ! Ne'er let her false tears henceforth thy constant grief assuage ! Once true happy days thou savv'st, when she stood firm and kind ; Both as one then lived, and held one ear, one tongue, one mind : But now those bright hours be fled and never may return : What then remains but her untruths to mourn ! Silly trait'ress, who shall now thy careless tresses place ? Who thy pretty talk supply ? whose ear thy music grace ? Who shall thy bright eyes admire, what lips triumph with thine ? Day by day who'll visit thee and say " Th 'art only mine " ? Such a time there was, God wot, but such shall never be. Too oft, I fear, thou wilt remember me. 54 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion 's/o«/V// Book of Airs (circ. 1617). T T ER fair inflaming eyes, J--*- Chief authors of my cares, I prayed in humblest wise With grace to view my tears : They beheld me broad awake, But alas no ruth would take. Her lips with kisses rich, And words of fair delight, I fairly did beseech To pity my sad plight : But a voice from them broke forth, As a whirlwind from the north. Then to her hands I fled. That can give heart and all ; To them I long did plead. And loud for pity call : But, alas, they put me off With a touch worse than a scoff. So back I straight return'd, And at her breast I knock'd, Where long in vain I mourn'd. Her heart so fast was lock'd : Not a word could passage find, For a rock enclosed her mind. LO VE-POEMS. 55 Then down my prayers made way To those most comely parts That make her fly or stay, As they affect deserts : But her angry feet, thus moved, Fled with all the parts I loved. Yet fled they not so fast As her enraged mind : Still did I after haste, Still was I left behind ; Till I found 'twas to no end With a spirit to contend. From Thomas Bateson's Second Set of Madrigals, 1618. HER hair the net of golden wire, Wherein my heart, led by my wandering eyes. So fast entangled is that in no wise It can, nor will, again retire ; But rather will in that sweet bondage die Than break one hair to gain her liberty. 56 LOVE-POEMS. From John Bartlet's Airs, 1606. T HEARD of late that Love was fall'n asleep ; -■- Too late, alas ! I find it was not so : Methought I saw the little villain weep, But thief ! he laughs at them that wail in woe : dream'd his bow was broke and he was slain But lo ! awaked, I see all whole again. His blinking eyes will ever be awake, His idle head is full of laughing toys, His bow and shafts are tickle things to take. It is no meddling with such apish boys ; For they shall find, that in his fetters fall, Love is a deadly thing to deal withal. Yet where the wretch doth take a happy vein, It is the kindest worm that ever was ; But let him catch a coy conceit again, In frantic fits he doth a fury pass : So that, in sum, who hopes of happy joy, Take heed of Love, it is a parlous boy. LOVE-POEMS. S7 From Robert Jones' The Muses' Garden of Delights, 1610. JOY in thy hope, the earnest of thy love, For so thou mayst enjoy thy heart's desire : True hopes things absent do as present prove, And keep ahve love's still-renewing fire. But of thy hope let silence be the tongue, And secresy the heart of loving fire ; For hopes revealed may thy hopes prolong Or cut them off in prime-time of desire. Sweet are those hopes that do themselves enjoy, As vowed to themselves to live and die ; Sweetest those joys and freest from annoy That waken not the eye of jealousy. L'Envoy. Thy love is not thy love if not thine own And so it is not if it once be known. LOVE-POEMS. From Martin Peerson's Pri- vate Music, 1620. He} T S not that my fancy's Queen, -*- In the brightness of her rays Passing summer's cheerest days, That comes tripping o'er the green ? She. Is- not that my shepherd swain Sprightly clad in lovely blue, Fairest of the fairest crew, That comes gliding o'er the plain ? Both. It is my love, it is my love, And thus and thus we meet, And thus and thus we greet, Happier than the gods above : Meeting may we love for ever. Ever love and never sever ! 1 There are no prefixes in old ed. 2 The second stanza is printed in old ed. as part of another song. LOVE-POEMS. 59 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs {arc. 1617). T F love loves truth then women do not love, ^ Their passions all are but dissembled shows : Now kind and free of favour if they prove, Their kindness straight a tempest overthrows. Then as a seaman the poor lover fares ; The storm drowns him ere he can drown his cares. But why accuse I women that deceive ? Blame then the foxes for their subtle wile ! They first from Nature did their craft receive ; It is a woman's nature to beguile. Yet some, I grant, in loving steadfast grow ; But such by use are made, not Nature, so. O why had Nature power at once to frame Deceit and Beauty, traitors both to Love ? O would Deceit had died when Beauty came With her divineness every heart to move ! Yet do we rather wish, whate'er befall. To have fair women false than none at all. 6o LOVE-POEMS. From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. IF she forsake me, I must die : Shall I tell her so ? Alas, then straight will she reply " No, no, no, no, no ! " If I disclose my desperate state. She will but make sport thereat. And more unrelenting grow. What heart can long such pains abide ? Fie upon this love ! I \\ ould adventure far and wide. If it would remove ; But love will still my steps pursue, I cannot his ways eschew : Thus still helpless hopes I prove. I do my love in lines commend, But, alas, in vain ; The costly gifts that I do send, vShe returns again : Thus still is my despair procured. And her malice more assured : Then come, death, and end my pain ! LOVE-POEMS. 6i From Thomas Bateson's Second Set of Madrigals, 1618. N/T Y mistress after service due J- Demanded if indeed my love were true. I said it was ; then she replied, That I must hate Whom she defied, And so myself above the rest, Whom she (she swore) did most of all detest. In sooth, said I, you see I hate myself, Who sets my love on such a peevish elf. From Martin Peerson's Fn vate Music, 1620. LOVE her no more, herself she doth not love : Shame and the blackest clouds of night Hide her for ever from thy sight. O day, why do thy beams in her eyes move .'' Fly her, dear honoured friend, do so ; She'll be the cause of much much woe. Alas, she will undo thee. Her love is fatal to thee : Curse her then and jjo ! 62 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Q.hM.vio^'i, Fourth Books of Airs (circ. 1617). LOVE me or not, love her I must or die Leave me or not, follow her needs must 1. O that her grace would my wished comforts give ! How rich in her, how happy I should live ! All my desire, all my delight should be Her to enjoy, her to unite to me ; Envy should cease, her would I love alone : Who loves by looks is seldom true to one. Could I enchant, and that it lawful were, Her would I charm softly that none should hear ; But love enforced rarely yields firm content : So would I love that neither should repent. From Thomas Morley's Plain and Easy Introduction to Practical Music, 1597. SLEEP, O sleep, fond fancy, My head, alas, thou tirest With false delight of that which thou desirest. Sleep, I say, fond fancy. And leave my thoughts molesting : Thy master's head hath need of sleep and resting. LOVE-POEMS. 63 From Thomas QkuvxO'St's Fourth Book of Airs (circ. 1617). OLOYE, where are thy shafts, thy quiver, and thy bow ? Shall my wounds only weep and he ungaged go ? Be just and strike him too that dares contemn thee so. No eyes are like to thine, though men suppose thee blind, So fair they level when the mark they list to find ; Then strike, O strike the heart that bears the cruel mind. Is my fond sight deceived, or do I Cupid spy Close aiming at his breast by whom despised I die ? Shoot home, sweet Love, and wound him that he may not fly. O then we both will sit in some unhaunted shade And heal each other's wound which Love hath justly made ; O hope, O thought too vain, how quickly dost thou fade! At large he wanders still, his heart is free from pain, While secret sighs I spend and tears, but all in vain : Yet, Love, thou knowest, by right I should not thus complain. 64 LO VE-POEMS. From Christ Church MS. I. 5. 49. (Music by ALFONSO Ferra- BOSCO. ) T~\APHNIS came on a summer's day -*->' Where fair Phillis sleeping lay, With breast half naked bare : He ran and gathered stores of lilies, Wherewith he covered his fair Phillis, She being nought aware. Fond youth, why dost thou mar Those lily-bowers and lose the pain ! Her lily breast doth stain All flowers and lilies far. From JOHNWiLBYE's.T/arfrz^<7/j, 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 the roses. LOVE-POEMS. 6s From Robert Jones' The Muses'' Garden of Delights, 1610. ONCE did my thoughts both ebb and flow, As passion did them move ; Once did I hope, straight fear again, — And then I was in love. Once did I waking spend the night, And tell how many ininutes move. Once did I wishing waste the day, — And then I was in love. Once, by my carving true love's knot, The weeping trees did prove That wounds and tears were both our lot, — And then I was in love. Once did I breathe another's breath And in my mistress move, Once was I not mine own at all, — And then I was in love. Once wore I bracelets made of hair, And collars did approve, Once wore my clothes made out of wax, — And then I was in love. Once did I sonnet to my saint. My soul in numbers move, Once did I tell a thousand lies, — And then I was in love. F 66 LOVE-POEMS. Once in my ear did dangling hang A little turtle-dove, Once, in a word, I was a fool, — And then 1 was in love. From Martin Peerson's Pri- vate Music, 1620. ■Q, The fairest of thy mother's kin, O come, come, come abroad And hear the shrill birds sing, The air with tunes that load ! It is too soon to go to rest. The sun not midway yet to west : The day doth miss thee And will not part until it kiss thee." " Were I as fair as you pretend. Yet to an unknown, seld-seen ^ friend 1 dare not ope the door : To hear the sweet birds sing Oft proves a dangerous thing. The sun may run his wonted race And yet not gaze on my poor face ; The day may miss me : Therefore depart, you shall not kiss me. 1 i.e., seldom seen. LOVE-POEMS. 67 From John Danyel's Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice, 1606. TIME, cruel Time, canst thou subdue that brow That conquers all but thee, and thee too stays, As if she were exempt from scythe or bow. From Love or Years, unsubject to decays ? Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes That they might help thee to consume our days ? Or dost thou love her for her cruelties, Being merciless like thee, that no man weighs ? Then do so still, although she makes no 'steem Of days nor years, but lets them run in vain : Hold still thy swift-wing'd hours, that wond'ring seem To gaze on her, even to turn back again. And do so still, although she nothing cares : Do as I do, love her although unkind : Hold still, yet O ! I fear at unawares Thou wilt beguile her though thou seem'st so kind. 68 LOVE-POEMS. From William Barley's New Book of Tabliture, 1596. THOSE eyes that set my fancy on a fire, Those crisped hairs that hold my heart in chains, Those dainty hands which conquered my desire, That wit which of my thoughts doth hold the reins : Then, Love, be judge, what heart may therewith stand Such eyes, such head, such wit, and such a hand ? Those eyes for clearness doth the stars surpass. Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun, Those hands more white than ever ivory was, That wit even to the skies hath glory won. O eyes that pierce our hearts without remorse ! O hairs of right that wear a royal crown ! O hands that conquer more than Caesar's force ! O wit that turns huge kingdoms upside down ! From George Yji's.wi's.'?, First Set of English Madrigals, 1597. AH sweet, alas ! when first I saw those eyes, Those eyes so rich with crystal majesty, Their wounding beauty gan ' to tyrannise And made mine eyes bleed tears full plenteously : I felt the wound, yet feared I not the deed. Till ah ! I found my tears did inward bleed. ' Old ed. " gan (//i(?«) to tyrannyze." LO VE-POEMS. 69 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). T F thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what -L '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 dnl- liance 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. 70 LOVE-POEMS. Thus thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love defy, But, alas, poor soul, too late ! dipt 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 Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (c\tc. 1617). 