Chapter I: Part 1

CENTRE
for
REFORMATION
and
RENAISSANCE
STUDIES

VICTORIA
UNIVERSITY

TORONTO

LYRICS
FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE
ELIZABETHAN AGE.

NOTE.--_Two hundred and fifty copies of this large paper edition printed, each of which is numbered._

_No. 221._

LYRICS
FROM THE SONG-BOOKS OF THE
ELIZABETHAN AGE:

Edited by
A.H. BULLEN.

LONDON:
JOHN C. NIMMO,
14, King William Street, Strand, W.C.
1887.

CHISWICK PRESS:--C. Whittingham and Co., Tooks Court, Chancery Lane.

PREFACE.

The present Anthology is intended to serve as a companion volume to the Poetical Miscellanies published in England at the close of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries. A few of the lyrics here collected are, it is true, included in "England's Helicon," Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," and "The Ph[oe]nix' Nest"; and some are to be found in the modern collections of Oliphant, Collier, Rimbault, Mr. W.J. Linton, Canon Hannah, and Professor Arber. But many of the poems in the present volume are, I have every reason to believe, unknown even to those who have made a special study of Elizabethan poetry. I have gone carefully through all the old song-books preserved in the library of the British Museum, and I have given extracts from two books of which there is no copy in our national library. A first attempt of this kind must necessarily be imperfect. Were I to go over the ground again I should enlarge the collection, and I should hope to gain tidings of some song-books (mentioned by bibliographers) which I have hitherto been unable to trace.

In Elizabeth's days composers were not content to regard the words of a song as a mere peg on which to hang the music, but sought the services of true-born lyrists. It is not too much to say that, for delicate perfection of form, some of the Elizabethan songs can compare with the choicest epigrams in the Greek Anthology. At least one composer, Thomas Campion, wrote both the words and the music of his songs; and there are no sweeter lyrics in English poetry than are to be found in Campion's song-books. But it may be assumed that, as a rule, the composers are responsible only for the music.

It was in the year of the Spanish Armada, 1588, that William Byrd published "Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety," the first Elizabethan song-book of importance. Few biographical particulars concerning Byrd have come down. As he was senior chorister of St. Paul's in 1554, he is conjectured to have been born about 1538. From 1563 to 1569 he was organist of Lincoln Cathedral. He and Tallis were granted a patent, which must have proved fairly lucrative, for the printing of music and the vending of music-paper. In later life he appears to have become a convert to Romanism. His last work was published in 1611, and he died at a ripe old age on the 24th of July, 1623. The "Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs" are dedicated to Sir Christopher Hatton. In the dedicatory epistle he terms the collection "this first printed work of mine _in English_;" in 1575 he had published with Tallis "Cantiones Sacrae." From the title one would gather that Byrd's first English collection was mainly of a sacred character, but in an epistle to the reader he hastens to set us right on that point:--"Benign reader, here is offered unto thy courteous acceptance music of sundry sorts, and to content divers humours. If thou be disposed to pray, here are psalms; if to be merry, here are sonnets." There is, indeed, fare for all comers; and a reader has only himself to blame if he goes away dissatisfied. In those days, as in these, it was not uncommon for a writer to attribute all faults, whether of omission or commission, to the luckless printer. Byrd, on the other hand, solemnly warns us that "in the expression of these songs either by voices or instruments, if there be any jar or dissonance," we are not to blame the printer, who has been at the greatest pains to secure accuracy. Then the composer makes a modest appeal on behalf of himself, requesting those who find any fault in the composition "either with courtesy to let the same be concealed," or "in friendly sort" point out the errors, which shall be corrected in a future impression. This is the proper manner of dealing between gentlemen. His next publication was "Songs of Sundry Natures," 1589, which was dedicated to Sir Henry Carey, who seems to have been as staunch a patron of Byrd as his son, Sir George Carey, was of Dowland. In 1611 appeared Byrd's last work, "Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets." The composer must have taken to heart the precepts set down by Sir Edward Dyer in "My mind to me a kingdom is," (printed in "Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs") for his dedicatory epistle and his address to the reader show him to have been a man who had laid up a large store of genial wisdom, upon which he could draw freely in the closing days of an honourable life. His earlier works had been well received, and in addressing "all true lovers of music" he knew that he could rely upon their cordial sympathy. "I am much encouraged," he writes, "to commend to you these my last labours, for mine _ultimum vale_;" and then follows a piece of friendly counsel: "Only this I desire, that you will be as careful to hear them well expressed, as I have been both in the composing and correcting of them. Otherwise the best song that ever was made will seem harsh and unpleasant; for that the well expressing of them either by voices or instruments is the life of our labours, which is seldom or never well performed at the first singing or playing."

