Chapter IV: Part 4

And he that will not pledge me this,
_Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
Pays for the shot whatever it is,
With never a penny of money.

Charge it again, boy, charge it again,
_Pardona moy je vous an pree_,
As long as there is any ink in thy pen,
With never a penny of money.

From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.

We be three poor mariners,
Newly come from the seas;
We spend our lives in jeopardy
While others live at ease.
Shall we go dance the round, the round,
Shall we go dance the round?
And he that is a bully boy
Come pledge me on this ground!

We care not for those martial men
That do our states disdain;
But we care for the merchant men
Who do our states maintain:
To them we dance this round, around,
To them we dance this round;
And he that is a bully boy
Come pledge me on this ground!

From _Egerton MS., 2013_.

We must not part as others do,
With sighs and tears, as we were two:
Though with these outward forms we part,
We keep each other in our heart.
What search hath found a being, where
I am not, if that thou be there?

True love hath wings, and can as soon
Survey the world as sun and moon,
And everywhere our triumphs keep
O'er absence which makes others weep:
By which alone a power is given
To live on earth, as they in heaven.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices_, 1598.

We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play,
With pretty sport we pass the day:
Fa la!
We care for no gold,
But with our fold
We dance
And prance
As pleasure would.
Fa la!

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

Wedded to will is witless,
And seldom he is skilful
That bears the name of wise and yet is wilful.
To govern he is fitless
That deals not by election,
But by his fond affection.
O that it might be treason
For men to rule by will and not by reason.

From THOMAS TOMKINS' _Songs of Three, Four, Five, and Six Parts_, 1622.

Weep no more, thou sorry boy;
Love's pleased and anger'd with a toy.
Love a thousand passion brings,
Laughs and weeps, and sighs and sings.
If _she_ smiles, he dancing goes,
And thinks not on his future woes:
If _she_ chide with angry eye,
Sits down, and sighs "Ah me, I die!"
Yet again, as soon revived,
Joys as much as late he grieved.
Change there is of joy and sadness,
Sorrow much, but more of gladness.
Then weep no more, thou sorry boy,
Turn thy tears to weeping joy.
Sigh no more "Ah me! I die!"
But dance, and sing, and ti-hy cry.

From JOHN ROWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven's sun doth gently waste!
But my sun's heavenly eyes,
View not your weeping,
That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that peace begets;
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at ev'n he sets?
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes!
Melt not in weeping,
While she lies sleeping,
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals to Five Voices_, 1598.

Welcome, sweet pleasure,
My wealth and treasure;
To haste our playing
There's no delaying,
No no!
This mirth delights me
When sorrow frights me.
Then sing we all
Fa la la la la!

Sorrow, content thee,
Mirth must prevent thee:
Though much thou grievest
Thou none relievest.
No no!
Joy, come delight me,
Though sorrow spite me.
Then sing we all
Fa la la la la!

Grief is disdainful,
Sottish and painful:
Then wait on pleasure,
And lose no leisure.
No no!
Heart's ease it lendeth
And comfort sendeth.
Then sing we all
Fa la la la la!

From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594.

Were I a king, I might command content;
Were I obscure, unknown should be my cares:
And were I dead, no thoughts should me torment,
Nor words, nor wrongs, nor loves, nor hopes, nor fears.
A doubtful choice, of three things one to crave;
A kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave.

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

Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me,
But thy faults I curious find and speak because I love thee;
Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me.

Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting,
Than th' obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting;
Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting.

While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of reason,
Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season;
Hidden mischief to conceal in state and love is treason.

From _Pammelia_, 1609.

What hap had I to marry a shrow!
For she hath given me many a blow,
And how to please her alack I do not know.

From morn to even her tongue ne'er lies,
Sometimes she brawls, sometimes she cries,
Yet I can scarce keep her talents[23] from mine eyes.

If I go abroad and late come in,--
"Sir knave," saith she, "Where have you been?"
And do I well or ill she claps me on the skin.

[23] Old form of "talons."

From ORLANDO GIBBONS' _First Set Of Madrigals_, 1612. (Ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh.)

What is our life? a play of passion:
Our mirth? the music of division.
Our mothers' wombs the tyring-houses be
Where we are drest for this short comedy:
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is
That sits and marks whoe'er doth act amiss:
Our graves, that hide us from the searching sun,
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:
Thus march we playing to our latest rest,
Only we die in earnest,--that's no jest.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.

What needeth all this travail and turmoiling,
Short'ning the life's sweet pleasure
To seek this far-fetched treasure
In those hot climates under Ph[oe]bus broiling?

O fools, can you not see a traffic nearer
In my sweet lady's face, where Nature showeth
Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth?
Rubies and diamonds dainty
And orient pearls such plenty,
Coral and ambergreece sweeter and dearer
Than which the South Seas or Moluccas lend us,
Or either Indies, East or West, do send us!

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

What pleasure have great princes
More dainty to their choice
Than herdsmen wild, who careless
In quiet life rejoice,
And fortune's fate not fearing
Sing sweet in summer morning?

Their dealings plain and rightful,
Are void of all deceit;
They never know how spiteful,
It is to kneel and wait
On favourite presumptuous
Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.

All day their flocks each tendeth;
At night, they take their rest;
More quiet than who sendeth
His ship into the East,
Where gold and pearl are plenty;
But getting, very dainty.

For lawyers and their pleading,
They 'steem it not a straw;
They think that honest meaning
Is of itself a law:
Whence conscience judgeth plainly,
They spend no money vainly.

O happy who thus liveth!
Not caring much for gold;
With clothing which sufficeth
To keep him from the cold.
Though poor and plain his diet
Yet merry it is, and quiet.