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. LO VE-POEMS. Ti. From Musica Transalpina. The Second Book of Madrigals , 1597- SO saith my fair and beautiful Lycoris, When now and then she talketh With me of Love : " Love is a sprite that walketh, That soars and flies, And none aUve can hold him, Nor touch him, nor behold him." Yet when her eye she turneth, I spy where he sojourneth : In her eyes there he flies, But none can catch him Till from her lips he fetch him. From John ^X'LWi^^ 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." ' No, no, these are but bugs'^ to breed amazing, For in her eyes I saw his torch-light blazing." 1 An old form of ivhither. - Bugbears. 72 LOVE-POEMS. From William Byrd's Songs of Sundry Natures, 1589. 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 whether.' 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 William Byrd's Psalms, Songs, aiid Sonnets, 161 1. CROWNED with flowers I saw fair Amarj-llis By Thyrsis sit, hard by a fount of chrystal. And with her hand more white than snow or lilies, On sand she wrote Aly faith shall be i/nniortal : And suddenly a storm of wind and weather Blew all her faith and sand away together. ^ i.e., ■whithe?: LOVE-POEMS. Ti From Thomas Ford's Music of Sundry Kinds, 1607. T T OW 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 lovang, 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. 74 LOVE-POEMS. From John Dowland's Second Book of Songs and A irs, 1600. TOSS not my soul, O Love, 'twixt hope and fear ! Show me some ground where I may firmly stand, Or surely fall ! 1 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 cjuite is overthrown. Take me, Assurance, to thy blissful hold ! Or thou Despair, unto thy darkest cell ! Each hath full rest : the one, in joys enroU'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 Morley's Canzo- nets, 1593, "T^O 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. LOVE-POEMS. 75 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). "\T TERE 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 Thomas Morley's Madri- gals, 1594. O SWEET, alas, what say you ? Ay me, that faces 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. 76 LO VE-POEMS. From John Dowland's Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs, 1603. A T ^EEP 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. LOVE-POEMS, 77 From William Byrd's So7igs of Sundry Natures, 1589. WOUNDED I am, and dare not seek relief For this new stroke unseen but not unfelt : No blood nor bruise is witness of my grief, But sighs and tears wherewith I mourn and melt. If I complain, my witness is suspect ; If I contain, with cares I am undone : Sit still and die, tell truth and be reject : O hateful choice that sorrow cannot shun ! Yet of us twain whose loss shall be the less, Mine of my life or you of your good name ? Light is my death, regarding my distress, But your offence cries out to your defame, " A virgin fair hath slain, for lack of grace. The man that made an idol of her face ! " 78 LOVE-POEMS. From Campion and Rossetek'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. LO VE-POEMS. 79 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Alls {c\rc. 1617). WHAT is it all that men possess, among them- selves conversing ? Wealth or fame or some such boast, scarce worthy the rehearsing. Women only are men's good, with them in love con- versing. If weary, they prepare us rest ; if sick, their hand attends us ; When with grief our hearts are prest, their comfort best befriends us ; Sweet or sour, they willing go to share what fortune sends us. What pretty babes with pain they bear, our name and form presenting ! What we get how wise they keep, by sparing wants preventing ! Sorting all their household cares to our observed con- tenting ! All this, of whose large use I sing, in two words is e.xpressed : Good Wife is the good I praise, if by good men possessed. Bad with bad in ill suit well, but good with good live blessed. 8o LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's /Tjar/A Book of Airs (circ. 1617). THERE is a garden in her face Where roses and white hlies grow ; A heavenly paradise is that place Wherein all pleasant fruits do 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 cr3^ 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. LOVE-POEMS. From John Wilbye's Second Set of Madrigals, 1609. WHERE most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking ; Where least 1 come there most my heart abideth ; Where most I love I never show my liking ; From what my mind doth hold my body shdeth ; 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 Francis Pii.kington's First Set of Madrigals, and Pastorals, 1613. "P OUR forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears ; J- 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. G 82 LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' Ultimum Vale 07- 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 tire ; 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? LOVE-POEMS. 83 From Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, i6oi. 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 ; ' 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. 1 Olded. "little." 84 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). O SWEET delight, O more than human bHss, With her to live that ever loving is ! To hear her speak whose words are so well placed That she by them, as they in 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, yet 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 Thomas Weelkes' Madri- gals, 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. LOVE-POEMS. 8s 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. 86 LOVE-POEMS. From THOMASCAMPION's5fC0«(^ Book of Airs (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 ifi them may never find : Ah ! but without them, none. Both must concent. 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. LOVE-POEMS, 87 From Thomas Morley's Canzo- nets, 1593. SEE, see, mine own sweet jewel, What I have for my darhng : A robin red-breast and a starhng. These I give both in hope to move thee ; Yet thou say'st I do not love thee. From John 'Wu.Ki'E.'sMadrigals, 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 Phoebus 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 ! LOVE-FOEMS. From Thomas Weelkes' Madri- gals of Six Parts, 1600. 'T^HULE, the period of cosmography, J- Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky, Trinacrian Aetna's flames ascend not higher : These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I, Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry. The Andalusian merchant, that returns Laden with cochineal and china dishes, Reports in Spain how strangely Fogo burns Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes : These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous 1, Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry. From Francis Pilkinton's Fiist Set of Madrigals, 1613. T T AVE 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 ! LOVE-POEMS. From Martin Peerson's Pri- vate Music, 1620. CAN a maid that is well bred, Hath a blush so lovely red, Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet, And a nature passing sweet, Break her promise, untrue prove, On a sudden change her love, Or be won e'er to neglect Him to whom she vowed respect ? Such a maid, alas ! I know : O that weeds 'mongst corn should grow ! Or a rose should prickles have. Wounding where she ought to save ! I, that did her parts extol. Will my lavish tongue control : Outward parts do blind the eyes, Gall in golden pills oft lies. Reason, wake, and sleep no more, Land upon some safer shore, Think on her and be afraid Of a faithless fickle maid. Of a faithless fickle maid. Thus true love is still betrayed : Yet it is some ease to sing That a maid is liirht of wing. 90 LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' The Muses' Garden of Delights, 1610. SOFT, Cupid, soft, there is no haste, For all unkindness gone and past : Since thou wilt needs forsake me so, Let us part friends before thou go. Still shalt thou have my heart to use, — When ^ I cannot otherwise chuse : My life thou mayst command sans doubt, Command, I say, — and go without. And if that I do ever prove False and unkind to gentle Love, I'll not desire to live a day Nor any longer — than I may. I'll daily bless the little god, — But not without a smarting rod. Wilt thou still unkindly leave me .'' Now I pray God, — all ill go with thee ! •^ Qy. " When otherwise I cannot chuse"? LOVE-POEMS. 91 From John Dowland's First Book of Songs or Airs y 1597. (Words by FulkeGreville, Lord Brooke. ) WHOEVER thinks or hopes of love for love, Or who beloved in Cupid's laws doth glory, Who joys in vows or vows not to remove, Who by this light god hath not been made sorry, — Let him see me, eclipsed from my sun. With dark clouds of an earth quite overrun. Who thinks that sorrows felt, desires hidden, Or humble faith in constant honour armed. Can keep love from the fruit that is forbidden ; Who thinks that change is by entreaty charmed, — Looking on me, let him know love's delights Are treasures hid in caves but kept by sprites. From John Danyel's Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice, 1606. T T fHY canst thou not, as others do, * * Look on me with unwounding eyes .'' And yet look sweet, but yet not so ; Smile, but not in killing wise ; Arm not thy graces to confound ; Only look, but do not wound. 92 LOVE-POEMS. Why should mine eyes see more in you Than they can see in all the rest ? For I can others' beauties view, And not find my heart opprest. O be as others are to me, Or let me be more to thee. From Thomas Greaves' Songs of Su7idry 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 1 for love will die. Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith, — not I. LOVE-POEMS. 93 From Robert Dowland's Mu- sical Banquet, 1610. (The lines are assigned to Robert Devereux, 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 Christ Church MS. K. 3. 43-5- SWEET, yet cruel unkind is she To creep into my heart and murder me. Yet those beams from her eyes Dims Apollo at his rise ; And all these purer graces, All in their several places. 94 LOVE-POEMS. Begets a glory doth surprise All hearts, all eyes, For only she Gives life eternity ; And when her presence deigns but to appear Never wish greater bliss than shines from her bright sphere : Her absence wounds, strikes dead all hearts with fear. 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 lope, blithe Helen, and the rest. To hear the stories of thy tinished 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's sake : When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me. LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, 1601. T T /"HEN love on time and measure makes his ' * ground, Time that must end, though love can never die, 'Tis love betwixt a shadow and a sound, A love not in the heart but in the eye ; A love that ebbs and flows, now up, now down, A morning's favour and an evening's frown. Sweet looks show love, yet they are but as beams : Fair words seem true, yet they are but as wind ; Eyes shed their tears, yet are but outward streams ; Sighs paint a shadow in the falsest mind. Looks, words, tears, sighs show love when love they leave ; False hearts can weep, sigh, swear, and yet deceive. From Francis Pilkington's Second Set of Madrigals, 1624. "\/"0U gentle nymphs that on these meadows plav, -*- And oft relate the loves of shepherds young, Come sit you down, for, if you please to stay. Now may you hear an uncouth ^ passion sung : A lad there is, and I am that poor groom. That's fall'n in love and can not tell with whom. I Strange, unwonted. 96 LOVE-POEMS. From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. TV^ IND 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. I n 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. LOVE-POEMS. 97 From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. THOUGH you are young and I am old, Though your veins hot and my blood cold Though youth is moist and age is dry, Yet embers live when flames do die. The tender graft is easily broke, But who shall shake the sturdy oak ? You are more fresh and fair than I ; Yet stubs do live when flowers do die. Thou, that thy youth dost vainly boast, Know buds are soonest nipped with frost ; Think that thy fortune still doth cry, " Thou fool ! to-morrow thou must die." From Thomas Weelkes Madri- gals of Five and Six Parts, 1600. THREE times a day my prayer is To gaze my fill on Thoralis, And three times thrice I daily pray Not to offend that sacred may^ ; But all the year my suit must be That I may please and she love me. 1 Maid. H 98 LO VE-POEMS. 