No musician of the Elizabethan age was more famous than John Dowland, whose "heavenly touch upon the lute" was commended in a well-known sonnet (long attributed to Shakespeare) by Richard Barnfield. Dowland was born at Westminster in 1562. At the age of twenty, or thereabouts, he started on his travels; and, after rambling through "the chiefest parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety of music," he bent his course "towards the famous province of Germany," where he found "both excellent masters and most honourable patrons of music." In the course of his travels he visited Venice, Padua, Genoa, Ferrara, and Florence, gaining applause everywhere by his musical skill. On his return to England he took his degree at Oxford, as Bachelor of Music, in 1588. In 1597 he published "The First Book of Songs or Airs of four parts, with Tableture for the Lute." Prefixed is a dedicatory epistle to Sir George Carey (second Lord Hunsdon), in which the composer alludes gracefully to the kindness he had received from Lady Elizabeth Carey, the patroness of Spenser. A "Second Book of Songs or Airs" was published in 1600, when the composer was at the Danish Court, serving as lutenist to King Christian the Fourth. The work was dedicated to the famous Countess of Bedford, whom Ben Jonson immortalized in a noble sonnet. From a curious address to the reader by George Eastland, the publisher, it would appear that in spite of Dowland's high reputation the sale of his works was not very profitable. "If the consideration of mine own estate," writes Eastland, "or the true worth of money, had prevailed with me above the desire of pleasing you and showing my love to my friends, these second labours of Master Dowland--whose very name is a large preface of commendation to the book--had for ever lain hid in darkness, or at the least frozen in a cold and foreign country." The expenses of publication were heavy, but he consoled himself with the thought that his high-spirited enterprise would be appreciated by a select audience. In 1603 appeared "The Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs;" and, in 1612, when he was acting as lutenist to Lord Walden, Dowland issued his last work, "A Pilgrime's Solace." He is supposed to have died about 1615, leaving a son, Robert Dowland, who gained some fame as a composer. Modern critics have judged that Dowland's music was somewhat overrated by his contemporaries, and that he is wanting in variety and originality. Whether these critics are right or wrong, it would be difficult to overrate the poetry. In attempting to select representative lyrics one is embarrassed by the wealth of material. The rich clusters of golden verse hang so temptingly that it is difficult to cease plucking when once we have begun.

