£r ii POKM5 OF - * » THOMHS CHMPIOiV ■3"5 THE LYRIC POETS CAMPION Hi III *h « i rrrt KH+I icn, J Hi i j- 1 -e. jrrn $3 « u I jJJf ! If / 4 a H~p~ri x ~ § « V % THEIXRJC ^/ • SUITED- 3Y STBKir^- 22 2 & CONTENTS 1*8 PAGE Author's Prefaces, I. xxvii II. . Dedication of " Light Conceits of Lovers " xxxi Now Winter Nights Enlarge i 2 When to her Lute 2 Sleepe, Angry Beauty . 3 Never Love Unless You Can 4 So Quick, so Hot 5 Though You are Yoong 6 Thou art not Faire 7 When thou must Home. 7 Shall I Come, Sweet Love 8 Awake, thou Spring 9 Amarillis 10 Mistris, since you so much Desire . ii Turne backe you Wanton Flyer . ii So Sweet is thy Discourse 12 To his Sweet Lute Apollo sung 13 14 The Man of Life Upright 15 Contents. Where are all thy Beauties now, al Harts enchaining 16 Come, chearfull Day . . . . 17 Awake, Awake 17 Followe thy faire Sunne . . . 18 And would you see my Mistris' Face . 19 Vaine Men, whose Follies ... 20 How eas'ly wert thou Chained . . 21 Harden now thy tyred Hart . O what Unhop't for Sweet Supply . 23 Where Shee her Sacred Bowre Adornes 24 Faine would I my Love Disclose . . 25 Give Beauty All Her Right ... 27 O Deare ! that I with thee might Live . 28 Good Men shew, if You can Tell . . 29 Whether men doe Laugh or Weepe . 30 What then is Love but Mourning . 31 Kinde in Unkindnesse, when will You Relent 32 When Laura Smiles Rose-cheeked Laura Scornful Laura .... See where She Flies enrag'd from Me Your faire Lookes enflame my Desire The Fairie Queene Proserpina It fell on a Sommer's Day Maydes are Simple Think'st Thou to seduce Me then with Words 33 34 35 36 37 38 40 4i 42 Contents. PAGE Fain would I Wed .... 43 Ev'ry Dame affects good Fame . . 44 Thou joy' st, Fond Boy .... 45 Silly Boy, 'tis full Moon yet . . . 46 If Thou Longest 48 Break now, my Heart .... 49 The Peacefull Westerne Winde . . 50 There is None 51 Sweet, exclude Mee not ... 52 Now hath Flora 53 Her Rosie Cheekes .... 54 Come Away 55 What Harvest 55 So many Loves 56 Come, you Pretty False-ey'd Wanton . 58 Where shall I refuge Seek ... 59 The Sypres Curten .... 60 Tell me, Gentle Howre of Night . . 61 Night as well as Brightest Day . . 63 Follow your Saint 64 Faire, if you Expect .... 65 Blame not my Cheeks .... 65 When the God of Merrie Love . . 66 Woo Her, and Win Her ... 67 Jacke and Jone They thinke no 111 . 68 Come Ashore, Come .... 69 Of Neptune's Empire .... 70 Shall I Come 71 Contents. Oft have I sigh'd . Now let her Change Were my Hart So Tyr'd Why Presumes Thy Pride O Griefe, O Spite . O Never to be Moved . Good Wife . Fire that must Flame Thrice Toss these Oaken Ashes Be Thou then my Beauty Named Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire ! . O Sweet Delight . Thus I Resolve Come, O, Come . Could My Heart . Shall I then Hope . Leave Prolonging . Respect My Faith . Vaile, Love, Mine Eyes ! Love Me or Not . What Meanes this Folly Deare, if I with Guile . O Love, where are thy Shafts Beauty is but a Painted Hell Are You, what your Faire Lookes Ex- presse Since She, ev'n Shee viii Contents. I Must Complain .... Her Fayre Inflaming Eyes Turne all Thy Thoughts Your Faire Lookes And would You Faine the Reason Knowe Long have Mine Eies . If I Hope, I Pine ; If I Fearc, I Faint and Die Shall Then a Traitorous Kisse No Grave for Woe If I Urge My Kind Desires . Unless there were Consent If She Forsake Me. With Spotless Minds My Sweetest Lesbia, let us Live and Love Let Him that will be Free What is a Day .... Never Weatherbeaten Saile more willing Bent to Shore .... Tune Thy Musicke to Thy Hart . Loe, when Backe Mine Eye . Lift up to Heav'n, sad Wretch, Thy heavy Spright ! As by the Streames of Babilon Sing a Song of Joy ! . . . Seeke the Lord, and in his Waies Per sever 1'AljE 94 95 96 98 99 100 101 101 102 103 IO4 105 106 107 108 109 I09 no in 112 "3 11 + "5 Contents. PAGE Lighten, heavy Hart, thy Spright . . 116 Most Sweet and Pleasing are Thy Wayes, God • "7 Wise Men .... . 118 View me, Lord, a Worke of Thine • "9 De Profundis. 120 Author of Light . 121 Come, let us Sound 122 All Lookes be Pale 123 Time, that Leades 124 What if a Day 124 Sweet, Come Again ! 126 Reprove not Love . 127 The Golden Mean . 128 Cruel Laura .... 128 Had I Foreseen I29 Though Your Strangenesse . 130 Kinde are Her Answeres • 131 Dance now and Sing 132 Gardener's Song . • 133 Gardener's Speech . • 134 A Song of Three Voices • 135 Advance Your Choral Motions 136 Go, Happy Man . • 138 Bridal Song .... • 139 Song I40 Tis now Dead Night . 141 Fortune and Glory 142 Contents. PAGE Raving Warre, 143 To the Reader 145 Neither Buskin now, nor Bays . . 145 Masque at the Marriage of the Lord Hayes *47 Shows and Nightly Revels . . .172 Triumph Now 173 INTRODUCTION. Campion was all but a lost poet when Mr Rullen so fortunately came to his rescue six years ago. His lyrics, with the exception of the very few turned to account by modern musicians, or given a place in the anthologies, lay buried in the old music books in which they were first published. And yet, if they had been left to the famous obscurity of the British Museum, we had lost perhaps the one poet who comes nearest to fulfilling, in the genre and quality of his work, the lyric canon in English poetry. Campion did not write with a theoretic sense only of the correspondence between music and poetry. He wrote as a musician, and his songs were really meant to be sung. His lyre was a real instrument ; that is to say, it was represented by real instruments — the lute and the viol, some- times the orpharion. His lyrics are as perfect an instance, indeed, as we are likely to find, if we keep to the stricter limits of the art, besides having all the natural warmth of word, the charm and inspiration, without which the mere art avails nothing. Of the author himself we still know too little. That he was born midway in the sixteenth century ; that he seems to have gone to Cam- bridge, with the idea of studying for the Bar, and was presently admitted a member of Gray's Introduction. Inn,— in 1586? that he gave up the law for medicine, took his M.D., and became a prac- tising physician ; and that he contrived to practise, too, as a musician and poet through- out his life : there is in outline all we know. He died in February 1619-20. On the first of March in that year, the entry, "Thomas Campion, Doctor of Physicke, was buried," is made in the register of St Dunstan's-in-the- West, Fleet Street. His first book, which serves to explain much about him that would else be left dark, and which may explain something too of the Latin ring in his English verse, was his Poema of 1595, a book of Latin epigrams. No copy of this edition has been discovered ; but the Epi- grams were issued in a later and much amplified collection in the year 1619, the year of his death, so that his first book was in a sense his last. From it we learn more of the man, his personal effect, temper and way of life, friends, enemies, quarrels, and the rest, than we should else have ever known. Throughout his career, with its vicissitudes of law and medicine, it is clear he moved in the leisured and courtly circles that his particular genius might seem to demand. His troubles seem to have been slight ; enough for maturing the man, not enough for embitter- ing him. His malice, peeping slyly out in his quips at Barnabe Barnes and Nicholas Breton, or in his references to more than one lady of his acquaintance, works in an idle vein, showing that his cause of complaint against men and things was at no time very serious. He strikes one as xiv Introduction. a quite excellent example of that type of cul- tured physician which we have all known; whose art of healing only serves as an agreeable basis for the liberal arts of life at large. One imagines him moving about gaily and pleasantly among his friends and fashionable patients, a privileged guest, carrying his music with him ; often when he came to prescribe, remaining to try over some new air, or recit- some new epigram : " I to whose trust and care you durst commit Your pined health, when art despaired of it, Should I, for all your ancient love to me, Endowed with weighty favours, silent be ? Your merits and my gratitude forbid That either should in Lethean gulf lie hid ; But how shall I this work of fame express 1 How can I better, after pensiveness, Than with light strains of Music, made to move Sweetly with the wide spreading plumes of Love?" These lines were addressed to one of his patients, — " my honourable friend, Sir Thomas Mounson, Knight and Baronet ; " and the coupling in them of the arts of medicine and music is characteristic. Sir Thomas Mounson, or Monson, had been imprisoned in the Tower prior to this, in 1615-16, on suspicion of being concerned in the murder of Sir Thomas Over- bury. Campion, who had already been of service in conveying money to him, and was examined as a friendly witness before his im- prisonment, was still allowed to visit him in the Tower, as his medical attendant. The lines Introduction. quoted, acclaiming his release, appeared at the opening of the Third Book of Airs, published in 1617 or thereabouts. This is comparatively far on in his career. The music-book in which he makes what is practically his first appearance as a lyric poet, and in which he had Philip Rosseter as a musical collaborator and editor, appeared about 1601. Campion, then, may be said to emerge with the seventeenth century ; and the opening of the seventeenth century comprised some of the goldenest years in all English poetry, — the bridge between Elizabethan and Jacobean times. In 1601 Spenser had been dead some three years ; Sidney some fifteen. Greene, Peele, Marlowe, were gone ; Lyly, Lodge, Sir Walter Raleigh, Chapman, Drayton, were alive ; and they lead us on to Shakespeare and Ben Jonson. To Ben Jonson, who was at once the last of the Elizabethans and the first of the Jacobeans, succeed the familiar names of the seventeenth century. Campion, like Ben Jonson, though in his different way, is a bridge between the two periods. This position of his in the chain of English poetry, as one of the few silver links which are purely lyrical, is not of a fanciful importance. He came after the great outburst of Eliza- bethan energy, and before the classic influence had taught our natural English note too arti- ficial a grace. Nature and art are as happily balanced in Campion as in Herrick ; and if he is less impulsive and less inevitable in airy xvi Introduction. clearness of lyric style, he has his other qualities, as we may see when he achieves an imaginative flight like, " When thou must home to shades of underground, And there arriv'd, a newe admired guest, The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, White lope, blith Hellen, and the rest, To heare the stories of thy finisht love From that smoothe toong whose musicke hell can move ; " or a cadence, haunting and mysterious : " Where are all thy beauties now, all harts enchain- ing? Whither are thy flatt'rers gone with all their fayning ? All fled, and thou alone still here remayning! " Again, Campion came, as Mr Gosse re- minded the present editor, before the clearer waters of English poetry were disturbed by the masterful irruption of Donne. Donne was a Welshman on his father's side, and he had something of the eccentric fire that has so often made the men of that mixed blood dynamic and unaccountable, or even lawless, like the inimitable Jack Mytton in another fashion altogether. At any rate, Donne made so great an effect, that one is almost tempted to divide the seventeenth century men into pre-Donne and post-Donne poets. Campion, fortunately, was a Pre-Donnean ; though what with his musical sentiment, and his feeling for a Latin art of verse, he would probably in any case have held his own, and preserved his individual note unspoilt. 