From JOHN DOWLAND's _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.

What poor astronomers are they,
Take women's eyes for stars!
And set their thoughts in battle 'ray,
To fight such idle wars;
When in the end they shall approve
'Tis but a jest drawn out of Love.

And Love itself is but a jest
Devised by idle heads,
To catch young Fancies in the nest,
And lay them in fool's beds;
That being hatched in beauty's eyes
They may be fledged ere they be wise.

But yet it is a sport to see,
How Wit will run on wheels!
While Wit cannot persuaded be,
With that which Reason feels,
That women's eyes and stars are odd
And Love is but a feigned god!

But such as will run mad with Will,
I cannot clear their sight
But leave them to their study still,
To look where is no light!
Till time too late, we make them try,
They study false Astronomy!

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

What then is love, sings Corydon,
Since Phyllida is grown so coy?
A flattering glass to gaze upon,
A busy jest, a serious toy,
A flower still budding, never blown,
A scanty dearth in fullest store
Yielding least fruit where most is sown.
My daily note shall be therefore--
Heigh ho, chil love no more.

'Tis like a morning dewy rose
Spread fairly to the sun's arise,
But when his beams he doth disclose
That which then flourish'd quickly dies;
It is a seld-fed dying hope,
A promised bliss, a salveless sore,
An aimless mark, and erring scope.
My daily note shall be therefore,--
Heigh ho, chil love no more.

'Tis like a lamp shining to all,
Whilst in itself it doth decay;
It seems to free whom it doth thrall,
And lead our pathless thoughts astray.
It is the spring of wintered hearts
Parched by the summer's heat before
Faint hope to kindly warmth converts.
My daily note shall be therefore--
Heigh ho, chil love no more.

From RICHARD CARLTON's _Madrigals_, 1601.

When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth
Of summer sweet with herbs and flowers adorned,
The nightingale upon the hawthorn singeth
And Boreas' blasts the birds and beasts have scorned;
When fresh Aurora with her colours painted,
Mingled with spears of gold, the sun appearing,
Delights the hearts that are with love acquainted,
And maying maids have then their time of cheering;
All creatures then with summer are delighted,
The beasts, the birds, the fish with scale of silver;
Then stately dames by lovers are invited
To walk in meads or row upon the river.
I all alone am from these joys exiled,
No summer grows where love yet never smiled.

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.

When I was otherwise than now I am,
I loved more but skilled not so much
Fair words and smiles could have contented then,
My simple age and ignorance was such:
But at the length experience made me wonder
That hearts and tongues did lodge so far asunder.

As watermen which on the Thames do row,
Look to the east but west keeps on the way;
My sovereign sweet her count'nance settled so,
To feed my hope while she her snares might lay:
And when she saw that I was in her danger,
Good God, how soon she proved then a ranger!

I could not choose but laugh, although too late,
To see great craft decypher'd in a toy;
I love her still, but such conditions hate
Which so profanes my paradise of joy.
Love whets the wits, whose pain is but a pleasure;
A toy, by fits to play withal at leisure.

From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.

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 finished 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.

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.

{deinos Eros, deinos; ti de to pleon, en palin eipo,
kai palin, oimozon pollaki, deinos Eros?}
MELEAG.

When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight,
And see him naked, blindfold, and a boy,
Though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might,
Yet ween they he can work them none annoy;
And therefore with his purple wings they play,
For glorious seemeth love though light as feather,
And when they have done they ween to scape away,
For blind men, say they, shoot they know not whither.
But when by proof they find that he did see,
And that his wound did rather dim their sight,
They wonder more how such a lad as he
Should be of such surpassing power and might.
But ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting:
Then shield me, heavens, from such a subtle thing!

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

Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking;
Where least I come there most my heart abideth;
Where most I love I never show my liking;
From what my mind doth hold my body slideth;
I show least care where most my care dependeth;
A coy regard where most my soul attendeth.

Despiteful thus unto myself I languish,
And in disdain myself from joy I banish.
These secret thoughts enwrap me so in anguish
That life, I hope, will soon from body vanish,
And to some rest will quickly be conveyed
That on no joy, while so I lived, hath stayed.

From MARTIN PEARSON's _Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music_, 1630.

A MOURNING-SONG FOR THE DEATH OF SIR FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE.

Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought
For this sad ruin which the Fates have wrought,
Unless the Fates themselves should weep and wish
Their curbless power had been controlled in this?
For thy loss, worthiest Lord, no mourning eye
Has flood enough; no muse nor elegy
Enough expression to thy worth can lend;
No, though thy Sidney had survived his friend.
Dead, noble Brooke shall be to us a name
Of grief and honour still, whose deathless fame
Such Virtue purchased as makes us to be
Unjust to Nature in lamenting thee;
Wailing an old man's fate as if in pride
And heat of Youth he had untimely died.

From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.

{skene pas ho bios, kai paignion.}
PALLAD.

Whether men do laugh or weep,
Whether they do wake or sleep,
Whether they die young or old,
Whether they feel heat or cold;
There is underneath the sun
Nothing in true earnest done.

All our pride is but a jest,
None are worst and none are best;
Grief and joy and hope and fear
Play their pageants everywhere:
Vain Opinion all doth sway,
And the world is but a play.

Powers above in clouds do sit,
Mocking our poor apish wit,
That so lamely with such state
Their high glory imitate.
No ill can be felt but pain,
And that happy men disdain.

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.