In his charming collection of "Rare Poems" Mr. Linton quotes freely from the song-books of Byrd and Dowland, but gives only one lyric of Dr. Thomas Campion. As Mr. Linton is an excellent judge of poetry, I can only suppose that he had no wide acquaintance with Campion's writings, when he put together his dainty Anthology. There is clear evidence[1] that Campion wrote not only the music but the words for his songs--that he was at once an eminent composer and a lyric poet of the first rank. He published a volume of Latin verse, which displays ease and fluency (though the prosody is occasionally erratic); as a masque-writer he was inferior only to Ben Jonson; he was the author of treatises on the arts of music and poetry; and he practised as a physician. It would be interesting to ascertain some facts about the life of this highly-gifted man; but hitherto little information has been collected. The Oxford historian, good old Anthony-a-Wood, went altogether wrong and confused our Thomas Campion with another person of the same name who took his degree in 1624--five years after the poet's death. It is probable that our Thomas Campion was the second son of Thomas Campion of Witham, Essex, and that he was distantly related to Edmund Campion the famous Jesuit. His first work was his "Epigrammatum Libri duo," published in 1595, and republished in 1619. The first edition is exceedingly rare; there is no copy in the British Museum. Francis Meres, in his very valuable (and very tedious) "Wit's Treasury," 1598, mentions Campion among the "English men, being Latin poets," who had "attained good report and honorable advancement in the Latin empire." In 1601 Campion and Philip Rosseter published jointly "A Book of Airs." The music was partly written by Campion and partly by Rosseter; but the whole of the poetry may be safely assigned to Campion. From a dedicatory epistle, by Rosseter, to Sir Thomas Monson, we learn that Campion's songs, "made at his vacant hours and privately imparted to his friends," had been passed from hand to hand and had suffered from the carelessness of successive transcribers. Some impudent persons, we are told, had "unrespectively challenged" (_i.e._ claimed) the credit both of the music and the poetry. The address _To the Reader_, which follows the dedicatory epistle, is unsigned, but appears to have been written by Campion. "What epigrams are in poetry," it begins, "the same are airs in music: then in their chief perfection when they are short and well seasoned. But to clog a light song with a long preludium is to corrupt the nature of it. Many rests in music were invented either for necessity of the fugue, or granted as an harmonical licence in songs of many parts; but in airs I find no use they have, unless it be to make a vulgar and trivial modulation seem to the ignorant strange, and to the judicial tedious." It is among the curiosities of literature that this true poet, who had so exquisite a sense of form, and whose lyrics are frequently triumphs of metrical skill, should have published a work (entitled "Observations in the Art of English Poesy") to prove that the use of rhyme ought to be discontinued, and that English metres should be fashioned after classical models. "Poesy," he writes, "in all kind of speaking is the chief beginner and maintainer of eloquence, not only helping the ear with the acquaintance of sweet numbers, but also raising the mind to a more high and lofty conceit. For this end have I studied to induce a true form of versifying into our language; for the vulgar and artificial custom of rhyming hath, I know, deterr'd many excellent wits from the exercise of English poesy." The work was published in 1602, the year after he had issued the first collection of his charming lyrics. It was in answer to Campion that Samuel Daniel wrote his "Defence of Rhyme" (1603), one of the ablest critical treatises in the English language. Daniel was puzzled, as well he might be, that an attack on rhyme should have been made by one "whose commendable rhymes, albeit now himself an enemy to rhyme, have given heretofore to the world the best notice of his worth." It is pleasant to find Daniel testifying to the fact that Campion was "a man of fair parts and good reputation." Ben Jonson, as we are informed by Drummond of Hawthornden, wrote "a Discourse of Poesy both against Campion and Daniel;" but the discourse was never published. In his "Observations" Campion gives us a few specimen-poems written in the unrhymed metres that he proposed to introduce. The following verses are the least objectionable that I can find:--

"Just beguiler,
Kindest love yet only chastest,
Royal in thy smooth denials,
Frowning or demurely smiling,
Still my pure delight.

Let me view thee
With thoughts and with eyes affected,
And if then the flames do murmur,
Quench them with thy virtue, charm them
With thy stormy brows.

Heaven so cheerful
Laughs not ever; hoary winter
Knows his season, even the freshest
Summer morns from angry thunder
Yet not still secure."

There is artful ease and the touch of a poet's hand in those verses; but the Muses shield us from such innovations! Campion's second collection, "Two Books of Airs," is undated; but, from an allusion to the death of Prince Henry, we may conclude that it was published about the year 1613. The first book consists of "Divine and Moral Songs" and the second of "light conceits of lovers." In dealing with sacred themes, particularly when they venture on paraphrases of the Psalms, our poets seldom do themselves justice; but I claim for Campion that he is neither stiff nor awkward. Henry Vaughan is the one English poet whose devotional fervour found the highest lyrical expression; and Campion's impassioned poem "Awake, awake, thou heavy sprite!" (p. 6) is not unworthy of the great Silurist. Among the sacred verses are some lines ("Jack and Joan they think no ill," p. 61) in praise of a contented countryman and his good wife. A sweeter example of an old pastoral lyric could nowhere be found, not even in the pages of Nicholas Breton. The "Third and Fourth Books of Airs" are also undated, but they were probably published in 1613. In this collection, where all is good, my favourite is "Now winter nights enlarge" (p. 90). Others may prefer the melodious serenade, worthy even of Shelley, "Shall I come, sweet love, to thee" (p. 100). But there is one poem of Campion (printed in the collection of 1601) which, for strange richness of romantic beauty, could hardly be matched outside the sonnets of Shakespeare:--

"When thou must home to shades of underground,
And there arrived, a new admired guest,
The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,
White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,
To hear the stories of thy finish'd love
From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move:

Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,
Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,
Of tourneys and great challenges of knights,
And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake:
When thou hast told these honours done to thee,
Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me!"