3 b xvii Introduction. His note has been likened now to Fletcher's, now to Carew's ; and he does, for a moment, remind one occasionally of the lyrics of his con- temporaries. But rarely though his writing is mannered, his note is as unmistakable as Herrick's own, at its best. Campion's worst, like other poets', we may agree to neglect; it is a very small part of the whole. No doubt something both of the rarer effect in certain of his poems and of the failure of others, is to be laid to his approaching the art of verse as a musician, rather than as a pure and simple poet. Take as an instance of a lyric which is ex- quisitely musical, full of turns which could only have occurred to a musician, full of a lurking melody not likely to have been invented by a mere prosodist, this song of three voices from the Masque given by Lord Knowles to Queen Anne : — " Night as well as brightest day hath her delight, Let us then with mirth and music deck the night. Never did glad day such store Of joy to night bequeath : Her stars then adore, Both in Heav'n, and here beneath." One hears the lute and viol accompaniment plainly in this. The long lines and the short call up to the ear, with charming tunefulness, the effect of certain of his songs as performed delightfully at some of Mr Dolmetsch's concerts of old English music. Or take the seventeenth song in the third Book of Airs : — Introduction. " Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee, When the ev'ning beames are set ? Shall I not excluded be V Will you finde no fain^d lett? Let me not, for pitty, more, Tell the long houres at your dore." The last line, as set to music in the original gets an added effect by dwelling musically on the first clause — " Let me not, for pitty, more, Tell the long long houres, tel the long houres, at your dore ! " m ^m more, Tell the long, long houres, tel the i^i long houres at your dore. Take another, one of the songs that proved most effective under Mr Dolmetsch's direction — the song of Amarillis : — " I care not for these Ladies, That must be woode and praide Give me kind Amarillis, The wanton countrey maide. Nature art disdaineth, Here beautie is her owne. Her when we court ana kisse, She cries, Forsooth, let go : But when we come where comfort is, She never will say No.' ' xix Introduction. This is the simple perfection of song-writing. The rhythm, as poetry, is no more charming than the cadence, as music. The words are as lyrical, the movement as impulsive, as any- thing in Burns or in Shakespeare. It is finely Elizabethan on the face of it, and it is as clearly a song to be sung : a masterpiece-in-little, then, in its own particular kind. As an instance of what writing for music, without a sufficiently present feeling for poetry, may lead to, take this verse from another song — " Though far from joy, my sorrows are as far, And I both between ; Not too low, nor yet too high Above my reach would I be seen. Happy is he that so is placed, Not to be envied nor to be disdained or disgraced." It is fair to admit that these words were written for Rosseter's setting, not for Campion's own ; and evidently he wrote in this perfunctorily enough. We turn now for a few moments to glean what »ve can of Campion's rather paradoxical attitude toward his art of poetry. For it is one of the ironies of literature, that the writer who has written some of the most purely artistic rhymed lyrics in the language, — the most artistic, that is, in the exact sense of lyrical, — should have set out with so striking a manifesto against rhyme. His " Observations in the Art of English Poesie" appeared in 1602, when he had already written some of his loveliest songs. Introduction. " I am not ignorant," he says, at the opening of his second chapter, ' ' that whosoever shall by way of reprehension examine the imperfec- tions of Rime, must encounter with many glorious enemies, and those very expert, and ready at their weapon, that can if neede be extempore (as they say) rime a man to death." Campion the pamphleteer has for enemy Campion the rhymer ; his own songs are the best reply to his own indictment. Especially may one quote him against himself, where he says, and truly : " The eare is a rationall sence, and a chiefe judge of proportion, but in our kind of riming what proportion is there kept where there re- maines such a confus'd inequalitie of sillables? " But the metrical confusion of which he speaks is as far from the true rhymer as from the classic poets who never used rhyme. More finely ordered lyric metres, indeed, we need not seek than Campion's own. And in spite of some charming numbers, such as "Rose Cheek'd Laura," and his other trochaic lyric, " Follow, Follow ! " in the same lady's honour, which he produces in this pamphlet to prove his case ; it must be admitted that Campion is a better poet rhyming, than unrhyming. However, after allowing for all that is in- consistent and without argument in his attack, enough remains to make it a singularly ap- petising dish in the symposium of the poets in celebration of their own art. It leaves one as devoted as ever to ' ' the childish titillation of riming," as he calls it ; especially if read, as it Introduction. ought to be, in a sequence with Daniel's admir- able reply. Moreover it has many practical points to make as to the technique of verse, which are well worth reading, as springing from so good a verse-writer. A companion tract in music, though construc- tive and not destructive in its original scheme, was Campion's ' ' New Way of Making Fowre Parts in Counter-point, by a most familiar and infallible Rule." Mr Bullen did not reprint it in his volume ; but it is an interesting pro- duction, and, at moments, to others than musicians. One comes on some memorable sentences ; as for example, ' ' there is no tune that can have any grace or sweetnesse, un- lesse it be bounded within a proper key." This recalls again that feeling for the pro- priety of word and note, which Campion showed in his practice in both arts. Some of Campion's prettiest songs are to be found in his masques, which are exquisite in their kind, as full of picturesque effects as of lyrical moments. Indeed, the defect in some of them may have been thought by those who were not musically inclined, that Campion too often interrupted the spectacle in his eagerness to gain yet another lyric oppor- tunity. The first and best of these masques, that performed at the marriage of Lord Hayes (Sir James Hay), we have appended to the present volume. This was certainly much the most lyrical of the four that Campion wrote; he seemed to learn, by his practice in masque-writing, to become less lyrical and to Introduction. leave more to the skilled scenic art of his collaborators as he went on. The " Lord Hayes " masque was performed at Whitehall on Twelfth night, 1606-7. We do not come upon another masque of Campion's until six years later, in 1613, when he wrote three. The first was the Lord's Masque, "presented in the Banqueting House on the marriage night of the High and Mighty Count Palatine, and the royally descended the Lady Elizabeth." This, though it was not much praised, by some of its spectators at any rate, is full of taking, and often very splendid, spectacle; which we owe, like the spectacular effect in the best of Ben Jonson's masques, to the genius of Inigo Jones. Mr Bullen, commenting upon the adverse criticism in one of Chamberlain's letters, which speaks of devices, " long and tedious," "more like a play than a masque," says — " It is to be noticed that Chamberlain himself was not present ; he wrote merely from hear- say. The star dance arranged by Inigo Jones was surely most effective ; and the hearers must have been indeed insensate if they were not charmed by the beautiful song, 'Advance your choral motions now.' " Another of the masques of that year was produced by Lord Knowles (Sir Wm, Knollys), at Cawsam (Caversham) House, Reading, in honour of ' ' our most gracious Queene, Queene Anne, in her Progresse toward the Bathe," on the 27th and 28th April 1613. The third was that produced for the marriage of the Earl of Introduction. Somerset and ' ' the infamous Lady Fiances Howard, the divorced Countess of Essex," on the 26th December 1613. In the same year Campion again showed his close connection with the Court by the little volume, "Songs of Mourning," in memory of the untimely death of Prince Henry, in November 1612. The songs, in which Campion was not altogether inspired, were set to music by Coprario (alias John Cooper). But else- where, in his "Divine and Moral Songs," Campion showed how well he could turn his lyric note to a grave measure. Indeed, he passed with ease and grace from such im- pulsive ditties as Amarillis to such solemn songs as "Lift up to Heav'n, sad wretch, thy Heavy spright ! " or those two touching stanzas, beginning : "Never weather beaten Saile more willing bent to shore, Never tyred Pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more.'' One finds, after reading Campion with any- thing like sympathy, that he leaves the memory wonderfully replenished with such things, — things far too tender, witty, or true ; too rare, rich, and fine, to be ever forgotten. In purely lyric poetry, he is, perhaps, the most remark- able discovery of our time amid the dust of old libraries, tireless as our zeal of research has been. He is, in brief, a master in his own field ; and that field as widely, or as Introduction. narrowly, determined in its lyric bounds as you care to make it. The present edition of Campion, — the first in which he has made full public entrance before the wider audience, — owes, let me add, the fullest acknowledgment to the previous labours of Mr A. H. Bullen ; to whose courtesy in waiving his claim upon a poet that he had almost made his own, the reader, as well as the editor, of the volume, must remain thrice indebted. For the most part Campion's original text is, however, here made use of; in the con- trary case, as in the Masque at the end, Mr Bullen's initials will be found attached. E. R. November, 1895. Campion's Preface To the Reader. Rosseter's " Book Ayres " (1601). W hat Epigrams are in Poetrie, the same are Ayres in musicke : then in their chiefe per- fection when they are short and well seasoned. But to clogg a light song with a long Praelu- dium, is to corrupt the nature of it. Manie rests in Musicke were invented, either