While that the sun with his beams hot
Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain,
Philon, the shepherd, late forgot
Sitting beside a chrystal fountain
In shadow of a green oak-tree,
Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

So long as I was in your sight,
I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd,
Burning in flames beyond all measure.
Three days endured your love for me,
And it was lost in other three.
Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Another shepherd you did see,
To whom your heart was soon enchained;
Full soon your love was leapt from me,
Full soon my place he had obtained:
Soon came a third your love to win;
And we were out, and he was in.
Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new Love.

Sure, you have made me passing glad
That you your mind so soon removed,
Before that I the leisure had
To choose you for my best beloved:
For all my love was past and done
Two days, before it was begun.
Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.

Whilst youthful sports are lasting,
To feasting turn our fasting.
Fa la la!

With revels and with wassails
Make grief and care our vassals.
Fa la la!

For youth it well beseemeth
That pleasure he esteemeth.
Fa la la!

And sullen age is hated
That mirth would have abated.
Fa la la!

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

White as lilies was her face:
When she smiled
She beguiled,
Quitting faith with foul disgrace.
Virtue's service thus neglected.
Heart with sorrows hath infected.

When I swore my heart her own,
She disdained;
I complained,
Yet she left me overthrown:
Careless of my bitter grieving,
Ruthless, bent to no relieving.

Vows and oaths and faith assured,
Constant ever,
Changing never,--
Yet she could not be procured
To believe my pains exceeding
From her scant respect proceeding.

O that love should have the art,
By surmises,
And disguises,
To destroy a faithful heart;
Or that wanton-looking women
Should reward their friends as foemen.

All in vain is ladies' love--
Quickly choosed.
Shortly loosed;
For their pride is to remove.
Out, alas! their looks first won us,
And their pride hath straight undone us.

To thyself, the sweetest Fair!
Thou hast wounded,
And confounded
Changeless faith with foul despair;
And my service hast envied
And my succours hast denied.

By thine error thou hast lost
Heart unfeigned,
Truth unstained.
And the swain that loved most,
More assured in love than many,
Move despised in love than any.

For my heart, though set at nought,
Since you will it,
Spoil and kill it!
I will never change my thought:
But grieve that beauty e'er was born
Thus to answer love with scorn.

From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1605.

Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers
Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay:
The climbing wood-bine, clipping all these bowers,
Clips thee likewise for fear thou pass away;
Fortune our friend, our foe will not gainsay.
Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.

Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet;
Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings!
Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet
Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs,
And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings.
Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.

See how the helitrope, herb of the sun,
Though he himself long since be gone to bed,
Is not of force thine eye's bright beams to shun,
But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread,
And on my knee invites thee rest thy head.
Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is;
She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.

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

Who likes to love, let him take heed!
And wot you why?
Among the gods it is decreed
That Love shall die;
And every wight that takes his part
Shall forfeit each a mourning heart.

The cause is this, as I have heard:
A sort of dames,
Whose beauty he did not regard
Nor secret flames,
Complained before the gods above
That gold corrupts the god of love.

The gods did storm to hear this news,
And there they swore,
That sith he did such dames abuse
He should no more
Be god of love, but that he should
Both die and forfeit all his gold.

His bow and shafts they took away
Before his eyes,
And gave these dames a longer day
For to devise
Who should them keep, and they be bound
That love for gold should not be found.

These ladies striving long, at last
They did agree
To give them to a maiden chaste,
Whom I did see,
Who with the same did pierce my breast:
Her beauty's rare, and so I rest.

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.

1. Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough
And fall in love?
2. Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow
The gods above.
1. What dost thou serve? 2. A shepherdess;
One such as hath no peer, I guess.
1. What is her name who bears thy heart
Within her breast?
2. Silvana fair, of high desert,
Whom I love best.
1. O, Hob, I fear she looks too high.
2. Yet love I must, or else I die.

From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.

Who prostrate lies at women's feet.
And calls them darlings dear and sweet;
Protesting love, and craving grace,
And praising oft a foolish face;
Are oftentimes deceived at last,
Then catch at nought and hold it fast.

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

Who would have thought that face of thine
Had been so full of doubleness,
Or that within those crystal eyn
Had been so much unstableness?
Thy face so fair, thy look so strange!
Who would have thought of such a change?

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

Why are you Ladies staying,
And your Lords gone a-maying?
Run apace and meet them
And with your garlands greet them.
'Twere pity they should miss you,
For they will sweetly kiss you.

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

Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me
Of my heart and so leave me?
Farewell!
But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel,
Kiss me, Sweet, my Jewel!
Farewell!

Hope by disdain grows cheerless,
Fear doth love, love doth fear;
Beauty peerless,
Farewell!

If no delays can move thee,
Life shall die, death shall live
Still to love thee.
Farewell!

Yet be thou mindful ever!
Heat from fire, fire from heat,
None can sever.
Farewell!

True love cannot be changed,
Though delight from desert
Be estranged.
Farewell!

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

Wise men patience never want,
Good men pity cannot hide;
Feeble spirits only vaunt
Of revenge, the poorest pride:
He alone forgive that can
Bears the true soul of a man.

Some there are debate that seek,
Making trouble their content;
Happy if they wrong the meek,
Vex them that to peace are bent:
Such undo the common tie
Of mankind, Society.

Kindness grown is lately cold,
Conscience hath forgot her part;
Blessed times were known of old
Long ere Law became an art:
Shame deterred, not statutes then;
Honest love was law to men.

Deeds from love, and words, that flow,
Foster like kind April showers;
In the warm sun all things grow,
Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowers:
All so thrives his gentle rays
Whereon human love displays.

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

Woeful Heart, with grief oppressed!
Since my fortunes most distressed
From my joys hath me removed,
Follow those sweet eyes adored!
Those sweet eyes wherein are stored
All my pleasures best beloved.