The mention of "White Iope" was suggested by a passage of Propertius:--

"Sunt apud infernos tot millia formosarum;
Pulchra sit, in superis, si licet, una locis.
Vobiscum[2] est _Iope_, vobiscum candida Tyro," &c.

Campion was steeped in classical feeling: his rendering of Catullus' "Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus" (p. 80) is, so far as it goes, delightful. It is time that Campion should again take his rightful place among the lyric poets of England. In his own day his fame stood high. Camden did not hesitate to couple his name with the names of Spenser and Sidney; but modern critics have persistently neglected him. The present anthology contains a large number of his best poems; and I venture to hope that my attempt to recall attention to the claims of this true poet will not be fruitless.

There is much excellent verse hidden away in the Song-books of Robert Jones, a famous performer on the lute. Between 1601 and 1611 Jones issued six musical works. Two of these--"The First Set of Madrigals," 1607, and "The Muses' Garden for Delight," 1611,--I have unfortunately not been able to see, as I have not yet succeeded in discovering their present resting-place. Of "Ultimum Vale, or the Third Book of Airs" [1608], only one copy is known. It formerly belonged to Rimbault, and is now preserved in the library of the Royal College of Music. The other publications of Jones are of the highest rarity. By turns the songs are grave and gay. On one page is the warning to Love--

"Little boy, pretty knave, hence, I beseech you!
For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you." (p. 72.)

On another we read "Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly," (p. 73); but the vain hopes, seeking to woo the sun's fair light, were scorched with fire and drown'd in woe,

"And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,
For Love did know that their desires were true;
Though Fate frowned.
And now drowned
They in sorrow dwell,
It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell."

The last line is superb.

I have drawn freely from the madrigals of Weelkes, Morley, Farmer, Wilbye and others. Thomas Ford's "Music of Sundry Kinds," 1607, has yielded some very choice verse; and Francis Pilkington's collections have not been consulted in vain. From John Attye's "First Book of Airs," 1622, I have selected one song, (p. 94), only one,--warm and tender and delicious. Some pleasant verses have been drawn from the rare song-books of William Corkine; and Thomas Vautor's "Songs of Divers Airs and Natures," 1619, have supplied some quaint snatches, notably the address to the owl, (p. 116) "Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight." I have purposely refrained from giving many humorous ditties. Had I been otherwise minded there was plenty of material to my hand in the rollicking rounds and catches of Ravenscroft's admirable collections.

As I have no technical knowledge of the subject, it would be impertinent for me to attempt to estimate the merits of the music contained in these old song-books; but I venture with all confidence to commend the poetry to the reader's attention. There is one poem which I have deliberately kept back. It occurs in "The First Part of Airs, French, Polish, and others together, some in tableture and some in prick-song," 1605. The composer was a certain Captain Tobias Hume, but who the author of the poem was I know not. Here is the first stanza:--

"Fain would I change that note
To which fond love hath charm'd me,
Long long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm'd me:
Yet when this thought doth come,
'Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight,'
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write."

The other stanza shall occupy the place of honour in the front of my Anthology; for among all the Elizabethan song-books I have found no lines of more faultless beauty, of happier cadence or sweeter simplicity, no lines that more justly deserve to be treasured in the memory while memory lasts.

[1] In his address _To The Reader_ prefixed to the "Fourth Book of Airs" he writes:--"Some words are in these books which have been clothed in music by others, and I am content they then served their turn: _yet give me leave to make use of mine own_." Again, in the address _To the Reader_ prefixed to the "Third Book of Airs:"--"In these English airs I have chiefly aimed to _couple my words and notes lovingly together; which will be much for him to do that hath not power over both_."

[2] Some editions read "Vobiscum Antiope."