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. 1 Old ed. " neglect." LOVE-POEMS. 99 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, More 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. 1 Olded. "hath." LOVE-POEMS. From Add. MS. 18936. PHILLIS, a herd-maid dainty, Who hath no peer for beauty, By Thyrsis was requested To hear the wrongs wherewith his heart was wrested But she Diana served And would not hear how Love poor lovers sterved. Phillis, more white than lilies, More fair than Amaryllis, More cold than crystal fountain, More hard than craggy rock or stony mountain, O tiger fierce and spiteful, Why hate'st thou Love sith Love is so delightful? From 'R.O'BV.Vi'x: ]oiiV.^' Second Book of Soiigs and Airs, 1601. A /T Y Love is neither young nor old, ■i- ' J- 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. LOVE-POEMS. 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, hke haggards wild, about they range, And scorning season follow after will ! ^ 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 ! " 1 SoOliphant. — Old ed. " Scorning after reason to follow will. " LOVE-POEMS. From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. Vivamits, mea Lesbia, atque aiiietiues. 1\ /T Y 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 set is 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. L' LOVE-POEMS. 103 From RoBERTjONES'5frc«(/5t'(?^ of Songs and Airs, 1601. OVE'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, I04 LOVE-POEMS. 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 Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 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 'i 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 : W^ere he as fair as bright Adonis, Faith is not had where none is. LOVE-POEMS. 105 From Robert Jones' Ultimmn Vale, or Third Book of Airs (1608). ^WEET 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, W^herein that fire was framed By which it is enflamed, 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. io6 LOVE-POEMS. FromWlLLIAMCORKINE'Sv^iVj, I6I0. 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^ with height. Steepest mount with plainest tield. 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. ^ Balanced. LOVE-POEMS. laj 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 is it grown Confirmed, do you it keep ! And let 't safe in your bosom sleep, There ever made your own ! io8 LOVE-POEMS. 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 a^ain. 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 ^ upon the ground.'' If age bereave us of this bliss. Then will no more such sport be found. 1 Shell, husk (as peas). LOVE-POEMS. 109 From Richard Carlton's J/a(/- rigals, 1 60 1. 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 Giles Farnaby's Canzo- nets, 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. LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs [cSxc. 1617). 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 Thomas Weelkes'^z>5<>;- Fantastic Spirits, 1608. '"P* HO UGH 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. LOVE-POEMS. 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 C/irict Church MS. i. 5. 49. COME, lusty ladies, come, come, come ! With pensive thoughts you pine. Come, learn the galliard now of us, For we be masquers [fine]. We sing, we dance, and we rejoice With mirth in modesty : Come, ladies, then and take a part. And, as we sing, dance ye ! Tarranta ta-ta-ta-ta-tararantina, (S:c. LOVE-FOEMS. From William Bykd's Song% of Sundry Natures, 1589. IS Love a boy, — what means he then to strike ? Or is he bUnd, — 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. LOVE-POEMS. 113 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 earthy 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/ 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. 1 Old ed. " ouer-flowne. " I 114 LOVE-POEMS. 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 gi-ace. From John Danyf.l'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 graced, so am not I ; Thou singing livest, and I must singing die. LOVE-POEMS. 115 From Thomas Ford's Music of Sundry Kinds, 1607. "XT THAT 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 flourished 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[s] 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. ii6 LOVE-POEMS. From Michael Este's Madri- gals of Three, Four, and Five Parts, 1604. N/T Y hope a counsel with my heart J- 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. LOVE-POEMS. 117 From JOHX 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 dehver : 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. ii8 LOVE-POEMS. 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. LOVE-POEMS. 119 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, LOVE-POEMS. Since women's words No truth aftords, And when they kiss They think by this Us men to over-reach. 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 ! LO VE-POEMS. From Michael Este's Madri- gals of Three, Four, and Five Parts, 1604. (By NICHOLAS Breton. Originally pub- lished in 1591.) IN the merry month of May, On a morn by break of day, Forth I vvalk'd by the wood-side, Whereas May was in her pride : There I spyed all alone PhilUda 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 loved 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 Ladv of the Mav. LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' First Book of Airs, 1601. OMY poor eyes, the sun whose shine Late gave you light, doth now decline And, set to you, to others riseth. She, who would sooner die than change, Not fearing death, delights to range. And now, O now, my soul despiseth. Yet, O my heart, thy state is blest To seek out rest in thy unrest. Since thou her slave no more remainest ; For she that bound thee sets thee free Then when she first forsaketh thee : Such, O such, right by wrong thou gainest. Eyes, gaze no more ! heart, learn to hate ! Experience tells you, all too late, Fond woman's love with faith still warreth : While true desert speaks, writes and gives, Some groom the bargain nearer drives And he, O he, the market marreth. LOVE-POEMS. 123 From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. SEE where she flies enraged from me ! View her when she intends despite, The wind is not more swift than she. Her fury moved such terror makes As to a fearful guilty sprite The voice of heavens huge thunder-cracks : But when her appeased mind yields to delight, All her thoughts are made of joys. Millions of delights inventing ; Other pleasures are but toys To her beauty's sweet contenting. My fortune hangs upon her brow ; For as she smiles or frowns on me. So must my blown affections bow ; And her proud thoughts too well do find With what unequal tyranny Her beauties do command my mind. Though, when her sad planet reigns, Froward she be. She alone can pleasure move And displeasing sorrow banish. May I but still hold her love. Let all other comforts vanish. 124 LOVE-POEMS. From Franxis Pilkington's First Set of Madrigals, 1614. O EE where my lov^e a-maying goes, "^ With sweet dame Flora sporting ! She most alone with nightingales In woods delights consorting. Turn again, my dearest ! The pleasant'st airs in meadows : Else by the rivers let us breathe, And kiss amongst the willows. From William Corkine's Second Book of Airs, 1612. SHALL a smile or guileful glance, Or a sigh that is but feigned, Shall but tears that come by chance Make me dote that was disdained ? No ; I will no more be chained. Shall I sell my freedom so, Being now from Love remised ? Shall I learn (what I do know To my cost) that Love's disguised.'' No ; I will be more advised. Must she fall, and I must stand .^ Must she fly, and I pursue her ? Must I give her heart and land, And, for nought, with them endue her ? No ; first I will find her truer. LOVE-POEMS. I2S From William Corkine's /i?>j, 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 Hour' s Recreation in Music, 1606. SHALL 1 abide this jesting ? I weep, and she's a-feasting ! cruel fancy, that so doth blind me To love one that doth not mind me ! Can I abide this prancing .'' 1 weep, and she's a-dancing ! O cruel fancy, so to betray me ! Thou goest about to slav me. 126 LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' Ultimum Vale, 1608. SWEET, if you like and love me still And yield me love for my good will, And do not from your promise start When your fair hand gave me your heart ; If dear to you I be As you are dear to me, Then yours I am and will be ever : Nor^ time nor place my love shall sever, But faithful still I will persever, Like constant marble stone, Loving but you alone. But if you favour moe ■ than one (Who loves thee still and none but thee), If others do the har\'est gain That's due to me for all my pain ; If ^ that you love to range And oft to chop and change, Then get you some new-fangled mate ; My doting love shall turn to hate. Esteeming you (though too-too late) Not worth a pebble stone, Loving not me alone/ 1 This is the reading in Davison's Poetical Rapsody, where this song is printed with the heading " His farewell to his unkind and inconstant mistress. " — Thesongbook gives "No time nor place." - ' ' Moe " — old form of ' ' more. " ^ Olded. "Yet." 4 So Davison. — In the songbook the line stands " Loving me not alone." LOVE-POEMS. 127 From John Dovvland's Third Book of Songs or Airs, 1603. ' O AY, Love, if ever thou didst find ^ A woman with a constant mind.' ' None but one.' 'And what should that rare mirror be ?' ' Some goddess or some queen is She.' She, She, She, and only She, She only queen of love and beauty. ' But could thy fiery poisoned dart At no time touch her spotless heart. Nor come near 1 ' ' She is not subject to Love's bow : Her eye commands, her hearth saith " No." No, no, no, and only No, One No another still doth follow. ' How might I that fair wonder know That mocks desire with endless " No?" ' See the moon That ever in one change doth grow. Yet still the same : and She is so.' So, so, so, and only So ! From heaven her virtues she doth borrow. ' To her then yield thy shafts and bow That can command affections so.' ' Lo\e is free : 128 LOVE-POEMS. So are her thoughts that vanquish thee. There is no queen of love but She.' She, She, She, and only She, She only queen of love and beauty. 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 ! LOVE-POEMS. 129 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 ! I30 LOVE-POEMS. From Dr. John Wilson's Cheer- ful Airs or Ballads, 1660. GREEDY lover, pause awhile, And remember that a smile Heretofore Would have made thy hopes a feast ; Which is more, Since thy diet was increased. Than both looks and language too, Or the face itself, can do. Such a province is my hand As, if it thou couldst command, Heretofore There thy lips would seem to dwell ; Which is more, Ever since they sped so well, Than they can be brought to do By my neck and bosom too. If the centre of my breast, A dominion unpossest Heretofore, May thy wandering thoughts suffice. Seek no more. And my heart shall be thy prize ; So thou keep above the line, All the hemisphere is thine. A LOVE-POEMS. 131 If the flames of love were pure, Which by oath thou didst assure Heretofore, Gold that goes into the clear Shines the more When it leaves again the fire : Let not then those looks of thine Blemish what they should refine. I have cast into the fire Almost all thou couldst desire Heretofore ; But 1 see thou art to crave More and more. Should I cast in all I have, So that I were ne'er so free, Thou wouldst burn, though not for me. From John Farmer's First Set of English Madrigals, 1599. 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 1 could devise : I swore I would — yet still she said 1 should not ; Do what I would, and yet for all 1 could not. 132 LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' Ultimum Vale, 1608. CEASE, troubled thoughts, to sigh or sigh yourselves to death, Or kindle not my grief or cool it with your breath : Let not that spirit which made me live Seek thus untimely to deprive Me of my life : Unequal strife, That breath which gave me being Should hasten me to dying ! Cease, melting tears, to stream, stop your uncessant course, Which to my sorrow's child are like a fruitful nurse, From whence death living comfort draws ; And I myself appear the cause Of all my woe ; But 'tis not so, For she, whose beauty won me. By falsehood hath undone me. LOVE-POEMS. 