for necessitie of the fuge, or granted as a har- monicall licence in songs of many parts : but in Ayres I find no use they have, unlesse it be to make a vulgar and triviall modulation seeme to the ignorant, strange ; and to the judiciall, tedious. A naked Ayre without guide, or prop, or colour but his owne, is easily censured of everie ear ; and requires so much the more invention to make it please. And as Martiall speakes in defence of his short Epigrams ; so may I say in th' apologie of Ayres : that where there is a full volume, there can be no imputation of shortnes. The Lyricke Poets among the Greekes and Latines were first inventers of Ayres, tying themselves strictly to the number and value of their sill- ables : of which sort, you shall find here onely one song in Saphicke verse ; the rest are after the fascion of the time, eare-pleasing rimes without Arte. The subject of them is, for Prefaces and Dedications. the most part amorous : and why not amor- ous songs, as well as amorous attires? Or why not new airs, as well as new fascions? For the Note and Tableture, if they satisfie the most, we have our desire ; let expert masters please themselves with better. And if anie light error hath escaped us, the skil- full may easily correct it, the unskilfull will hardly perceive it. But there are some who, to appeare the more deepe and singular in their judgement, will admit no Musicke but that which is long, intricate, bated with fuge, chaind with sincopation, and where the nature of everie word is precisely exprest in the Note : like the old exploided action in Comedies, when if they did pronounce Memeni, they would point to the hinder part of their heads ; if Video, put their finger in their eye. But such childish observing of words is altogether ridicu- lous ; and we ought to maintaine, as well in notes as in action, a manly cariage ; gracing no word, but that which is eminent and emphaticall. Nevertheles, as in Poesie we give the preheminence to the Heroicall Poem ; so in musicke, we yield the chiefe place to the grave and well invented Motet : but not to every harsh and dull confused Fantasie, where, in multitude of points, the Harmonie is quite drowned. Ayres have both their Art and pleasure : and I will conclude of them, as the poet did in his censure of Catullus the Lyricke, and Vergil the Heroicke writer : Tantum magna suo debet Verona Catullo, Quantum parva suo Mantua Vcrgilio. xxviii Campion. To the Reader. £*££?££ Uut of many Songs which, partly at the equest of friends, partly for my owne recrea- tion, were by mee long since composed, I have now enfranchised a few ; sending them forth divided, according to the different sub- ject into severall Bookes. The first are grave and pious ; the second, amorous and light. For hee that in publishing any worke hath a desire to content all palates, must cater for them accordingly. Non omnibus unum est Quod placet, hie Spinas colligit, ille Rosas. These Ayres were for the most part framed at first for one voyce with the Lute or Violl : but upon occasion they have since beene filled with more parts, which whoso please may use, who like not may leave. Yet doe wee daily observe that when any shall sing a Treble to an instrument, the standers by will be offring at an inward part out of their owne nature ; and, true or false, out it must, though to the per- verting of the whole harmonie. Also, if wee consider well, the Treble tunes (which are with us, commonly called Ayres) are but Tenors mounted eight Notes higher ; and therefore an inward part must needes well become them, such as may take up the whole distance of the Prefaces and Dedications. Diapason, and fill up the gaping betweene the two extreeme parts : whereby though they are not three parts in perfection, yet they yeeld a sweetnesse and content both to the eare and minde ; which is the ayme and perfection of Musicke. Short Ayres, if they be skilfully framed, and naturally exprest are like quicke and good Epigrames in Poesie ; many of them shewing as much artifice, and breeding as great difficultie as a larger Poeme. Non omnia posstimus omnes, said the Romane Epicke Poet. But some there are who admit onely French or Italian Ayres ; as if every Country had not his proper Ayre, which the people thereof naturally usurpe in their Musicke. Others taste nothing that comes forth in print ; as if Catullus or Martial's Epigrammes were the worse for being published. In these English Ayres, I have chiefely aymed to couple my Words and Notes lovingly to- gether ; which will be much for him to doe that hath not power over both. The light of this, will best appeare to him who hath pays'd our Monasyllables and Syllables combined : both which are so loaded with Consonants as that they will hardly keepe company with swift Notes, or give the Vowell convenient liberty. To conclude; mine own opinion of these Songs I deliver thus : Omnia nee nostris bona sunt, sed nee mala libris ; Si placet hac cantes, hac quoq'. lege legas. Farewell. Campion. Dedication Of " To the Right Noble i, y • 1* r* •*. and Vertuous Henry, Light Conceits Lord cliffordi sonnc and Of LoverS " heyre to the Right Honourable Francis, (1 01 3 ?). Earle of Cumberland.'' Ouch dayes as wear the badge of holy red Are for devotion markt and sage delight; The vulgar Low-dayes, undistinguished, Are left for labour, games, and sportfull sights. This sev'rall and- so differing use of Time, Within th' enclosure of one weeke wee finde ; Which I resemble in my Notes and Rhyme, Expressing both in their peculiar kinde. Pure Hymnes, such as the seaventh day loves, doe leade ; Grave age did justly chalenge those of mee : These weekeday workes, in order that suc- ceede, Your youth best fits ; and yours, yong Lord, they be, As hee is, who to them their beeing gave : If th" one, the other you of force must have. — ".WV< — "The Apothecaries have Bookes of Gold, whose leaves, being opened, are so light as that they are subject to be shaken with the least breath ; yet rightly handled, they serve both for ornament and use : such are light Ayres." Campion. NOW Winter Third Booke of Ayres. ivy 1 , r> i (1617?). '•Hunny" (1. Nights Enlarge. Io)> honey . i\ ow winter nights enlarge The number of their houres ; And clouds their stormes discharge Upon the ayrie towres Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine, Let vvell-tun'd words amaze With harmonie divine ! Now yellow waxen lights Shall waite on hunny love While youthfull Revels, Masks, ■ and Courtly sights, Sleepe's leaden spels remove. This time doth well dispence With lovers' long discourse ; Much speech hath some defence, Though beauty no remorse. All doe not all things well ; Some measures comely tread, Some knotted Ridles tell, Some Poems smoothly read. The Summer hath his joyes, And Winter his delights ; Though Love and all his pleasures are but toyes, They shorten tedious nights, R A 1 Lyric Poems. Cherry Ripe. ( *£g Booke of Ayres 1 here is a Garden in her face, Where Roses and white Lillies grow ; A heav'nly paradice is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow. There Cherries grow, which none may buy Till Cherry ripe themselves do cry. Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose Of Orient Pearle a double row ; Which when her lovely laughter showes, They look like Rose-buds fill'd with snow. Yet them nor Peere nor Prince can buy Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry. Her Eyes like Angels watch them still ; Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand, Threatning with piercing frownes to kill All that attempt, with eye or hand, Those sacred Cherries to come nigh, Till Cherry ripe themselves do cry. — WVVv— When tO her Rosseter's Ayres. Lute. Part *• ( ,6ol >- W hen to her lute Corinna sings, Her voice revives the leaden stringes, And doth in highest noates appeare, As any challeng'd eccho cleere ; Campion. But when she doth of mourning speake, Ev'n with her sighes the strings do breake. And as her lute doth live or die, Led by her passion, so must I ; For when of pleasure, she doth sing, My thoughts enjoy a sodaine spring ; But if she doth of sorrow speake, Ev'n from my heart the strings do breake. — WWVv- Sleepe, Angry Th i r d Book of Ayres Beauty. < l6l 7 ? >- Oleepe, angry beauty, sleepe, and feare not me. For who a sleeping Lyon dares provoke ? It shall suffice me here to sit and see Those lips shut up, that never kindely spoke. What sight can more content a lover's minde Then beauty seeming harmlesse, if not kinde ? My words have charm'd her, for secure shee sleepes ; Though guilty much of wrong done to my love ; And in her slumber, see, shee, close-ey'd.weepes ! Dreames often more than waking passions move. Pleade, Sleepe, my cause, and make her soft like thee, That shee in peace may wake and pitty mee. 3 Lyric Poems. Never Love Third Booke of Ayres Unless You Can. (l6l ? ?) - jN ever love unlesse you can Beare with all the faults of man : Men sometimes will jealous bee, Though but little cause they see ; And hang the head, as discontent, And speake what straight they will repent. Men that but one saint adore, Make a show of love to more : Beauty must be scorn'd in none, Though but truly serv'd in one : For what is courtship, but disguise? True hearts may have dissembling eyes. Men when their affaires require, Must a while themselves retire : Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawke, And not ever sit and talke. If these, and such like you can beare, Then like, and love, and never feare ! — -/VVVv~- Campion. SO QUICKC, SO Third Booke of Ayres Hot. (l6l ? ?) - Oo quicke, so hot, so mad is thy fond suit, So rude, so tedious grovvne, in urging mee, That fain I would, with losse, make thy tongue mute, And yeeld some little grace to quiet thee : An houre with thee I care not to converse, For I would not be counted too perverse. But roofes too hot would prove for men all fire ; And hills too high for my unused pace ; The grove is charg'd with thornes and the bold bryar ; Grey snakes the meadowes shroude in every place : A yellow frog, alas, will fright me so, As I should start and tremble as I goe. Since then I can on earth no fit roome finde, In heaven I am resolv'd with you to meete : Till then, for Hope's sweet sake, rest your tir'd minde And not so much as see mee in the streete : A heavenly meeting one day wee shall have, But never, as you dreame, in bed, or grave. -wvVVv— 5 Though you are Yoong. Rosseter's Booke of Ayres. Part I. (1601). 1 hough you are yoong, and I am olde, Though your vaines hot, and my bloud colde, Though youth is moist, and age is drie ; Yet embers live, when flames doe die. The tender graft is easely broke, But who shall shake the sturdie Oke ? You are more fresh and fair then I ; Yet stubs doe live, when flowers doe die. Thou, that thy youth doest vainely boast, Know buds are soonest nipt with frost : Thinke that thy fortune still doth crie, Thou foole, to-morrow thou must die ! Campion. ThoU art not Rosseter's Booke o t Faire. Ayres. Part I. (t6oi). 