_IN LAVDEM AMORIS._

O LOVE, THEY WRONG THEE MVCH
THAT SAY THY SWEET IS BITTER,
WHEN THY RICH FRVIT IS SVCH
AS NOTHING CAN BE SWEETER.
FAIR HOVSE OF JOY AND BLISS,
WHERE TRVEST PLEASVRE IS,
I DO ADORE THEE;
I KNOW THEE WHAT THOV ART,
I SERVE THEE WITH MY HEART,
AND FALL BEFORE THEE.

CAPTAIN HUME's _First Part of Airs_, 1605.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A little pretty bonny lass was walking (Farmer) A shepherd in a shade his plaining made (John Dowland) A sparrow-hawk proud did hold in wicked jail (Weelkes) A woman's looks (Jones) About the maypole new, with glee and merriment (Morley) Adieu! sweet Amaryllis (Wilbye) April is in my mistress' face (Morley) Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun (Jones) Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite (Campion) Awake, sweet Love! 'tis time to rise (Youll) Ay me, can every rumour (Wilbye) Ay me, my mistress scorns my love (Bateson)

Behold a wonder here (John Dowland) Brown is my Love, but graceful (Musica Transalpina) By a fountain where I lay (John Dowland) By the moon we sport and play (Ravenscroft)

Canst thou love and lie alone (Melismata) Change thy mind since she doth change (Robert Dowland) Cold Winter's ice is fled and gone (Weelkes) Come away! come, sweet Love! (John Dowland) Come, O come, my life's delight (Campion) Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers (Ford) Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing (Wilbye) Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton (Campion) Could my heart more tongues employ (Campion) Crowned with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis (Byrd)

Dare you haunt our hallow'd green (Ravenscroft) Dear, if I with guilt would gild a true intent (Campion) Dear, if you change I'll never choose again (John Dowland) Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing (Morley) Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares (Wilbye)

Each day of thine, sweet month of May (Youll) Every dame affects good fame, whate'er her doings be (Campion)

Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone (Farmer) Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies (Byrd) Farewell, my joy! (Weelkes) Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new (John Dowland) Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed (Campion) Flora gave me fairest flowers (Wilbye) Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet (Campion and Rosseter) Fond wanton youths make Love a God (Jones) From Citheron the warlike boy is fled (Byrd) From Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired (John Dowland)

Give Beauty all her right (Campion) Go, crystal tears! like to the morning showers (John Dowland) Go, turn away those cruel eyes (Egerton MS. 2013) Good men, show! if you can tell (Campion)

Ha! ha! ha! this world doth pass (Weelkes) Happy he (Jones) Happy, O! happy he, who not affecting (Wilbye) Have I found her? O rich finding (Pilkington) Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more (Mundy) How many things as yet (Maynard) How shall I then describe my Love (Ford)

I always loved to call my lady Rose (Lichfild) I have house and land in Kent (Melismata) I joy not in no earthly bliss (Byrd) I live and yet methinks I do not breathe (Wilbye) I marriage would forswear (Maynard) I only am the man (Maynard) I saw my Lady weep (John Dowland) I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy's pleasure (Wilbye) I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile (Gibbons) I will no more come to thee (Morley) If fathers knew but how to leave (Jones) If I urge my kind desires (Campion and Rosseter) If my complaints could passions move (John Dowland) If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 'tis to love (Campion) If women could be fair and never fond (Byrd) In crystal towers and turrets richly set (Byrd) In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be (Coprario) In midst of woods or pleasant grove (Mundy) In pride of May (Weelkes) In Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood (Jones) In the merry month of May (Este) Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave (Greaves) Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me (Lichfild) Is Love a boy,--what means he then to strike (Byrd) It was the frog in the well (Melismata)

Jack and Joan they think no ill (Campion)

Kind are her answers (Campion) Kind in unkindness, when will you relent (Campion and Rosseter)

Lady, the birds right fairly (Weelkes) Lady, the melting crystal of your eye (Greaves) Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting (Wilbye) Let not Chloris think, because (Danyel) Let not the sluggish sleep (Byrd) Let us in a lovers' round (Mason and Earsden) Like two proud armies marching in the field (Weelkes) Lo! country sport that seldom fades (Weelkes) Lo! when back mine eye (Campion) Long have I lived in Court (Maynard) Love is a bable (Jones) Love not me for comely grace (Wilbye) Love's god is a boy (Jones) Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly (Jones)