133 From Thomas Bateson's Second- Set of Madrigals, 16 1 8. CUPID, in a bed of roses Sleeping, chanced to be stung Of a bee that lay among The flowers where he himself reposes ; And thus to his mother weeping Told that he this wound did take Of a little winged snake. As he lay securely sleeping. Cytherea smiling said That " if so great sorrow spring From a silly bee's weak sting As should make thee thus dismay'd, What anguish feel they, think'st thou, and what pain. Whom thy empoison'd arrows cause complain ? " From William Corkine's Airs, 1610. SWEET, let me go ! sweet, let me go ! What do you mean to vex me so ? Cease your pleading force ! Do you think thus to extort remorse ? Now, now ! no more ! alas, you overbear me. And I would cry, — but some would hear, I fear me. 134 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Greaves' Songs of Sundry Kinds, 1604. LADY, the melting chrystal of your eye Like frozen drops upon your cheeks did he ; Mine eye was dancing on them with dehght, 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. that a drop from such a sweet fount flying Should flame like Are and leave my heart a-dying ! 1 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 Thomas WEELKEs'.l/ai^r?- gals 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. LOVE-POEMS. 135 From Thomas Campion's Two Books of Airs (circ. 16 13). ' \ ^HERE is none, O none but you, ^ That from me estrange your sight, Whom mine eyes affect to view Or chained ears hear with delight. Other beauties others move. In you I all graces find ; Such is the effect of Love, To make them happy that are kind. Women in frail beauty trust, Only seem you fair to me ; Yet prove truly kind and just, For that may not dissembled be. Sweet, afford me then your sight, That, surveying all your looks, Endless volumes I may write And fill the world with envied books : Which when after-ages view, All shall wonder and despair, Woman to find man so true, Or man a woman half so fair. 136 LOVE-POEMS. From Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, 1601. WOMEN, what are they? Changing weather- cocks That smallest puffs of lust have power to turn. Women, what are they ? Virtue's stumbling-blocks Whereat weak fools do fall, the wiser spurn. We men, what are we? Fools and idle boys To spend our time in sporting with such toys. Women, what are they ? Trees whose outward rind Makes show for fair when inward heart is hollow. Women, what are they ? Beasts of hyena's kind That speak those fair'st whom most they mean to swallow. We men, what are we ? fools and idle boys To spend our time in sporting with such toys. Women, what are they? rocks upon the coast Whereon we suffer shipwrack at our landing. Women, what are they ? patient creatures most That rather yield than strive 'gainst aught with- standing. We men, what are we ? Fools and idle boys To spend our time in sporting with such toys. LOVE-POEMS. 137 From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). SO quick, so hot, so mad is thy fond suit, So rude, so tedious grown in urging me. That fain I would with loss make thy tongue mute, And yield some little grace to quiet thee : An hour with thee I care not to converse, For I would not be counted too perverse. But roofs too hot would prove for me ' all fire. And hills too high for my unused pace ; The grove is charged with thorns and the bold briar. Grey snakes the meadows shroud in every place : A yellow frog, alas ! will fright me so As I should start and tremble as I go. Since then I can on earth no fit room find, In heaven I am resolved with you to meet : Till then, for hope's sweet sake, rest your tired mind, And not so much as see me in the street : A heavenly meeting one day we shall have, But never, as you dream, in bed or grave. ' Old ed. " men." 138 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Morley's First Book of Ballets to Five Voices, IS95- HOOT, false Love! I care not ; ^■^ Spend thy shafts and spare not ! Fa la la ! 1 fear not, I, thy might. And less I weigh thy spite ; All naked I unarm me, — If thou can'st, now shoot and harm me ! So lightly I esteem thee As now a child I dream thee. Fa la la ! Long thy bow did fear' 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 ! ' Frighten. LO VE-POEMS, 139 From John Dowland's First Book of Songs or Airs, 1 597. T^EAR, if you change, I'll never choose again ; ■L-' 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. 140 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). IV^IND 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 nicrht went betwixt. LOVE-POEMS. 141 From Michael Este's Madri- gals, 1604. SLY thief, if so you will believe, It nought or little did me grieve, That my true heart you had bereft, Till that unkindly you it left : Leaving you lose, losing you kill That which I may forego so ill. What thing more cruel can you do Than rob a man and kill him too ? Wherefore of love I ask this meed, To bring you where you did this deed. That there you may, for your amisses ^ Be damaged in a thousand kisses. 1 Faults. 142 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Campion's Two Books of Airs (circ. 1613). HOW eas'ly wert thou chained, Fond heart, by favours feigned ! Why lived thy hopes in grace, Straight to die disdained ? But since thou'rt now beguiled By love that falsely smiled. In some less happy place Mourn alone exiled. My love still here increaseth. And with my love my grief. While her sweet bounty ceaseth, That gave my woes relief Yet 'tis no woman leaves me, For such may prove unjust ; A goddess thus deceives me ! Whose faith who could mistrust .'' A goddess so much graced That Paradise is placed In her most heav'nly breast, Once by Love embraced. But Love, that so kind proved, Is now from her removed ; Nor will he longer rest Where no faith is loved. LOVE-POEMS. 143 If powers celestial wound us And will not yield relief, Woe then must needs confound us, For none can cure our grief. No wonder if I languish Through burden of my smart : It is no common anguish From Paradise to part. From Thomas Campion's i^/z/'M Book of Airs (circ. 1617). SO sweet is thy discourse to me, And so delightful is thy sight, As I taste nothing right but thee : O why invented Nature light .' Was it alone for Beauty's sake That her graced words might better take ? No more can I old joys recall, They now to me become unknown, Not seeming to have been at all : Alas, how soon is this love grown To such a spreading height in me As with it all must shadowed be ! 144 LOVE-POEMS. From William Bvrd's Psalms, Sonnets, and Son^s, 1588. 'rTAREWELL, false Love, the oracle of lies, J- 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 hke 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. LOVE-POEMS. 145 From John Dowland's First Book of Songs or Airs, 1597. REST awhile, you cruel cares, Be not more severe than love ; Beauty kills and beauty spares, And sweet smiles sad sighs remove. Laura, fair queen of my delight, Come, grant me love in love's despite ; And if I ever fail to honour thee. Let this heavenly light 1 see Be as dark as hell to me I If I speak, my words want weight ; Am I mute, my heart doth break ; If I sigh, she fears deceit ; Sorrow then for me must speak. Cruel, unkind, with favour view The wound that tirst was made by you ! And if my torments feigned be, Let this heavenly light I see Be as dark as hell to me. Never hour of pleasing rest Shall revive my dying ghost Till my soul hath repossest The sweet hope which love hath lost. Laura, reedem the soul that dies By fury of thy murdering eyes ; And if it proves unkind to thee. Let this heavenly light 1 see Be as dark as hell to me. L 146 LOVE-POEMS. From John Dowland's First Book of Songs or Airs, 1597. UNQUIET thoughts, your civil slaughter stint, And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart ; And you, my tongue, that makes my mouth a mint And stamps my thoughts to coin them words by art, Be still ! for if you ever do the like, I'll cut the string that makes the hammer strike. But what can stay my thoughts they may not start? Or put my tongue in durance for to die ? Whenas these eyes, the keys of mouth and heart. Open the lock where all my love doth lie, I'll seal them up within their lids for ever : So thoughts and words and looks shall die together. How shall I then gaze on my mistress' eyes? My thoughts must have some vent, else heart will break. My tongue would rust, as in my mouth it lies, If eyes and thoughts were free and that not speak. Speak then ! and tell the passions of desire. Which turns mine eyes to floods, my thoughts to fire. LOVE-POEMS. 147 From John Bartlet's Airs, 1606. WHEN from my love I looked for love and kind affection's due, Too well I found her vows to prove most faithless and untrue ; For when I did ask her why, Most sharply she did reply That she with me did ne'er agree To love but jestingly. Mark the subtle policies that female lovers tind, Who loves to fix their constancies like feathers in the wind ; Though they swear, vow, and protest That they love you chiefly best. Yet by-and-by they'll all deny, And say 'twas but in jest. From Thomas Weelkes' Mad- rigals, 1597. \/OUNG Cupid hath proclaimed a bloody war -'- And vows revenge on all the maiden crew : Oh yield, fair Chloris, lest in that foul jar Thine after penance makes thy folly rue. And yet I fear, her wondrous beauty's such, A thousand Cupids dare not Chloris touch. 148 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Bateson's First Set of English ^fadr^gals, 1604. MUSIC, some think, no music is Unless she sing of cHp and kiss And bring to wanton tunes " Fie, fie ! " Or " Tih-ha tah-ha ! " or " I'll cry ! " But let such rhymes no more disgrace Music sprung of heavenly race. From Robert Jones' A Musical Dream, 1609. N/T Y complaining is but feigning, -*■ All my love is but in jest ; (Fa, la, la!) And my courting is but sporting, Inmost shewing meaning least. (Fa, la, la !) Outward sadness inward gladness Representeth in my mind ; (Fa, la, la 1) In most feigning most obtaining, Such good faith in love I find. (Fa, la, la !) Towards ladies this my trade is. Two minds in one breast I wear ; (Fa, la, la !) And, my measure at my pleasure. Ice and flame my face doth bear. (Fa, la, la !) LOVE-POEMS. 149 From Thomas Campion's Fourth Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 'T^HOU joyest, fond boy, to be by many loved, ^ To have thy beauty of most dames approved ; For this dost thou thy native worth disguise And playest the sycophant t'observe their eyes : Thy glass thou counsell'st, more to adorn thy skin, That first should school thee to be fair within. 'Tis childish to be caught with pearl or amber, And womanlike too much to cloy the chamber ; Youths should the fields aftect, heat their rough steeds. Their hardened nerves to fit for better deeds : I St not more joy strongholds to force with swords Than women's weakness take with looks or words ? Men that do noble things all purchase glory, One man for one brave act hath proved a story ; But if that one ten thousand dames o'ercame, Who would record it, if not to his shame ? 'Tis far more conquest with one to live true Than every hour to triumph lord of new. 150 LOVE-POEMS. From Campion and Rossetek's Book of Airs, i6oi. TURN back, you wanton tlyer, And answer my desire With mutual greeting. Yet bend a little nearer, True beauty still shines clearer In closer meeting. Hearts with hearts delighted Should strive to be united, Each other s arms with arms enchaining : Hearts with a thought. Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining. What harvest half so sweet is As still to reap the kisses Grown ripe in sowing.' And straight to be receiver Of that which thou art giver, Rich in bestowing .'' There's no strict observing Of times' or seasons' swerving,^ There is ever one fresh spring abiding : Then what we sow with our lips, Let us reap, love's gains dividing. ' Old ed. "changing." LOVE-POEMS. 151 From Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, 1601. WHERE lingering fear doth once possess the heart, There is the tongue Forced to prolong And smother up his suit, while that his smart, Like fire supprest, flames more in every part. Who dares not speak deserves not his desire ; The boldest face Findeth most grace ; Though women love that men should them admire, They slily laugh at him dares come no higher. Some think a glance, expressed by a sigh, Winning the field, Maketh them yield : But while these glancing fools do roll the eye, They beat the bush, away the bird doth flie. A gentle heart in vertuous breast doth stay ; Pity doth dwell In Beauty's cell ; A woman's heart doth not, though tongue, say " Nay : " Repentance taught me this the other day. Which had I wist, I presently had got The pleasing fruit Of my long suit ; But Time hath now beguiled me of this lot, For that by his foretop I took him not. IS2 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas CAMPiON's/^9wrM Book of Airs (circ. 1617). BEAUTY is but a painted hell : Ay me, ay me ! She wounds them that admire it, She kills them that desire it. Give her pride but fuel. No fire is more cruel. Pity from every heart is fled : Ay me, ay me ! Since false desire could borrow Tears of dissembled sorrow, Constant vows turn truthless. Love cruel, Beauty ruthless. Sorrow can laugh and Fury sing : Ay, me, ay me ! My raving griefs discover I lived too true a lover. The first step to madness Is excess of sadness. LO VE-POEMS. 