From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
A little pretty bonny lass was walking
In midst of May before the sun gan rise;
I took her by the hand and fell to talking
Of this and that as best I could devise:
I swore I would--yet still she said I should not;
Do what I would, and yet for all I could not.
From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
A shepherd in a shade his plaining made
Of love and lover's wrong
Unto the fairest lass that trod on grass,
And thus began his song:
"Since Love and Fortune will, I honour still
Your fair and lovely eye:
What conquest will it be, sweet Nymph, for thee
If I for sorrow die?
Restore, restore my heart again
Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,
Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.'
"My heart where have you laid? O cruel maid,
To kill when you might save!
Why have ye cast it forth as nothing worth,
Without a tomb or grave?
O let it be entombed and lie
In your sweet mind and memory,
Lest I resound on every warbling string
'Fie, fie on love! that is a foolish thing.'
Restore, restore my heart again
Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,
Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.'"
From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Six Parts_, 1600.
A Sparrow-Hawk proud did hold in wicked jail
Music's sweet chorister, the nightingale,
To whom with sighs she said: "O set me free!
And in my song I'll praise no bird but thee."
The hawk replied, "I will not lose my diet
To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet."
From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.
A woman's looks
Are barbed hooks,
That catch by art
The strongest heart
When yet they spend no breath;
But let them speak,
And sighing break
Forth into tears,
Their words are spears
That wound our souls to death.
The rarest wit
Is made forget,
And like a child
Is oft beguiled
With love's sweet-seeming bait;
Love with his rod
So like a God
Commands the mind;
We cannot find,
Fair shows hide foul deceit.
Time, that all things
In order brings,
Hath taught me how
To be more slow
In giving faith to speech,
Since women's words
No truth affords,
And when they kiss
They think by this
Us men to over-reach.
From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.
About the maypole new, with glee and merriment,
While as the bagpipe tooted it,
Thyrsis and Chloris fine together footed it:
And to the joyous instrument
Still they went to and fro, and finely flaunted it,
And then both met again and thus they chaunted it.
Fa la!
The shepherds and the nymphs them round enclosed had,
Wond'ring with what facility,
About they turn'd them in such strange agility;
And still when they unloosed had,
With words full of delight they gently kissed them,
And thus sweetly to sing they never missed them.
Fa la!
From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
Adieu, sweet Amaryllis!
For since to part your will is,
O heavy, heavy tiding!
Here is for me no biding.
Yet once again, ere that I part with you,
Adieu, sweet Amaryllis; sweet, adieu!
From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Madrigals_, 1594.
April is in my mistress' face,
And July in her eyes hath place;
Within her bosom is September,
But in her heart a cold December.
From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.
Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun,
Call all the winds to make you speedy wings,
And to my fairest Maya see you run
And weep your last while wantonly she sings;
Then if you cannot move her heart to pity,
Let _Oh, alas, ay me_ be all your ditty.
Arise, my thoughts, no more, if you return
Denied of grace which only you desire,
But let the sun your wings to ashes burn
And melt your passions in his quenchless fire;
Yet, if you move fair Maya's heart to pity,
Let smiles and love and kisses be your ditty.
Arise, my thoughts, beyond the highest star
And gently rest you in fair Maya's eye,
For that is fairer than the brightest are;
But, if she frown to see you climb so high,
Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty,
Of smiles and love and kisses, beg for pity.
From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite
That sleep'st the deadly sleep of sin!
Rise now and walk the ways of light,
'Tis not too late yet to begin.
Seek heaven early, seek it late;
True Faith finds still an open gate.
Get up, get up, thou leaden man!
Thy track, to endless joy or pain,
Yields but the model of a span:
Yet burns out thy life's lamp in vain!
One minute bounds thy bane or bliss;
Then watch and labour while time is.
From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to three voices_, 1608.
Awake, sweet Love! 'tis time to rise:
Ph[oe]bus is risen in the east,
Spreading his beams on those fair eyes
Which are enclosed with Nature's rest.
Awake, awake from heavy sleep
Which all thy thoughts in silence keep!
From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.
Ay me, can every rumour
Thus start my lady's humour?
Name ye some galante to her,
Why straight forsooth I woo her.
Then burst[s] she forth in passion
"You men love but for fashion;"
Yet sure I am that no man
Ever so loved woman.
Then alas, Love, be wary,
For women be contrary.
From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
Ay me, my mistress scorns my love;
I fear she will most cruel prove.
I weep, I sigh, I grieve, I groan;
Yet she regardeth not my moan.
Then, Love, adieu! it fits not me
To weep for her that laughs at thee.
From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
Behold a wonder here!
Love hath receiv'd his sight!
Which many hundred year
Hath not beheld the light.
Such beams infused be
By Cynthia in his eyes,
As first have made him see
And then have made him wise.
Love now no more will weep
For them that laugh the while!
Nor wake for them that sleep,
Nor sigh for them that smile!
So powerful is the Beauty
That Love doth now behold,
As Love is turned to Duty
That's neither blind nor bold.
Thus Beauty shows her might
To be of double kind;
In giving Love his sight
And striking Folly blind.
From the Second Book of _Musica Transalpina_, 1597.
Brown is my Love, but graceful:
And each renowned whiteness
Match'd with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness.
Fair is my Love, but scornful:
Yet have I seen despised
Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prized.
From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.
By a fountain where I lay,
(All blessed be that blessed day!)
By the glimm'ring of the sun,
(O never be her shining done!)
When I might see alone
My true Love, fairest one!
Love's dear light!
Love's clear sight!
No world's eyes can clearer see!
A fairer sight, none can be!
Fair with garlands all addrest,
(Was never Nymph more fairly blest!)
Blessed in the highest degree,
(So may she ever blessed be!)
Came to this fountain near,
With such a smiling cheer!
Such a face,
Such a grace!
Happy, happy eyes, that see
Such a heavenly sight as She!
Then I forthwith took my pipe,
Which I all fair and clean did wipe,
And upon a heavenly ground,
All in the grace of beauty found,
Play'd this roundelay:
"Welcome, fair Queen of May!
Sing, sweet air!
Welcome, Fair!
Welcome be the Shepherds' Queen,
The glory of all our green!"
From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse, &c._, 1614.