Fly my breast--leave me forsaken--
Wherein Grief his seat hath taken,
All his arrows through me darting!
Thou mayst live by her sunshining:
I shall suffer no more pining
By thy loss than by her parting.

From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.

Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes
To lovers' plaints with heart-sore throbs immixed,
When as my dear this way her pleasure takes,
Tell her with tears how firm my love is fixed;
And, Philomel, report my timerous fears,
And, echo, sound my heigh-ho's in her ears:
But if she asks if I for love will die,
Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith,--not I.

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

You blessed bowers whose green leaves now are spreading,
Shadow the sunshine from my mistress' face,
And you, sweet roses, only for her bedding
When weary she doth take her resting-place;
You fair white lilies and pretty flowers all,
Give your attendance at my mistress' call.

From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets_, 1595.

You that wont to my pipe's sound
Daintily to tread your ground,
Jolly shepherds and nymphs sweet,
(Lirum, lirum.)

Here met together
Under the weather,
Hand in hand uniting,
The lovely god come greet.
(Lirum, lirum)

Lo, triumphing, brave comes he,
All in pomp and majesty,
Monarch of the world and king.
(Lirum, lirum.)

Let whoso list him
Dare to resist him,
We our voices uniting,
Of his high acts will sing.
(Lirum, lirum.)

From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.

Your shining eyes and golden hair,
Your lily-rosed lips so fair;
Your various beauties which excel,
Men cannot choose but like them well:
Yet when for them they say they'll die,
Believe them not,--they do but lie.

NOTES.

_Page_ 3.

Thomas Weelkes was organist of Winchester College in 1600, and of Chichester Cathedral in 1608. His first collection, "Madrigals to three, four, five, or six voices," was published in 1597. Here first appeared the verses (fraudulently ascribed, in "The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599, to Shakespeare), "My flocks feed not." In 1598 Weelkes published "Ballets and Madrigals to five voices," which was followed in 1600 by "Madrigals of five and six parts." Prefixed to the last-named work is the following dedicatory epistle:--

"To the truly noble, virtuous, and honorable, my very good Lord Henry, Lord Winsor, Baron of Bradenham.

My Lord, in the College at Winchester, where I live, I have heard learned men say that some philosophers have mistaken the soul of man for an harmony: let the precedent of their error be a privilege for mine. I see not, if souls do not partly consist of music, how it should come to pass that so noble a spirit as your's, so perfectly tuned to so perpetual a _tenor_ of excellence as it is, should descend to the notice of a quality lying single in so low a personage as myself. But in music the _base_ part is no disgrace to the best ears' attendancy. I confess my conscience is untoucht with any other arts, and I hope my confession is unsuspected; many of us musicians think it as much praise to be somewhat more than musicians as it is for gold to be somewhat more than gold, and if _Jack Cade_ were alive, yet some of us might live, unless we should think, as the artisans in the Universities of Poland and Germany think, that the Latin tongue comes by reflection. I hope your Lordship will pardon this presumption of mine; the rather, because I know before Nobility I am to deal sincerely; and this small faculty of mine, because it is alone in me, and without the assistance of other more confident sciences, is the more to be favoured and the rather to be received into your honour's protection; so shall I observe you with as humble and as true an heart, as he whose knowledge is as large as the world's creation, and as earnestly pray for you to the world's Creator.

Your Honor's in all humble service,
THOMAS WEELKES."

In 1608 appeared Weelkes' last work, "Airs or Fantastic Spirits for three voices," a collection of lively and humorous ditties. Oliphant writes:--"For originality of ideas, and ingenuity of construction in part writing, (I allude more especially to his ballets,) Weelkes in my opinion leaves all other composers of his time far behind." The verses in Weelkes' song-books are never heavy or laboured; they are always bright, cheerful, and arch.

_Page_ 3. Robert Jones was a famous performer on the lute. He had a share in the management of the theatre in the Whitefriars (Collier's "Annals of the Stage," i. 395). His works are of the highest rarity. The delightful lyrics in Jones' song-books have escaped the notice of all the editors of anthologies.

_Page_ 4. Thomas Morley, who was a pupil of William Byrd, was the author of the first systematic treatise on music published in this country--"A plain and easy Introduction to practical Music," 1597, quaintly set down in form of a dialogue. The verses in his collections are mere airy trifles, and hardly bear to be separated from the music.

"About the maypole new," &c., is a translation of some Italian lines, beginning--

"Al suon d'una sampogn' e d'una citera,
Sopra l'herbette floride
Dansava Tirsi con l'amata Cloride," &c.

In Morley's "Canzonets to three Voices," 1593, we have the following pleasant description of the preparations for a country wedding:--

"Arise, get up, my dear, make haste, begone thee:
Lo! where the bride, fair Daphne, tarries on thee.
Hark! O hark! yon merry maidens squealing
Spice-cakes, sops-in-wine are a-dealing.
Run, then run apace
And get a bride-lace
And gilt rosemary branch the while there yet is catching
And then hold fast for fear of old snatching.

Alas! my dear, why weep ye?
O fear not that, dear love, the next day keep we.
List, yon minstrels! hark how fine they firk it,
And how the maidens jerk it!
With Kate and Will,
Tom and Gill,
Now a skip,
Then a trip,
Finely fet aloft,
There again as oft;
Hey ho! blessed holiday!
All for Daphne's wedding day!"