153 From John Mundy's Songs and Psalms, 1594. T T EIGH ho ! chill go to plough no more ! -L -•- 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 Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, 1601. FAREWELL, dear love ! since thou wilt needs be gone : Mine eyes do show my life is almost done. — Nay I will never die, So long as I can spy ; There be many mo Though that she do go. There be many mo, I fear not ; Why, then, let her go, I care not. — Farewell, farewell I since this I find is true, I will not spend more time in wooing you. — But I will seek elsewhere If I may find her there. Shall 1 bid her go ? What and if I do .' Shall 1 bid her go and spare not 1 O no, no, no, no, 1 dare not. — 154 LOl'E-POEMS. Ten thousand times farewell ! yet stay awhile. Sweet, kiss me once, sweet kisses time beguile. — I have no power to move : How now, am I in love ! — Wilt thou needs be gone ? Go then, all is one. Wilt thou needs be gone .' O hie thee ! Nay ; stay, and do no more deny me. Once more farewell ! I see Loth to dcpaj-t} Bids oft adieu to her that holds my heart : But seeing I must lose Thy love which I did choose. Go thy ways for me, Since it may not be ; Go thy ways for me, but whither .' Go, — oh but where I may come thither. What shall I do.' my love is now departed. She is as fair as she is cruel-hearted : She would not be entreated With prayers oft repeated. If she come no more, Shall 1 die therefore .-' If she come no more, what care 1 1 — Faith, let her go, or come, or tarry ! 1 There was an old song with this title. — See Chappell's Popu- lar Music of the Olden Ti?ne, p. 173. LO VE-POEMS. 155 From Giles Farnaby's Can- zonets, 1598. SOMETIME she would and sometime not, The more request the more disdained ; Each woman hath her gift, God wot, And ever had since Venus reigned : Though Vulcan did to Venus yield, I would have men to win the field. From John Wilbye's Second Set of Madrigals, 1609. STAY, Corydon, thou swain, Talk not so soon of dying ; What, though thy heart be slain, What, if thy love be flying ? She threatens thee, but dare not strike ; Thy nymph is light and shadow-like, For if thou follow her she'll fly from thee, But if thou fly from her she'll follow thee. iS6 LOVE- POEMS. From Thomas Morley's Ma- drigals to Four Voices, 1600. ON a fair morning, as I came by the way, Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May, When a sweet love sings his lovely lay And every bird upon the bush bechirps it up so gay, With a heave and ho ! with a heave and ho ! Thy wife shall be thy master, I trow. Sing, care away, care away, let the world go I Hey, lustily all in a row, all in a row, Sing, care away, care away, let the world go ! From Dr. John Wilson's Cheer- ful Airs or Ballads, 1660. YOU say you love me, nay, can swear it too ; But stay, sir, 'twill not do. I know you keep your oaths Just as you wear your clothes, While new and fresh in fashion ; But once grown old, You lay them by. Forgot like words you speak in passion. I'll not believe vou, 1. LOVE-POEMS. 157 From Campion AND Rosseters Book of Airs, 1601. T 17 HEN the god of merry love * * As yet in his cradle lay, Thus his withered nurse did say : " Thou a wanton boy wilt prove To deceive the powers above ; For by thy continual smiling I see thy power of beguiling." Therewith she the babe did kiss ; When a sudden fire outcame From those burning lips of his That did her with love inflame, But none would regard the same : So that, to her day of dying. The old wretch lived ever crying. From Campion and Rosseter s Book of Airs, 1601. WHEN to her lute Corinna sings, Her voice revives the leaden strings, And doth in highest notes appear As any challenged echo clear ; But when she doth of mourning speak, E'en with her sighs the strings do break. IS8 LOVE-POEMS. And as her lute doth Uve or die, Led by her passion, so must I : For when of pleasure she doth sing, My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring; But if she doth of sorrow speak, E'en from my heart the strings do break. From Robert Jones' Ultimum Vale, 1608. \ X T'HEN will the fountain of my tears be dry, * * When will my sighs be spent? When will desire agree to let me die ? When will thy heart relent ? It is not for my life I plead, Since death the way to rest doth lead ; But stay for thy consent. Lest thou be discontent. For if myself without thy leave I kill, My ghost will nev^er rest : So hath it sworn to work thine only will And holds it ever best ; For since it only lives by thee. Good reason thou the ruler be : Then give me leave to die. And show thy power thereby. D LOVE-POEMS. 159 From Alfonso Ferrabosco's Ain, 1609. ROWN not with tears, my dearest Love, Those eyes which my affections move ; Do not with weeping those hghts blind Which me in thy subjection bind. Time, that made us two of one, And forced thee now to Hve alone. Will once again us re-unite To show how she can Fortune spite. Then will we our time redeem, And hold our hours in more esteem, Turning all our sweetest nights Into millions of delights ; And strive with many thousand kisses To multiply exchange of blisses. From Thomas Bateson's First Set of English Madrigals, 1604. "T^AIR Hebe, when dame Flora meets, J- She trips and leaps as gallants do ; Up to the hills and down again To the vallies runs she to and fro. But out, alas ! when frosty locks Begirds the head with cark and care, Peace ! laugh no more, let pranks go by Slow-crawling age forbids such ware. i6o LOVE-POEMS. F From Orlando Gibbons' First Set of Madrigals, 1612. AIR is the rose, yet fades with heat or cold ; Sweet are the violets, yet soon grown old ; The lily's white, yet in one day 'tis done ; White is the snow, yet melts against the sun : So white, so sweet, was my fair mistress' face, Yet altered quite in one short hour's ^ space : So short-lived beauty a vain gloss doth borrow, Breathing delight to-day, but none to-morrow. From Thomas Morlev's First Book of Ballets to Five I 'oices, 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. 1 " Hour " is here (as frequently in the Elizabethan poets) to be pronounced as a dissyllable. In fact it was commonly spelt "bower." LOVE-POEMS. i6i 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 Ups, 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.' i62 LOVE-POEMS. From Orlando Gibbon's' First Set of Madrigals, 1612. LAIS, now old. that erst attempting ^ lass. To Goddess Venus consecrates her glass ; For she herself hath now no use of one, No dimpled cheeks hath she to gaze upon : She cannot see her springtide damask grace, Nor dare she look upon her winter face. From John Danyel's Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice, 1606. WHAT delight can they enjoy Whose hearts are not their own, But are gone abroad astray And to others' bosoms tlown ? Silly comforts, silly joy. Which fall and rise as others move Who seldom use to turn our way 1 And therefore Chloris will not love, For well I see How false men be. And let them pine that lovers prove. I suspect that this is a misprint for ' ' all-tempting. " LOVE-POEMS. 163 f>om Robert Jones' Fint Book of Airs, 1601. WHAT if I seek for love of thee ? Shall I find Beauty kind, To desert that still shall dwell in me ? Though thy looks have charmed mine eyes, I can forbear to love ; But if ever sweet desire Set my woeful heart on fire, Then can I never remove. Frown not on me unless thou hate ; For thy frown Cast[s] me down To despair of my most hapless state. Smile not on me unless thou love ; For thy smile Will beguile My desires, if thou unsteadfast prove. If thou needs wilt bend thy brows, A- while refrain, my dear ; But if thou wilt smile on me, Let it not delayed be : Comfort is never too near. i64 LOVE-POEMS. From Thomas Ford's Music of Sundry Kinds, 1607. UNTO the temple of thy Beauty, And to the tomb where Pity hes, I, pilgrim-clad with zeal and duty, Do offer up my heart, mine eyes. My heart, lo ! in the quenchless tire. 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. LOVE-POEMS. i6s From Robert Jones' Ultimutn 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 : Wiiat 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? i66 LO VE-POEMS. From William Byrd's Songs of S^uidry Natures, 1589. 1. XT 7 HO made thee, Hob, forsake the plough * *^ And fall in Love ? 2. Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow The gods above. I. 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, W'hom I love best. 1. O, Hob, I fear she looks too high. 2. Yet love I must, or else 1 die. From Richard Carlton's Madrigals, 1601. 'T^HE witless boy that blind is to behold, -L Yet blinded sees what in our fancy lies. With smiling looks and hairs of curled gold Hath oft entrapped and oft deceived the wise : No wit can serve his fancy to remove, For finest wits are soonest thralled to Love. LOVE-POEMS. 167 From William Byrd's Songs of Sundry Xaturcs, 1589. ^ T 7HILE 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 played 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 sobbed and sighed 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. i68 LOVE-POEMS. 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 passed 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 John WiLBYE's First Set of English Madrigals, 1598. AY me, can every rumour Thus start my lady's humour ? Name ye sortie 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. LOl'E-POEMS. 169 From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. 1 T ARK, all you ladies that do sleep ! -*- J- The fairy-queen Proserpina Bids you awake and pity them that weep : You may do in the dark What the day doth forbid ; Fear not the dogs that bark, Night will hav'e all hid. But if you let your lovers moan, The fairy-queen Proserpina Will send abroad her fairies every one, That shall pinch black and blue Your white hands and fair arms That did not kindly rue Your paramours' ' harms. In myrtle arbours on the downs The fairy-queen Proserpina, This night by moonshine leading merry rounds, Holds a watch with sweet love, Down the dale, up the hill ; No plaints or groans may move Their holy vigil. 1 " Paramour "=lover. (The word acquired its j^resent offen- sive meaning at a later date. ) I70 LOVE-POEMS. All you that will hold watch with love, The fairy-queen Proserpina Will make you fairer than Dione's dove ; Roses red, lilies white, And the clear damask hue, Shall on your cheeks alight : Love will adorn you. All you that love or loved before, The fairy-queen Proserpina Bids you increase that loving humour more They that yet have not fed On delight amorous. She vows that they shall lead Apes in Avernus. From the Second Book of Musica Transalpina, 1597. ROWN is my Love, but graceful : And each renowned whiteness Matched with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness. B' Fair is my Love, but scornful : Yet have I seen despised Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prized. LOVE-POEMS. ijT From William Byrd's Psalms, Sonnets, attd Songs, 1588. ^'^HE match that's made for just and true respects, J- With evenriess 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. 172 LOVE-POEMS. 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 Walter Porter's .1/a- drigals and Airs, 1632. T 0\'E in thy youth, fair maid ; be wise. -*— -* Old Time will make thee colder, And though each morning new arise Yet we each day grow older. Thou as heaven art fair and young, Thine eyes like twin stars shining : But ere another day be sprung. All these will be declining. Then winter comes with all his fears And all thy sweets shall borrow ; Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, And I too late shall sorrow. LOVE-POE.\[S. 173 From Stafford Smith's Musica Ajitiqua. (Words by Thomas May?) T^EAR, do not your fair beauty wrong ^-^ In thinking still you are too young. The rose and lily in your cheek Flourish, and no more ripening seek ; Inflaming beams shot from your eye Do show Love's Midsummer is nigh ; Your cherry lip, red, soft, and sweet. Proclaims such fruit for taste is meet. Love is still young, a buxomi boy, And younglings are allowed to toy : Then lose no time, for love hath wings, And flies away from aged things. 