Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age Part 10

No envious breaths then my deserts could shake, For they are good whom such true love doth make.

O let not beauty so forget her birth That it should fruitless home return to earth!

Love is the fruit of beauty, then love one!

Not your sweet self, for such self-love is none.

Love one that only lives in loving you; Whose wronged deserts would you with pity view, This strange distaste which your affection sways Would relish love, and you find better days.

Thus till my happy sight your beauty views, Whose sweet remembrance still my hope renews, Let these poor lines solicit love for me, And place my joys where my desires would be.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.

Lady, the birds right fairly Are singing ever early; The lark, the thrush, the nightingale, The make-sport cuckoo and the quail.

These sing of Love! then why sleep ye?

To love your sleep it may not be.

From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.

Lady, the melting crystal of your eye Like frozen drops upon your cheeks did lie; Mine eye was dancing on them with delight, And saw love's flames within them burning bright, Which did mine eye entice To play with burning ice; But O, my heart thus sporting with desire, My careless eye did set my heart on fire.

O that a drop from such a sweet fount flying Should flame like fire and leave my heart a-dying!

I burn, my tears can never drench it Till in your eyes I bathe my heart and quench it: But there, alas, love with his fire lies sleeping, And all conspire to burn my heart with weeping.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting, Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours, And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, My eyes present me with a double doubting: For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes Whether the roses be your lips or your lips [be] the roses.

From J. DANYEL's _Songs for the Lute, Viol and Voice_, 1606.

Let not Chloris think, because She hath unva.s.sel'd me, That her beauty can give laws To others that are free: I was made to be the prey And booty of her eyes!

In my bosom, she may say.

Her greatest kingdom lies.

Though others may her brow adore, Yet more must I that therein see far more Than any other's eyes have power to see; She is to me More than to any others she can be.

I can discern more secret notes That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes Than any else besides have art to read; No looks proceed From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed.

O then why Should she fly From him to whom her sight Doth add so much above her might?

Why should not she Still joy to reign in me?

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs and Sonnets_, 1611.

Let not the sluggish sleep Close up thy waking eye, Until with judgment deep Thy daily deeds thou try: He that one sin in conscience keeps When he to quiet goes, More vent'rous is than he that sleeps With twenty mortal foes.

From GEORGE MASON's and JOHN EARSDEN's _Airs that were sung and played at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland in the King's Entertainment given by the Earl of c.u.mberland_, 1618.

Let us in a lovers' round Circle all this hallowed ground; Softly, softly trip and go, The light-foot Fairies jet it so.

Forward then, and back again, Here and there and everywhere, Winding to and fro, Skipping high and louting low; And, like lovers, hand in hand, March around and make a stand.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Six Parts_, 1600.

Like two proud armies marching in the field,-- Joining a thund'ring fight, each scorns to yield,-- So in my heart your beauty and my reason: One claims the crown, the other says 'tis treason.

But oh! your beauty s.h.i.+neth as the sun; And dazzled reason yields as quite undone.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals to Three, Four, Five and Six Voices_, 1597.

Lo! country sport that seldom fades; A garland of the spring, A prize for dancing, country maids With merry pipes we bring.

Then all at once _for our town_ cries!

Pipe on, for we will have the prize.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

Lo, when back mine eye Pilgrim-like I cast, What fearful ways I spie Which, blinded, I securely pa.s.sed!

But now heaven hath drawn From my brows that night; As when the day doth dawn, So clears my long-imprisoned sight.

Straight the Caves of h.e.l.l Dressed with flowers I see, Wherein False Pleasures dwell, That, winning most, most deadly be.

Throngs of masked fiends, Winged like angels, fly; Even in the gates of friends, In fair disguise black dangers lie.

Straight to heaven I raised My restored sight, And with loud voice I praised The LORD of ever-during light.

And since I had strayed From His ways so wide, His grace I humbly prayed Henceforth to be my guard and guide.

From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.

THE COURTIER.

Long have I lived in Court, Yet learned not all this while To sell poor suiters smoke, Nor where I hate to smile; Superiors to adore, Inferiors to despise, To flie from such as fall, To follow such as rise:

To cloak a poor desire Under a rich array, Nor to aspire by Vice, Though 'twere the quicker way.

From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.

Love is a bable, No man is able To say 'tis this or 'tis that; So full of pa.s.sions Of sundry fas.h.i.+ons, 'Tis like I cannot tell what.

Love's fair in the cradle, Foul in the fable, 'Tis either too cold or too hot; An arrant liar, Fed by desire, It is and yet it is not.

Love is a fellow Clad oft in yellow,[10]

The canker-worm of the mind, A privy mischief, And such a sly thief No man knows which way to find.