_Page_ 9. John Wilbye is styled by Oliphant "the first of madrigal writers." He published his "First Set of English Madrigals" in 1598, and his "Second Set" in 1609. The Second Set was dedicated to the unfortunate Lady Arabella Stuart. The composer concludes his dedicatory epistle with the prayer, "I beseech the Almighty to make you in all the passages of your life truly happy, as you are in the world's true opinion, virtuous." In the very year when the epistle was written the gifted patroness of art and learning was accused before the Privy Council and ordered to be kept in close confinement. She made her escape, but after a few hours was captured at sea in her flight to Dunkirk, brought back to London, and committed to the Tower, where she died of a broken heart in 1615. It is pleasant to think that the song-book dedicated to her honour may have cheered her in the long hours of solitude. The collection consists chiefly of love-lyrics; but such verses as "Happy, O happy he," &c. (p. 37) and "Draw on, sweet Night" (p. 21), must have been carefully cherished by the poor captive.

_Page_ 9. "April is in my mistress' face."--Compare Robert Greene's verses in "Perimedes, the Blacksmith," 1588:--

"Fair is my love, for April in her face,
Her lovely breasts September claims his part,
And lordly July in her eyes takes place:
But cold December dwelleth in her heart:
Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire,
Accurs'd that month that hindereth my desire!"

_Page_ 11. "The Urchins' Dance" is from the anonymous play "The Maid's Metamorphosis," 1600. In the same play are the following dainty verses;--

"_1 Fairy._ I do come about the copse
Leaping upon flowers' tops;
Then I get upon a fly,
She carries me above the sky,
And trip and go!

_2 Fairy._ When a dew-drop falleth down
And doth light upon my crown,
Then I shake my head and skip
And about I trip.

_3 Fairy._ When I feel a girl a-sleep,
Underneath her frock I peep,
There to sport, and there I play;
Then I bite her like a flea,
And about I skip."

Thomas Ravenscroft, compiler of the "Brief Discourse," won his spurs at a very early age. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music before he had reached his fifteenth year, as we learn from some commendatory verses prefixed to the "Brief Discourse;"--

"Non vidit tria lustra puer, quin arte probatus,
Vita laudatus, sumpsit in arte gradum."

He was twenty-two when he published the "Brief Discourse" in 1614: but in 1611 be had published "Melismata, musical fancies fitting the court, city, and country humours," and he edited two collections that appeared in 1609--"Pammelia" and "Deuteromelia." "Pammelia" is the earliest English printed collection of Catches, Rounds, and Canons; both words and music were for the most part older than the date of publication. "Deuteromelia" was intended as a continuation of "Pammelia."

_Page_ 12. Robert Dowland, editor of "A Musical Banquet," was a son of John Dowland; he succeeded his father as one of the Court musicians in 1626, and was alive in 1641.

_Page_ 16. Thomas Ford, when he published his "Music of sundry kinds," 1607, was a musician in the suite of Prince Henry. At the accession of Charles I. he was appointed one of his musicians, and he died in 1648--the year before his royal patron was beheaded.

_Page_ 23. "Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn."--The Pawn was a corridor, serving as a bazaar, in the Royal Exchange (Gresham's).

_Page_ 24. "Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies."--"J. C." in "Alcilia," 1595, writes:--

"Love is honey mixed with gall,
A thraldom free, a freedom thrall;
A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour,
Got in a year, lost in an hour;
A peaceful war, a warlike peace,
Whose wealth brings want, whose want increase;
Full long pursuit and little gain,
Uncertain pleasure, certain pain;
Regard of neither right nor wrong,
For short delights repentance long.

Love is the sickness of the thought,
Conceit of pleasure dearly bought;
A restless passion of the mind,
A labyrinth of arrows blind:
A sugared poison, fair deceit,
A bait for fools, a furious heat;
A chilling cold, a wondrous passion,
Exceeding man's imagination;
Which none can tell in whole or part,
But only he that feels the smart."

Robert Greene has a somewhat similar description of Love ("What thing is Love? it is a power divine," &c.) in "Menaphon," 1589.

_Page_ 28. "Fond wanton youths."--This piece is also printed in "The Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620, where it is headed "Of the Inconveniences by Marriage," and is directed to be sung to the tune of "When Troy town."

_Page_ 29, l. 22. "Their _longings_ must not be beguiled."--The original gives "Their _laughings_" (which is unintelligible).

_Page_ 31. It was at Wanstead House, a seat of the Earl of Leicester, that Sidney wrote his masque the "Lady of the May" in honour of Queen Elizabeth's visit in 1578. "Was Raleigh retired there," writes Mr. W. J. Linton (_Rare Poems_, p. 257), "during some season of her displeasure? There is a look of him about this song, not unlike the lines to Cynthia; and what mistress but Majesty should appoint his place of retirement?

'Wanstead, my Mistress saith this is the doom.'"

The two lines that close each stanza are from a song in Sidney's "Arcadia."

_Page_ 37. "Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies." From Seneca's "Thyestes:"--

"qui notus nimis omnibus
Ignotus moritur sibi."

_Page_ 39. "How many things."--I have given four of John Maynard's "Twelve Wonders of the World" (cf. pp. 44-5, 69); and, if I am not mistaken, the reader will like to see the remaining eight. There is much freshness and piquancy in these quaint old rhymes, which were written by no less a poet than Sir John Davies.

"THE DIVINE.

My calling is Divine,
And I from God am sent;
I will no chop-church be,
Nor pay my patron rent,

Nor yield to sacrilege;
But like the kind true mother,
Rather will lose all the child
Than part it with another.

Much wealth I will not seek,
Nor worldly masters serve,
So to grow rich and fat
While my poor flock doth starve.

THE SOLDIER.