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. 174 DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. Fronr Robert Jones' Musical Dream, 1609. WHEN I sit reading all alone that secret book Wherein I sigh to look. How many spots there be I wish I could not see, Or from myself might flee ! Mine eyes for refuge then with zeal befix the skies, My tears do cloud those eyes, My sighs do blow them dry ; And yet I live to die, Myself I cannot fly. Heavens, I implore, that knows my fault, what shall I do? To Hell I dare not go ; The world first made me rue, My self my griefs renew : To whom then shall I sue ? Alas, my soul doth faint to draw this doubtful breath : Is there no hope in death ? O yes, death ends my woes, Death me from me will loose ; My self am all my foes. DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. 175 From Thomas Campion's Two Books of Airs (c\TC. 1613). VIEW me. Lord, a work of Thine ! Shall I then lie drowned in night ? Might Thy grace in me but shine, I should seem made all of light. But my soul still surfeits so On the poisoned baits of sin That 1 strange and ugly grow ; All is dark and foul within. Cleanse me, Lord, that I may kneel At thine altar pure and white : They that once Thy mercies feel, Gaze no more on earth's delight. Worldly joys like shadows fade When the heavenly light appears : But the covenants Thou hast made, Endless, know nor days nor years. In Thy Word, Lord, is my trust, To Thy mercies fast I tiy ; Though I am but clay and dust. Yet Thy grace can lift me high. 176 DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. 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 Christ Cliurch MS. I. 4. 78. TURN in, my Lord, turn into me, My heart's a homely place ; But thou canst make corruption flee And fill it with thy grace : So furnished it will be brave, And a rich dwelling thou shalt have. DIVINE AXD MORAL POEMS. 177 From Thomas Campion's Two Books of Airs (circ. 1613). LO, when back mine eye, Pilgrim-like 1 cast, What fearful ways I spie, Which, blinded. I securely past ! 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. N 178 DIVIXE AXD MORAL POEMS. From Richard Carlton's Madrigals, 1601. CONTENT thyself with thy estate, Seek not to chmb above the skies. For often love is mixed with hate And 'twixt the flowers the serpent lies : Where fortune sends her greatest joys, There once possest they are but toys. What thing can earthly pleasure give That breeds delight when it is past ? Or who so quietly doth live But storms of care do drown at last ? This is the loan of worldly hire. The more we have the more desire. Wherefore I hold him best at ease That lives content with his estate, And doth not sail in worldly seas Where Mine and Thine do breed debate : This noble mind, even in a clown. Is more than to possess a crown. DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. 179 From John X}.\y.\^\J% Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice, 1606. T F I could shut the gate against my thoughts -*- And keep out sorrow from this room within, Or memory could cancel all the notes Of my misdeeds, and I unthink my sin : How free, how clear, how clean my soul should lie. Discharged of such a loathsome company ! Or were there other rooms without my heart That did not to my conscience join so near, Where I might lodge the thoughts of sin apart That I might not their clam'rous crying hear ; What peace, what joy, what ease should I possess, Freed from their horrors that my soul oppress ! But, O my Saviour, who my refuge art, Let thy dear mercies stand 'twixt them and me. And be the wall to separate my heart So that I may at length repose me free ; That peace, and joy, and rest may be within. And I remain divided from my sin. i8o DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. From Campion and Rossetf.r'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. DIVINE AXD MORAL POEMS. From Thomas Campion's T-wo Books of Airs (circ. 1634). nnO music bent is my retired mind -*- And fain would I some song of pleasure sing, But in vain joys no comfort now I find ; From heavenly thoughts all true delight doth spring : Thy power, O God, Thy mercies to record, Will sweeten every note and every word. All earthly pomp or beauty to express Is but to carve in snow, on waves to write ; Celestial things, though men conceive them less, Yet fullest are they in themselves of light : Such beams they yield as know no means to die, Such heat they cast as lifts the spirit high. From William Byrd's Psalms Songs, and Son?iets, 161 1. 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. 1 82 DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. From Thomas Greaves' Songs of Sinid)-y Kinds, 1604. LET dread of pain for sin in after-time, Let shame to see thyself ensnared so, Let grief conceived for foul accursed crime, Let hate of sin the worker of thy woe, With dread, with shame, with grief, with hate enforce To dew thy cheeks with tears of deep remorse. So hate of sin shall cause God's love to grow, So grief shall harbour hope within thy heart, So dread shall cause the flood of joy to flow, So shame shall send sweet solace to thy smart : So love, so hope, so joy, so solace sweet Shall make thy soul in heavenly bliss to fleet.' Woe where such hate cloth no such lov'e allure ! Woe where such grief doth make no hope proceed ! Woe where such dread doth no such joy procure ! Woe where such shame doth no such solace breed ! Woe where no hate, no grief, no dread, no shame. Doth neither love, hope, joy, or solace frame ! 1 Float. DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. 183 From John Wilbye's Second Set of Madrigals, 1609. T 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 comes, to few from heaven sent, That much in little, all in nought, — Content. From William Byrd's Songs of Sundry Natures, 1589. IF in thine heart thou nourish ill, And give all to they lust. Then sorrows sharp and griefs at length Endure of force thou must : But if that reason rule thy will, And govern all thy mind, A blessed life then shalt thou lead And fewest dangers find. i84 DIVINE AXD MORAL POEMS. From Robert Jones' Ultimum Vale, or Third Book of Airs, T_T APPY he ^ J- 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 maintained by others' idle breath. My dehghts, To dearest home confined. Shall there make good my mind Not awed with fortune's spites : High trees heaven blasts, winds shake and honors' 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. ' Qy. " hammers" ? DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. 185 From Thomas Campion's Th'o Books of Airs (circ. 1613). COME, cheerful day, part of my life to me ; For while thou view'st me with thy fading light, Part of my life doth still depart with thee, And I still onward haste to my last night : Time's fatal wings do ever forward fl}-, So every day we live a day \\e die. But, O ye nights, ordained for barren rest, How are my days deprived of life in you. When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, By feigned death life sweetly to renew ! Part of my life in that, you life deny : So every day we live a day we die. From William Bykd's Psalms, Songs, a7id Sonnets, 161 1. 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 ; ' But oftentimes it pleaseth her to stay In simple cotes enclosed with walls of clay. 1 Dwell. DIVINE AXD MORAL POEMS. From William Byrd's Psalms, Soinets, and Songs, 1588. CARE for thy soul as thing of greatest price, ]\Iade to the end to taste of power divine, Devoid of guilt, abhorring sin and vice, Apt by God's grace to virtue to incline ; Care for it so that by thy reckless train It be not brought to taste eternal pain. Care for thy corps, but chiefly for soul's sake ; Cut off excess, sustaining food is best ; To vanquish pride, but comely clothing take ; Seek after skill, deep ignorance detest : Care so (I say) the flesh to feed and clothe, That thou harm not thy soul and body both. Care for the world, to do thy body right ; Rack not thy wit to win by wicked ways ; Seek not to oppress the weak by wrongful might ; To pay thy due do banish all delays : Care to dispend according to thy store, And in like sort be mindful of the poor. Care for thy soul as for thy chiefest stay ; Care for thy body for the soul's avail ; Care for the world for body's help alway ; Care yet but so as virtue may prevail : Care in such sort as thou beware of this — Care keep thee not from heaven and heavenly bliss ! DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. 187 From Christ Church MS. K. 3. 43-5. (Music by Thomas Ford. ) A/ET' if his majesty our sovereign lord ^ Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say '"' I'll be your guest to morrow night," How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work I " Let no man idle stand. Set me line Spanish tables in the hall, See they be fitted all ; Let there be room to eat, And order taken that there want no meat. See every sconce and candlestick made bright, That without tapers they may give a light. Look to the presence : are the carpets spread. The dais - o'er the head. The cushions in the chairs, And all the candles lighted on the stairs .'* Perfume the chambers, and in any case Let each man give attendance in his place." Thus if the king were coming would we do. And 'twere good reason too ; For 'tis a duteous thing To show all honour to an earthly king. And after all our travail and our cost. So he be pleased, to think no labour lost. 1 These verses seem to have been taken from some longer poem. - M.S. "dazie. " DIVINE AND MORAL POEMS. But at the coming of the King of Heaven All's set at six and seven : We wallow in our sin, Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn. We entertain him always like a stranger, And as at first still lodtje him in the manger. TRISTIA. From William Corkine's Second Book of Airs, 1612. WHEN I was born Lucina cross-legged sate, The angry stars with ominous aspects Frowned on my birth, and the foredooming Fate Ordained to brand me with their dire effects : The sun did hide his face and left the night To brint; me to this world's accursed light. From Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, 1 60 1 . LI E down, poor heart, and die awhile for grief, Think not this world will ever do thee good ; Fortune forewarns thou look to thy relief, And sorrow sucks upon thy living blood : Then this is all can help thee of this hell, Lie down and die, and then thou shalt do well. I90 TRISTIA. Day gives his light but to thy labours' toil, And night her rest but to thy wear>^ bones ; Thy fairest fortune's ^ followed with a foil, And laughing ends but with thine- after-groans And this is all can help thee of thy hell, Lie down and die. and then thou shalt do well. From John Dowland's A Pil- grim's Solace, 1612. /~^ O, nightly cares, the enemy to rest, ^--' Forbear a while to vex my wearied sprite ; So long your weight hath lain upon my breast That, lo ! I live of life bereaved quite : O give me time to draw my wearied breath. Or let me die as I desire the death. Welcome, sweet Death ! O life, no life, a hell .' Then thus and thus I bid the world farewell. False world, farewell, the enemy to rest. Now do thy worst, I do not weigh thy spite ; Free from thy cares I live for ever blest. Enjoying peace and heavenly true delight : Delight, whom woes nor sorrows shall amate,^ Nor fears or tears disturb her happy state : And thus 1 leave thy hopes, thy joys untrue, And thus, and thus, vain world, again adieu I ■^ Old ed. " fortune followes. " - Old ed. "their." 3 Confound. TRISTIA. 191 From Thomas Morley's The First Book of Airs, 1600. COME, Sorrow, come, sit down and mourn with me ; Hang down thy head upon thy baleful breast, That God and man and all the world may see Our heavy hearts do live in quiet rest : Enfold thine arms and wring thy wretched hands To shew the state wherein poor Sorrow stands. Cry not outright, for that were children's guise, But let thy tears fall trickling down thy face, And weep so long until thy blubbered eyes May see in sum ^ the depth of thy disgrace. Oh shake thy head, but not a word but mum ; The heart once dead, the tongue is stroken dumb. And let our fare be dishes of despite To break our hearts and not our fasts withal ; Then let us sup with sorrow-sops at night. And bitter sauce all of a broken gall : Thus let us live till heavens may rue to see The doleful doom ordained for thee and me. ' Old ed. " May see (in Sunne). " 192 TRISTIA. From John Dowland's Second Book of Songs or Airs, 1600. COME, ye heavy states of night, Do my father's spirit right ; Soundings baleful let me borrow, Burthening my song with sorrow. Come, Sorrow, come ! her eyes that sings By thee are turned into springs. Come, you virgins of the night. That in dirges sad delight. Quire my anthems : I do borrow Gold nor pearl, but sounds of sorrow. Come, Sorrow, come ! her eyes that sings By thee are turned into springs. 