"Maids are simple," some men say (Campion) Maids to bed and cover coal (Melismata) More than most fair, full of all heavenly fire (Peerson) Mother, I will have a husband (Vautor) My hope a counsel with my heart (Este) My love bound me with a kiss (Jones) My love is neither young nor old (Jones) My mind to me a kingdom is (Byrd) My prime of youth is but a frost of cares (Mundy) My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love (Campion) My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love (John Dowland)

Never love unless you can (Campion) Now each creature joys the other (Farmer) Now every tree renews his summer's green (Weelkes) Now God be with old Simeon (Pammelia) Now have I learn'd with much ado at last (Jones) Now I see thy looks were feigned (Ford) Now is my Chloris fresh as May (Weelkes) Now is the month of maying (Morley) Now let her change! and spare not (Campion) Now let us make a merry greeting (Weelkes) Now what is love, I pray thee tell (Jones) Now winter nights enlarge (Campion)

O say, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries (Ward) O stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting (Farmer) O sweet, alas, what say you (Morley) O sweet delight, O more than human bliss (Campion) Oft have I mused the cause to find (Jones) On a time the amorous Silvy (Attye) Once did I love and yet I live (Jones) Once I thought to die for love (Youll) Our country swains in the morris dance (Weelkes)

Pierce did love fair Petronel (Farnaby) Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears (Pilkington)

Robin is a lovely lad (Mason and Earsden) Round-a, round-a, keep your ring (Ravenscroft)

See, see, mine own sweet jewel (Morley) Shall a frown or angry eye (Corkine) Shall I abide this jesting (Alison) Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee (Campion) Shall I look to ease my grief (Jones) She whose matchless beauty staineth (Jones) Shoot, false Love! I care not (Morley) Silly boy! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly (Campion) Simkin said that Sis was fair (Farnaby) Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye (Ford) Sing we and chant it (Morley) Sister, awake! close not your eyes (Bateson) Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me (Campion) So light is love, in matchless beauty shining (Wilbye) Some can flatter, some can feign (Corkine) Sweet, come again (Campion and Rosseter) Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire (Corkine) Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep (Weelkes) Sweet Kate (Jones) Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory (Wilbye) Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee (Weelkes) Sweet Love, my only treasure (Jones) Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise (John Dowland) Sweet Suffolk owl so trimly dight (Vautor)

Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever (Weelkes) Take time while time doth last (Farmer) The fly she sat in shamble-row (Deuteromelia) The Gods have heard my vows (Weelkes) The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best (Pammelia) The love of change hath changed the world throughout (Carlton) The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall (John Dowland) The man of life upright (Campion and Rosseter) The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure (Byrd) The match that's made for just and true respects (Byrd) The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay (Byrd) The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth (Bateson) The peaceful western wind (Campion) There is a garden in her face (Campion) There is a lady sweet and kind (Ford) There were three Ravens sat on a tree (Melismata) Think'st thou, Kate, to put me down (Jones) Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning (Campion) Thou art but young, thou say'st (Wilbye) Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white (Campion and Rosseter) Thou pretty bird, how do I see (Danyel) Though Amaryllis dance in green (Byrd) Though my carriage be but careless (Weelkes) Though your strangeness frets my heart (Jones) Thrice blessed be the giver (Farnaby) Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air (Campion) Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so (Campion) Thus saith my Chloris bright (Wilbye) Thus saith my Galatea (Morley) To his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres (Campion) To plead my faith, where faith hath no reward (Robert Dowland) To shorten winter's sadness (Weelkes) Toss not my soul, O Love, 'twixt hope and fear (John Dowland) Turn all thy thoughts to eyes (Campion)

Unto the temple of thy beauty (Ford) Upon a hill the bonny boy (Weelkes) Upon a summer's day Love went to swim (Byrd)

Vain men! whose follies make a god of love (Campion)