My occupation is
The noble trade of kings
The trial that decides
The highest right of things.

Though Mars my master be,
I do not Venus love,
Nor honour Bacchus oft,
Nor often swear by Jove.

Of speaking of myself
I all occasion shun,
And rather love to do,
Than boast what I have done.

THE LAWYER.

The law my calling is;
My robe, my tongue, my pen
Wealth and opinion gain
And make me judge of men.

The known dishonest cause,
I never did defend
Nor spun out suits in length,
But wish'd and sought an end;

Nor counsel did bewray,
Nor of both parties take,
Nor ever took I fee
For which I never spake.

THE PHYSICIAN.

I study to uphold
The slippery state of man,
Who dies when we have done
The best and all we can.

From practice and from books
I draw my learned skill,
Not from the known receipt
Or 'pothecary's bill.

The earth my faults doth hide,
The world my cures doth see,
What youth and time effects
Is oft ascribed to me.

THE MERCHANT.

My trade doth everything
To every land supply,
Discovers unknown coasts,
Strange countries doth ally.

I never did forestall,
I never did engross,
Nor custom did withdraw
Though I return'd with loss.

I thrive by fair exchange,
By selling and by buying,
And not by Jewish use,
Reprisal, fraud, or lying.

THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.

Though strange outlandish spirits
Praise towns and countries scorn,
The country is my home,
I dwell where I was born.

There profit and command
With pleasure I partake,
Yet do not hawks and dogs
My sole companions make.

I rule, but not oppress;
End quarrels, not maintain;
See towns, but dwell not there
To abridge my charge or train.

THE WIFE.

The first of all our sex
Came from the side of man,
I thither am return'd
From whence our sex began.

I do not visit oft,
Nor many when I do,
I tell my mind to few
And that in counsel too.

I seem not sick in health,
Nor sullen but in sorrow;
I care for somewhat else
Than what to wear to-morrow.

THE WIDOW.

My dying husband knew
How much his death would grieve me,
And therefore left me wealth
To comfort and relieve me.

Though I no more will have,
I must not love disdain;
Penelope her self
Did suitors entertain.

And yet to draw on such
As are of best esteem,
Nor younger than I am
Nor richer will I seem."

_Page_ 41. "I have house and land in Kent."--This admirable song has been frequently reprinted. Miss De Vaynes, in her very valuable "Kentish Garland" (i., 142), observes:--"We have met with no other song in the Kentish dialect except Jan Ploughshare's" (printed on p. 372, vol. i., of the "Garland"). Rimbault in his "Little Book of Songs and Ballads" (1851), gives the following lines from an old MS. (temp. Henry VIII.):--

"Joan, quoth John, when will this be?
Tell me when wilt thou marry me,
My corn and eke my calf and rents,
My lands and all my tenements?
Say, Joan, quoth John, what wilt thou do?
I cannot come every day to woo?"

David Herd printed a fragment of a Scotch song that was founded on the English song:--

"I hae layen three herring a' sa't,
Bonny lass, gin ze'll take me, tell me now,
And I hae brew'n three pickles o' ma't
And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.
_To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,
And I cannae cum ilka day to woo_.

I hae a wee ca'f that wad fain be a cow,
Bonny lassie, gin ye'll take me, tell me now,
I hae a wee gryce that wad fain be a sow,
And I cannae cum ilka day to woo.
_To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo,
And I cannae cum ilka day to woo_."

_Page_ 43. "I joy not in no earthly bliss."--These stanzas are usually printed with "My mind to me a kingdom is" (p. 78), and the whole poem has been attributed to Sir Edward Dyer.

_Page_ 47. "I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile."--These lines (which seem to have been modelled on "I joy not in no earthly bliss") are by Joshua Sylvester.

In the second stanza, "I sound not at the news of wreck," _sound_ is an old form of _swoon_.

_Page_ 52. "If women could be fair."--This poem is ascribed to Edward, Earl of Oxford, in Rawlinson, MS. 85, fol. 16.

_Page_ 53. "In darkness let me dwell."--These lines are also found in Robert Dowland's "Musical Banquet," 1610, set to music by John Dowland.

_Page_ 57. "In the merry month of May."--First printed in "The Honorable Entertainment given to the Queen's Majesty in Progress at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the Right Honorable the Earl of Hertford," 1591, under the title of "The Ploughman's Song."

_Page_ 60. "It was the frog in the well."--There are several versions of this old ditty: the following is from Kirkpatrick Sharpe's "Ballad Book," 1824:--

"There lived a puddy in a well,
And a merry mouse in a mill.

Puddy he'd a wooin ride,
Sword and pistol by his side.

Puddy came to the mouse's wonne,
'Mistress mouse, are you within?'

'Yes, kind sir, I am within;
Saftly do I sit and spin.'

'Madam, I am come to woo;
Marriage I must have of you.'

'Marriage I will grant you nane,
Until uncle Rotten he comes hame.'

'Uncle Rotten's now come hame;
Fy! gar busk the bride alang.'

Lord Rotten sat at the head o' the table,
Because he was baith stout and able.

Wha is't that sits next the wa',
But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma'?

What is't that sits next the bride,
But the sola puddy wi' his yellow side?

Syne came the deuk, but and the drake;
The deuk took puddy, and garred him squaik.

Then cam in the carl cat,
Wi' a fiddle on his back.
'Want ye ony music here?'

The puddy he swam doun the brook;
The drake he catched him in his fluke.

The cat he pu'd Lord Rotten doun;
The kittens they did claw his croun.