1 hou art not faire, for all thy red and white, For all those rosie ornaments in thee ; Thou art not sweet, though made of meet- delight, Nor faire nor sweet, unless thou pitie me. I will not sooth thy fancies : thou shalt prove That beauty is no beautie without love. Yet love not me, nor seeke thou to allure My thoughts with beautie, were it more devine : Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, I'le not be wrapt up in those armes of thine : Now show it, if thou be a woman right, — Embrace, and kisse, and love me, in despight ! — «aA/V^- When thoU Rosseter's Booke of must Home. A y res - Part l - (l6ol) - W hen thou must home to shades of under- ground, And there arriv'd, a newe admired guest, The beauteous spirits do ingirt thee round, White lope, blith Hellen, and the rest, To heare the stories of thy finisht love, From that smoothe toong whose musicke hell can move ; 7 Lyric Poems. Then wilt thou speake of banqueting delights, Of masks and revels which sweete youth did make, Of Turnies and great challenges of knights, And all these triumphes for thy beauties sake : When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murther me. — a/ww— Shall I Come, Third Booke of Ayres Sweet Love. 06 I7 ?). Ohall I come, sweet love, to thee, When the evening beames are set ? Shall I not excluded be ? Will you finde no fained lett ? Let me not, for pitty, more, Tell the long houres at your dore ! Who can tell what theefe or foe, In the covert of the night, For his prey will worke my woe, Or through wicked foul despite ? So may I dye unredrest, Ere my long love be possest. But to let such dangers passe, Which a lover's thoughts disdaine, 'Tis enough in such a place To attend love's joyes in vaine. Doe not mocke me in thy bed, While these cold nights freeze me dead. 8 Campion. Awake, thoU Third LSooke of Ayres Spring. (l6l ? ? >- Awake, thou spring of speaking grace, mute rest becomes not thee ! The fayrest women, while they sleepe, and pictures, equall bee. O come and dwell in love's discourses, Old renuing, new creating. The words which thy rich tongue discourses, Are not of the common rating ! Thy voyce is as an Eccho cleare, which Musickc doth beget, Thy speech is as an Oracle, which none can counterfeit : For thou alone, without offending, Hast obtained power of enchanting ; And I could heare thee without ending, Other comfort never wanting. Some little reason brutish lives with humane glory share ; But language is our proper grace, from which they sever' d are. As brutes in reason man surpasses, Men in speech excell each other : If speech be then the best of graces, Doe it not in slumber smother ! Lyric Poems. Amarillis. (l6oi) Rosseter. Part I. I care not for these Ladies, That must be woode and praide : Give me kind Amarillis, The wanton countrey maide. Nature art disdaineth, Her beautie is her owne. Her when we court and kisse, She cries, Forsooth, let go : But when we come where comfort is, She never will say No. If I love Amarillis, She gives me fruit and flowers : - But if we love these Ladies, We must give golden showers. Give them gold that sell love, Give me the Nut-browne lasse, Who, when we court and kisse, She cries, Forsooth, let go : But when we come where comfort is, She never will say No. These Ladies must have pillowes, And beds by strangers wrought ; Give me a Bower of willows, Of mosse and leaves unbought, And fresh Amarillis, With milk and honie fed ; Who, when we court and kisse, She cries Forsooth, let go : But when we come where comfort is, She never will say No ! Campion. Mistris, since you so much (l6 o I °! seter ' ?art L Desire. lVlisTRis, since you so much desire To know the place of Cupid's fire, In your faire shrine that flame doth rest, Yet never harbourd in your brest. It bides not in your lips so sweete, Nor where the rose and lillies meete ; But a little higher, but a little higher There, there, O there lies Cupid's fire. Even in those starrie pearcing eyes, There Cupid's sacred fire lyes. Those eyes I strive not to enjoy, For they have power to destroy ; Nor woe I for a smile or kisse, So meanely triumphs not my blisse ; But a little higher, but a little higher, I climbe to crowne my chaste desire. — a/Wv*— Turne backe (1601). you Wanton Flier. 1 urne backe, you wanton flier And answere my desire, With mutuall greeting : Yet bende a little neerer, Lyric Poems. True beauty still shines cleerer, In closer meeting. Harts with harts delighted, Should strive to be united ; Either other's armes with amies enchayning : Harts with a thought, Rosie lips with a kisse still entertaining. What harvest halfe so sweete is As still to reape the kisses Growne ripe in sowing ? And straight to be receiver Of that which thou art giver, Rich in bestowing? There's no strickt observing Of times, or seasons changing ; There is ever one fresh spring abiding. Then what wc sow with our lips, Let us reape, love's gaines deviding ! — JN/Wvv — So Sweet 1S thy Fourth Booke of Ayres Discourse. (l6l7?) - Oo sweet is thy discourse to me, And so delightfull is thy sight, As I taste nothing right but thee. O why invented Nature light? Was it alone for beauties sake, That her grac't words might better take? Campion. No more can I old joyes recall : They now to me become unknowne, Not seeming to have beene at all. Alas ! how soone is this love growne To such a spreading height in me As with it all must shadowed be ! TohlS Sweet Lute Fourth Booke of Ayres Apollo sung. (l6l ? ?) - 1 o his sweet lute Apollo sung the motions of the Spheares ; The wondrous order of the Stars, whose course divides the yeares ; And all the Mysteries above : But none of this could Midas move, Which purchast him his Asses eares. Then Pan with his rude pipe began the Coun- try-wealth t'advance, To boast of Cattle, flocks of Sheepe, and Goates on hils that dance ; With much more of this churlish kinde, That quite transported Midas mind, And held him rapt as in a trance. This wrong the God of Musicke scorn'd from such a sottish Judge, And bent his angry brow at Pan, which made the Piper trudge : Lyric Poems. Then Midas' head he so did trim, That ev'ry age yet talkes of him, And Phoebus right revenged grudge. — *A/\/V*— ToMusickeBent.^™' a " d Mora11 Songs (1613?). 1 O Musicke bent, is my retyred minde, And faine would I some song of pleasure sing ; But in vaine joyes no comfort now I finde, From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring : Thy power, O God, thy mercies to record, Will sweeten ev'ry note and ev'ry word. All earthly pompe or beauty to expresse, Is but to carve in snow, on waves to write ; Celestiall things, though men conceive them lesse, Yet fullest are they in themselves of light : Such beames they yeeld as know no meanes to dye, Such heate they cast as lifts the Spirit high. '/Ww- Campion. The Man of Life D ; vIne and MoralI Upright. Son s s ( iGi 3?)- 1 HE man of life upright, Whose guiltlesse hart is free From all dishonest deedes, Or thought of vanitie ; The man whose silent dayes, In harmles joys are spent, Whome hopes cannot delude Nor sorrow discontent ; That man needes neyther towres Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vautes to flie From thunder's violence ; Hee onely can behold With unafrighted eyes The horrours of the deepe And terrours of the Skies. Thus, scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings, He makes the heav'n his booke, His wisedome heav'nly things ; Good thoughts his onely friendes, His wealth a well-spent age, The earth his sober Inne And quiet Pilgrimage. Lyric Poems. Where are all thy Beauties now, Divine and Morall all Harts en- Son s s (i&3 ?)• chaining ? W here are all thy beauties now, all harts enchaining? Whither are thy flatt'rers gone with all their fayning? All fled, and thou alone still here remayning ! Thy rich state of twisted gold to Bayes is turned ! Cold as thou art, are thy loves that so much burned ! Who dye in flatt'rers' armes are seldome mourned. Yet in spite of envie, this be still proclaymed, That none worthyer then thyselfe thy worth hath blamed ; When their poore names are lost, thou shalt live famed. When thy story long time hence shall be per- used, Let the blemish of thy rule be thus excused, — None ever liv'd more just, none more abused. Come, Chearfull Divine and Morall Day. Son s s - V^ome, chearfull day, part of my life, to mee : For while thou view'stmevvith thy fading light, Part of my life doth still depart with thee, And I still onward haste to my last night. Time's fatall wings doe ever forward flye : So ev'ry day we live, a day wee dye. But, O yee nights, ordained for barren rest, How are my dayes depriv'd of life in you, When heavy sleepe my soul hath dispossest, By fayned death life sweetly to renew ! Part of my life in that you life denye : So ev'ry day we live a day wee dye. — vvWv — Divine and Morall Songs. Awake, Awake. Awake, awake, thou heavy spright, That sleep'st the deadly sleepe of sinne ! Rise now and walke the wayes of light ! 'Tis not too late yet to begin. Seeke heav'n earely, seeke it late : True Faith still findes an open gate. 3 b 17 Lyric Poems. Get up, get up, thou leaden man ! Thy tracks to endlesse joy, or paine Yeeld but the modell of a span ; Yet burnes out thy life's lampe in vaine ! One minute bounds thy bane, or blisse : Then watch, and labour while time is ! -www— Followe thy Rosseter Part L faire Sunne. (^01). x ollowe thy faire sunne, unhappy shaddowe, Though thou be blacke as night, And she made all of light, Yet follow thy faire sunne, unhappie shaddowe ! Follow her whose light thy light depriveth ; Though here thou liv'st disgrac't, And she in heaven is plac't, Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth. Follow those pure beames whose beautie burneth, That so have scorched thee, As thou still blacke must bee, Til her kind beames thy black to brightnes turneth. Follow her while yet her glorie shineth : There comes a luckles night, That will dim all her light ; And this the black unhappie shade devineth. Campion. Follow still since so thy fates ordained ; The Sunne must have his shade, Till both at once doe fade ; The sun still prov'd, the shadow still disdained. And would you see mj Face ? See my Mistris' Rosseter's Booke of Ayres. Part II. (1601) /\nd would you see my Mistris' face? It is a flowrie garden place, Where knots of beauties have such grace, That all is worke and nowhere space. It is a sweete delicious morne, Where day is breeding, never borne ; It is a Meadow yet unshorne, Whom thousand flowers do adorne. It is the heaven's bright reflexe, Weake eies to dazle and to vexe : It is th' Ideea of her sexe, Envie of whome doth worlds perplexe. It is a face of death that smiles, Pleasing, though it killes the whiles : Where death and love in pretie wiles Each other mutuallie beguiles. *9 Lyric Poems. It is faire beautie's freshest youth., It is the fained Elizium's truth : The spring, that winter' d harts renu'th ; And this is that my soule pursu'th. -^A/W' VaineMen, Light Conceits of Whose Follies. Lovers (1613?). V; aine men, whose follies make a God of Love, Whose blindnesse beauty doth immortall deeme; Prayse not what you desire, but what you prove, Count those things good that are, not those that seeme : I cannot call her true that's false to me, Nor make of women more than women be. How fair an entrance breakes the way to love ! How rich of golden hope, and gay delight ! What hart cannot a modest beauty move ? Who, seeing cleare day once, will dreame of night ? She seem'd a Saint, that brake her faith with mee, But prov'd a woman as all other be. Campion. So bitter is their sweet, that true content Unhappy men in them may never finde : Ah, but without them none. Both must con- sent, Else uncouth are the joyes of eyther kinde. Let us then prayse their good, forget their ill ! Men must be men, and women women still. — -A/\/\fJ- Wert thou L '£ ht Conceits Lovers (1613?). How eas'ly wert thoi Chained. rlow eas'ly wert thou chained, Fond hart, by favours fained ! Why liv'd thy hopes in grace, Straight to die disdained ? But since th' art now beguiled By Love that falsely smiled, In some lesse happy place Mourne alone exiled ! My love still here increaseth, And with my love my griefe, While her sweet bounty ceaseth, That gave my woes reliefe. Yet 'tis no woman leaves me, For such may prove unjust ; A Goddesse thus deceives me Whose faith who could mistrust ? A Goddesse so much graced, That Paradice is placed Lyric Poems. In her most heav'nly brest, 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. If Powres Celestiall wound us And will not yeeld reliefe, 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 Paradice to part. Harden now Light Conceits of thy tyred Hart. Lovers d6i 3 ?). 