Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age Part 2

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 s.h.i.+ning done!) When I might see alone My true Love, fairest one!

Love's dear light!

Love's clear sight!

No world's eyes can clearer see!

A fairer sight, none can be!

Fair with garlands all addrest, (Was never Nymph more fairly blest!) Blessed in the highest degree, (So may she ever blessed be!) Came to this fountain near, With such a smiling cheer!

Such a face, Such a grace!

Happy, happy eyes, that see Such a heavenly sight as She!

Then I forthwith took my pipe, Which I all fair and clean did wipe, And upon a heavenly ground, All in the grace of beauty found, Play'd this roundelay: "Welcome, fair Queen of May!

Sing, sweet air!

Welcome, Fair!

Welcome be the Shepherds' Queen, The glory of all our green!"

From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse, &c._, 1614.

THE URCHINS' DANCE.

By the moon we sport and play, With the night begins our day: As we frisk the dew doth fall; Trip it, little urchins all!

Lightly as the little bee, Two by two, and three by three; And about, about go we.

THE ELVES' DANCE.

Round about in a fair ring-a, Thus we dance and thus we sing-a; Trip and go, to and fro, Over this green-a; All about, in and out, Over this green-a.

From _Melismata_, 1611.

THE COURTIER'S GOOD MORROW TO HIS MISTRESS.

Canst thou love and lie alone?

Love is so disgraced, Pleasure is best Wherein is rest In a heart embraced.

Rise, rise, rise!

Daylight do not burn out; Bells do ring and birds do sing, Only I that mourn out.

Morning-star doth now appear, Wind is hushed and sky is clear; Come, come away, come, come away!

Canst thou love and burn out day?

Rise, rise, rise!

Daylight do not burn out; Bells do ring [and] birds do sing, Only I that mourn out.

From ROBERT DOWLAND's _Musical Banquet_, 1610. (Lines by the Earl of Ess.e.x.)

Change thy mind since she doth change, Let not fancy still abuse thee, Thy untruth cannot seem strange When her falsehood doth excuse thee: Love is dead and thou art free, She doth live but dead to thee.

Whilst she loved thee best a while, See how she hath still delayed thee: Using shows for to beguile, Those vain hopes that have deceived thee: Now thou seest, although too late, Love loves truth which women hate.

Love no more since she is gone, She is gone and loves another: Being once deceived by one, Leave her love but love none other.

She was false, bid her adieu, She was best but yet untrue.

Love, farewell, more dear to me Than my life, which thou preservest.

Life, all joys are gone from thee; Others have what thou deservest.

Oh my death doth spring from hence, I must die for her offence.

Die, but yet before thou die, Make her know what she hath gotten, She in whom my hopes did lie Now is changed, I quite forgotten.

She is changed, but changed base, Baser in so vild a place.

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

Cold Winter's ice is fled and gone, And Summer brags on every tree, The red-breast peeps amidst the throng Of wood-born birds that wanton be: Each one forgets what they have been, And so doth Phyllis, Summer's queen.

From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.

Come away! come, sweet Love!

The golden morning breaks; All the earth, all the air, Of love and pleasure speaks!

Teach thine arms then to embrace, And sweet rosy lips to kiss, And mix our souls in mutual bliss.

Eyes were made for beauty's grace Viewing, ruing, love's long pain; Procured by beauty's rude disdain.

Come away![3] come, sweet Love!

The golden morning wastes While the sun from his sphere His fiery arrows casts: Making all the shadows fly, Playing, staying in the grove To entertain the stealth of love.

Thither, sweet Love, let us hie, Flying, dying in desire, Wing'd with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.

Come away! come, sweet Love!

Do not in vain adorn Beauty's grace, that should rise Like to our naked morn!

Lilies on the river's side, And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown, Desire no beauties but their own: Ornament is nurse of pride.

Pleasure measure[s] love's delight: Haste then, sweet love, our wished flight!

[3] This stanza is not in the original, but is added in _England's Helicon_.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

Come, O come, my life's delight!

Let me not in languor pine!

Love loves no delay; thy sight The more enjoyed, the more divine!