Wake, sleepy Thyrsis, wake (Pilkington) We be soldiers three (Deuteromelia) We be three poor mariners (Deuteromelia) We must not part as others do (Egerton MS. 2013) We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play (Weelkes) Wedded to will is witless (Byrd) Weep no more, thou sorry boy (Tomkins) Weep you no more, sad fountains (John Dowland) Welcome, sweet pleasure (Weelkes) Were I a king I might command content (Mundy) Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me (Campion) What hap had I to marry a shrow (Pammelia) What is our life? a play of passion (Gibbons) What needeth all this travail and turmoiling (Wilbye) What pleasure have great Princes (Byrd) What poor astronomers are they (John Dowland) What then is love, sings Corydon (Ford) When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth (Carlton) When I was otherwise than now I am (Byrd) When thou must home to shades of underground (Campion and Rosseter) When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight (Byrd) Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking (Wilbye) Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought (Peerson) Whether men do laugh or weep (Campion and Rosseter) While that the sun with his beams hot (Byrd) Whilst youthful sports are lasting (Weelkes) White as lilies was her face (John Dowland) Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers (Pilkington) Who likes to love, let him take heed (Byrd) Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough (Byrd) Who prostrate lies at women's feet (Bateson) Who would have thought that face of thine (Farmer) Why are you Ladies staying (Weelkes) Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me (John Dowland) Wise men patience never want (Campion) Woeful heart with grief oppressed (John Dowland)

Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes (Greaves) You blessed bowers whose green leaves now are spreading (Farmer) You that wont to my pipe's sound (Morley) Your shining eyes and golden hair (Bateson)

LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN
SONG-BOOKS.

_Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine._
CAMPION.

LYRICS FROM ELIZABETHAN SONG-BOOKS.

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.

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 Essex.)

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!
O come, and take from me
The pain of being deprived of thee!

Thou all sweetness dost enclose,
Like a little world of bliss;
Beauty guards thy looks, the rose
In them pure and eternal is:
Come, then, and make thy flight
As swift to me as heavenly light!

From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.

Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers:
Here shelter is from sharpest showers,
Cool gales of wind breathe in these shades,
Danger none this place invades;
Here sit and note the chirping birds
Pleading my love in silent words.

Come, Phyllis, come, bright heaven's eye
Cannot upon thy beauty pry;
Glad Echo in distinguished voice
Naming thee will here rejoice;
Then come and hear her merry lays
Crowning thy name with lasting praise.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.

Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing,
Now sigh and groan!
Dead is my Love, my Hope, my Joy, my Spring;
Dead, dead, and gone!
O, She that was your Summer's Queen,
Your days' delight,
Is gone and will no more be seen;
O, cruel spite!
Break all your pipes that wont to sound
With pleasant cheer,
And cast yourselves upon the ground
To wail my Dear!
Come, shepherd swains, come, nymphs, and all a-row
To help me cry:
Dead is my Love, and, seeing She is so,
Lo, now I die!

From _Two Books of Airs_, by THOMAS CAMPION (circ. 1613).

Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton,
Leave your crafty smiling!
Think you to escape me now
With slipp'ry words beguiling?
No; you mocked me th' other day;
When you got loose, you fled away;
But, since I have caught you now,
I'll clip your wings for flying:
Smoth'ring kisses fast I'll heap
And keep you so from crying.

Sooner may you count the stars
And number hail down-pouring,
Tell the osiers of the Thames,
Or Goodwin sands devouring,
Than the thick-showered kisses here
Which now thy tired lips must bear.
Such a harvest never was
So rich and full of pleasure,
But 'tis spent as soon as reaped,
So trustless is lore's treasure.

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

Could my heart more tongues employ
Than it harbours thoughts of grief,
It is now so far from joy
That it scarce could ask relief:
Truest hearts by deeds unkind
To despair are most inclined.

Happy minds that can redeem
Their engagements how they please,
That no joys or hopes esteem
Half so precious as their ease:
Wisdom should prepare men so,
As if they did all foreknow.

Yet no art or caution can
Grown affections easily change;
Use is such a lord of man
That he brooks worst what is strange:
Better never to be blest
Than to lose all at the best.

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

Crowned with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis
By Thyrsis sit, hard by a fount of crystal,
And with her hand more white than snow or lilies,
On sand she wrote _My faith shall be immortal_:
And suddenly a storm of wind and weather
Blew all her faith and sand away together.

From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse_, 1614.

THE FAIRIES' DANCE.