11 arden now thy tyred hart with more then flinty rage ! Ne'er let her false teares henceforth thy con- stant griefe asswage ! Once true happy dayes thou saw'st when shee stood firme and kinde, Both as one then liv'd and held one eare, one tongue, one minde : But now those bright houres be fled, and never may returne ; What then remaines but her untruths to mourne ? Campion. Silly Trayt'resse, who shall now thy carelesse tresses place? Who thy pretty talke supply ? whose eare thy musicke grace ? Who shall thy bright eyes admire? what lips triumph with thine ? Day by day who'll visit thee, and say : Th'art onely mine? Such a time there was, God wot, but such shall never be : Too oft, I feare, thou wilt remember me. — A/W> O what Unhop't for Swept L 'S ht Conceits Lovers (1613?). Supply. \J what unhop't for sweet supply ! O what joyes exceeding ! What an affecting charme feele I, From delight proceeding ! That which I long despair'd to be, To her I am, and shee to mee. Shee that alone in cloudy griefe Long to mee appeared : Shee now alone with bright reliefe All those clouds hath cleared. Both are immortall and divine, Since I am hers, and she is mine. 23 Where Shee her Sacred Bowre Adornes. Light Conceits Lovers (1613?). of W here shee her sacred bowre adornes, The Rivers clearely flow ; The groves and medowes swell with flowres The windes all gently blow. Her Sunne-like beauty shines so fayre, Her Spring can never fade : Who then can blame the life that strives To harbour in her shade ? Her grace I sought, her love I wooed, Her love though I obtaine ; No time, no toyle, no vow, no faith, Her wished grace can gaine. Yet truth can tell my heart is hers, And her will I adore ; And from that love when I depart, Let heav'n view me no more ! Her roses with my prayes shall spring ; And when her trees I praise, Their boughs shall blossome, mellow fruit Shall straw her pleasant wayes. The words of harty zeale have powre High wonders to effect ; O why should then her princely eare My words, or zeale, neglect ? 24 Campion. If shee my faith misdeemes, or worth, Woe worth my haplesse fate ! For though time can my truth reveale, That time will come too late. And who can glory in the worth, That cannot yeeld him grace? Content, in ev'rything is not, Nor joy in ev'ry place. But from her bowre of Joy since I Must now excluded be, And shee will not relieve my cares, Which none can helpe but shee ; My comfort in her love shall dwell, Her love lodge in my brest, And though not in her bowre, yet I Shall in her temple rest. -*i\JV\fr— Faine would I My Love Disclose. Light Conceits of Lovers (1613?). r* aine would I my love disclose, Aske what honour might denye ; But both love and her I lose, From my motion if shee flye. Worse then paine is feare to mee : Then hold in fancy though it burne ; If not happy, safe I'le be, And to my clostred cares returne. Lyric Poems. Yet, O yet, in vaine I strive To represse my school'd desire ; More and more the flames revive, I consume in mine ownefire. She would pitty, might shee know The harmes that I for her endure : Speake then, and get comfort so ; A wound long hid growes past recure. Wise shee is, and needs must know All th' attempts that beauty moves ; Fayre she is, and honour'd so That she, sure, hath tryed some loves. If with love I tempt her then, 'Tis but her due to be desir'd : What would women thinke of men, If their deserts were not admir'd ? Women courted have the hand To discard what they distaste : But those Dames whom none demand Want oft what their wils imbrac't. Could their firmnesse iron excell, As they are faire, they should be sought When true theeves use falsehood well, As they are wise, they will be caught. — *A/\J\\ — 86 Campion. Give Beauty All LIght ConceIts of Her Right. Lovers (1613?). Utive beauty all her right, She's not to one forme tyed ; Each shape yeelds faire delight, Where her perfections bide. Hellen, I grant, might pleasing be ; And Ros'mond was as sweet as shee. Some, the quicke eye commends ; Some, swelling lips and red ; Pale lookes have many friends, Through sacred sweetnesse bred. Medowes have flowres that pleasure move, Though Roses are the flowres of love. Free beauty is not bound To one unmoved clime : She visits ev'ry ground, And favours ev'ry time. Let the old loves with mine compare, My Sov'raigne is as sweet and fair. 'AAA"- Lyric Poems. Deare ! that 1 with Thee might Live. I With Thee Light Conceits of Lovevs (1613 ?). o deare, that I with thee might live, From humane trace removed ! Where jealous care might neither grieve, Yet each dote on their loved. While fond feare may colour finde, Love's seldome pleased ; But much like a sicke man's rest, it's soone diseased. Why should our mindes not mingle so, When love and faith is plighted, That eyther might the other's know, Alike in all delighted ? Why should frailtie breed suspect, when hearts are fixed ? Must all humane joys of force with griefe be mixed ? How oft have wee ev'n smilde in teares, Our fond mistrust repenting ? As snow when heav'nly fire appeares, So melts love's hate relenting. Vexed kindnesse soone fals off, and soone returneth : Such a flame the more you quench the more it burnetii. 28 Campion. Good Men shew, Light Conceits of if YOU Can Tell. Lovers (1613?). vJood men shew, if you can tell, Where doth humane pittie dwell? Farre and neere her would I seeke So vext with sorrow is my brest : She, (they say) to all, is meeke ; And onely makes th' unhappie blest. Oh ! if such a Saint there be, Some hope yet remaines for me : Prayer or sacrifice may gaine From her implored grace reliefe ; To release mee of my paine, Or at the least to ease my griefe. Young am I, and farre from guile, The more is my woe the while : Falshood with a smooth disguise My simple meaning hath abus'd : Casting mists before thine eyes, By which my senses are confus'd. Faire he is, who vow'd to me That he onely mine would be ; But, alas, his minde is caught With ev'ry gaudie bait he sees : And too late my flame is taught That too much kindnesse makes men freese. 29 Lyric Poems. From me all my friends are gone While I pine for him alone ; And not one will rue my case, But rather my distresse deride : That I thinke there is no place Where pittie ever yet did bide. — M/\yv<— Whether Men doe Laugh or p**"** **" Weepe. W hether men doe laugh or weepe, Whether they doe wake or sleepe, Whether they die yoong or olde, Whether they feele heate or colde ; There is, underneath the sunne, Nothing in true earnest done. All our pride is but a jest, None are worst, and none are best, Griefe, and joy, and hope, and feare, Play their Pageants everywhere : Vaine opinion all doth sway, And the world is but a play. Powers above in cloudes do sit, Mocking our poore apish wit ; That so lamely, with such state, Their high glorie imitate : No ill can be felt but paine, And that happie men disdaine 3° What then is Love but Mourning ? A Booke of Part II. (1601). Ayres. What then is love but mourning? v 1 MWhat desire, but a selfe-burning ? Till shee, that hates, doth love returns, Thus will I mourne, thus will I sing, Come away ! come away, my darling ! Beautie is but a blooming, Youth in his glorie entombing ; Time hath a while which none can stay ; Then come away, while thus I sing, Come away ! come away, my darling ! Sommer in winter fadeth ; Gloomie night heav'nly light shadeth : Like to the morne, are Venus' flowers ; Such are her bowers : then will I sing, Come away ! come away, my darling ! — W\/Vvv— 31 Lyric Poems. Kinde in Un- kindnesse, when p J*"* °! Ayres ' ' Part II. (1601). will You relent. K. kiNDE in unkindnesse, when will you relent And cease with faint love true love to torment ? Still entertained, excluded still I stand ; Her glove still holde, but cannot touch the hand. In her faire 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 beautie so forget her birth, That it should fruitles home returne to earth ! Love is the fruite of beautie, then love one ! Not your sweete selfe, for such selfe-love is none. Love one that onely lives in loving you ; Whose wrong'd deserts would you with pity view, This strange distast which your affections swaies Would relish love, and you find better daies. 32 Campion. Thus till my happie sight your beautie viewes, Whose sweet remembrance stil my hope renewes, Let these poore lines sollicite love for mee, And place my joyes where my desires would bee. — -aA/V- 1 — When Laura Roster. Part II. Smiles. o&o.-a. h. b. When Laura smiles her sight revives both night and day ; The earth and heaven views with delight her wanton play : And her speech with ever-flowing music doth repair The cruel wounds of sorrow and untamed despair. The sprites that remain in fleeting air Affect for pastime to untwine her tressed hair : And the birds think sweet Aurora, Morning's Queen, doth shine From her bright sphere, when Laura shows her looks divine. Diana's eyes are not adorned with greater power Than Laura's, when she lists awhile for sport to lower : 8 c 33 Lyric Poems. But when she her eyes encloseth, blindness doth appear The chiefest grace of beauty, sweetly seated there. Love hath no power but what he steals from her bright eyes ; Time hath no power but that which in her pleasure lies : For she with her divine beauties all the world subdues, And fills with heavenly spirits my humble Muse. — A/WW- Unrhymed song from " Observations in the Art t> iii of English Poesie," 1602. Rose-cheeked .. The fe number/ . says IvcllU'cl Campion, " is voluble, and fit to express any amorous conceit." — A. H. B. Iyose-cheeked Laura, come ; Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's Silent music, either other Sweetly gracing. Lovely forms do flow From concent divinely framed ; Heav'n is music, and thy beauty's Birth is heavenly. These dull notes we sing Discords need for helps to grace them, 34 Campion. Only beauty purely loving Knows no discord, But still moves delight, Like clear springs renewed by flowing, Ever perfect, ever in them- Selves eternal. Anacreontic from ' ' Ob- Scornfull Laura. servations in the An of English Poesie" (1602).