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. TRISTIA. 193 From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. THE cypress curtain of the night is spread, And over all a silent dew is cast ; The weaker cares by sleep are conquered, But I alone, with hideous grief aghast, In spite of Morpheus' charms a watch do keep Over mine eyes, to banish careless sleep. Yet oft my trembling eyes through faintness close, And then the Map of Hell before me stands, Which ghosts do see, and I am one of those Ordained to pine in sorrow's endless bands ; Since from my wretched soul all hopes are reft, And now no cause of life to me is left. Grief, seize my soul ! for that will still endure When my crazed body is consumed and gone : Bear it to thy black den, there keep it sure. Where thou ten thousand souls dost tire upon : Yet all do not afford such food to thee As this poor one, the worser part of me. 194 TRISTIA. 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 gam ! My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun ! And now I live, and now my life is done I 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 I My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun ! And now I live, and now my life is done. 195 VARIA. From Christ Church MS. I. 5. 49. HEH nonny no ! Men are fools that wish to die ! Is't not fine to dance and sing When the bells of death do ring ? Is't not fine to swim in wine, And turn upon the toe And sing hey nonny no, When the winds blow and the seas flow ? Hey nonny no ! From Thomas Vautor's Songs of divers Airs and Natures, 1619. SWEET Suffolk owl, so trimly dight With feathers like a lady bright, Thou singest 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 ! 196 VARIA. From Thomas Campion's The Description of a Masque pre- sented before the King's Ma- jesty at Whitehall, \(xrj. "\T EITHER buskin now, nor bays. ^ ^ Challenge I ; a lady's praise Shall content my proudest hope : Their applause was all my scope, And to their shrines properly Revels dedicated be : Whose soft ears none ought to pierce But with smooth and gentle verse. Let the tragic poem swell. Raising raging fiends from hell : And let epic dactyls range Swelling seas and countries strange : Little room small things contains. Easy praise cjuits easy pains. Suffer them whose brows do sweat To gain honour by the great ; ^ It's enough if men me name A retailer of the same. ^ "By the great," — wholesale. VARIA. 197 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 bo>'. 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 ^ 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. 1 Nosegays. igS VARIA. 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. 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. VARIA. 199 From Thomas Campion 's/l^^A-//^ Book of Airs (circ. 161 7). ' I ^O 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, tlocks of sheep, and goats on hills that dance, With much more of this churhsh 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 did so trim That every age yet talks of him And Phcebus' right revenged grudge. VARIA. From Thomas Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 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 remov^e. 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. VAI^IA. From Gesta Graioriim : Gray's In7i Masque, 1594. (By Thomas Campion. ) A Hymn in Praise of Neptune. OF Neptune's empire let us sing, At whose command the waves obey ; To whom the rivers tribute pay, Down the high mountains shding : To whom the scaly nation yields Homage for the crystal fields Wherein they dwell : And every sea-god pays a gem Yearly out of his wat"ry cell To deck great Neptune's diadem. The Tritons dancing in a ring, Before his palace-gates do make The water with their echoes quake, Like the great thunder sounding : The sea-nymphs chaunt their accents shrill, And the sirens, taught to kill With their sweet voice, Make ev'ry echoing rock reply, Unto their gentle murmuring noise. The praise of Neptune's empery. VARIA. 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 ? ' VAJ?/A. 203 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 twine. 204 VAR/A. From Christ Church MS. I. 5. 49- (Music by Alfonso Ferrabosco.) THERE was a frog swum in the lake, The crab came crawling b\ : " Wilt thou," coth the frog, " be my make ' ? " Coth the crab "No, not I." " My skin is s[m]ooth and dappled fine, I can leap far and nigh. Thy shell is hard : so is not mine." Coth the crab " No, not I." " Tell me," then spake the crab, " therefore, Or else I thee defy : Give me thy claw, I ask no more." Coth the frog, " That will I." The crab bit off the frog's fore-feet ; The frog then he must die. To woo a crab it is not meet : If any do, it is not I. 1 The MS. gives "mate " ; but 1 read " make " (an old form of "mate '') for the sake of the rhyme. VAR/A. 205 From Thomas Ravenscroft's Brief Discourse, &fc., 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. The Fairies' Dance. T~\ARE you haunt our hallow'd green? -L^ 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 ! 2o6 VARIA. 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. FromGEORGE MASON'sand John Earsden's Airs that were sung and played at Brougham Cast kin Westmoreland in the King's Entertainment given by the Earl of Cumberland, 1618. LET us in a lovei-'s 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 ev-erywhere. Winding to and fro. Skipping high and louting low ; And, like lovers, hand in hand, March around and make a stand. l''^AIiIA, 207 From Martin Peerson's Pri- vate Music, 1620. UPON my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast ; Meantime his love maintains my life And gives my sense her rest. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me ; So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 1 grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would. Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! Yet as I am, and as I may, I must and will be thine, Though all too little for thy self Vouchsafing to be mine. Sing lullaby, my little boy. Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 2o8 VARIA. From William Byrd's Psalms, Son?iets, 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 fav'ourite 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. V'ARJA. 209 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 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. P VARIA. From Thomas Weelkes' Mad- rigals of Six Pai-ts, 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 cjuiet." 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 ! VARIA. From Thomas Morley's First Book of Ballets, 1595. SING we and chant it While lov e 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 ! VARIA. From Thomas Campion 's/i^a;-//2 Book of Airs (dire. 1613). EVERY dame affects good fame, whate'er her doings be, ]]Lit 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, Astrasa ! then from heaven to earth descend, And vouchsafe in their behalf these errors to amend. VARIA. 213 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 Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, i6or. 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 glor>' imitate. No ill can be felt but pain. And that happy men disdain. NOTES. NOTES. Page 2. "At her fair hands." — This poem had appeared in 'Da.vison^s Poetical Rhapsody. It belongs either to Francis Davison or to his brother Walter ; probably to Francis. See Sir Harris Nicolas' edition of the Rhapsody. Page 4. " Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton." — Occasionally Campion does not know where to stop. I have ventured to suppress the third stanza, but restore it in the notes : — " Would it were dumb midnight now, When all the world lies sleeping ! Would this place some desert were, Which no man hath in keeping ! My desires should then be safe, And when you cried, then would I laugh : But if ought might breed offence. Love only should be blamed : I would live your servant still. And you my saint unnamed." The poem reads better without it. Page 10. " My Thoughts are winged with Hopes." — In England's Helicon. A MS. copy in a common- place book found at Hamburg is signed " W.S." There is not the slightest ground for identifying " W. S." with Shakespeare. 2i8 XOTES. Page II. " It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell."^ — I am reminded of a fine passage in Drayton's Barons' JVars, canto vi. : — " Looking upon proud Phaeton wrapped in fire, Tlie gentle queen did much bewail Iiis 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 perished in the chariot of the siai. Page 14. " The sun sXiW proved'' (last line). — Here, as frequently, proved = approved. Page 17. " From Citheron the warlike boy is fled." — Elizabethan poets were fond of putting Citheron for Cythera. Page 18. "That kisses were the seals of love.'' — Every reader will recall Shakespeare's " 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 29. " Now I see thy looks were feigned." — This poem is by Thomas Lodge, and was first printed in his romance, Rosalynd, 1593. Page 2)1. "There is a lady sweet and kind." — Printed in The Golden Ga7-land of Piineely Delights, 1620, and other collections. Page 32. This song is found with considerable variations in William Corkine's Airs, 16 10, where only three stanzas are given : — " Think you to seduce me so with words that have" no meaning? Parrots can learn so to speak, our voice by pieces gleaning : Nurses teach their children so about the time of weaning. NOTES. 219 " Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth : He that hath not heart 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. ' ' P'^S^ 32)- " Thou art notfairfor all thy red and white." — There are two other versions of this poem (which has been erroneously attributed to Dr. Donne and to Joshua Sylvester) in Harl. MS. 6910, fol. 150 (written circ. 1596). ' ' Thou shalt not love me, neither shall these eyes Shine on my soul shrouded in deadly night ; Thou shalt not breathe on me thy spiceries, Nor rock me in thy quavers of delight. Hold off thy hands ; for 1 had rather die Than have my life by thy coy touch reprieved. Smile not on me, but frown thou bitterly : Slay me outright, no lovers are long lived. As for those lips reserved so much in store. Their rosy verdure shall not meet with mine. Withhold thy proud embracements evermore : I'll not be swaddled in those arms of thine. Now show it if thou be a woman right, — Embrace and kiss and love me in despight." Finis. Tho: Camp: "BEAUTY WITHOUT LOVE DEFORMITY." " Thou art not fair for all thy red and white, For all those rosy temperatures in thee ; Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight. Nor fair nor sweet unless thou pity me. Thine eyes are black, and yet their glittering brightness Can night enlumine in her darkest den ; •220 AOTES. Thy hands are bloody, though i contrived of whiteness, Both black and bloody, if they murder men ; Thy brows whereon my good hap doth depend, Fairer than snow or lily in the spring ; Thy tongue which saves (?) at every sweet word's end. That hard as marble, this a mortal sting : I will not soothe thy follies, thou shalt prove That Beauty is no Beauty without Love." Finis. Idem. Page 34. "Though Amaryllis dance in green.'' — These lines are also in England's Helicon, 1600. Page 36. " What poor astronomers are they." — This poem has been ascribed, without evidence, to Nicholas Breton. Pagey^. " Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet,"&:c. — Horace's ode to Pyrrha must have been in Campion's mind when he wrote this delightful lyric. Page 40. " Since first I saw your face I resolved," &c. — Found in the Golden Garland of Princely Delights, and other collections. Page 45. " Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air." — This poem was included in the 1633 edition of Joshua Sylvester's works, among the " Remains never till now imprinted." Sylvester has not a shadow of claim to it. There is a MS. copy of it in Harleian MS. 6910, fol. 150, where it is correctly assigned to Campion. The MS. gives it in the form of a sonnet : — " Thrice toss those oaken ashes in the air, And thrice three times tie up this true love's knot ; Thrice sit you down in this enchanted chair, And murmur soft " She will or she will not." Go, burn those poisoned weeds in that blue fire, This cypress gathered out a dead man's grave, 1 MS. ".thoughts." NOTES. 