Dare you haunt our hallow'd green?
None but fairies here are seen.
Down and sleep,
Wake and weep,
Pinch him black, and pinch him blue,
That seeks to steal a lover true!
When you come to hear us sing,
Or to tread our fairy ring,
Pinch him black, and pinch him blue!
O thus our nails shall handle you!

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

Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent,
Heaping flatt'ries that in heart were never meant,
Easily could I then obtain
What now in vain I force;
Falsehood much doth gain,
Truth yet holds the better course.

Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive,
Or, in praising you, myself of truth deprive!
Let not your high thoughts debase
A simple truth in me;
Great is Beauty's grace,
Truth is yet as fair as she.

Praise is but the wind of pride if it exceeds,
Wealth prized in itself no outward value needs:
Fair you are, and passing fair;
You know it, and 'tis true;
Yet let none despair
But to find as fair as you.

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

Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again;
Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love;
Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain;
Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove.
Dear, sweet, fair, wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak;
And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.

Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move;
Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born;
Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
Ere I prove false to faith or strange to you.

From THOMAS MORLEY's _Canzonets_, 1593.

Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing?
Because with me once gazing
On those fair eyes where all powers have their being,
She with her beauty blazing,
Which death might have revived,
Him of his sight and me of heart deprived.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.

Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares
That do arise from painful melancholy;
My life so ill through want of comfort fares,
That unto thee I consecrate it wholly.

Sweet Night, draw on; my griefs, when they be told
To shades and darkness, find some ease from paining;
And while thou all in silence dost enfold,
I then shall have best time for my complaining.

From HENRY YOULL's _Canzonets to three Voices_, 1608.

Each day of thine, sweet month of May,
Love makes a solemn holyday:
I will perform like duty,
Since thou resemblest every way
Astraea, Queen of Beauty.

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

Every dame affects good fame, whate'er her doings be,
But true praise is Virtue's bays, which none may wear but she.
Borrowed guise fits not the wise, a simple look is best;
Native grace becomes a face though ne'er so rudely drest.
Now such new-found toys are sold these women to disguise,
That before the year grows old the newest fashion dies.

Dames of yore contended more in goodness to exceed,
Than in pride to be envied for that which least they need.
Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn, if Pawn at all there were;
Homespun thread and household bread then held out all the year.
But th' attires of women now wear out both house and land;
That the wives in silk may flow, at ebb the good men stand.

Once again, Astraea! then from heaven to earth descend,
And vouchsafe in their behalf these errors to amend.
Aid from heaven must make all even, things are so out of frame;
For let man strive all he can, he needs must please his dame.
Happy man, content that gives and what he gives enjoys!
Happy dame, content that lives and breaks no sleep for toys!

From FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.

Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone,
Feeding her flock near to the mountain-side;
The shepherds knew not whither she was gone,
But after her lover Amyntas hied.
Up and down he wandered, whilst she was missing;
When he found her, oh then they fell a-kissing!

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.

Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies,
A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
An envious boy from whom all cares arise,
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possest;
A way of error, a temple full of treason,
In all effects contrary unto reason.

A poison'd serpent cover'd all with flowers,
Mother of sighs and murderer of repose;
A sea of sorrows from whence are drawn such showers
As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
A gilded hook that holds a poison'd bait.

A fortress foiled which Reason did defend,
A Siren song, a fever of the mind,
A maze wherein affection finds no end,
A raging cloud that runs before the wind;
A substance like the shadow of the sun,
A goal of grief for which the wisest run.

A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,
A path that leads to peril and mishap,
A true retreat of sorrow and despair,
An idle boy that sleeps in Pleasure's lap;
A deep distrust of that which certain seems,
A hope of that which Reason doubtful deems.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.

Farewell, my joy!
Adieu, my love and pleasure!
To sport and toy
We have no longer leisure.
Fa la la!

Farewell, adieu
Until our next consorting!
Sweet love, be true!
And thus we end our sporting.
Fa la la!

From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.

Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new,
Good pennyworths,--but money cannot move:
I keep a fair but for the Fair to view,--
A beggar may be liberal of love.
Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,
The heart is true.

Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again,
My trifles come as treasures from my mind;
It is a precious jewel to be plain;
Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearls we find:
Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain!
Of me a grain!