— A. H. B. r OLLOW, follow, Though with mischief Armed, like whirlwind Now she flies thee ; Time can conquer Love's unkindness ; Love can alter Time's disgraces : Till death faint not Then, but follow. Could I catch that Nimble traitor Scornful Laura, Swift-foot Laura, Soon then would I Seek avengement. What's th' avengement ? Ev'n submissly Prostrate then to Beg for mercy. 35 Lyric Poems. See where She flies enrag'd from Me ! Rosseter. Part I. (1601). Oee where she flies enrag'd from me ! View her when she intends despite, The winde is not more swift than shee. Her furie mov'd such terror makes, As to a fearfull guiltie sprite, The voice of heav'ns huge thundercracks : But when her appeased minde yeelds to delight, All her thoughts are made of joies, Millions of delights inventing ; Other pleasures are but toies To her beautie's sweet contenting. My fortune hangs upon her brow ; For as she smiles, or frownes on mee, So must my blowne affections bow ; And her proude thoughts too well do find With what unequall tyrannie Her beauties doe command my mind. Though when her sad planet raignes, Froward she bee, She alone can pleasure move, And displeasing sorrow banish. May I but still hold her love, Let all other comforts vanish. 36 Campion. Your faire Lookes enflame (i ^ eter Part l ' my Desire. Y our faire lookes enflame my desire : Quench it againe with love ! Stay, O strive not still to retire : Doe not inhumane prove ! If love may perswade, Love's pleasures, deare, denie not. Here is a silent grovie shade ; O tarry then, and fly not ! Have I seaz'd my heavenly delight In this unhaunted grove? Time shall now her furie requite With the revenge of love. Then come, sweetest, come, My lips with kisses gracing ! Here let us harbour all alone, Die, die in sweete embracing ! Will you now so timely depart, And not returne againe ? Your sight lends such life to my hart That to depart is paine. Feare yeelds no delay, Securenes helpeth pleasure : Then, till the time gives safer stay, O farewell, my live's treasure I 37 Lyric Poems. The Fairie (1601). Queene Prosperina. Oarke, al you ladies that do sleep ! The fayry queen Proserpina Bids you awake and pitie them that weep. You may doe in the darke What the day doth forbid ; Feare not the dogs that barke, Night will have all hid. But if you let your lovers mone, The Fairie Queene Proserpina Will send abroad her Fairies ev'rie one, That shall pinch blacke and blew Your white hands and faire armes That did not kindly rue Your Paramours harmes. In Myrtle Arbours on the downes The Fairie Queene Proserpina, This night by moone-shine leading merrie rounds, Holds a watch with sweet love, Down the dale, up the hill ; No plaints or groanes may move Their holy vigill. 33 Campion. All you that will hold watch with love, The Fairie Queene Proserpina Will make you fairer than Dione's dove Roses red, Lillies white, And the cleare damaske hue, Shall on your cheekes alight : Love will adorne you. All you that love or lov'd before, The Fairie Queene Proserpina Bids you encrease that loving humour more : They that yet have not fed On delight amorous, She vows that they shall lead Apes in Avernus. 39 It fell OII a Rosseter's Booke of Sommer'sDay. Ayres - PartL (l6oi) - It fell on a sommer's day, While sweete Bessie sleeping laie, In her bowre, on her bed, Light with curtaines shadowed, Jamy came : shee him spies, Opning halfe her heavie eies. Jamy stole in through the dore, She lay slumb'ring as before ; Softly to her he drew neere, She heard him, yet would not heare : Bessie vowed not to speake, He resolv'd that dumpe to breake. First a soft kisse he doth take, She lay still, and would not wake ; Then his hands learn'd to woo, She dreamp't not what he would doo, But still slept, while he smild To see love by sleepe beguild. Jamy then began to play, Bessie as one buried lay, Gladly still through this sleight, Deceiv'd in her owne deceit ; And since this traunce begoon, She sleepes ev'rie afternoone. 40 Campion. MaydeS are Third Booke of Ayres Simple. (l6l ' ? >- IVIaydes are simple, some men say, They, forsooth, will trust no men. But should they men's wils obey, Maides were very simple then. Truth a rare flower now is growne, Few men weare it in their hearts ; Lovers are more easily knowne By their follies, then deserts. Safer may we credit give To a faithlesse wandring Jew Then a young man's vowes beleeve When he sweares his love is true. Love they make a poore blinde childe. But let none trust such as hee : Rather then to be beguil'd, Ever let me simple be. ^A/Vv> Lyric Poems. Think'stThouto seduce Me then J™* Booke of Ayres with Words. I hink'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning ? Parrats so can learne to prate, our speech by pieces gleaning : Nurces teach their children so about the time of weaning. Learne to speake first, then to wooe : to wooing, much pertayneth : Hee that courts us, wanting Arte, soone falters when he fayneth, Lookes asquint on his discourse, and smiles, when hee complaineth. Skilfull Anglers hide their hookes, fit baytes for every season ; But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes doe, that want reason : Gogions onely can be caught with such poore trickes of treason. Ruth forgive me, if I err'd from humane heart's compassion, When I laught sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion : But, alas, who lesse could doe that found so good occasion ? 42 Campion. Fain would I Fourth Booke of Wed. Ayres (1617?).— A. H. B. V ain would I wed a fair young man that day and night could please me, When my mind or body grieved that had the power to ease me. Maids are full of longing thoughts that breed a bloodless sickness, And that, oft I hear men say, is only cured by quickness. Oft I have been wooed and prayed, but never could be moved ; Many for a day or so I have most dearly loved, But this foolish mind of mine straight loathes the thing resolved ; If to love be sin in me that sin is soon absolved. Sure I think I shall at last fly to some holy order ; When I once am settled there then can I fly no farther. Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a mother ; As I was by one brought forth I would bring forth another. — a/W^ 43 Lyric Poems. Ev'ry Dame affects gfood Fourth Booke of _, & Ayres(i6i 7 ?). Fame. JlLv'ry dame affects good fame, what ere her doings be : But true prayse is Vertues Bayes which none may weare but she. Borrow'd 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 toyes are sold, these women to disguise, That before the yeare growes old the newest fashion dyes. Dames of yore contended more in goodnesse to exceede Then in pride to be envi'd, for that which least they neede. Little Lawne then serv'd the Pawne, if Pawne at all there were ; Homespun thread, and houshold bread, then held out all the yeare. But th' attyres of women now weare out both house and land ; That the wives in silkes may How, at ebbe the Good-men stand. 44 Campion. Once agen, Astrea, then, from heav'n to earth descend, And vouchsafe in their behalfe these errours to amend ! Aid from heav'n must make all ev'n, things are so out of frame ; For let man strive all he can, hee needes must please his Dame. Happy man, content that gives and what hee gives, enjoys ! Happy dame, content that lives and breakes no sleepe for toyes ! — WWVv— Thoujoy'st, Fourth Booke o{ Fond Boy. Ayres(i6i7?). 1 hou joy'st, fond boy, to be by many loved, To have thy beauty of most dames approved ; For this dost thou thy native worth disguise And play'st the Sycophant t' observe their eyes ; Thy glasse thou councel'st more t' adorne thy skin, That first should schoole thee to be fay re within. 'Tis childish to be caught with Pearle or Amber, And woman-like too much to cloy the chamber ; Youths should the Field affect, heate their rough Steedes, Their hardned nerves to fit for better deedes. 45 Lyric Poems. Is't not more joy strong Holds to force with swords, Then women's weaknesse take with lookes or words ? Men that doe noble things all purchase glory : One man for one brave Act hath prov'd a story : But if that one tenne thousand Dames o'er- came, Who would record it, if not to his shame? Tis farre more conquest with one to live true, Than every hour to triumph Lord of new. — 'A/Vvv— Silly Boy, 'tis Third Booke of Ayres full Moon yet. (^ 7 i). Oili.y boy, 'tis ful moone yet, thy night as day shines clearely ; Had thy youth but wit tofeare, thou couldst not love so dearely. Shortly wilt thou mourne when all thy pleasures are bereaved ; Little knowes he how to love that never was deceived. This is thy first mayden flame, that triumphes yet unstayned ; All is artlesse now you speake, not one word yet is fayned ; 4 6 Campion. All is heav'n that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed ; But no spring can want his fall, each Troylus hath his Cresseid. Thy well-order'd lockes ere long shall rudely hang neglected ; And thy lively pleasant cheare reade griefe on earth dejected. Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy, And with sighes confesse, in love, that too much faith is folly. Yet be just and constant still ! Love may beget a wonder, Not unlike a summer's frost, or winter's fatall thunder. Hee that holds his svveethart true, unto his day of dying, Lives, of all that ever breath'd, most worthy the envying. If Thou longest. ™ Booke of A y res ° (1617")- 1 F thou longest so much to learne, sweet boy, what 'tis to love, Doe but fix thy thought on niee and thou shalt quickly prove. Little suit, at first, shall win Way to thy abasht desire, But then will I hedge thee in Salamander-like with fire. With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dalliance beare ; We the grovy hils will climbe, and play the wantons there ; Other whiles wee'le gather flowres, Lying dalying on the grasse ! And thus our delightful howres Full of waking dreames shall passe ! When thy joyes were thus at height, my love should turne from thee ; Old acquaintance then should grow as strange as strange might be ; Twenty rivals thou shouldst finde, Breaking all their hearts for mee, While to all I'le prove more kinde And more forward then to thee. 4 3 Campion. Thus, thy silly youth, enrag'd, would soone my love defie ; But, alas, poore soule too late ! dipt wings can never flye. Those sweet houres which wee had past, Cal'd to minde, thy heart would burne ; And couldst thou flye ne'er so fast, They would make thee straight returne. Break now, my Third Booke of Ayres Heart. < l6l ? ? >- DREAKE now, my heart, and dye ! O no, she may relent. Let my despaire prevayle ! Oh stay, hope is not spent. Should she now fixe one smile on thee ; where were despair ? Thelosse isbuteasie, which smiles can repayre. A stranger would please thee, if she were as fayre. Her must I love or none, so sweet none breathes as shee ; The more is my despayre, alas, shee loves not mee ! But cannot time make way for love through ribs of Steele ? The Grecian inchanted all parts but the heele, Atlast ashaft daunted, which his hart did feele. S d 49 Lyric Poems. The Peacefull Light Conceits of WesterneWinde. Lovers (1613?). 