221 These screech-owl's feathers and the prickhng briar, That all thy thorny cares an end may have. Then come, you fairies, dance with me a round ! Dance in a circle, let my love be centre ! Melodiously breathe an enchanted sound : Melt her hard heart that some remorse may enter ! In vain are all the charms I can devise ; She hath an art to break them with her eyes." Page 64. " Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting." — Gracefully paraphrased from an Italian original : — " Quand' io miro le rose, Ch' in voi natura pose ; E quelle che v' ha I'arte Nel vago seno sparte ; Non so conoscer poi Se vol le rose, o sian le rose in voi." Page 71. "So saith my fair and beautiful Lycoris." — This little poem and the next ("Thus saith my Chloris bright") are renderings of an Italian madrigal of Luca Marenzio. Page 80. " There is a garden in her face.'' — This poem is set to music in Alison's Hours Recrcatioiiy 1606, and Robert Jones's Ultimnm Vale (1608). Her- rick's dainty verses, " Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe ! I crj'," are too well known to bear repetition. Page 87. " What needeth all this travail and tur-- moiling." — 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 ; 222 NOTES. If Pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round ; If Yvorie her forehead yvory weene ; If Gold, her locks be fairest 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." A certain " E. C," in a dull volume of sonnets entitled Eviaricdulfi, 1595, has imitated Spenser : — " What meane our Merchants so with eger minds To plough the seas to find rich iuels forth, Sith in Emaricduffe a thousand kinds Are heap'd, exceeding wealthie Indias worth ? Than India doth her hair afford more gold, And thousand silver mines her forehead shows," &c. A unique copy of " E. C.'s " sonnets is preserved at Lamport Hall, Northamptonshire, the seat of Sir Charles Isham, Bart. It has been reprinted for the Roxburghe Club, with other rarities from the same -collection, in a Lamport Garland. Page 91. "Whoever thinks or hopes of love for love." — This poem is printed among the U'oris, 1630, ■of Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. Page 94. " When thou must home to shades of nanderground." — The mention of white lope must have been suggested by a passage of Propertius (ii. 28) : — • "Sunt apud infernos tot niillia formosarum ; Pulchra sit in superis, si licet, una locis. Vobiscum est lope, vobiscum Candida Tyro, Vobiscum Europe, nee proba Pasiphae." Page 97. " Though you are young, and I am old." — This poem seems to have been a great favourite, for it is found in many MS. commonplace books of the seventeenth century. NOTES. 223 Page loi. " If women could be fair and never fond." — In Rawlinson MS. 85, fol. 16, this poem is ascribed to Edward, Earl of Oxford. Page 102. " My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love." — Suggested by, and partly translated from, Ca- tullus' " Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus. " Page 104. " Now let her change." — This song is also set to music in Robert Jones's UliiniKni Vale (1608). Page 105. " Sweet Love, my only treasure." — This is one of "A. W.'s" poems in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. It has yet to be discovered who " A. W." was. Page 120. " The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall." — This poem was printed in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602, where it is subscribed " Incerto." Page 121. " In the merry month of May." — First printed, under the title of " The Ploughman's Song," in The Honorable Entertainment given to the Queen'' s Majesty in Progress at Elvetliam in Hampshire, by the Right Honorable the Earl of Hertford, 1591. * Page 136. ''^ Women, what are they.'' — We men, what are we ? " — For the play on the words women and we men, cf. Peele's Edward I. : — "Lancaster. Believe him not, sweet niece: zve men can speak smooth for advantage. Joan. Women, do you mean, my good uncle ? Well, be the accent where it will, women are women." Page 144. — " 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 ; 224 NOTES. 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 errors 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 153. "Farewell, dear love 1 since thou wilt needs be gone." — It is to this song that allusion is made in Tiuelfth I\''ight, ii. 3. Page 161. " On a time the amorous Silvy." — Grace- fully rendered from the French of Pierre Guedron : — " Un jour I'amoureuse Silvie Disoit, baise moy, je te prie, Au berger qui seul est sa vie Et son amour : Baise moy, Pasteur, je te prie, Et te leve, car il est jour," «S:c. Page 162. " Lais, now old," &c.— Suggested by Ausonius' epigram " De Laide dicante Veneri speculum suum."' NOTES. 225 Page 167. " While that the sun with his beams hot." — Also printed in Eiiglamfs Helicon., 1600, 1614. Page 172. " Love in thy youth, fair maid ; be wise." — I give this song from Beloe's Attecdotes, where it is said to be taken from Walter Porter's Madrigals and Airs, 1632. I have searched far and wide for the song- book, but have not yet been able to discover a copy. There is an early MS. copy of the present song in Ashmole MS. 38, No. 188. Page 173. " Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong." — This song is found in Thomas May's comedy, The Old Couple, printed in 1658. It had previously appeared in John Cotgrave's interesting anthology, IVit's Inter- preter, 1655 ; and it is also included in Wifs Recreations. Page 180. "The man of life upright." — This poem was reprinted, with some slight changes, in Campion's Two Book of Airs, circ. 1613. It has been erroneously attributed to Bacon. Page 184. " Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies." — From Seneca's TJiyestes : — "qui, notus nimis omnibus, Ignotus moritur sibi." Page 189. "When I was born Lucina cross-legged sat," i.e. to prolong the pangs of child-birth and hinder the child's entrance to the world. Witches were often accused of sitting cross-legged at the door of travailing women. Page 191. "Oh shake thy head, but not a word but mum."--Th.e expression not award but ntujn ( = silence) was proverbial. Cf. Peele's Old Wives' Tale : — " What? no/ a word but mum ? then, Sacrapant, We are betrayed." Q 226 NOTES. Page 194. " My prime of youth is but a frost of cares." — In Reliquice IVottoniana; this poem is said to have been written by " Chidick Tychborn, being young and then in the Tower, the night before his execution." Chidiock Tychbourne of Southampton was executed in 1586 with Ballard and Babington. The verses are set to music in Richard Alison's Hour's Rccreatiofi, 1606, and Michael Este's Madrigals of three, four, and five Parts, 1604. Page 195. "Hey nonny no!" — In the MS. these sprightly verses are subscribed " Mr. Gyles." Nathaniel Giles was successively chorister at Magdalen, organist and master of the choristers at St. George's, Windsor, and master of the Children of the Chapel Royal. He died 24 January, 1633, and was buried at Windsor. Page 201. " Of Neptune's empire let us sing." — These verses are printed in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody with the heading " This Hymn was sung by Amphitrite, Thamesis, and other Sea-Nymphs, in Gray's Inn Masque, at the Court, 1594." See Sir Harris Nicolas' edition of the Rhapsody, pp. 271, 364. Page 202. " It was the frog in the well." — There are several versions of this delightful 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.' NOTES. 227 * 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 204. " By the moon we sport and play . . . And about, about go we." — From the anonymous play 228 NOTES. (ascribed without evidence to Lyly), The Maicfs Metcunorphosis, 1600. Page 208. " And fortune's fate not fearing/ Sing sweet in summer morning." — There is some corruption here. Oliphant {Miisa Madrigalescd) boldly reads " And fickle fortune scorning." Page 210. " Shall we play barley-break .'' " — Barley- break was an old rustic game, played by three couples. It is elaborately described in the first book of Sidney's Arcadia. Page 212. " Little lawn then served the Pawn." — The Pawn was a corridor, serving as a bazaar, in the Royal Exchange (Gresham's). LIST OF SONG-BOOKS. ALISON, RICHARD. An Hour's Recreation in Music, 1606. 125. Attey, John. First Book of Airs, 1622. 161. Barley, William. New Book of Tabliture, 1596. 68. Bartlet, John. Airs, 1606. 21, 56, 147. Bateson, Thomas. First Set of English Madrigals, 1604. 6, 42, 148, 159, 198. Second Set of English Madrigals, 161 8. 45, 49, 55, 61, 133. Byrd, William. Psalms, Sonnets and Songs of Sad- ness and Piety, 1588. 34, 41, 47, loi, 144, 171, 181, 186, 208. Songs of Sundry Natures, 1589. 17, 72, ']'], 85, 112, 166, 167, 183. Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets, 161 1. 72, 181, 185. Campion, Thomas, and Rosseter, Philip. A Book of Airs, 1601. 8, 14, 33, 48, 60, 78, 94, 96, 97, 102, 107, 123, 150, 157, 169, 180, 193, 213. Campion, Thomas. Gesta Graioru7n,\^<^\. 201. Descriptioti of a Masque presented before the King's Majesty at Whitehall, 1607. 196. 230 LIST OF SOXG-BOOKS. Campion, Thomas. Tiuo Books of Airs [circ. 1613]. 4, i9>53, 86, 113,135,142, 175, 176, 177, iSi,'i85, 197. Third Book of Airs [circ. 161 7]. 6, 7, 24, 28, 37, 38, 39, 43, 45, 59, 63, 69, 70, 75, 79, 84, 104, no, 137, 140, 2CX3. Fourth Book of Airs [circ. 1617]. 16, 32, 35, 54, 62,80, 143, 149, 152, 199, 212. Carlton, Richard. Madrigals, 1601. 109, 166, 178. CoRKiNE, William. Airs, 1610. 106,108,125. Sccojid Book of Airs, 1612. 124, 133, 189. Danyel, John. Songs for the Lute, Viol, and Voice, 1606. 46, 67, 91, 114, 162, 179. DowLAND, John. The First Book of Songs or Airs, 1597. 10,23,91,139,145,146. The Second Book of Songs or Airs, 1600. 13, 20, 44,74,98, III, 192. The TJiird and iMst Book of Songs or Airs, 1603. 12, 36, 76, 120, 127. A Pilgrinis Solace, 1612. 52, 190. DowLAND, Robert. A Musical Banquet, \6ig. 93. Earsden, John, and Mason, George. 77ie Airs that were sung and played at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland, 16 18. 206. Este, Michael. Madrigals, 1604. 116, 121, 141. Farmer, John. First Set of English Madrigals, 1599. 42, 131, 173. Farnaby, Giles. Canzonets to Four Voices, 1598. 109, 155. LIST OF SONG-BOOKS. 231 Ferrabosco, Alfonso. Airs, 1609. 52, 159. Ford, Thomas. Music of Sundry Kijuis, 1607. 29,. 31,40,73, IIS, 164. Gibbons, Orlando. First Set of Madrigals and Mottcts, 1 61 2. 160, 162. Greaves, Thomas. Songs of Sundry Kinds, 1604. 92, 134, 182. Hume, Captain Tobias. The First Part of Airs, Frenc/i, Po/is/i and others together, 1605. i. Jones, Robert. The First Book of Songs and Airs, 1601. 50,83,95, 119,122, 136,151, 153, 163, 189. The Second Book of Songs and Airs, 1601. 9, 1 1,, 18, 100, 103. Ultitnufn Vale, or the Third Book of Airs, 1608. 2, 27, 51, 82, 105, 118, 126, 132, 158, 165, 184. A Musical Dream, or the Fourth Book of Airs, 1609. 25, 148, 174. The Muses' Garden of Delights, 1610. 15, 22, 57, 65, 90. Kirbye, George. First Set of Fnglish Madrigals, 1597. 68. MORLEY, Thomas. Introduction to Practical Music,, 1597. 62. Ca)izo)tets, 1593. 74, 87. Madrigals to Four Voices, 1594, 1600. 75, 156. The First Book of Airs, 1600. 191. The First Book of Ballets, 1595, 1600. 138, 160, 210, 21 1. 232 LIST OF SONG-BOOKS. MuNDY, John. Songs and Psalins, i^^c)^. 153,194. Musica Tratisalpina, The Second Book of Madrigals, 1597. 71, 170. Peerson, Martin. Private Mtisic, 1620. 58, 61, 66, 89, 207, PiLKlNGTON, Francis. The First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals, 161 3. 81, 88, 124. The Second Set of Madrigals, 1624. 95. Porter, Walter. Madrigals a)id Airs, 162,2. 172. Ravenscroft, Thomas. Melismata, \6i\. 202. Brief Discourse of the true tese of Characfrittg the Degrees, 16 14. 204, 205, 206. Rosseter, Philip. See Campion, Thomas. Smith, Stafford. Musica Antigua. 173. Vautor, Thomas. Songs of divers Airs and A^atures, 16 19. 48, 195. Weelkes, Thomas. Ballets and Madrigals, 1598. 30, 117, 128. Madrigals, 1597, 1600. 47, 84, 88, 97, 134, 147, 210. Airs or Fantastic Spirits, 1608. no, 209. WiLBYE, John. The First Set of English Madrigals, 1598- 5,33,64,71,87,117,168. Tlie Second Set of Englisli Madrigals, 1609. 26, 38,49, 8r, 129, 155, 183, 192. Wilson, Dr. John. Cheerful Airs or Ballads, 1660. 130, 156. LIST OF SONG-BOOKS. 233 YoNGE, Nicholas. See Musica Transalpina. Add. MS. 18,936. 100. Christ Church MS. /. 4. 78. 176. 7.5.49. 5,64,111,195,204. -^'- 3- 43-5- 93, 187- CHI3WICK PRESS :— C. WHITTINC.HAM AND CO. TOOKS COUKT, CHANCERY LANE. ma. THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara STACK COLLECTION THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. anm-R 'fiSl'Ffi4d7s4^0/lS2 lliril?^liSr',T,^i°^'^''-'f^R^W FACILITY AA 001 374 257 ' '■-'"•J.'V:' ■■■*■ J. i*-.". •»! « ni VI