But Lady Mouse, baith jimp and sma',
Crept into a hole beneath the wa';
'Squeak!' quoth she, 'I'm weel awa.'"

Doubtless Ravenscroft's version is more ancient. A ballad entitled "A most strange weddinge of the frogge and the mouse" was licensed for printing in 1580.

_Page_ 65. "Lady, when I behold."--Gracefully Paraphrased from an Italian original:--

"Quand' io miro le rose,
Ch'in voi natura pose;
E quelle che v' ha l'arte
Nel vago seno sparte;
Non so conoscer poi
Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in voi."

_Page_ 66. John Danyel is supposed to have been a brother of Samuel Daniel, the poet. He took his degree of Bachelor of Music in 1604. "At the commencement of the reign of Charles the First he was one of the Court Musicians, and his name occurs among the 'Musicians for the Lutes and Voices' in a privy seal, dated December 20th, 1625, exempting the musicians belonging to the Court from the payment of subsidies" (Rimbault).

_Page_ 68. "Then all at once _for our town_ cries."--"I should imagine," says Oliphant, "that there was occasionally a sort of friendly contention in the sports between neighbouring villages; which idea is rather corroborated by a passage from an old play called the 'Vow-breaker' by Samson, 1636: 'Let the major play the hobby-horse an' he will; I hope _our Town lads_ cannot want a hobby-horse.'" In an old play. "The Country Girl," (first printed in 1647), attributed to that shadowy personage Antony Brewer, we have an allusion to this pleasant form of rivalry:--

"_Abraham._ Sister Gillian,--I have the rarest news for you.

_Gillian._ For me? 'tis well. And what news have you got, sir?

_Abr._ Skipping news, lipping news, tripping news.

_Gil._ How! dancing, brother Abram, dancing?

_Abr._ Prancing, advancing, dancing. Nay, 'tis a match, a
match upon a wager.

_Gil._ A match. Who be they?

_Abr._ Why all the wenches of _our town_ Edmonton, and all the
mad wenches of Waltham.

_Gil._ A match, and leave me out! When, when is't, brother?

_Abr._ Marry, e'en this morning:--they are now going to't
helter-skelter. [_A treble plays within_.

_Gil._ And leave me out! where, brother, where?

_Abr._ Why there, Sister Gillian; there, at our own door almost,--on
the green there, close by the may-pole. Hark! you may hear them
hither." (Sig. D.)

The stage-direction at the entrance of the dancers runs thus:--"Enter six country wenches, all red petticoats, white stitch'd bodies, in their smock-sleeves, the fiddler before them, and Gillian with her tippet up in the midst of them dancing."

_Page_ 73. "It was the purest light of heaven" &c.--I am reminded of a fine passage in Drayton's "Barons' Wars," canto VI.:--

"Looking upon proud Phaeton wrapped in fire,
The gentle queen did much bewail his fall;
But Mortimer commended his desire
To lose one poor life or to govern all.
'What though,' quoth he, 'he madly did aspire
And his great mind made him proud Fortune's thrall?
Yet, in despight when she her worst had done,
_He perish'd in the chariot of the sun_.'"

_Page_ 74. "The Bellman's Song."--In "Robin Goodfellow; his mad pranks and merry jests," 1628, we have another specimen of a Bellman's Song:--

"Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many pretty verses delight the ears of those that waked at his bell-ringing: his verses were these:--

Maids in your smocks,
Look well to your locks,
And your tinder-box,
Your wheels and your rocks,
Your hens and your cocks,
Your cows and your ox,
And beware of the fox.
When the bellman knocks
Put out your fire and candle-light,
So they shall not you affright.
May you dream of your delights,
In your sleeps see pleasing sights!
Good rest to all, both old and young:
The bellman now hath done his song.

Then would he go laughing _Ho ho ho!_ as his use was."

_Page_ 77. "That kisses were the _seals of love_."--Every reader will recall

"But my kisses bring again, bring again.
_Seals of love_ but sealed in vain, sealed in vain."

(The first stanza is found among the poems of Sir Philip Sidney.)

_Page_ 80. "My prime of youth."--This song is also set to music in Richard Alison's "Hour's Recreation," 1606, and Michael Este's "Madrigals of three, four, and five parts," 1604. It is printed in "Reliquiae: Wottonianae" as "By Chidick Tychborn, being young and then in the tower, the night before his execution." Chidiock Tychbourne of Southampton was executed with Ballard and Babington in 1586.

_Page_ 80. "My sweetest Lesbia."--The first stanza is an elegant paraphrase from Catullus, though the last line fails to render the rhythmical sweetness long-drawn-out of "Nox est perpetua una dormienda."

_Page_ 81. "My Thoughts are winged with Hopes."--This piece is also found in "England's Helicon." A MS. copy, in a commonplace book found at Hamburg, is signed "W. S." I have frequently met with these initials in volumes of MS. poetry of the early part of the seventeenth century. The following pretty verses in Add. MS. 21, 433, fol. 158, are subscribed "W. S.":--

"O when will Cupid show such art
To strike two lovers with one dart?
I'm ice to him or he to me;
Two hearts alike there seldom be.

If ten thousand meet together,
Scarce one face is like another:
If scarce two faces can agree,
Two hearts alike there seldom be."

There is not the slightest ground for identifying "W. S." with Shakespeare. Mr. Linton ("Rare Poems," p. 255) conjectures that "My Thoughts are winged with Hopes"--which has the heading "To Cynthia" in "England's Helicon"--may be by Raleigh.

_Page_ 83. "Now each creature."--The first stanza of "An Ode" by Samuel Daniel, originally printed in the 1592 edition of "Delia."