1 HE peacefull westerne vvinde The winter stormes hath tam'd, And nature in each kinde The kinde heat hath inflam'd : The forward buds so sweetly breathe Out of their earthy bowers, That heav'n which viewes their pompe beneath, Would faine be deckt with flowers. See how the morning smiles On her bright easterne hill, And with soft steps beguiles Them that lie slumbring still ! The musicke-loving birds are come From cliffes and rockes unknowne, To see the trees and briers blome That late were overflowne. What Saturn did destroy, Love's Queene revives againe ; And now her naked boy Doth in the fields remaine, Where he such pleasing change doth view- In every living thing, As if the world were borne anew To gratifie the Spring. 50 Campion. If all things life present, Why die my comforts then ? Why suffers my content ? Am I the worst of men ? O beautie, be not thou accus'd Too justly in this case ! Unkindly if true love be us'd, 'Twill yeeld thee little grace. — /\/\/Vv»— TL • -nt Light Conceits c There IS None. Lovers (1613?). 1 here is none, O none but you, That from mee estrange your sight, Whom mine eyes affect to view Or chained eares heare with delight. Other beauties others move, In you I all graces finde ; Such is the effect of love, To make them happy that are kinde. Women in fraile beauty trust, Onely seeme you faire to mee ; Yet prove truely kinde and just, For that may not dissembled be. Sweet, afford mee then your sight, That, survaying all your lookes, Endlesse volumes I may write And fill the world with envyed bookes 51 Lyric Poems. Which when after-ages view, All shall wonder and despairc, Woman to find man so true, Or man a woman half so faire. Sweet, exclude Light Conceits of Mee not. Lovers (1613?). OWEET, exclude mee not, nor be divided From him that ere long must bed thee : All thy maiden doubts law hath decided ; Sure wee are, and I must wed thee. Presume then yet a little more : Here's the way, barre not the dore. Tenants, to fulfill their Landlord's pleasure, Pay their rent before the quarter : Tis my case, if you it rightly measure ; Put mee not then off with laughter. Consider then a little more : Here's the way to all my store. Why were dores in love's despight devised ? Are not Lawes enough restrayrung? Women are most apt to be surprised Sleeping, or sleepe wisely fayning. Then grace me yet a little more : Here's the way, barre not the dore. 52 Campion. Song from the " Masque at the Marriage of the M V. iX, ^ord Hayes," 1606. WOW nath "As soon as they came Flora t0 l ^ e d escent towar d tne dancing place, the con- cert often ceased, and the four Sylvans played the same air, to which Zephyrus and the two other Svlvans did sing these words in a bass, tenor, and treble voice, and going up and down as they sung they strewed flowers all about the place." — A. H, B. IN ow hath Flora rob'd her bowers To befrend this place with flowers : Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! The Skye rayn'd never kindlyer showers. Flowers with Bridalls well agree, Fresh as brides and bridgroomes be : Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! And mixe them with fit melodie. Earth hath no Princelier flowers Then Roses white and Roses red, But they must still be mingled : And as a rose new pluckt from Venus' thorn, So doth a bride her bridegroome's bed adorne. Divers divers flowers affect For some private deare respect : Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! Let every one his owne protecte ; But he's none of Flora's friend That will not the Rose commend. Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! 53 Lyric Poems. Let Princes Princely flowers defend : Roses, the garden's pride, Are flowers for love and flowers for Kinges, In courts desired, aud Weddings : And as a rose in Venus' bosome worne, So doth a Bridegroome his Bride's bed adorne. -vvVV>- J-Jpr T?ocif» Light Conceits of Lovers * , (1613?). 'Currall' (1. 5). Lneekes. cord. H, .ER rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes, Are Spheares and beds, where Love in triumph lies : Her rubine lips, when they their pearle unlock**, Make them seeme as they did rise All out of one smooth Currall Rocke. Oh that of other Creatures' store I knew More worthy and more rare : For these are old, and shee so new, That her to them none should compare. O could she love, would shee but heare a friend ; Or that shee onely knew what sighs pretend. Her lookes inflame, yet cold as Ice is she. Doe or speake, all's to one end, For what shee is that will shee be. Yet will I never cease her prayse to sing, Though she gives no regard : For they that grace a worthlesse thing, Are onely greedy of reward. 54 Campion. /-. a Light Conceits Come Away. LoveU^?). V-/OME away, arm'd with love's delights, Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee, When love's longing fights, They must the sticklers be. Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is wel-nye spent, And pleasure being too much deferr'd, looseth her best content. Is shee come ? O, how neare is shee ? How farre yet from this friendly place? How many steps from me? When shall I her imbrace ? These armes I'le spred, which onely at her sight shall close, Attending as the starry flowre that the Sun's noonetide knowes. What Harvest Light Conceits of wnat narvebt. Lovers (l6l3?) . W hat harvest halfe so sweet is As still to reape the kisses Growne ripe in sowing? And straight to be receiver Of that which thou art giver, Rich in bestowing ? 55 Lyric Poems. Kisse then, my harvest Queene, Full garners heaping ; Kisses, ripest when th' are greene, Want onely reaping. The Dove alone expresses Her fervencie in kisses, Of all most loving : A creature as offencelesse As those things that are sencelesse And void of moving. Let us so love and kisse, Though all envie us : That which kinde, and harmlesse is, None can denie us. -■^/\f\jv~ So many Loves. Light Conceits of Lovers (1613?). Oo many loves have I neglected, Whose good parts might move mee, That now 1 live of all rejected, There is none will love me. Why is mayden heat so coy ? It freezeth when it burneth, Looseth what it might injoy, And, having lost it, mourneth. Should I then wooe, that have beene wooed, Seeking them that flye mee ? When I my faith with teares have vowed, And when all denye mee, 56 Campion. Who will pitty my disgrace, Which love might have prevented ? There is no submission base Where error is repented. O happy men, whose hopes arelicenc'd To discourse their passion, While women are confin'd to silence, Loosing wisht occasion ! Yet our tongues then theirs, men say, Are apter to be moving : Women are more dumbe then they, But in their thoughts more moving. When I compare my former strangenesse With my present doting, I pitty men that speak in plainnesse, Their true heart's devoting ; While we with repentance jest At their submissive passion. Maydes, I see, are never blest, That strange be but for fashion. '/V\A~— Come, you Pretty False- ey'd Wanton. Light Conceits Lovers (1613?). of v^ome, you pretty false-ey'd wanton, Leave your crafty smiling ! Think you to escape me now With slipp'ry words beguiling ! No ; you mockt me th'other day ; When you got loose, you fled away But, since I have caught you now, Tie clip your wings for flying : Smoth'ring kisses fast I'le heape, And keepe you so from crying. Sooner may you count the starres, And number hayle downe pouring, Tell the osiers of the Temmes, Or Goodwin's Sands devouring, Then the thicke-shower'd kisses here Which now thy tyred lips must beare. Such a harvest never was, So rich and full of pleasure, But 'tis spent as soone as reapt, So trustlesse is love's treasure. Campion. Would it were dumb midnight now, When all the world lyes sleeping ! Would this place some Desert were, Which no man hath in keeping ! My desires should then be safe, And when you cry'd then would I laugh But if aught might breed offence, Love onely should be blamed : I would live your servant still, And you my Saint unnamed. -~Aj\/\f/— Where shall I Light conceit* of Refuge Seek. Loveri; < l6l 3 ? >- W here shall I refuge seek, if you refuse mee ? In you my hope, in you my fortune lyes, In you my life, though you unjust accuse me, My service scorne, and merit underprise : Oh bitter griefe ! that exile is become Reward for faith, and pittiedeafe and dumbe. Why should my firmnesse finde a seate so wav'ring ? My simple vowes, my love you entertain'd ; Without desert the same againe disfav'ring ; Yet I my word and passion hold unstain'd. O wretched me ! that my chiefe joy should breede My onely griefe, and kindnesse pitty neede. 59 Lyric Poems. The Sypres , *?*?• w? \' Jr (.601). 'Sypres' (1. i), Curten. cypress. 1 he Sypres curten of the night is spread, And over all a silent dewe is cast. The weaker cares by sleepe are conquered : But I alone, with hidious grief agast, In spite of Morpheus charmes, a watch doe keepe Over mine eies, to banish carelesse sleepe. Yet oft my trembling eyes through faintnes close, And then the Mappe of hell before me stands, Which Ghosts doe see, and I am one of those Ordain'd to pine in sorrowes endles bands, Since from my wretched soule all hopes are reft, And now no cause of life to me is left. Griefe ceaze my soul, for that will still endure When my cras'd body is consum'd and gone ; Beare it to thy blacke denne, there keepe it sure Where thou ten thousand soules doest tyre upon ! Yet all doe not affoord such foode to thee As this poore one, the worser part of mee. -MA/V' Campion. Song of two Voices, a T ,, ~ . bass and tenor, sung by 1 ell me, Lrentle a Sylvan and an Hour at Howre of Night. the " Masque at the Mar ," ° riage of the Lord Hayes. ' Twelfth Night (1606). SILVAN. 1 ell me, gentle howre of night, Wherein dost thou most delight? HOWRE. Not in sleepe. SILVAN. Wherein then ? HOWRE. In the frolicke vew of men ? SILVAN. Lovest thou Musicke ? HOWRE. O 'tis sweet SILVAN. What's dauncing? HOWRE. Ev'n the mirth of feele SILVAN. Joy you in Fayries and in elves 6! Lyric Poems. HOWRE. We are of that sort ourselves. But, Silvan, say why do you love Onely to frequent the grove ? SILVAN. Life is fullest of content, Where delight is innocent. HOWRE. Pleasure must varie, not be long. Come then let's close, and end our song. CHORUS. Yet, ere we vanish from this princely sight, Let us bid Phcebus and his states good-night. «....• Night A song of three voices with divers instruments. .. From the Masque given aS Well aS by Lord Knowles to Brightest Da.V Queen Anne: at Cawsome ° * ' House, near Reading. April, 1613. " At the end of this song enters Sylvanus, shaped after the description of the ancient writers ; his lower parts like a goat, and his upper parts in an antic habit of rich taffeta, cut into leaves, and on his head he had a false hair, with a wreath of long boughs and lilies, that hung dangling about his neck, and in his hand a cypress branch, in memory of his love Cyparissus." N. ight as well as brightest day hath her delight, Let us then with mirth and Musicke decke the night. Never did glad day such store Of joy to night bequeath : Her Starres then adore, Both in Heav'n, and here beneath. Love and beautie, mirth and musicke yeeld true joyes, Though the Cynickes in their folly count them toyes. Raise your spirits ne're so high, They will be apt to fall : None brave thoughts envie, Who had ere brave thought at all. 63 Lyric Poems. Joy is the sweete friend of life, the nurse of blood, Patron of all health, and fountaine of all good : Never may joy hence depart, But all your thoughts attend ; Nought can hurt the heart, That retaines so sweete a friend. Follow your Rosseter's Booke of Sclint Ayres. Part I. (1601). X* ollow your Saint, follow with accents sweet ! Haste you, sad noates, fall at her flying fleete ! There, wrapt in cloud of sorrowe, pitie move, And tell the ravisher of my soule, I perish for her love : But if she scorns my never-ceasing paine, Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne're returne againe ! All that I soong still to her praise did tend ; Still she was first, still she my songs did end, Yet she my love and Musicke both doth flie, The Musicke that her Eccho is and beauties synipathie. Then let my Noates pursue her scornefull flight ! It shall suffice, that they were brcath'd, and dyed for her delight. 64 Campion. Faire, if yOU A Booke of Ayres Expect. (l601 )- P aire, if you expect admiring, Sweet, if you provoke desiring, Grace deere love with kind requiting. Fond, but if thy sight be blindnes, False, if thou affect unkindnes, Flie both love and love's delighting ! Then when hope is lost and love is scorned, He bury my desires, and quench the fires that ever yet in vaine have burned. Fates, if you rule lovers' fortune, Stars, if men your powers importune, Yield reliefe by your relenting ; Time, if sorrow be not endles, Hope made vaine, and pittie friendles, Helpe to ease my long lamenting. But if griefes remaine still unredressed, I'le flie to her againe, and sue for pitie to renue my hopes distressed. Blame not My Cheeks. A Booke of Ayres. .Dlame not my cheeks, though pale with love they be ; The kindly heate unto my heart is flowne, To cherish it that is dismaid by thee, 8 E 65 Lyric Poems. Who art so cruell and unsteedfast growne : For Nature, cald for by distressed harts, Neglects and quite forsakes the outward partes. But they whose cheekes with careles blood are stain'd, Nurse not one sparke of love within their harts ; And, when they woe, they speake with passion fain'd, For their fat love lyes in their outward parts : But in their brests, where love his court should hold, Poore Cupid sits, and blowes his nailes for cold. — vwv. — When the God _ _ _ . _ A Booke of Ayres(i6oi). of Merne Love. W hen the god of merrie love As yet in his cradle lay, Thus his wither'd nurse did say : ' ' Thou a wanton boy wilt prove To deceive the powers above ; For by thy continuall smiling I see thy power of beguiling." Therewith she the babe did kisse ; When a sodaine fire outcame From those burning lips of his, That did her with love enflame. But none would regard the same : So that, to her daie of dying, The old wretch liv'd ever crying. 66 Campion. Song from the Lord's Masque, presented in the Banqueting House on the WOO Her, and Marriage Night of the w;« Wo,- IIlgh and M 'g ht y Count Win ner. Palatine, and the Royally descended the Lady Elizabeth. (Shrove-Sun- day 1612-1613). VV 00 her, and win her, he that can ; Each woman hath two lovers, So she must take and leave a man, Till time more grace discovers. This doth Jove to shew that want Makes beauty most respected ; If fair women were more scant, They would be more affected. Courtship and music suit with love, They both are works of passion ; Happy is he whose words can move, Yet sweet notes help persuasion. Mix your words with music then, That they the more may enter ; Bold assaults are fit for men, That on strange beauties venture. -w\/\/Vv— 67 Lyric Poems. Jacke and Jone They thinke no 111. Divine and Morall Songs. J ACKE and Jone they thinke no ill, But loving live, and merry still ; Do their weeke-dayes' worke, and pray Devotely on the holy day : Skip and trip it on the greene, And help to chuse the Summer Queene ; 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 ; Climbe up to the Apple loft, And turne the crabs till they be soft. Tib is all the father's joy, And little Tom the mother's boy. All their pleasure is Content ; And care, to pay their yearely rent. Jone can call by name her Cowes, And decke her windowes with greene boughs ; Shee can wreathes and tuttyes make, And trimme with plums a Bridall Cake. Jacke knowes what brings gaine or losse ; And his long Flaile can stoutly tosse, Make the hedge which others break, And ever thinkes what he doth speake. 68 Campion. Now you Courtly Dames and Knights, That study onely strange delights ; Though you scorn the homespun gray, And revell in your rich array : Though your tongues dissemble deepe, And can your heads from danger keepe ; Yet for all your pomp and traine, Securer lives the silly Swaine. — A/\/VV* — Songs from the " Masque at the Marriage of the _, A U Earl of Somerset and the Lome Ashore, L a d y Francis Howard," Come Saint Stephen's Night, 1613. "Straight in the Thames appeared four barges with skippers in them, and withall this song was sung." "At the conclusion of this [first] song arrived twelve skippers in red caps, with short cassocks and long flaps wide at the knees, of white canvas striped with crimson, white gloves and pumps, and red stockings : these twelve danced a brave and lively dance, shouting and triumphing after their manner.'' I. V^OME ashore, come, merry mates, With your nimble heels and pates : Summon ev'ry man his knight, Enough honoured is this night. Now, let your sea-born goddess come, Quench these lights, and make all dumb. Some sleep ; others let her call : And so good-night to all, good-night to all. 69 Lyric Poems. II. Haste aboard, haste now away ! Hymen frowns at your delay. Hymen doth long nights affect ; Yield him then his due respect. The sea-born goddess straight will come, Quench these lights, and make all dumb. Some sleep ; others she will call : And so good-night to all, good-night to all. -wvVv* — " Written in i594i" s;iys Mr Bullen, for the Of Neptune's Gra v' s Inn ^^'] ue . Gesta Graiorum, u which Empire. is printed in Nichols Progresses of Queen Elizabeth:' Of Neptune's Empire let us sing, At whose command the waves obey ; To whom the rivers tribute pay, Down the high mountains sliding : 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 : Campion. The sea-nymphs chant 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. Shall I Come. p^L? ^ Ohal I come, if I swim ? wide are ye waves, you see : Shall I come, if I flie, my deere Love, to thee? Streames Venus will appease ; Cupid gives me winges ; All the powers assist my desire Save you alone, that set my wofull heart on fire! You are faire, so was Hero that in Sestos dwelt ; She a priest, yet the heat of love truly felt. A greater streame then this, did her love de- vide ; But she was his guide with a light : So through the streames Leander did enjoy her sight. — A/VW- Oft have I Sigh'd. The First Song in the Third Booke of Ayres (1617?). Uft have I sigh'd for him that heares me not ; Who absent hath both love and mee forgot. O yet I languish still through his delay : Dayes seeme as yeares when wisht friends breake their day. Had he but lov'd as common lovers use, His faithlesse stay some kindnesse would ex- cuse : O yet I languish still, still constant mourne For him that can breake vowes, but not returne. — ^AA/V* — Campion. Now let her The Second Song in the Third Booke of Change. Ayres (1617 ?). IN ow let her change and spare not ! Since she proves strange I care not : Fain'd love charm'd so my delight, That still I doted on her sight. But she is gone, new joyes imbracing And my desires disgracing. When did I erre in blindnesse, Or vexe her with unkindnesse? If my cares serv'd her alone, Why is shee thus untimely gone? True love abides to t' houre of dying : False love is ever flying. False, then farewell for ever ! Once false proves faithfull never : He that boasts now of thy love, Shall soone my present fortunes prove. Were he as faire as bright Adonis, Faith is not had, where none is. — a/VVw— Lyric Poems. Were my Hart. Third Bouke of A y rts J (1617?). VV ere my hart as some men's are, thy errours would not move me ; But thy faults I curious finde and speake be- cause I love thee : Patience is a thing divine and farre, I grant, above mee. Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deedes objecting, Then th' obsequious bosome guest, with false respect affecting. Friendship is the Glasse of Truth, our hidden staines detecting. While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of reason, Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season : Hidden mischiefe to conceale in State and Love is treason. Cq Xvr'd Third Booke of Ayres ' (1G17?). Oo tyr'd are all my thoughts, that sence and spirits faile : Mourning I pine, and know not what I ayle. O what can yceld ease to a minde Joy in nothing that can finde? 74 Campion. How are my powres fore-spoke ? What strange distaste is this ? Hence, cruell hate of that which sweetest is ! Come, come delight ! make my dull braine Feele once heate of joy againe. The lover's teares are sweet, their mover makes them so ; Proud of a wound the bleeding souldiers grow. Poor I alone, dreaming, endure Grief that knowes nor cause, nor cure. And whence can all this grow ? even from an idle minde, That no delight in any good can finde. Action alone makes the soule blest : Vertue dyes with too much rest. -^A/Vv— Why Presumes Third Booke of Ayres Thy Pride. < l6l ? ? >- W hy presumes thy pride on that that must so private be, Scarce that it can good be cal'd, tho' it seemes best to thee, Best of all that Nature fram'd or curious eye can see. 75 Lyric Poems. Tis thy beauty, foolish Maid, that like a blossome, growes ; Which who viewes no more enjoyes than on a bush a rose, That, by manie's handling, fades : and thou art one of those. If to one thou shalt prove true and all beside reject, Then art thou but one man's good ; which yeelds a poore effect : For the common 'st good by farre deserves the best respect. But if for this goodnesse thou thyself wilt common make, Thou art then not good at all : so thou canst no way take But to prove the meanest good or else all good forsake. Be not then of beauty proud, but so her colours beare That they prove not staines to her, that them for grace should weare : So shalt thou to all more fayre then thou wert born appeare. —s