"Now God be with old Simeon."--Here is another round from "Pammelia":--

"Come drink to me,
And I to thee.
And then shall we
Full well agree.

I've loved the jolly tankard,
Full seven winters and more;
I loved it so long
That I went upon the score.

Who loveth not the tankard,
He is no honest man;
And he is no right soldier,
That loveth not the can.

Tap the cannikin, troll the cannikin,
Toss the cannikin, turn the cannikin!
Hold now, good son, and fill us a fresh can,
That we may quaff it round from man to man."

Good honest verse, but ill-suited to these degenerate, tea-drinking days.

_Page_ 85. "Now I see thy looks were feigned."--First printed in "The Ph[oe]nix Nest," 1593, subscribed "T. L. Gent," _i.e._ Thomas Lodge, one of the most brilliant of Elizabethan lyrists.

_Page_ 87. "Shall we play barley-break."--The fullest description of the rustic game of barley-break is to be found in the first book of Sidney's "Arcadia."

_Page_ 87. "Now let her change." This song is also set to Music in Robert Jones' "Ultimum Vale" (1608).

_Page_ 89. "Now what is love" &c.--This poem originally appeared in "The Ph[oe]nix Nest," 1593; it is also printed (in form of a dialogue) in "England's Helicon," 1600, and Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602. It is ascribed to Raleigh in a MS. list of Davison's. See Canon Hannah's edition of Raleigh's poems.

_Page_ 93. "Oft have I mused."--This poem was printed in Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602.

_Page_ 96. "Our country-swains in the morris-dance."--In Morley's "Madrigals to Four Voices," 1594, there is a lively description of the morris-dance:--

"Ho! who comes here with bag-piping and drumming?
O, 'tis I see the morris-dance a coming.
Come, ladies, out, O come, come quickly,
And see about how trim they dance and trickly:
Hey! there again: hark! how the bells they shake it!
Now _for our town_! once there, now for our town and take it:
Soft awhile, not away so fast, they melt them!
Piper be hang'd, knave! look, the dancers swelt them.
Out, there, stand out!--you come too far (I say) in--
There give the hobby-horse more room to play in!"

"I woo with tears and _ne'er the near_."--_Ne'er the near_ (a proverbial expression) = Never the nigher.

_Page_ 107. "When they came home Sis _floted_ cream."--I suppose the meaning is that Sis skimmed the cream from the milk. Halliwell (_Arch. Dict._) gives "Flotten-milk. Same as Flet-mitte" and "flet-mitte" is a north-country term for skimmed milk.

"Since first I saw."--This exquisite song is also found in "The Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620.

_Page_ 114. "Sweet Love, my only treasure."--Printed in Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602, where it is subscribed with the mysterious initials "A. W."

_Page_ 115. "Sweet, stay awhile."--I suspect that this stanza does not really belong to Donne's "Break of day;" it is not found in MS. copies of Donne's poems, nor in any edition prior to that of 1669. Probably Donne's verses were written as a companion-piece to the present poem.

_Page_ 120. "Yet merrily sings little Robin."--The loveliest of all verses in praise of Robin Redbreast are in Chapman's "Tears of Peace," 1609:--

"Whose face _the bird_ hid _that loves humans best,
That hath the bugle eyes and rosy breast,
And is the yellow autumn's nightingale_."

_Page_ 120. "The love of change."--This is the first stanza of a poem which is printed entire (in six stanzas) in Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602.

_Page_ 121. "The lowest trees have tops."--Printed in Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody" with the signature "Incerto."

_Page_ 121. "The man of life upright."--In some old MS. copies this poem is ascribed to Francis Bacon: see Hannah's "Poems of Raleigh and Wotton," p. 119. Canon Hannah makes no mention of Campion's claim. Campion distinctly tells us that he wrote both the verses and the music of his songs: and I have no doubt that he was the author of the present lyric, which has more merit than any of Bacon's poems. In an epigram printed in his "Observations in the Art of English Poetry," 1602, there is a striking image that reappears in the present poem:--

"A wise man wary lives yet most secure,
Sorrows move not him greatly, nor delights,
Fortune and death he scorning only makes
_Th' earth his sober inn_, but still heaven his home."
(SIG. C2).

Henceforward let nobody claim "The man of life upright" for Bacon.

_Page_ 124. "The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay."--"According to Peacham," says Oliphant ("_Musa Madrigalesca_," p. 45), "there was a virtuous contention between W. Byrd and Ferrabosco who of the two should best set these words; in which according to his (Peacham's) opinion, Ferrabosco succeeded so well that 'it could not be bettered for sweetness of ayre and depth of judgment.'"

_Page_ 124. "The Nightingale so soon as April bringeth."--From the first stanza of a poem printed in the third edition of Sidney's "Arcadia," 1598.

_Page_ 126. "There is a garden in her face."--This poem is also set to music in Alison's "Hour's Recreation," 1606, and Robert Jones' "Ultimum Vale" (1608). Herrick's dainty verses "Cherry-Ripe" are well-known:--

"Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe! I cry:
Full and fair ones, come and buy.
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer,--There,
Where my Julia's lips do smile,
There's the land or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow."

_Page_ 127. "There is a lady sweet and kind."--Printed also in "The Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620.

_Page_ 128. "There were three Ravens."--The north-country version of this noble dirge contains some verses of appalling intensity:--

"His horse is to the huntin gane
His hounds to bring the wild deer hame;
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

"O we'll sit on his bonny breast-bane,
And we'll pyke out his bonny gray een;
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,
We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.

"_Mony a ane for him makes mane,
But none sall ken where he is gane:
Ower his banes when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair_."